Master and Apprentice
by WriteStuff (Writestufflee@Mindspring.com)
Archive: Certainly on M&A.Others please request.
Category: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex between two hot guys.If it's not your
cup of tea, leave the pot for the rest of us.No spoilers.
Disclaimer: The characters are George Lucas's, bless him for
having such a fevered imagination, even if it's not as fevered
as mine. I should be so lucky as to make any money from writing
stuff that's this much fun to write. Unfortunately, I'm not.
Note: WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!!! RED ALERT!-- FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO'VE
BEEN READING ALONG AS I'VE BEEN WRITING: NOTE THE CHANGE IN
STORY ORDER BELOW.
Story # 10 in the Warrior's Heart series, a revision of the
original. Since I'm not keen on serials, I promise to keep the
stories complete in themselves, sans cliffhangers. If you want
to read them in story order, as opposed to the order I wrote
them in, here it is:
1. Rightful Owner
2. Crime and Punishment
3. Ecstasies
4. The Anger Exercises
5. The Geometry of Desire
6. Close Shave*
7. But for Grace
8. Give and Take
9. Meditations
10. Master & Apprentice**
11. Nomenclature
12. A Simple Twist of Fate (Not a Songfic)*
13. The Fear Exercises*
I. Ghosts and Possessions
II. Solitaire
III. Exorcism
IV. The Padawan Teaches the Master
14. Epilogue: Emancipation
*Not yet posted. Patience, Padawans.
**Note change of story order.
telepathy in //.
Summary:
Feedback: The more I gets, the more I writes, so if you like
what you read, please feed the writer.Warning: Proportion of
writing to feedback may increase exponentially, unless I go up
in flames shortly.E-mail only, please.
I. Master
Obi-Wan thought he'd never been in a hotter, more uncomfortable
climate and wondered how anyone survived here. The system was
pyrotechnically beautiful from its fringes, where they'd
reverted to normal space a short time ago. Half a dozen small
worlds orbited the binary system of Lyria, comprised of a third
magnitude yellow sun playing tug-of-war with a hot blue dwarf,
each of them leaking plasma in intricate arcs. The fourth
planet out, Li'ir, was the only one to support life and the
culture it had baked into rigidity were the Liad, cold-blooded
humanoids whose amber eyes sported nictating membranes from
evolutionary exposure to wind and sun. Jedi had been requested
to help negotiate and seal a peace agreement between the two
High Ruling Houses of NaRiid and NaMintil, the first in many
centuries, and the Council had sent Obi-Wan's Master, Qui-Gon
Jinn, and his padawan.
They had been greeted at the port with high pomp and ceremony,
lavishly and competitively dined by both Houses, and given
luxuriant if stifling quarters.
The room was both dark and close though richly decorated. The
tile mosaics on the floor were intricate and colorful and
ascended halfway up the walls to merge with similarly stunning
frescoes. Only latticework and environmental forcefield covered
the four elaborately arched windows, but not a breath of air
moved through it. Two low and generous sleeping couches were
set in the middle of the room, and around the edges of it were
deep cushions and low tables for meals and lounging as they had
done earlier over the elegant welcoming dinner. The fresher
facilities included a deep basking pool--a rare luxury on this
dry world. Beautiful quarters, Obi-Wan thought, if it weren't
for the heat.
"You'd think they were trying to roast us alive, Master. How
can you bear it?" he asked when they'd retired to the rooms
provided them by the Liad.
Qui-Gon looked almost as worn by the heat as Obi-Wan felt,
though theoretically, they were both dressed as well as the
natives for it in their light Jedi tunics and pants. The boots
and cloaks were a bit warm, though at least the hoods served to
shield them from the fierce binary suns. Obi-Wan suspected it
was something else entirely wearing at his master.
"These are their finest guest quarters, Padawan," he reminded
his apprentice a little sharply as he removed his boots. "You
should be both grateful for and gracious about the honor they
show us as Jedi. The Liad build rooms to hold the heat during
the night since they cannot regulate their own interior body
temperature, and desert land like this is frigid after sunset,
as you know. I suggest you use this as an opportunity to work
on regulating your own body temperature. You could use the
practice, Obi-Wan."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured deferentially and began
readying himself for sleep, as did Qui-Gon. At least we're
on speaking terms, Obi-Wan thought.
