Master Apprentice Archive That's just so wrong! Quick search:

Rating: NC-17 (sex)

Archive: Ask me, or Jacynthe Demorae's: http://jdemorae.slashcity.tv/lightsaberissues/index.html

Series: none

Categories: PWP, light BDSM. For the superlatively faint of heart, there's something that could be considered non-con, but it's all in fun.

Feedback: Dying for it, please. padawanhilary@gonwan.com

Summary: Response to Master Ruth's first-line challenge: "That's just so wrong!" Of annoyed masters and Pavlovian responses.

Spoilers/Warnings: kink. No latex was harmed in the writing of this fic. Eat your vegetables or there will be no dessert.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

/.... / Denotes thoughts and bond speak.

Notes: (sighing in resignation) To Master Ruth for issuing the damn thing, and to Dagmar, who complained about too many sweets.

"That is just so wrong." Obi-Wan pointed his fork at the food his master was about to raise to his lips: it was a long, green vegetable stalk coated with a slick, yellow substance.

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow elegantly. "Asparagus? I thought you liked it."

Obi-Wan shook his head, stabbing a piece of tuber viciously. "No, the sauce. What is that? No food should be that yellow. It's obscene." He made a pained face as Qui-Gon ate the green spear, licking stray sauce from the fork and chewing with relish.

Qui-Gon shook his head, thoroughly enjoying the treat of hollandaise sauce on his asparagus. He didn't get it nearly enough at the dining hall-- he didn't get it much at all, actually-- and he'd been surprised they'd bothered with it. He was close to being able to make it himself but had not quite had success yet.

In the dining hall, it was a wonderful touch: evidence that the Jedi truly were civilized.

"You don't have to like it, Padawan, though it is quite good. Lemon juice, butter, egg yolk, white pepper-- very difficult to make. Here, taste it." He held his fork out with half a spear coated in the delicate sauce.

Obi-Wan leaned away, tipping his chin up like an obstinate two-year-old. "Absolutely not. It's got to be disgusting. Lemon. Yechh." He went back to his food, terribly relieved he wasn't made to eat that foul-looking substance.

Qui-Gon continued eating, ignoring his padawan's consternation. He adored the stuff, and it didn't bother him a bit that Obi-Wan couldn't stand the thought of it. But as he dipped another spear into the delectable concoction, watching a bit slide off the tip and back to his plate, he really felt that Obi-Wan was missing out.

"Ugh," Obi-Wan said, any pretense of eloquence retreating in the face of a cruet full of the ancient delicacy.

Qui-Gon smirked. "I do wish you'd try it. It took me years to learn how to make it properly. Tonight was my first success. It's all about the technique: perfect blending, very low heat, and then standing over it and whipping it until it's--"

"Master, if you're going to be standing over something, whipping, I can think of much better things." Obi-Wan grinned.

Qui-Gon chuckled and shook his head. "Eat your asparagus, Padawan."

Obi-Wan stared at the by-now utterly offensive cruet. "How often, exactly, do you intend to eat that?"

"Until I get tired of it, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's just -- wrong. Too yellow." He suppressed a shudder.

Qui-Gon was growing tired of this. "Obi-Wan, I respect that you don't like the idea of it. I even respect that you won't taste it. But for the love of Light, please allow me to eat it in peace."

"But it's disgusting." Obi-Wan pouted a little, stabbing through a naked asparagus spear and biting the end off of it petulantly.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily and kept eating.

When Obi-Wan was finished with the dishes, he unbuckled his boots and began preparing to head for the 'fresher. Halfway there, Qui-Gon blocked him off in the hallway, a wicked gleam in his eye. He was stripped to the waist and untying the thong from his hair. "Don't be long," he purred, then turned and moved into his room, casting a heavy, meaningful glance over his shoulder, hair streaming down his nude back.

Grinning, Obi-Wan ducked into the 'fresher. And hurried.

The second he entered his master's dark bedroom he was assaulted, Qui-Gon's mouth catching his and delving inside. Obi-Wan grunted softly, surprised at the immediate voracity of the kiss. He responded eagerly once he got his bearings: Qui-Gon was bearing him inexorably toward the bed. Obi-Wan tasted cinnamon and his master's eagerness. He felt himself growing hard at the suddenness of the lust between them.

Qui-Gon tugged the towel from around his padawan's waist and discarded it, then pressed him back to the mattress, covering the smaller body with his own. He nuzzled his face in soft, warm neck and laced his fingers through Obi-Wan's, guiding them toward the head of the bed.

