Love Letter VI: Iji Aijinn

by WriteStuff

Title: Love Letter VI: Iji Aijinn

Author: WriteStuff (Writestufflee AT mindspring DOT com)

Archive: Certainly on M&A. Others please request.

Pairing: Q/O, O/Bruck

Category: AU, Series, Drama

Rating: Adult

Warnings: You pays yer money and yer takes yer chances. Explicit sex between two hot guys. Life-like situations and sometimes nasty surprises. No spoilers.

Disclaimer: George's Boyz, George's Universe. Not only not making money, I'm hemorrhaging it in this endeavor.

A couple of characters from the YA Jedi Apprentice series appear or are mentioned here: Bruck Chun, Obi-Wan's tormentor; and Qui-Gon's failed apprentice, Xanatos. I don't own them, either.

Notes: 24th installment in The Long Shadow series, in The Warrior's Heart universe, (which can be found in the archives and in order at http://home.mindspring.com/~writestufflee/index.html). This story takes place toward the end of "Working Out the Kinks," when Obi-Wan is back in the field with Bruck as his partner.

The Long Shadow Series runs as follows, so far:
Love Letter I
The Long Shadow
If Memory Serve Me
Padawans and Lovers
The Amazing Adventures of Ass Master & Slut Boy
Love Letter II
Ships in the Night
Love Letter III
Spare the Rod
Auto da Fé
In Dreams Begin Responsibility
How It Begins Again
Ghosts of Futures Past
Love Letters IV & V
Mastering
Occult Matters
Comfort's Arms
Partners in Crime
Caress
Working Out the Kinks
Conjugal Relations
All the Kingdoms
Tools of the Trade
Love Letter VI
~Brief Interlude of several stories~
Away

Summary: Away on a mission, Obi-Wan writes a little slash. Unadulterated, non-plot-advancing smut.

Feedback: Any sort is a pleasure to receive if you care to give it.

Qui-Gon settled down into bed and took the letter from its envelope. Idrik had hand delivered it earlier in the day to Qui-Gon's classroom, as he did most correspondence of this type; he was fascinated in his own way as Qui-Gon was with the idea of handwritten words on paper.

"Nice stuff this is, Master Jinn," the little Lannik had said, handing over a thick, squarish envelope of what was, indeed, rather fine cream-colored paper. "Where's Master Kenobi getting this?"

"I imagine it's something from the Autarch's diplomatic suite on Aekad, Idrik. Some cultures still value fine paper and pens and writing, as you and I do. You're right: it is quite nice." Qui-Gon rubbed it between his fingers. It had a pleasant tooth that took ink beautifully, if Obi-Wan's ideograms were any indication. Qui-Gon's name was printed in Basic on the front of the envelope, but Obi-Wan's, on the back, was a sort of self-caricature made of his initials in Danjii in his idiosyncratic calligraphy style something that would be very hard to duplicate. The envelope was sealed with a blob of wax and Obi-Wan's thumbprint, to tell the recipient it had not been tampered with. Qui-Gon wondered what was so urgent and yet so private that it needed to be written down, physically sealed, and then delivered by courier.

He'd thanked Idrik and waited until he'd reached their quarters to open it, carefully sliding a thin knife under the seal to preserve it. The first few lines had dispelled his worry.

Iji Aijinn,

I'm sending this back with the courier via diplomatic pouch so it will reach you without having passed through the hands of the Autarch's censors or his nosy customs officials. I knew you'd appreciate the paper and I find I'm missing you this evening. Writing is almost as good as speaking with you, and I think you'll appreciate the contents, too.

Well, not quite, Qui-Gon had thought, but it would have to do.

I'm not sure how much longer Jicky and I will be here, hashing out the last of the Aekidian's membership agreement with the Republic, but one of the ideas they're going to have to get used to is the individual right to privacy. I've never seen so many surveillance devices in one diplomatic suite before. It was quite a good lesson for Jicky to find and disable them. We did leave a few so our hosts wouldn't feel compelled to replace them all until after we've left. But I thought the one in the bath was actually quite intrusive and rather prurient for this culture.