The five day journey out had been a tense one, although his
master had lost some of the remoteness with which he had begun
it. Since the night in the Temple gardens--an experience that
conjoined them on every level and then left them both largely
senseless and achingly separate once again in its
intensity--their only attempt at making love had been both
painful and abortive. Neither had had the courage to initiate
anything since, nor much of an opportunity to do so on the
courier ship, where every sound carried through the bulkheads
and the passenger bunks were narrow and uncomfortable, though
Obi-Wan couldn't sense where their ardor had cooled at all. As
a consequence, they had both spent a great deal of time in
meditation and studying the mission materials. The result was a
build-up of tension and frustration neither of them had
experienced since before they'd become lovers.
On his way out of the fresher, Obi-Wan knelt and ran his hand
through the basking pool's water, which was invitingly cool and
a little oily with some pleasant fragrance, leaving a dull
slippery sheen that softened the skin when it was rubbed in. He
stripped out of his shorts and slipped into the shoulder-deep
water, sighing gratefully, and considered sleeping here. A
large, irregular depression lined with more beautiful tile
work, the pool had padded edges, underwater ledges of varying
height, and a wide inner overspill trough that allowed the
occupant to float lazily with his head supported and arms
outstretched comfortably on the lip of the inner ledge. Obi-Wan
did just that.
He was, in fact, nearly asleep when Qui-Gon came into the room.
"Ah, I wondered if you'd done that," he said. "You're cheating,
Padawan."
"'A Jedi is wise to conserve his own energies by making use of
situations and objects at hand,'" Obi-Wan quote his master
primly. "Why don't you join me?"
"I was coming in to do just that. And to see if you'd drowned
yourself accidentally."
The water rippled lightly as Qui-Gon slipped carefully into the
pool and stretched out beside his apprentice.
"That's a relief," he sighed, laying his arm along Obi-Wan's
and brushing his fingers through his apprentice's short hair,
the first real sign of affection he'd enjoyed in days.
"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed sleepily, feeling more hopeful than he
had in days. "I should go to bed, but I don't think I can
move." He felt almost catatonic, wrung out by the heat, the
rich meal and the pressures of diplomatic small talk, and the
tension between them, hardly able to stay awake. Qui-Gon seemed
just as lethargic and too tired to maintain his distance.
Light from the high windows and skylights faded into night as
they lay in the pool. The water was cool but not chill and
seemed almost like salt water in its buoyancy. Obi-Wan felt
weightless, disembodied in the darkness. To anchor himself he
reached over to touch Qui-Gon, hand falling on his master's
belly, and caressed the crisp dark line of hair that ran from
navel to groin. The feel of Qui-Gon's absurdly soft skin
beneath his fingertips brought him wide awake with desire.
Obi-Wan decided he'd had about enough of celibacy, whether his
master had or not. Li'ir had a long day-night cycle and
negotiations were not due to start until late, to allow the
Jedi time to adjust to the climate and planetary
rhythms--thoughtful but unnecessary planning on the part of
their hosts. There were other uses to which the time could be
put. Something he hoped might thaw Qui-Gon's suddenly chilly
demeanor, for instance.
He knew that behind his master's usual calm and
imperturbability was the passionate nature of a man who didn't
think twice about defying the Jedi Council to do or say what he
felt was right, who would freely argue with Master Yoda in
front of anyone who cared to listen, who threw himself into
saber practice with a fervor that could beat an opponent down
with raw energy alone. He'd experienced the same raw energy,
much to his intense pleasure, when they'd become lovers. There
might be 35 years between them, but Obi-Wan had sometimes found
himself hard pressed to keep up with his master, pun intended.
But the last glimpse he had had of that passion had been
something of a disaster, leaving both of them unfulfilled and
smarting from the experience. Since then, Qui-Gon had been
distant and brooding, but unwilling to share just what it was
he was brooding about.
Though Qui-Gon had banked his passion for the moment, they
continued to share a bed--a most frustrating experience. While
Obi-Wan loved lying in Qui-Gon's arms before sleep, his hands
tangled in his master's heavy mass of hair, breathing in the
scent of their bodies, he wanted more of Qui-Gon's fire and
less of his control. Right now, after five very lonely days, he
just wanted more of Qui-Gon, period. If his master wasn't going
to make the first move, his apprentice at least had the excuse
of a 20-year-old's libido to offer in doing so himself.