Obi-Wan drew in a breath as Qui-Gon snapped his wrists into cuffs at the upper posts of the bed, then groaned in his throat as his master trailed a light touch down his bound arms.

"Where did this come from?" Obi-Wan asked, still dimly surprised, but thoroughly excited.

Qui-Gon trailed kisses down to one nipple and bit at it gently, enjoying the hiss of air through his padawan's teeth and the arching body under his. "I just thought we'd do something different."

Obi-Wan laughed weakly, squirming under his master's expert mouth. "This-- ahh. This isn't different-- ohhhh. We do this all the-- uhm."

Qui-Gon raised his head to look at his padawan, then he pushed upright and got off the bed.

"Hey!" Obi-Wan complained, tugging at the cuffs.

"Actually, we don't do this all the time," Qui-Gon countered, moving farther from the bed and toward a dresser. "In fact, we don't do this sort of thing nearly enough."

Obi-Wan laughed. "Whatever you say, Master. Happy to oblige you in every--" His eyes widened as Qui-Gon turned around, bearing an altogether too-familiar cruet toward the bed.

"No. No, no. You can't be serious." Instantly, Obi-Wan's erection flagged. He tugged on the cuffs again, pulling hard. Of course, they were good equipment: strong enough to withstand his master's most fervent teasing and bad-padawan punishments.

"I am," Qui-Gon assured him, smiling broadly. "Quite."

Obi-Wan shook his head, his eyes wide. "You're really alone in this, Qui-Gon. I couldn't possibly." He raised his head and looked pointedly at his completely soft penis.

"That's all right, Padawan. You don't have to like it, as I've said. Just let me enjoy it."

Obi-Wan groaned and threw his head back on the pillow. "What's the good if I don't like it? Unless you're more sadistic than either of us thought."

Qui-Gon shrugged, holding the cruet over Obi-Wan's stomach, slowly tipping it. "I may well be. We don't know, do we?" And he poured.

Obi-Wan flinched a little, his eyes tightly closed as the tart, familiar scent of the sauce reached him. He tried not to think about the viscous, yellow substance trailing a warm, thin line down his stomach, over one hip, and then stopping in a series of droplets. Immediately Qui-Gon was on him, following the line with his mouth, licking and sucking up the sauce eagerly.

All Obi-Wan could think was 'Yellow!'

When Qui-Gon reached Obi-Wan's hip, he turned his head and nudged the flaccid cock with his nose encouragingly.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes shut tightly.

Hot breath tickled him as Qui-Gon laughed. "No fun at all."

"Not where that stuff is concerned," Obi-Wan muttered.

Qui-Gon shook his head and shifted up, kneeling between Obi-Wan's thighs. He wielded the cruet again, but Obi-Wan was steadfastly not looking, stealing all the fun out of it. Shrugging mentally, Qui-Gon leaned forward, braced his weight on one hand, and poured again.

Obi-Wan felt the stuff hit his right nipple, pooling there a moment before the trail crossed to the other side. The quickly-cooling liquid made him hitch in a breath, and he despaired that he wouldn't be able to get away from the smell of it. He willed himself to ignore it.

/It's mental. It's all in your head. That's what we're about, controlling the mind./

But then Qui-Gon's mouth descended over him again and his control softened much like his erection had. That hot tongue circled a nipple, pushing the sauce around, and it felt-- well, it felt erotic, in a weird, inexpressible way. The buttery, tangy smell was driving Obi-Wan crazy for all his efforts, but under the onslaught of tongue and slick hollandaise, his nipples hardened without him.

When the sauce was once more cleaned from his padawan's skin, Qui-Gon kept moving his mouth, kissing and biting delicately, eating the skin under the flavor he'd put there. Soon, Obi-Wan was writhing and panting, slowly and cautiously growing hard again.

Qui-Gon still held the cruet, so he leaned up. Opening his eyes in time to catch his master preparing to put more of the stuff on him, he groaned. "Please, don't."

"If I don't eat it while it's still warm, it's no good," Qui-Gon explained, and poured.

Obi-Wan noticed it was thicker now, cooler than before, but still running wetly down the sides of his penis. For good measure, Qui-Gon dribbled some extra over the head, noting with satisfaction that it twitched under the globules of sauce running down the ridge on either side.

