Author's Note: This spot o' smut comes to you from my
half-baked gray clay all because I read Kirby Crow's "Stepping
to Jonah". Many thanks -I can say it in Gaelic, if you want -
go to Kirby for allowing me the use of the platform and the
dialogue from "Stepping To Jonah".
Disclaimer: *sung to the tune of a sixties song* "I don't own
them; Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are not my li'l boys! Lucas owns
them, they are just my temporary toys!" Hey! Anytime ya wanna
stop yellin' "Multi-frequency audio-harmonic assault" would be
just fine with me . . .
Warnings: I wrote this while half-awake, with no caffeine in my
system, and I'm dyslexic. If you're not scared yet, then keep
reading.
First Glance
What is it about sunlight in the morning that makes everything
seem more beautiful than it is? Sunlight on the green leaves.
Sunlight on the water. On your nude body as you step slowly to
the shore.
It is the morning after a night of camping out beside a river.
The night had been pleasant, warm and peaceful, soothing us to
sleep. I've already caught our breakfast -- fish -- and
prepared it over a controlled fire. You are cleaning yourself
in the river when I happen to look up and see you striding from
the water like some primal god. Every inch of your tall, strong
body is sculpted muscle and sinew and flesh, the water sluicing
down your sturdy frame like the hands I suddenly wish I could
caress you with. And then I notice another part of you which,
before today, I have never seen quite so active, for want of a
better term. Usually, you keep yourself so well under control.
And I turn away to hide the blush of my embarrassment as I
realize that I have been staring at you openly and wondering
what you would feel like, what you would taste like. Oh, yes,
I'm certain that would go over just splendidly with you.
I feel your vague flare of surprise through our link, but then
you let it subside and return to our camp to clothe yourself
once more. You don't mention it, although I suppose you meant
to. One thing you've taught me for years that a demure Jedi is
laughable. But it seemed that your appetite was more for fish
this morning than for the apprentice I had, for a brief moment,
hoped for.
Leaving me to wonder why, after the years we have spent
together, I am starting to see you as less of a teacher --
although no less wise for it -- and more of a man.
I don't know when I began to see you as a man rather than just
a male teacher. Certainly it's not the first time I've ever
seen you nude, but it's certainly the first time I've ever
desired to touch that nudity with something other than a need
to heal a wound you've attained. And this embarrasses me. A
Padawan should not think of his Master in such a fashion, but I
have.
And I don't exactly know what to do about it.
First Quickening
You're driving my system haywire and you're blissfully unaware
of it.
Today you had me training in the isolated practice ring I love
most in the Academy, where I can practice my flips and leaps
that I love to do. But today it's going all-wrong, and you're
the cause of it.
I went through my routine and then made a small mistake that
necessitated you having to correct me. When you called for me
to halt, I froze in place like the good Padawan that I am. And
then you walked over to me, stood behind me, and I could feel
your muscled warmth against my back as your arms came around me
and you took hold of my wrists, placing them at the correct
angle.
Your enchanting, sensual lips are at my ear and you're
whispering in that rich smooth voice of yours, "It's not an
axe, Obi-Wan. Grasp your weapon lightly. Control. Finesse.
Skill. That is the way of a master swordfighter. Not brute
force. Relax into your lightsaber. Think of it as the
difference between a whip and a bludgeon."
We've done this countless times before, but this time it was
different. This time, I was reacting not to your words, but to
the **way** you said them, the nuances of your voice. The feel
of your warm breath skittering down my neck. I shivered and,
not knowing what else to do, I turned away from the warm
temptation of your mouth.
For just one moment, I thought I could feel shock on your part,
but I must have been wrong because, correction made, you
stepped back and said in a steady voice, "Continue."
I began the sword dance again, stepping forward, back, parrying
and thrusting, and then my defense went weak as I helplessly
remembered what the feel of your mouth near my ear did to me
only moments ago. And realized, as you called for me to halt,
that my actions meant you would have to be close to me again.
I'm not at all certain if I should be happy or disheartened by
that. And maybe a little frightened at my temptation to fail
repeatedly to ensure it.
You hesitate only briefly and I wonder what's wrong. Then
you're behind me, touching my right hip and pulling it back.
The sharp electric thrill of the heat of your strong, elegant
hand that makes me crave to turn into you forces me to tighten
my hold on myself, standing rigidly as I struggle with my
desires. I withdraw my mind from yours before you can feel my
longing, slamming down my mental shields. My eyes are heavy as
I struggle to rid my mind of an image of you pulling me
forcefully into your arms and kissing me. The imagination of
your sculpted lips on mine makes my mouth tingle, and I lick my
lips to wash the feeling away. As I do so, I can feel your hand
tighten on my hip, and I realize, suddenly, that you've felt
the hot attraction as well as I have.
