Master Apprentice
Archive
Marked by Flame
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The mark on the inside of my wrist is triangular, the redness no longer as intense as in its initial angry stage. The pain has faded, too, so that now it is merely stiff and sore. It will soon be gone, and I deeply regret its passing. I wish that I could stay the healthy cells that overtake the damaged skin. I would rather keep the burn as a reminder of the journey we took that night, but I know you will not allow such self-indulgence. Still, you cannot deny me my memories, already so frequently replayed that they will remain burned into my brain cells long after the dead cells on my wrist have gone. Nor can you prevent the scar that I hope will form as an outward sign of the mark you left on me that night.
I kneel in an unfamiliar room, alone, straining to hear your approach. I wonder why you have directed me to such a remote part of the Temple, to a room unlike any I've seen in this place. It is empty but for an odd metal cabinet or table in its center. There is an unpleasant antiseptic smell. With the tile walls and floor, there is nothing here to hold warmth. I shiver from the cold, the fine hairs on my arms erect in a weak evolutionary attempt to retain the heat of my naked body. I wait, conscious of the sound of my breathing.
Finally, when I have begun to hear the blood pounding in my ears, I detect the sound of boot heels on marble, the regular rhythm of footsteps I would recognize anywhere. You stop before the door, but it is a long moment before I hear the latch. I bow my head, waiting to be addressed when you enter.
"Do you trust me, Padawan?"
I am so startled that I look up without permission. "Of course, Master!"
You stand before me, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "How much?"
I blurt out the simple truth. "With my life."
You nod, but why do your eyes question? You offer me no warmth, your voice as cold as the room. "Would you trust me with a portion of your life?"
I do not understand. "Master?"
"You may stand, Padawan, and look at me."
I comply with your direction, but I meet your eyes with difficulty. Have I given you reason to doubt my devotion? I quickly survey the last few days, but cannot find any unusual behavior between us.
"Would you trust me with a portion of your life?" you repeat. You move forward, lifting my arm, examining. "Or, more precisely, with a portion of your body?" Your hand moves up my arm to the shoulder and back down again, assessing it as if it were a cut of meat.
A part of my body? "Master, I trust you with everything that I am." I try to dissipate my confusion, but in the instant I reach to affirm my commitment, the odd medicinal smell and the sight of the metal table invade my senses. A fleeting image passes through my brain. I see a one-armed padawan struggling to keep his balance in a saber duel. A frisson of fear ignites at the base of my spine and creeps up my back.
Your piercing eyes do not miss it. You nod your head slowly. "Yes, Padawan. Tonight we shall put your certainty to the test." You gesture toward the table. "Lie down."
The metal is shockingly cold against my skin. I center myself on this unlikely bed, looking at the ceiling, unable to guess what is to happen. I have faced your tests before. While I have been challenged, sometime to my very core, I have always learned from them. Always, our commitment to each other has grown stronger.
But this is different. You seem cold and analytical, nearly ominous in your resolve. Fear threatens to take a firmer hold, but I cannot allow my imagination to take control. I take a deep breath and focus on the known to distract myself from the unknown. You are my master, whom I love more than anyone else in the universe.
"Did you prepare yourself in the manner I described?"
"Yes, Master. I bathed and shaved, and used no ointment or lotion."
"Very good." You nod sharply and begin moving with the precision I recognize as your meticulous preparation for a procedure. You access long narrow shelves that swivel out from under either side of the tabletop, and move my arms to rest on them.
The cold sterility of the room feeds my anxiety. A portion of my body? I touch your mind with mine, looking for reassurance from our bond, but your mind is closed to me. Distant.
I trust you. I do. I concentrate on my breathing.
You bend down and I hear a door in the cabinet under the table slide open. When you stand, you place a tray on another shelf that slides out from near the foot of the table. I cannot see exactly what the tray holds, but it is obviously something you have prepared in anticipation of this moment.
I lose you from my field of vision as you move across the room, and I fight not to lift my head to see what you are doing. I must lie still. I must obey. I hear a rustle of fabric and when you return, I am able to glimpse the muscles of your bare chest. You turn toward the tray and I hear the snick of a match, smell the acrid fumes of its smoke. When you at last return your attention to me, you hold a candle.
"Fire, Padawan. Do you know that fire is one of the primal fears of all sentient beings across the galaxy?"
My breath is gone. I cannot speak. Fire? I feel my guts loosen.
"Padawan, I asked you a question."
"Yes, Master." It is a barely a whisper.
"We shall test your trust tonight, with flame and consequence."
Your eyes leave mine. Oh, please, don't look away.
"Turn over."
I hesitate, wanting to understand, wanting you to tell me the test is over, but there is no compromise. Slowly I obey, but I envision myself leaping from the table and dashing to the door, running down the hallway to find someone to declare my master mad. Instead, I close my eyes and wait, concentrating on slowing my racing heartbeat.