And maybe it was time that the student instructed the master.
Moving so carefully that he barely disturbed the pool's waters,
he let go the sides and ducked beneath the surface, coming up
beneath his master's knees, parting them, standing between
them, shoulder-deep in water.
Qui-Gon made an interested noise but waited to see what Obi-Wan
would do next. He knew he had been cold and distant since this
journey began, but could not find it in himself to take the
risk of reaching out again and failing so disastrously. It was
not comfort enough for him to merely hold his lover at night,
or simply be in his presence, and he despised his own lack of
courage to do what needed to be done to salvage what they had.
Now he hoped his lover would.
Obi-Wan bent his head and kissed the impossibly soft, pale
flesh inside Qui-Gon's thigh, hands sliding up the back of his
legs to grip his buttocks, holding him steady in the water as
he worked his way up toward Qui-Gon's groin, then worked his
way slowly up the opposite side, nibbling, licking, biting
gently. His hands, slippery as a masseuse's in the oily water,
squeezed and kneaded, working loose the muscles that even then
were tightening. "Relax," he murmured against Qui-Gon's skin,
his hands moving up into the small of his master's back. The
older Jedi sighed quietly and let himself be buoyed by the
dense water and Obi-Wan's hands, the hands that next gently
stroked and squeezed his cock. Obi-Wan's warm breath spread
over the tip, his mouth so close that Qui-Gon could almost feel
the young man's lips. He tried to arch upward to bring it to
his apprentice's mouth, suddenly aflame with desire and need.
But Obi-Wan stood again and moved in close, holding him
motionless in the water. "You have to lie still, Qui-Gon, or
you'll have a faceful of water, and won't that spoil the
experience," the younger man chided. "Relax. Just breathe.
Trust me."
Why shouldn't I? Qui-Gon wondered uneasily. There was
something in Obi-Wan's voice that his master found a little
unsettling. Nevertheless, he did as he was told, relaxing into
the water as Obi-Wan's hands kneaded into his back and buttocks
and down the backs of his thighs and calves and finally his
feet, then slid lightly up his legs again, parting the knees
once more. The water rippled lightly as Obi-Wan sank lower in
it, brought his mouth to the soft sac tucked into his master's
groin. Qui-Gon inhaled sharply as Obi-Wan's lips and tongue
caressed him there, took him in his mouth and enveloped him in
living heat, making his cock pulse.
//Good?// He felt the light touch of Obi-Wan's mind on his own,
briefly felt his apprentice's heart clipping along with his.
//Yes, love.// He wanted to run his fingers through the young
man's bristly hair, but letting go of the pool's side would
have upset his equilibrium in the water, so he lay back again
and closed his eyes, surrendering helplessly to Obi-Wan's hands
and mouth. It was frustrating not to be able to touch him or
direct his lover, but it was distinctly pleasurable to be
relieved of the responsibility, too.
Obi-Wan's hands were stroking Qui-Gon's back with light touches
beneath the water and his mouth moved now to the older man's
cock, taking just the crown in, tongue moving over it with a
slow, pulsing pressure, alternately sucking and licking. The
hands moved slowly down his back, the tips of the fingers
running down his spine until they reached the cleft separating
the globes of Qui-Gon's muscular ass. One finger moved down
into it, found the sensitive flesh ringing the opening to his
body and stroked it until Qui-Gon thought he could hardly stand
it.
"Padawan--"
"Shhhhhh." The sound was a pulse of warm air against the tip of
his cock. "Lie still. There's no master or padawan here,
remember? Just us. Trust me," he murmured again.
Obi-Wan's mouth descended on Qui-Gon's cock again, taking him
in more deeply this time. At the same moment, one of Obi-Wan's
fingers plunged inside him and Qui-Gon cried out, fighting the
simultaneous urge to arch upward and back against his
apprentice's hand. Along with the physical sensations, Obi-Wan
opened himself up to Qui-Gon and the feedback of his own
arousal until it became an intense sort of sensory loop.
Weightless and lacking leverage, there was no movement he could
make that wouldn't ruin everything. He felt trapped and
helpless and strangely paralyzed by the pleasure, though he
was, in fact, not. Qui-Gon's heart slammed painfully against
his ribs as Obi-Wan's mouth sucked and licked and squeezed his
cock and his finger--two fingers now--moved inside him. It took
every ounce of control he had not to writhe in pleasure.