Then you're letting me go, barking out, "Continue!" and moving
as far away from me as possible.
The remainder of the practice is a farce. I cannot shake the
sensations that have quivered through me, nor the desire to
feel them again. Finally, I realize that I've upset you when
you shake your head impatiently and order me from the training
room to go to a bath and a meal. I feel ashamed that I have
managed to fail you in such a small matter as training, and I
leave with my posture singing this emotion, for I have no pride
in what I have done. Above all else, I only want to please you,
to prove to you that I'm worthy of your time. And today, I have
proved the opposite, and it shows by your order to cut short
the training session.
And yet, I can sense that you are aware of my body as much as I
am of yours. I wonder why you won't speak on it, and I
half-hope that it's because you feel for me what I feel for
you, but I'm terribly afraid that you don't. The incentive to
remain your Padawan at all costs is the only thing that keeps
me from speaking out, and so I remain silent.
But how much longer can I go on like this without letting you
know, somehow, just how much you mean to me?
First Kiss
Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I failed you? Is
this my punishment?
You've ordered me to another training session a week and a few
days after the last one, again in the isolated chamber where we
will not be interrupted. I do not want to do this. I don't want
to be isolated with you, knowing what I want, knowing what I
can't have.
For the last few days, I've retained my control, keeping my
eyes averted so I would not give in to staring at you. But at
night, when we are in our separate beds and you're asleep in
the room next to mine, I relax my control. I give in to the
images in my mind and I can't keep my hands from stroking my
face, my neck, my belly and thighs. Between my thighs, until my
cock is stiff and throbbing and aching for the release I long
to give you, imagining it is **your** strong, clever hands
performing these ministrations as I stroke myself, bringing
myself to a physical release that does nothing to ease my
heart's loneliness. And I always feel ashamed that I am reduced
to this state for my Master, when you have been nothing but
kind and generous and good to me.
I arrive late to your summons, and I enter, my jaw set and my
eyes cold as I ruthlessly hold my desires at bay. With no
delay, you order me to begin, and I relax into the motions of
my routine, working my way up through the first, second, and
third levels, beginning on the fourth, which is reserved for
experts, which I wish to succeed at becoming. I know I am good,
that I have an inborn weapons sense, and it feels good to go
through the motions. I have relaxed some of my rigid control,
and I can feel your thoughts around the edge of my mind.
And then, in shock, I lose my balance and topple gracelessly to
the ground, losing my grip on my lightsaber. I look up at you,
unbelieving and slightly angry, for I heard your thought, your
mental question of wondering what I would taste like if your
lips met mine. To do this to me, Master, it isn't fair. Not
when I don't have the right kind of defenses.
You cross to me and offer me your hand and out of habit, more
than anything else, I take it and allow you to help me up. It
is when I realize that I'm dusting myself off with only one
hand that I notice that you have not let go of my other hand.
You look down at me with those piercing blue eyes and then you
turn away, tugging on my hand, and we are walking toward the
practice mat in the corner. I tremble slightly, half-fearing
and half-hoping that we are to do something more than meditate
on the matter before us.
And then the fear and hope are realized when you use the bulk
of your body to crowd me against the wall, pinning me there
like a butterfly so that I cannot escape your intent. In one
blinding instant, as I feel your male hardness against my
belly, I realize that you want me, at least just a little.
I look up at you as you look down at me, and with the first
stroke of your elegant, strong fingers on my face, I lose my
control. "Take me," I hiss at you, my voice low and raw, both
desperate and demanding at once. I don't care what you do to
me, just so long as you finally fulfill this aching, empty need
in me.
Your strong, muscular arms wind tightly around me, and I can't
stop my trembling in my need for you. I feel as though I would
break apart if you don't touch me, and soon. And then I feel
your hands caressing my back, heat flowing from them to my
skin, and your fingers are digging into the curvature of my
spine, sweeping up, around, grazing my ribs before you move
around and up to my shoulder blades. Then you pull my tunic off
and my torso is bared to you, splendidly naked and yours for
the taking.
You draw me to you, holding me against you as you drag us down
to the practice mat, and I shudder at the chill of the rubber
against me.