Especially since the other idea they're having a hard time with is equality of the sexes. Poor Jicky is absolutely fuming at the condescension she's been subjected to here. It's hard to watch, and harder still to endure, but she's certainly holding her own. Dealing with the Autarch's sons has been a trial for her all by itself. One of the youngest (who's just a bit older than she) insisted their women could not possibly ever be Jedi because females lacked the requisite intelligence. I nearly choked on my drink when she replied in an arch tone that sounded just like Bruck, "Oh, then that's extra brain tissue in your testicles then? Explains why you're always thinking with what's in your pants." I must say I'm glad she's not a bit older and still of the age that thinks boys are "gross." There might have been blood and a major diplomatic incident, otherwise. Instead, the youngest son was merely given a few things to think about and a bruised ego. I wish I could say the same for the newly appointed senator's chances. He's likely to have a rude awakening if he underestimates, say, Padme Naberrie. She'll have him for breakfast. Or more likely, chew him up and daintily spit him out before he knows what's hit him.

Qui-Gon laughed aloud, imagining Jicky's deadpan delivery. Living with two men had left her singularly unimpressed with the species and growing up as a Jedi had given her a strong sense of her own self. Diplomacy, however, was not her strong point, to say the least.

But that tale hardly warranted the caution of a diplomatic pouch. Whatever did was unlikely to be very urgent, or it would have been mentioned immediately. Qui-Gon had decided to leave the rest of the letter as a reward for completing his lesson preparation that evening and put it aside.

Now, settled in for the night, he picked it up again just before turning out the lights. He scanned the opening once more and went on:

It's not as if Aekadian females are in any way intellectually inferior. I've had several very politically astute conversations with the Autarch's wife and daughters (who eschew enrobement themselves and refuse to be sequestered; much is forgiven the rich and powerful, as always). I suspect much more of the government is run from the boudoir than their men realize or would ever admit.

As you might suspect, it's a very repressed society. Jicky appearing in "boy's clothing" was quite shocking to the diplomats I've been dealing with, though the Autarch and his court seem not the least bit fussed about it. But even they were quite scandalized when they realized she was not my daughter or younger sister (or wife! Yes, they marry them that young here, too). Apparently they fear for her virtue, which Jicky finds hilarious. Personally, I fear more for anyone intent upon it. My fellow negotiators wanted to enrobe her when she was in public, which I would not allow. We've consented to having her wear her cloak's hood up to cover what little that's left of her hair that might inflame some male with lust. I think the Council deliberately sent us here as a kind of shock tactic to see how they'd react to an unrelated mixed gender pair. If so, they've mostly passed the test, but have a long way to go yet as a society.

Because we all know they'll see far, far more exotic customs than women in men's garb and girls with weapons when they reach Coruscant. If they had an inkling of my own proclivities, there definitely would be a diplomatic incident and you might have to rescue me from execution. Again, this is far less true of the court than the diplomatic corps; I've been propositioned by both a nephew and an uncle of the current Autarch. I'm beginning to think that his reasons for joining the Republic have more to do broadening the minds of his people than with any wish to broaden its trade horizons.

Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose at that. There were not many worlds still quite that narrow-minded. Perhaps joining the Republic was, as Obi-Wan suggested, meant by their ruler to drag his people into a more tolerant frame of mind. It was a pleasure reading Obi-Wan's observations and to realize how competent he'd become on his own. He sounded confident but not arrogant about his conclusions and his reading of the nuances was, as ever, quite astute. But there was still no sign of why this particular letter had been couriered home.

That said, all this repression leaves a great deal of unresolved sexual tension floating in the air and it's making me, well, horny, in a word. I must confess that in the slower moments of negotiations, I've found myself indulging in some lurid fantasies in which you are the main attraction. The climate on Aekad takes me back a bit to Li'ir, though water is much more abundant here. As on Li'ir, this palace is full of pools and fountains and gardens with many secluded spots. There's one particular place I'd love to take you in both senses of the word.