"Obi-Wan--here--" he gasped, starting to reach out with one
hand.
Obi-Wan withdrew his fingers and released Qui-Gon's cock,
giving the shaft a long, licking caress with his tongue that
made his master shudder and left him wanting more. Relax," he
murmured softly. "Don't tense up now." He pinned Qui-Gon's
wrists against the pool rim, leaned over him and covered
Qui-Gon's mouth with his own. //No talking. No instructions. My
turn.//
Breathing hard, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and let the tension
Obi-Wan had built flow out of him once more as his apprentice
kissed his way down his body, from mouth to the pulse in his
throat, and the hollow of his neck and collarbones, his chest,
his nipples, the lean, hard stomach, his navel and down again
to his straining erection. It felt-- odd, decidedly odd, to be
obeying his apprentice without question. So many years since
he'd been a padawan himself, subject utterly to his master's
commands. There was something almost humiliating about it now.
Almost, but not quite. The slick fingers slid inside him again,
moving gently in and out until the rhythm became almost
soothing, until a third finger joined the two already inside
and Obi-Wan again let him feel his own mounting excitement. He
inhaled sharply, tensing.
//Hurt?// Obi-Wan asked, not moving.
//No,// Qui-Gon replied, letting out a shaky breath. It was the
only sound in the room apart from the lapping of water and
Obi-Wan's breathing. //No. Just--unexpected. Don't stop.//
//Remember, no instructions.// Obi-Wan smiled, then leaned down
to take Qui-Gon's cock in his mouth again, letting his master
get used to the sensation inside him.
It had hurt. Why was he afraid to tell his lover that? For fear
he'd stop? He'd lied to Obi-Wan, though he was certain
apprentice knew it, from the care he was taking now. At the
same time, he'd felt such an intense surge of pleasure that it
made the intrusion not just less painful but terribly
desirable. He could still feel the places Obi-Wan's mouth had
been and wanted them there again. His groin, his whole body was
on fire, as Obi-Wan slid Qui-Gon's cock in and out of his hot,
wet mouth, sucking, holding it tight with this tongue. His own
muscles pulsed and tightened around his lover's fingers.
This wasn't like having Obi-Wan's cock inside him, or even the
foreplay to that act. It was somehow more invasive, more
aggressive--and much more intimate, as though Obi-Wan, in
taking control, were reaching inside to touch something hidden.
It made Qui-Gon feel vulnerable and open in a way he hadn't
felt in years, in a way that was somehow dangerous, but so very
desirable in its similarity to that moment of unity in the
garden. It was dangerous because disappointment was dangerous.
Ecstasy didn't visit those who never left the door open, but
neither did despair. Both were infrequent guests, and Obi-Wan
was prying that door open for them once more, had pried it open
briefly, once before, with unsettling results. Qui-Gon felt an
incipient panic at the idea. He tried to shunt it away, deflect
it and encapsulate it with his trust and love for Obi-Wan, but
he could still taste it in the backwash of his apprentice's
desire.
Obi-Wan's fingers slid in deeper, curling over his prostate,
still reaching in, and Qui-Gon cried out again and jerked
reflexively away from the rush of intensely pleasurable pain,
setting the water in the pool rippling out and back.
"Too much?" Obi-Wan whispered, kissing his stomach, dipping his
tongue into Qui-Gon's navel, licking and kissing the ridged
muscles quivering beneath the smooth skin. Whatever Obi-Wan was
seeking was very near the surface now.
"No," Qui-Gon gasped, trembling violently, on the verge of
being completely inarticulate, on the verge of weeping, shields
collapsing. Whatever control he had left was slipping, badly.
He'd suddenly ceased to care. He wanted that moment again, no
matter what the cost.
"More?"
"Yes!" Oh, gods, yes, part of him answered, praying
Obi-Wan would ignore him, as another part prayed he would not.
Obi-Wan smiled. He nearly had Qui-Gon begging now, and almost
completely subject to his whims. If he wanted more, the only
choice he had was to lie still and wait while Obi-Wan raised
the stakes, or take things--so to speak--into his own hands.