Then I lose all rational thought when your body slides against
mine to rest on it, moving instinctively to pleasure you,
pleasure me. You gasp as your hardness settles into the saddle
of my thighs, where you can no doubt feel the heat radiating
from me, and my own evident erection. I shudder again at the
delicious feel of your manliness there, against me.
Your mouth is warm and hard as you cover mine, kissing me
fiercely, biting at my lips with short, singeing kisses, your
tongue, warm and wet, prodding at my lips. I open obediently,
wanting your caress and you drive me wild as you taste and
stroke me with your tongue, thrusting long and slow and deep in
a sensual caress that as a Jedi, I'm surprised you know. And
then I lose myself in the deliciousness of it, of your hot
sensuality, and I shudder beneath you again.
Your body wraps around mine; your hands arching me up into your
muscular torso and I cannot hold back my appreciative moans
when your hands move to caress my thighs.
Your kiss deepens and suddenly your hips are moving against
mine with a fierceness that I welcome. Your fingers are
gripping my hip hard enough to bruise as you move, thrusting
against me as if to deny the sturdy cloth between us and I
whimper and moan, panting as I ache for you to complete the
act.
I see in your mind an image of you tearing my clothes away,
turning me on my hands and knees and pushing yourself into me,
moving with an animalistic intent that makes me shudder wildly
and crave for you to do it. For this is bliss, this loving, and
I want to prove my love for you in the only extreme way I know
how.
Then, suddenly, you are breaking the kiss and I look up at you.
I want you, but do you want me? What have I done wrong? I'm
fearful that I've disgusted you somehow.
Something flickers in your blue eyes and then, in one fluid
motion, you are standing above me, breathing hard as you stare
down at me, masculine need evident in every line of your body,
especially one part of you.
I look up at you, not caring if my lust is plain on my face,
only wanting to love you, to prove that I love you, and I lay
there for you, yours for the taking.
Suddenly, you turn and stride away, and the sound of your boot
heels is a sharp stab of pain in my heart as horror and pain
seep into me. When you stride out the door, I cannot control my
sharp sob of agony as I curl into a ball, seeking the relief
from knowing that I had, somehow, driven you away from me.
It was the last thing I wanted, and yet it is what I had
achieved due to my actions. And your reaction can only prove
one thing to me, that I am not worthy of you. And that hurts
more than anything else.
First Loving
I go through the next few days on automatic pilot, more often
than not. I can't seem to bring myself to care for too much
else, though I try, even knowing it's useless when my broken
heart won't allow it. But for the sake of my Padawan status, I
do try, if only to give you that much satisfaction, Master.
I will not speak to you, both due to my own mortification and
fear of open rejection and disgust, nor do I send any messages
to you for those reasons. And you do not attempt to contact me,
which makes it clearer and clearer to me that you want nothing
to do with me.
I wait, agonized, because I'm terrified that any day now the
Council will call me before them to inform me that you want to
be rid of me, that you no longer desire to teach me. I thought
briefly about ending the agonizing wait by opening my mind to
show them of those few precious moments of yourself over me,
giving me your lust, but I cannot bear to do it. It would only
get you into serious trouble and remove me from your training.
And I find that I cannot bear the thought of the separation,
and greedily hoard whatever time together we have, such as it
is.
Whenever we pass in the hall, I nod to you deferentially, as
due your status as my Master, and because I can give you no
less, not when I love you as I do. Were you to command me to
kneel down and lick your boots, I would do so in a heartbeat,
if only to please you in some manner.
As I walk away from you, during these chance meetings in the
hall, I can feel your gaze on me as you turn to watch me, and I
stiffen my shoulders against whatever may come, terrified to
hear of a formal rejection. But you say nothing.
Now you have summoned me to your quarters, and my fear has been
replaced by the overwhelming need to show you that I need to
remain with you, that I will do whatever you want in order to
stay with you. I ring the chime and hear you call out, "Enter."
I duck under the lintel, which is made so that a Jedi will
remember humility, and all I can feel is humility, as I do not
attempt to look up at you. Instead, I go down on my knees,
bending to press my forehead to the floor to show my submission
to your will. Yes, I know that I shouldn't give in to anyone or
anything like this except to the Force, but in my agony and
grief, I cannot find it in me to care. Not when there is some
hope left in me that you mean to keep me as your Padawan, my
Master.
"Obi-Wan, stand up."
I do not obey you. I say nothing. I can't bear the thought of
seeing your face right now, and I stay in my submissive
posture.
Your tone turns gentle, shredding my heart. "What is it,
Padawan?"
I still say nothing, for what can I say that you don't know?