Ah, Qui-Gon thought with some anticipation. He liked the sound of "lurid fantasies."

One corridor opens into a secluded walled garden lined with espaliered fruit trees and, on one side, a heavily shaded pergola. The grass is thick and lush as a carpet and in the middle is a small pool inhabited by a few fat and lazy fish and aerated by a gentle, burbling little fountain. In the afternoon, the garden is filled with sunlight and the water sparkles, throwing glittering sun shadows around the walls. Fragrant herbs and flowers line the stone walk that circles the garden and flowering vines climb the pergola in a riot of color and intoxicating scents. The pollinators stumble from flower to flower, positively drunken in the afternoon sun.

Qui-Gon smiled, enjoying every word and the picture they created. It wasn't often that Obi-Wan indulged his talents of observation in this way, and rarely was he so poetic. Obviously, he was intent on seduction.

First, I'd get you a little drunk, too. The Autarch has an excellent cellar, which even a poor palate like mine can appreciate, thanks to your tutoring. You, however, would be in heaven, and I suspect it would not take much persuasion to get enough in you to make you susceptible to my charms, many and varied as they are.

And here, Qui-Gon laughed aloud. "Yes, they are, my love," he said fondly, suddenly feeling Obi-Wan's absence keenly, as no doubt was intended.

And while you were a little drunk and your inhibitions were low, I would shamelessly take advantage of you. It's not Jicky's virtue that would be in any danger, but yours, my love.

Let's pretend the garden opens off a bedroom, just for the sake of privacy. Or not, if you think the danger of exposure might add a certain frisson of excitement. (Are you such an exhibitionist? I've no idea. Isn't that odd?) I'd lay you on the grass near the fountain among soft cushions, and feed you sips of wine and tidbits of spicy food between kisses, and slowly divest you of your clothing, until you were naked in the warm sun. Because, really, it's about time you were naked first, for a change. And once you were,

The paragraph broke off there, and Qui-Gon hurriedly went to the next page to learn his fate.

I would make a feast of you, starting with your mouth. I'd tip a little wine between your lips and kiss you so we both could taste it. Do you remember when we were first lovers, when one of us had come in the others mouth, we would share it in a kiss? It was such a revelation, tasting myself in your mouth, a flavor like no other, and to have you taste yourself in mine as though I were a vessel for you to drink from. There was something almost ritualistic about our lovemaking then, like the night we made love in the temple garden. Sometimes I miss those moments when you were teaching me the pleasures of control and delayed gratification. That's what I'd like the afternoon in this garden to be like. I want to make you an object of adoration, and a captive of desire, chained with nothing but my own will and yours.

Qui-Gon felt a flush rise through him as he remembered with equal pleasure those moments when they were new to each other. Though Obi-Wan had never been an innocent, he had had far less experience than Qui-Gon, as could only be the case, given the years between them. (And in this Obi-Wan had been a quick and eager student.) There had been as much pleasure in teaching him as in the learning. And Obi-Wan was right: there had been something nearly ritualistic in their lovemaking then, both because it reinforced their roles as superior and subordinate, and because Qui-Gon had felt he'd been given something almost sacred in Obi-Wan's devotion. That element had faded with Obi-Wan's knighting, as they became, overnight, peers instead of master and apprentice. And like Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon found suddenly that he missed it too.

Both the wine and the sun would warm your skin and as the sweat trickled down your neck, I would lick it away. Perhaps I'd bite a little at the soft flesh of your neck below your beard, and close my mouth over your pulse, sucking until it bruised and you bore my marks as I bear yours. I'd pour a little wine into the hollow of your throat and lap it out. I've always thought of that as a little cup, and so it would be, and just the beginning of the feast of your body. From there, I would move to the appetizers: nibbling at your collarbones, inhaling the salty musk of your armpits, and nipping the tender skin where your arm and torso join. With more kisses and the occasional nip, I would work my way over that broad chest.