Either way, Obi-Wan knew he'd have accomplished his goal, and
broken down another barrier between them. "We'll see," he said
wickedly, and bit down hard on the tender skin inside Qui-Gon's
thigh. Qui-Gon grunted and jerked away, almost letting go of
the rim.
Obi-Wan could feel his master's confusion and emotional
disquiet wrestling with the now-paramount desire for physical
pleasure. Got you, Obi-Wan thought, trying not to smile.
He withdrew his fingers, tucked them together and carefully
maneuvered just the tips of all four a short way inside.
Qui-Gon let out a shout that echoed in the tiled room, his body
rigid with the mixture of pain and pleasure and sheer
vulnerability. He wanted the release, wanted Obi-Wan to take
the last step and lay him bare, wanted the full sensation of
that hand inside him, owning him, opening him, taking.
Now.
"Shhhhhh," Obi-Wan whispered again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to hurt you." The fingers withdrew and Qui-Gon shuddered in
frustrated desire.
"No!" he gasped, and was appalled to hear the desperation, the
pleading in his voice. "Don't stop, Love. Do it! Please, gods,
please--"
The words echoed chillingly in the small space, reverberating
longer than they should have. Obi-Wan felt cold suddenly, which
didn't seem possible in this place. He'd never seen this look
on Qui-Gon's face, this mixture of fear and desire and need.
Fear--that's what was making him cold. Qui-Gon's fear. He
hadn't wanted that. It had no place between them. He would not
be the cause of it.
"No, I'm sorry," Obi-Wan replied, shaken. "I shouldn't have--I
don't want to hurt you. But I will do this."
Some part of Qui-Gon collapsed in relief at not being forced to
cross that threshold yet. Physically, he was aching for
release, but as wonderful as it felt to have Obi-Wan's mouth
hot and tight around his cock, to have his apprentice work
eagerly to make him come, the climax was less satisfying than
it should have been. Something was absent between them and the
loss saddened him.
Obi-Wan washed his master tenderly, rubbed the sheen of oil
into his skin until it was like silk beneath his fingertips,
and toweled them both off, feeling vaguely foul somehow. He'd
let his own erection fade, unfulfilled, but it wasn't merely
unsatisfied desire that was the problem. Qui-Gon seemed
subdued, almost beaten, and not present even in the kiss they
had given one another afterwards, with the taste of Qui-Gon's
cum still in Obi-Wan's mouth. He let Qui-Gon go to his sleeping
couch alone, staying behind to meditate in the long, hot,
infernal darkness. Neither of them got much sleep.
II.Apprentice
The opening day of negotiations was mercifully brief, mere
ceremony designed to stress to both parties the serious nature
of their undertaking. It opened with a formal procession of
dignitaries into the conference room where Qui-Gon stood at the
head of the table, Obi-Wan slightly behind him as befitted a
padawan, followed by equally formal introductions and greetings
fraught with a minefield of protocol that Qui-Gon navigated
effortlessly. Following the ceremony silently, Obi-Wan was glad
he wasn't the one conducting it; there were too many verbal
traps he would have fallen right into and too many non-verbal
cues he had missed entirely. If Qui-Gon were preoccupied with
other matters, he had suppressed them completely for this part
of the day at least.
Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was far too distracted by how
handsome and dignified his master looked, standing with his
hands tucked into his robe's sleeves, silver-streaked old-
bronze hair braided tight to his scalp in deference to the heat
and falling in a long, thick tail down his back. Without his
hair framing his face, his features were even stronger, the
planes and angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharper, his nose
more aquiline, his eyes hooded under the deep brows. The Liad
were a tall and muscular people, their skin lightly scaled and
iridescent, bare skulls bisected by a flexible crest that was
often an involuntary indicator of emotion and mood. "Handsome
people much given to personal decoration," Qui-Gon had
described them, and they were handsome and highly decorated
with tattoos, jewelry, and ornamental articles of clothing. But
none was so handsome, so beautiful, really, to Obi-Wan as
Qui-Gon in his simple Jedi robes. I'm so lucky, he
thought.
He was also having some very real misgivings about what he'd
done the night before. In daylight, it seemed coldly
manipulative and more than a little cruel, and he was more than
a little disturbed that he could do something like that to
someone he loved. He'd meditated for most of the night, opening
himself to the Force and searching his feelings, and not liking
what he'd found. The truth of the matter was that he had had
only his own pleasure in mind, and not Qui-Gon's, nor his
master's dignity. He'd been selfish, and in that selfishness,
had opened himself to the Dark Side. The chill he'd felt had
been not from Qui-Gon's fear, but from his own sense of power
over his master.