I trust you. I do.
You tuck my braid under my shoulder and run your hand carefully over my back. You seem to be evaluating my skin for some unknown quality. I scan my memories of previous sessions. You have never tested me beyond my boundaries, but this exercise is different from the others. Never before have I felt your doubt in my capacity to endure the test. Your doubt feeds mine.
Fire. Twisting, burning flame. Images of disfigurement threaten at the edges of my inner vision, but I will not let them take shape.
"Are you ready, Padawan?"
I must be truthful. "No, Master. I am frightened."
"Some tests are difficult." Your hand rests on my shoulder, but your voice is stern. "This is a matter of trust."
You wait, allowing me to respond, but I can think of no answer.
"Shall I continue?"
What else can I say? "Yes. Master."
Icy cold liquid on my back, side to side, up and down, as if you are painting my skin. The chill permeates. A sharp odor that I should recognize, but it is as if my senses are shutting down, trying to limit the demands on my psyche.
I want to scream. What are you going to do? Tell me, tell me!
I trust you. I do.
I open my eyes, needing to see my future. You lower the candle. I feel a hot drip of wax and then the flames burst over my skin, racing across my back. I hear it more than I feel it. The whoosh of oxygen feeding flame. It takes every ounce of control I can muster not to scream. I am afraid that I will piss myself.
And then you throw a blanket over my back and it's over. It is a moment before the capacity to breathe returns and I gulp the air. I survey my senses, waiting for what I am sure must be coming, but where is the pain? Where is the agony? I feel only a tiny sting, as though the fire still burns on a small spot on my shoulder, and I realize that is where the drop of wax landed.
I tremble as the tension floods from my body, but the relief is short-lived. The test is not over. The cold liquid returns, but this time it is over my buttocks. Side to side, up to my waist and down to my thighs.
No, not there! I could tolerate it on my back, but that sensitive skin surely won't endure the flame. I open my mouth to object, but your voice rings in my mind. 'Do you trust me?' I clench my fists and close my eyes.
I do.
The hot drip of wax again and this time I cry out, a thread of anxiety escaping my lips. I close my mouth, embarrassed by the noise, holding my breath, waiting for the pain this must surely cause. Again, the audible rush and the heat spreads over my sides, and for a moment, into the crevasses of my skin, but in an instant, you throw the blanket over me, smothering the flames.
I exhale loudly, but then cannot find the air to fill my lungs. I gasp and gasp. My body starts to shake. The room darkens. I feel reality slipping away. And then you are pulling my arm, pulling me up to sit on the table, wrapping your arms around me. I cannot remember a more wonderful feeling than your skin against mine.
"Well done, my Padawan." You rock slightly from side to side, murmuring support and comfort as you hold me. "I am so proud of you. You did very well."
Gradually, my shaking stops and my breathing regains some semblance of normalcy. You stand back and look into my eyes, giving me a beautiful smile.
But it is not over for me. "I trust you, Master," I insist.
"I know you do, Padawan."
I shake my head in disagreement. "You doubted me," I object. "I saw the look in your eyes."
Before answering, you motion for me to move over and join me sitting on the table. Our legs dangle over the edge. You take my hand in yours.
"Of course I believed in you, love. If I did not believe in your trust, I would never have tested you in this way. The test was about what you believed."
"Whether I doubted my own trust in you?"
"Yes, Padawan. And if I read your reactions correctly, I think there were moments when you weren't quite sure."
I remember the fleeting visions of disfigurement, the urge to run, the knot of panic I fought to control. "Yes, Master. You're right." I turn to face you. "But now I know. I know that I trust you completely and will follow your lead no matter what may happen."
"Very good, my Padawan. It is crucial that you understand this lesson, for the life a Jedi is filled with uncertainty." Your blue eyes change from serious to loving. "I am proud of you."
You put your arm around my shoulders to pull me close, but the consequence of the fire has begun to take effect. I wince and stiffen.
"Does it hurt?" you ask, turning my shoulders to look at my back. "There's only a little redness."
"No, not really. It's just a bit sore."
"It should be gone within a day or two."
So soon. I think about what has happened in this room and the lesson you've taught me about myself, and I regret that the burn will heal so quickly. I wish for a permanent mark on my body, as there has been a permanent mark placed on my mind. This night should not fade into others so easily.
I turn toward you and ask impulsively, "Mark me, Master. Give me a lasting sign of our trust." I reach for the candle and offer it to you. "Mark me with flame."
You shake your head warily. "Padawan, the lesson is over. You did well. You mustn't be self- indulgent."
"Please, Master. You made me prove something to myself tonight. I proved that I am stronger than I think I am and that my trust in you is complete. I belong to you." I reach up to kiss you, to kiss away your doubt of this act. You respond to the touch of my lips, showing your love, but you are not persuaded.