Obi-Wan bit back a moan. It was getting cold, the sauce was, but he was firming under it. The chill on his abandoned nipples and the anticipation of the attention about to be paid to his cock was, admittedly, too exciting to ignore.

Qui-Gon's tongue pushed very slowly through the path of sauce at the base of Obi-Wan's erection. It sent rivulets of hollandaise down the sides, dripping onto the flat, smooth stomach. Obi-Wan gripped the strong leather holding his wrists and gritted his teeth. Now it was about pride: he knew his master was just waiting for the long, low moan that would tell him he'd won.

That damned tongue lapped along Obi-Wan's length, slowly, spreading the unbearably sweet ache as easily as it took up the tart sauce. Then it moved back down again, cleaning. Qui-Gon used his lips to make little pockets of suction, circling his tongue inside them to make sure not a drop was missed.

Obi-Wan's restraint snapped. Through tightly-clenched teeth he groaned out a breath, waiting for his master to take him all the way in, end the interminable teasing.

Qui-Gon didn't. He wanted more from Obi-Wan, obviously, than the responses he'd received on other nights.

Obi-Wan fought his own will. His master's tongue sent little strips of lemon-colored fire through him with every pass, shooting down his length and into his stomach, filling him with adrenaline and need. He swiped at his padawan's tense length like a cat licking cream. Obi-Wan's fingernails bit into his own palms as that hot tongue left his cock and drifted down to his stomach, catching the stray drops of sauce.

"Please," he gasped, before he could think. "Don't stop, Master, please."

It still wasn't enough. Qui-Gon climbed up over him and hovered, inches from his lips. "You know what? You can't kiss me."

"Why?" Obi-Wan asked desperately, and was answered with a chuckle.

"Because it's awful, miserable, terrible. So yellow." The master still laughed quietly, almost taunting.

Obi-Wan sank down into the pillow to better see Qui-Gon. He had a smear of creamy sauce at the corner of his mouth, and some on his chin. Now, in the darkness, it looked entirely different. Obi-Wan lunged upward, no longer caring, and swept his tongue over what he knew was a bright, obscene, distinctly yellow patch of sauce. It exploded on his tongue, tart and salty, rich and softly delicate at the same time, and he thrust up into Qui-Gon's hip, moaning into the kiss. He strained against his bonds at the same time.

Somehow, Force bless him, Qui Gon understood and knew his padawan was no longer operating out of pride or shallow desire, but need. He shifted downward and poured more sauce on.

Obi-Wan no longer cared where his tactile sensation came from. He welcomed the drizzle, he welcomed the tongue, he was positively ecstatic about the mouth over him, sucking and licking the yellow, lemony sauce from him and then taking him in all the way. He arched upward, knowing now how the hollandaise tasted, knowing his lover was enjoying the same cool, buttery tartness he had. He cried out as that long tongue swept down over him one last time before he came, thrusting into Qui-Gon's warm mouth and spilling himself up into the willing throat.

Qui-Gon swallowed, then released his lover's softening cock from his mouth. He climbed over Obi-Wan, stretching out beside him before undoing the bonds that held him.

Eagerly, Obi-Wan was swarming over his master's body. "Is there more?" he asked, examining the empty cruet that had been discarded on one edge of the bed.

Qui-Gon didn't bother to hide his pleased smugness. "No. I shall have to teach you to make it, I suppose."

His padawan began to scrape the remnants from the cruet with a long, graceful finger. "We'll have to make do, then," he suggested cheerfully, smearing the bright yellow sauce over his master's rampant erection.

He took Qui-Gon in hand before descending with his mouth.

Qui-Gon struggled to keep his demeanor cool as he entered the dining hall. He had specifically requested that the cooks provide hollandaise and had promised no small number of interplanetary favors to see that it happened.

Almost instantly he was rewarded for his trouble. It wasn't anything immediately apparent to the casual observer: of course, Qui-Gon would never put his padawan through anything so publicly humiliating.

However, his padawan didn't know it wasn't publicly humiliating.

Obi-Wan grew hard and flushed at the scent of the sauce, detected immediately on entering the hall. Then, as if that weren't enough, he grabbed a small bowl from the side table and asked the cook with apparent calm, "Can I get some extra of that?"

Qui-Gon bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling too widely. He turned to his padawan innocently and said, "Obi-Wan. I am detecting a bit of distress from you. Is everything alright?"

Obi-Wan tightened his jaw. "Just fine, Master," he said, fighting his arousal. "You should know," he added, "I have this thing for butterscotch."

End.