Next, there was a formal surrendering of weapons--swords which
had been handed down for generations--to the Master Jedi, who
accepted them with solemnity, and turned them over to Obi-Wan
for safekeeping with equal gravity. The blades were beautifully
crafted and very old, and it was hard not to admire them both
as weapons and simply as objects. Obi-Wan had to remind himself
that, unlike his own lightsaber, these weapons had been used
for more than defense. The Liad had moved far beyond the heavy
double- edged sabers they handed over, into devastating energy
weapons that had left visible scars on the graceful pastel
buildings of the largest city-state where the treaty was being
hammered out, but the archaic weapons they surrendered carried
a weighty symbolism that was more important than their relative
deadliness.
Afterwards, Qui-Gon gave a short speech on the nobility of
pursuing peace, encouraging each side to negotiate in good
faith. The senior diplomats from each house replied in kind,
praising their old enemies for courage and craftiness and each
declaring it was time to pursue the mutual benefits of those
traits and build a bond of trust.
Then, of course, there was more food, and more casual but still
somewhat fraught conversation, and a long, leisurely lounging
period during which intoxicants of various sorts made the
rounds and were ingested in various ways. Qui-Gon stayed for a
time, politely refusing the liquor and euphorics but pointing
them out to Obi-Wan as they were passed around, and explaining
the effects of each. Obi-Wan knew his master wasn't averse to
any of them, and wouldn't object to him trying one or two,
since by now he had learned to metabolize such substances
rapidly, if necessary, but he decided to refrain all the same.
"How do you know all this, Master?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
"These weren't in any of the texts you had me study.
"The same way you're learning about them now, Padawan.
Experience. Why do you think a Jedi's training takes so long?"
One of the Liad passed a tray of tiny liqueur glasses holding
only a taste of some deep red fluid. "If you're going to try
something," Qui-Gon murmured in his ear, "don't bother with
this. You don't need it."
"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked.
Qui-Gon smiled, but it was a bitter one. "An aphrodisiac."
They took leave of their hosts shortly afterwards, having
neither stayed too late nor left too early. With almost
fourteen hours until dawn, Obi-Wan expected some sort of
invitation from Qui-Gon but when they entered their stifling
quarters, he merely suggested they both get some rest in view
of the long day they were facing tomorrow. He wasn't precisely
cold, but there was the same distance between them there had
been last night and on the trip out. If anything, that distance
had grown greater. A short time later, Qui-Gon was breathing
softly, asleep on his couch. Obi-Wan was not.
He lay face down on the cool tile floor, letting it suck the
heat out of his naked body. Despite the temperature of the
tiles, sweat pooled in thne's asleep. He shot Qui-Gon, wrapped
comfortably in his sheet, an envious look.
Obi-Wan shifted to a cooler spot on the floor, closed his eyes,
and cleared his mind once more, opening himself to the Force.
He let the coolness of the tiles radiate upward through his
skin, letting it creep beneath into the muscles closest to the
floor, then through his viscera and his back until he too was
radiating coolness into the stifling air of the room. This
time, he concentrated on convincing his body that this should
actually be his core temperature. Sleep settled over him a
short time later.
Unfortunately, it was as brief as it had been the previous
night as his temperature restabilized at its usual norm.
Sighing quietly with frustration, Obi-Wan got to his feet and
walked to the window, hoping for a breath of air from the
rapidly cooling sands outside.
The heat has nothing to do with why you're not sleeping, he
told himself. He was wondering, in fact, if he hadn't made a
terrible mistake the night before. All day he'd caught himself
thinking of Qui-Gon's face, the surprise and vulnerability in
it, the need and desperation and just ordinary frustration.
He'd meant to bring the act to completion last night, could
still hear Qui-Gon pleading with him to do so, could still feel
the imminent loss of control cresting in Qui-Gon, but the look
on his master's face--how unshielded and raw he suddenly
was--had stopped him. That wasn't the Qui-Gon Jinn he knew. He
wasn't sure it was the Qui-Gon he wanted to know.