There is a long moment of silence that stretches before me like
eternity, and suddenly, you are harsh and cold as you snap,
"Stand up!" I realize that I may have pushed you to your
limits, and so I quickly do as you order, keeping my face
averted, not wanting you to see my desire, and my shame of
failing you.
"Look at me," you command, and I do so, and I have no way of
hiding myself from you, Master. You can see everything that I
am clearly, and I realize that it's what I want.
"What do you want from me?" you ask, and my heart breaks all
over again.
"Master . . ." I intone helplessly.
"I asked you a question. Answer it."
"I can't." I let you hear the defeat in my tone, because I
realize that, one way or another, I could very well lose you.
If I told you everything, you'd turn from me in disgust, I'm
sure of it, for I'm not worthy of you, and this I know. But if
I don't tell you, you might rid yourself of me anyway from
anger and frustration, for how can you possibly teach me when I
will not listen?
"Then I'll answer it for you." Before I realize it, you are
across the room and you're grabbing my arms, bruising me as you
haul me up against your hard body. You shake me, making my
teeth clack together, and I turn my face away, letting you do
what you will. I will not fight you, for fear of losing you.
And yet you grasp my jaw with a painful grip, forcing me to
look at you, and the fire in your blue eyes frightens me to my
soul.
"Mas--" I begin, but your mouth crushes mine, cutting me off.
You pull away, and the anger is blatant in your face.
"Is this what you want from me?" you ask, voicing my desires
for me.
"Y . . . yes." My voice is a quaver as, for the first time, I'm
not sure. I want you, yes, but not like this. Not when you come
to me with hatred and anger. I would never have believed it of
you, but I guess I've really done it this time.
"Is it? Think carefully, boy." Your voice is harsh,
unrecognizable, and in a desperate attempt to feel some portion
of the master that I know and love, I reach out through our
mental link, searching for you. Only to feel your mind throw me
back with a savageness that frightens me, closing me off from
you.
"I think --" I begin, and forget what I intended to say when
derisive scorn leaps into your eyes and voice.
"You think? Do you?" Oh, it hurts. This hurts that it's come to
pass, that you are showing me your disgust. I thought I could
handle it, but I can't. I only want to run from it.
"I don't know if you can think anymore," you growl. "You
come to my quarters, on your knees, begging me like a kicked
animal. After all that I've taught you, how dare you beg?!"
You let go of me to draw back your hand, and I'm too shocked to
think of defending myself. In all our years together, you have
never once raised your hand to me in anger, merely in training,
as my Master. But now . . . I fall to the floor when the full
force of your blow slaps across my face, the pain there nothing
compared to the pain in my heart. I try to stand, to distance
myself from this pain, and you shove me backwards with your
foot. I sprawl across your bed and turn away, burrowing into
the covers to hide from my shame and your scorn.
It's only a moment later, but it feels like an eternity, when I
feel you kneel behind me. And suddenly, you grasp my wrist and
wrench my arm up painfully behind my back, and I cannot stop
the soft scream of pain and the utter sensation of betrayal
that I feel. Even if I am not worthy, I never would have
believed it that you could be so cruel, and I begin to feel a
slight curl of anger that you would do this to me, of all
people, your Padawan.
Then I can feel your erection pressing into me as your lips
press to my ear, and a fear and anger unlike any I've ever
known flow through me when you whisper tauntingly, "Is this
what you want, little Padawan?"
I can no longer tolerate this. I simply can't, and I swing my
elbow back to connect with your jaw, an audible crack
heard in the stillness of the room. You fall away from me, to
the floor, and instantly I leap to my feet and cross the room,
igniting my lightsaber, turning to face your next attack. I'm
ready to prove that I've learnt my lessons well, if this is
what you really wish to know, Master.
You sit up and look at me, and I'm suddenly doubtful as I
detect no trace of your anger or disgust in you. And then, in
utter shock, you say in perfect control, "Well done. Now . . .
approach me as an equal, Obi-Wan Kenobi." I feel your mind open
to me once more, and in one flashing moment I can see myself as
you saw me, and it shocks me out of my pathos. With the quiet
dignity that you taught me, I douse my lightsaber and cross the
room to you, kneeling beside you. I smile at you wryly.
"I was pathetic, wasn't I?" It is more of a statement than a
question.
"Never," you reply, firm conviction in your tone.
"I was," I insist, for I see now that I had been.
You lean back against the bed and say, "You were simply in
need, and I had failed you. I had to make it right."
I rub my burning cheek lightly and sigh as I fight the urge to
laugh, however weakly. "It seems odd to be thanking you for
this, but thank you, Master."