There's a salty-sweet paste the Aekadians make of flowers and honey and wine and spices I'd like to dab all over your skin, especially your nipples. I'd paint you with it like a cake and lick it away with long swipes of my tongue, or suck it off your nipples. It bakes hard in the heat and turns transparent, so I'd fill your navel with it and let it harden. While we were waiting, I would use some of it to paint my name across your skin with my finger, then push it into your mouth to lick off, while I dipped your fingers into it and did the same, mixing it with the flavors of skin and sweat. When it was ready, I'd dig it out with my tongue and suck it like a hard candy, flavored with your sweat. Perhaps I'd give you a taste, or let you do the same to me. Or perhaps I'd just make you lie there and let me do the work.

But let us not neglect the wine. You look so much like some vineyard god that it seems fitting to worship you with its harvest. Kissing again, we would trade a mouthful back and forth. And very soon, I would be drunk on you.

Feeling a little drunk himself, Qui-Gon let the hand not holding Obi-Wan's letter drift down his chest, following the trail Obi-Wan described. He could almost feel Obi-Wan's fingers on him, feel the wet trail of wine across his skin, and smell it, mixed with this own arousal. His cock was very much enjoying the images Obi-Wan's surprisingly eloquent pen was presenting. The most important sex organ really is the brain, he thought with amusement, feeling himself quickly becoming hard. He kicked the covers away, settled back against the pillows, and went back to the paper in his hand, the other closing on his own cock.

By now you'd be hard, that big cock of yours arching up toward your navel, the foreskin rolling back to reveal that absurd and yet utterly fascinating ring. Some of the women here wear fine chains between the rings on their fingers and their bracelets or on state occasions, between those piercing their noses and their ears. They're quite delicate and beautiful. I've begun to think a similar set of chains between your ring and, say, a collar or a plug would be intriguing on you. Perhaps not as delicate but not too substantial, either, sparkling with blue gems to match your eyes. Are you hard yet, Qui? I am.

Hmm, where was I. Oh, yes, I'd reached your navel. Perhaps it's time I took my own clothes off.

"They'd be off a damn sight sooner if I had anything to say about it," Qui-Gon growled to himself.

I think I might tease you a little here, and stand over you with one foot on either side of you, facing away, and take off each piece of clothing slowly, dropping them to the grass beside us. First my belt, which I think I'd drag across your hips, or up between your legs, or perhaps slap your hip lightly with it. Then the sash: now, that raises so many possibilities. I could tie your hands with it. Blindfold you. Gag you no, I like having access to your mouth. Trussing you might be interesting, but not right now. We'll put it aside for later, then. I'd let the outer tunic slither down my arms and toss it aside, then slowly peel the inner one over my head and do the same with it. I'd be barefoot already, so the boots wouldn't be an issue, and I wouldn't be wearing small clothes, so when my trousers dropped slowly, of course I'd be revealing my ass bit by bit.

Then I'd kneel down and straddle you, still facing backwards, sitting high on your chest, so that when I leaned over and wrapped my hand around your cock it's such a handful, flushed and dark, the musk of your arousal like perfume to hold it still until I can bring my lips to the head, you'd have a nice view of where I know you want to be.

That image pulled a quiet whimper out of Qui-Gon before he quite knew he'd made any noise. To have that luscious, delectable ass so close--

The food here is really quite wonderful and versatile. One of the fruits I've grown quite fond of has a pulp in the middle that's almost gel-like. Cool and tangy and viscous, speckled with tiny, almost granular seeds. It retains moisture for a long time and stays quite slick even in the heat. I think before we started this, I'd break one of them open and set it within range of your hands. I think while I'm leaning over you, licking around the head of your cock and playing with that ring by slipping my tongue through it and flipping it back and forth, pursing my lips against the tip and sucking, pushing my tongue into the slit to taste you, if you could still think then, you might want to scoop up a bit of that pulp and coat your finger with it and push a bit inside me, working your finger in and out. I'll want to be quite slick and open for you because I'm going to give you a long, slow fuck, and you're going to watch me take you in.