Qui-Gon woke as his apprentice picked himself up off the floor
and felt a twinge of pity for him. It was unbearably hot and
Obi-Wan couldn't seem to keep his core temperature down. It
seemed cruel to allow him to continue to suffer without helping
him. They would be here some time and he needed his padawan
alert during these negotiations. He wasn't, however, certain he
was ready to face Obi-Wan alone in the middle of the night.
Last night had been not precisely a debacle, but was somehow
deeply disturbing. For the first time, Qui-Gon was having
second thoughts about the wisdom of sleeping with his padawan,
and he wasn't even sure why. Had Obi-Wan been asleep, his
master would have risen to meditate and clear his mind.
Instead, he lay awake searching his feelings about his
apprentice.
Qui-Gon wasn't sure whether he was outraged or simply
frustrated. Obi-Wan's "performance" the previous night was both
alarming and inflaming, and Qui-Gon wasn't used to being unsure
of how he felt. He was also used to being in control, making
the decisions, being the end of the responsibility chain, being
the teacher, at least in this relationship. But this new phase
of it was full of unsettling surprises, which is why he'd been
so careful. In some ways, it was as new an experience for
Qui-Gon as for his apprentice, his previous lovers having been
men and women near his own age, and none of them already
embroiled with him in a rigidly subordinate role.
How did one negotiate and set limits in bed with a subordinate?
How could one? The subordinate, by definition, wanted to
please, needed to please, to perform, to produce, to advance--a
situation rife with double entendre and innuendo, and ripe for
exploitation; the superior had to maintain a certain distance,
as well as discipline and control. Those barriers and factors
didn't belong between lovers. No wonder the Code discouraged
such liaisons. One or both of them were so easily hurt with
this kind of love between them and it just stood to rearrange
the progression somewhat: fear of pain or loss, anger at the
beloved, hate, suffering, fear of more pain. Disaster in the
making. And it was far too late to back out now. It should have
just never started, and that was Qui-Gon's fault.
Gods, I've been stupid and selfish and cowardly, Qui-Gon
thought disgustedly. It's hardly the boy's fault. It's all
so new to him.
But it was, somehow, Obi-Wan's fault, if not entirely so. His
padawan had, at some level, overstepped his bounds. In other
matters, as his apprentice grew older and became more
experienced and attuned to and wiser in the ways of the Force,
Qui-Gon had allowed him greater latitude in making his own
decisions and in participating in their missions, but he was
still a student with much to learn, and this was very new
ground for him. With this, as in all things a padawan
experienced, his master was the guide. Here, Qui-Gon had failed
his apprentice by not setting limits from the beginning.
With another lover, the vulnerability he'd felt last night
would have been a step to deepening their relationship. With
Obi-Wan, it would only grossly distort the balance of power
between them. It wasn't that Qui-Gon didn't desire it; he loved
the boy, more deeply than he'd ever loved in his life. Together
in the gardens, the Force had given them both a taste of what
they might someday have, and that was what he had been seeking
last night, what Obi-Wan had been reaching for again. He just
couldn't allow it to happen. Not now. Not at this point in
Obi-Wan's training.
And his apprentice would have nothing to say about it. There
was too much at stake beyond their relationship.
He was still Qui-Gon's apprentice, and nothing could change
that. On their first night in bed, they'd agreed to leave
"Master" and "Padawan" on the floor beside the bed and come to
it as two equals, but that wasn't really possible, Qui-Gon was
beginning to realize. They weren't suddenly different people in
bed and couldn't just shed that aspect of their lives as though
it were merely a mask or a role. He had a feeling Obi-Wan had
known this all along, consciously or not, and last night had
pushed him to test their limits. Sometimes the padawan teaches
the Master. I've been a fool, he thought, ruled by my
cock. Obi-Wan deserves better.
He should speak to the boy. Obviously, neither of them was
getting any sleep. Qui-Gon rolled over to see where his padawan
had taken himself off to and inhaled sharply, caught completely
off-guard by the sight of his apprentice standing at one of the
windows, outlined in latticed moonlight, his skin glistening
with perspiration. Qui-Gon found himself helplessly captivated
by the young man's body set out in the chiaroscuro of shadow
and light: the wide shoulders and narrow hips, the muscular
thighs and legs, the furrow of spine down his back, his
red-blond hair whitened by moonlight. His padawan braid lay
over one shoulder, though he had unfastened the ponytail for
sleeping. The loosened hair fell softly down his neck, clinging
in dark, damp tendrils to the skin. The sight made him ache
physically, and somewhere in a place he couldn't name. He
deserves better from you, old fool. Do what you must, not what
you wish.