A silence falls between us as I attempt to tell you how I feel,
for you, about you, what I want from you, but I'm still too
embarrassed to say it.
"Obi-Wan, look at me," you say.
I do, and in your gaze I can see that you want me as well, and
that's all I need to know. I move, straddling you, framing your
beautiful face in my hands, holding you still for what I need
to give you. You relax beneath me, raising your mouth for mine,
and instead, I cherish you as I press loving, chaste kisses to
both of your cheeks. You lift your face higher, and I sense
that you want my mouth on yours, but not yet. I kiss that proud
chin of yours, your smooth brow, both of your eyelids,
cherishing the feel of your skin beneath my lips. I hesitate a
moment, then give into a particularly childish fantasy, and
drop a quick, smacking kiss to the tip of your noble-looking
nose.
And when a smile begins forming on your face, I pounce quickly,
giving into yet another fantasy to feel your smiling mouth
beneath mine, and my mouth closes over yours hungrily. Glorious
sensation thrills through my lips as I stroke your mouth apart
with my tongue, slipping inside to coax and tease your tongue,
listening to your moans as you attempt to catch hold of my
mouth with your own, but I won't let you.
You're still smiling when I pull back from you, and it pleases
me to no end. "Imp," you call me as your arms wind tightly
around my waist, holding me there in your lap as I feel your
erection throbbing between my legs. I know you can feel mine.
I smile and confess to you, "I've often wished I could do that
while you were smiling. You don't smile enough."
"Well, you've had your wish. Are there any other wishes I can
grant?"
My heart sings at your offer, and I feel as though I'm being
reborn. Mischievously, I reply, "The night is young."
"Indeed." And I seem to remember a certain offer you made
recently . . ." you reply with your own teasing.
I'm still smiling as I roll my hips atop yours, thrusting my
erection against your very firm belly as I say, "You may test
the firmness of my offer anytime, Master," and I giggle when
you lightly slap my backside.
It seems to delight you, my laughter, as well as our
playfulness and loving talk. I know that we must be Apprentice
and Master eventually, but for now I want only Qui-Gon the man
to touch me and take me.
You lay your hands over mine as I attempt to remove your
clothes in as seductive a manner as I know how, and say my
name. I look at you, shy and a little frightened of what we're
about to do. "Yes, Master?"
"We can be equals later," you say, and my relief is palpable
that I won't have to show my ineptness, and my growing
excitement at the thought of you taking me and teaching me.
"What shall I -- oh!" I wanted to ask you what you wanted me to
do, but you silenced me by taking the hem of my tunic and
pulling it off. I want to do the same for you, but you push me
back and stroke my chest, which tingles and begins to ache for
more.
I try one last time. "But, Mater, I want . . . I need --"
"I know what you need," you say, and pure excitement and desire
shivers through me as your fingers stroke my chest again, the
calluses on your lovely fingers rasping my sensitive nipples,
moving lower to stroke my belly which has tautened and tensed
with desire. Then you move back up with both hands and pinch my
nipples gently, causing them to harden with a pleasure-pain
that is almost too exquisite to bear, and I arch my back,
moaning. Before I can draw the next breath, you have slipped
beneath my trousers and taken my throbbing erection in your
hand.
I cannot control the thrust of my hips as I reach for that
wanton caress and I moan, love and lust coloring my voice, and
you do it again just so you can hear the tone of my desire
again.
My hands are gripping your shoulders as an anchor, my head
thrown back, and then you are atop me once again, nibbling a
path up my neck to my ear, where you bite gently on the lobe.
Your silken, sexy voice growls my name in my ear, your whole
voice throbbing with lust, and that alone takes me to the edge
of my peak.
"Wait," I plead as I push against you, desperate to hold back,
not wanting to end so quickly. "Wait! I'm going to . . . I
can't . . ."
You will not let me go and your hand slips around my neck to
hold me still and you murmur, "You can," just before you take
my mouth in a deep, luscious kiss as you increase the pressure
of your stroking hand subtly.
And then my world explodes around me and I'm lost to sensation,
crying out my pleasure as I come, giving over my life's essence
to you until finally I lie limply against you.
Later, as we lie in your bed, I snuggle close against you,
totally at peace and wholly in love. I hear your thoughts that
you doubt your worthiness of the love I hold for you, and I
tell you to let me decide that for myself.
I can hear a smile in your voice when you say, "Go to sleep,
Padawan."
I hope you can hear the love in mine when I reply, "Yes,
Master."
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