Qui-Gon's mouth had gone dry and he'd wrapped his hand around himself and was stroking slowly. He'd scarcely realized when he'd turned the page again, or that he was panting. The scene his mind was conjuring from Obi-Wan's words had him painfully aroused.

When I could feel you were almost ready to come, I'd hold you tight at the base until you had yourself under control again. By then, if you'd been keeping up your end of the bargain, I'd have to wrap the leather tie from your hair around the base of my cock, not having your control, and I'd be ready for you. I'd rock up on my knees and hold the head of your cock against the place you'd slicked and readied, and sink down, letting you push me open, letting you inside, past the first ring of muscles, past the second and no further. And I'd hold you there, until you were begging, until you'd do anything to be all the way inside me. And if I liked what I heard, I'd sink down slowly, clutching you rhythmically as you filled me. When you were inside, I'd stop, and make you wait again. I'd hold you on the edge like that rising and falling like tides, like seasons until you were begging, pleading, threatening, bucking against me.

Qui-Gon's hand had begun moving faster and faster, tugging and squeezing himself, anticipating climax.

Then I'd pull away . . .

Qui-Gon groaned aloud, but obediently removed his hand, though he was near, so near

. . . and we'd start again. How many times could we do it, Qui? How long do you think you'd last? Could I change positions? Would you weary of the teasing and bowl me over backwards, pin me to the ground, bend me beneath you and fuck me hard and fast? Could I goad you into that?

I must admit I've had my hand down my trousers whilst I've been writing this. I'm fairly certain you have too, while reading it. Are you reading it in bed? If I close my eyes, I see your long body stretched out across the sheets, pumping your erection, flipping the ring back and forth. Don't stop on my account. Imagine yourself inside me; imagine me riding you ass-backwards; imagine watching yourself disappear into my body, the skin beneath your monogram transparent where it's being stretched with the bulk of you; imagine the scent of us in the air, mingling with the perfume of flowers, fruit, wine and spices; imagine the weight of my body on yours, the tightness of my body around you, imagine my voice saying your name, crying out--

A touch was all it took, closing his own hand around his cock. A touch and the images of Obi-Wan's words in his head, the warmth in the bond between them, even though Obi-Wan was asleep, lightyears away, so skillful was the spell he'd woven. Qui-Gon went up like a torch, shuddering, wracked with groans as though his lover were right there, right there, rising and falling, holding him inside.

It was some moments before he had the wherewithal to take up the sheets of paper again. They were a bit crumpled now, and he'd reached the last page.

Well, now that I've had a moment to collect myself, so to speak, if you haven't gone off by now, sniff here:

There was a circle on the paper around a slight discoloration. Qui-Gon held it to his nose and caught the faint scent of spunk, of Obi-Wan's spunk, and laughed.

Perhaps we'll have an opportunity to try this out some time. Perhaps you'd like me to read this to you some night when I'm home. In the meanwhile, it should provide you with some fodder for the long nights when I'm away. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

I miss you, Qui.
I'll be home soon.
All my love, Your Obi-Wan

The reason for the letter's delivery by courier explained in detail, Qui-Gon settled down to sleep, sated and drowsy, and looking forward to Obi-Wan's return.

In the morning, he placed the letter on what they'd both come to think of as the altar on their dresser beside the stone phallus, votives, and fetishes Obi-Wan had started to collect. Qui-Gon poured out a little of his favorite wine into one of the tiny basins and floated a fragrant blossom from one of his plants in it. It seemed a fitting offering to the fires of love and desire as Obi-Wan had stoked them. When he came home, there would be candles and incense and perhaps a little ritual of their own.

#END#