This impetuous idea has suddenly become essential to me. I must convince you. I turn and climb onto your lap, straddling your legs so that I can look directly into your eyes. You put your arms around my waist.
"Master, I know that it may be self-indulgent, but it's common to mark important changes in life." I hold up my braid. "Even the Jedi show marks of commitment. Let this be another one. A mark that is understood only by us."
"This will be different than the test, Padawan. This will be real pain."
"I know. It's what I want. It's what I need."
You search my eyes, looking for either doubt or sincerity. Slowly, I see your acquiescence build. Finally, you agree. You take the candle in your Hand and lean forward to kiss me, placing this act within the framework of our love. "But you must choose when to stop. You must pull away when it is too much."
"Yes, Master."
"On your wrist. Hold your wrist above the flame."
I settle myself on your lap, wrapping my legs around you. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, remembering the moment when the flames first raced across my back, remembering my panic held in control by my trust in you. I then think of the second flash and your arms around me afterwards, holding me, telling me that you were proud of me.
I open my eyes and move my arm so that my wrist is over the flame. Your hand is steady holding the candle. I can feel you watching my face. My eyes are on the flame.
It is pleasantly warm at first, dispelling the chill from the room. That moment allows me to settle into my resolve. I want this desperately. The heat builds to discomfort. I concentrate on the rest of my body, on the places where your body touches mine. It is beginning to burn. I will not move my arm away, not yet. I wrap my legs more tightly around you, arching my back, pressing into you.
I close my eyes. The pain is intense now. I fight against the impulse to pull away. I want this mark. I breathe harshly. A moment more. I feel so alive.
"Padawan, enough!"
I pull closer to you, leg muscles rigid, my groin tight against yours. One more second. It hurts. It hurts! Too much. I pull my arm away and gasp for air.
I look at my wrist. It is blistered and ugly and deep enough to leave a scar, but that is exactly what I want. I look into your eyes to find worry and concern. It is you who doubts now, doubts that you have done the right thing.
"Thank you, Master," I whisper. I kiss you, a kiss that is hard and needy. I thread my hand into your hair, pulling you forward, compelling you to give me what I need. After a moment of decision, you respond.
Your kisses are insistent, your lips hungry, almost frantic. I rock against you, feeling my arousal grow, my erection quickly building. I forget the pain on my back as you wrap your arms around me, pulling me close, chests touching as you kiss my neck, trailing down to my shoulder. You thrust forward, pressing against me, and I feel your hardness through the fabric of your leggings.
The pain on my wrist swirls around the arousal until they become one. I feel my pulse beating painfully in my cock. I ache for release. I grab and pull at the muscles of your back, thrusting, feeling your hardness against mine. "Please, Master," I beg.
"Yes." Your breath is harsh. I can feel that your urgency matches mine.
You lean back and fumble with the fastenings at your waist. I kneel over your legs, allowing you room to pull your leggings down. The seconds are agonizingly long. The loss of contact with your body cuts me like a knife. "Hurry, Master," I plead.
At last you are exposed. Your beautiful cock is huge, waiting for me. "Now, Padawan!" You pull down on my hips.
I bite my lip as I sink onto you. No lubricant means another kind of pain, but it is secondary to all that has happened tonight. I desperately need you inside me. I lower my body as quickly as I can bear it, taking you in inch by inch, until I am sitting again on your lap. You moan in pleasure.
I lean back and wait, breathing into the splendid fullness of your cock within me. Then, I rise and begin moving, slowly at first, but building quickly until I am riding you with swift movements, rising and falling in a fast, demanding rhythm that rushes us toward release.
"Master!" You feel so incredibly good, your touch, your commitment, your belief in me. It rolls together into an overwhelming sensation that threatens to explode across my body. Fuck, I love you so much.
You grab at my ass, thrusting up to meet my movements. Your eyes are closed, your face contorted in passion. A tear leaks from the corner of your eye.
I feel the moment coming, the approach of our climax, proof of our journey tonight. My lips tingle and I hold my breath, riding the wave of ecstasy, holding on, one, two more thrusts at the peak, and then I shout out my release as you make your claim, shouting, "Mine! Padawan!"
And we melt into each other's arms, holding each other as we fight for air, glorying in the sheer physical contact of skin against skin, you still inside me. What would I do without this? Without you?
Your thoughts must match mine. You tip up my chin with your finger, lean down and kiss me, a slow, lingering kiss, with soft lips. "I love you, Padawan."
We took another step in our journey together that night, and then returned to everyday duties. On the third day, you sent me to the medical staff to be sure that the burn was healing properly. I wouldn't let them speed the process, although they disapproved mightily. I want to savor the memory as it mends. Savor the sensation of being so completely alive in that moment, so connected to you and to my own mind. When the burn at last fades, the scar will remain. It will always be there as a reminder. Even after you are gone, I will have your mark where you touched me, body and soul.
The End.