Qui-Gon threw the sheet back and rose silently, padding
noiselessly across the cool tiles to his padawan. He caught
Obi-Wan around the waist and pulled him roughly against his
body, need and a new determination making him much less gentle
than he normally was. The young man's skin was damp and he felt
almost feverish in Qui-Gon's arms. The clean, sharp smell of
his sweat was intoxicating. He wanted to lick it from every
inch of Obi-Wan's skin. "Can't sleep, Padawan?" he murmured
into his apprentice's ear, his tongue following the whorls,
then moving downward along his clean-shaven jaw and neck,
tasting and kissing and nipping, his heart already pounding.
Qui-Gon's tongue moved over Obi-Wan's ear and down his jaw. The
embrace from behind had been a surprise--he hadn't heard his
master get out of bed--and its roughness sent a mild jolt of
something that wasn't quite fear through him. Anticipation,
perhaps. He knew Qui-Gon would never hurt him, not
intentionally, and he trusted Qui-Gon with his life, but after
last night he wasn't sure what to expect. He shuddered against
the Jedi Master's cool, naked body. "No, I can't sleep," he
said huskily. "But you were doing so quite nicely. You're like
ice."
Qui-Gon ran his hands over Obi-Wan's muscular chest and stomach
and felt him shiver, then moved down his hips, pulling the
young man more firmly against him, stiffened cock pressed
against the smooth concave curve of Obi-Wan's back. "I was," he
acknowledged, rubbing against the hot, sweat-slick skin.
Obi-Wan shuddered again, matching the older man's rhythm.
Qui-Gon reached around and took Obi-Wan's hardening cock in his
hand, stroking it to firmer life. "But there you were standing
in the moonlight, love, and I found I wanted you more than
sleep."
"Tell me what you want, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered, reaching
up to run his fingers through his master's beard.
"I want you to finish what you started last night, Obi-Wan. The
lesson was incomplete," the older man's voice was suddenly
sharp.
In the dark, Qui-Gon could only sense his apprentice's
emotions, not see them. What he felt now was shame and
apprehension. "I don't think I can," Obi-Wan said quietly,
turning his face away.
"Then I'll have to, my Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured against his
apprentice's ear, stroking Obi-Wan's back, kissing his neck
beneath the damp hair, licking the salt of sweat from his nape.
The rush of breath on Obi-Wan's skin was quick now, as quick as
his own had become.
Then Qui-Gon brought his hand away from Obi-Wan's cock and
pressed the back of his neck, not at all gently. "Down," he
ordered. Off-balance and a little confused, Obi-Wan obediently
followed the insistent pressure forward and down and reached
out to brace himself on the windowsill. Qui-Gon kicked his legs
wide with one foot, making his balance that much more
precarious. It would take some careful maneuvering to get out
of this position. Or someone's help.
One slickened finger traced the curve of Obi-Wan's ass from
scrotum backward, found his body's entrance and plunged inside.
Obi-Wan shuddered and gasped in surprise as the muscles
tightened reflexively. Qui-Gon wasn't usually so quick and or
brutal. It was a little shocking, but also arousing. The finger
withdrew, became two, and Obi-Wan bucked back against Qui-Gon's
hand, near crying out, wanting more, wanting his master inside.
"Control yourself, Padawan," Qui-Gon said sharply. "We've just
started."
Qui-Gon's other hand stroked Obi-Wan's cock until he ached to
come, then left it with just a bead of liquid at the tip,
arched and throbbing with each heartbeat. Obi-Wan whimpered in
frustration.
"What have I taught you? Forgotten it all so soon, have you?"
Bewildered by Qui-Gon's disappointed and disapproving tone,
Obi-Wan tried to sense his master's feelings, but there was a
blank wall between them, and that was even more confusing than
Qui-Gon's sudden harshness. Qui-Gon had only withheld himself
so completely once before, on a mission where they had posed as
master and slave. Obi-Wan felt as blind and wretchedly alone as
he had then. He drew a deep, shaky breath and concentrated on
dampening the sensation in his groin just enough to hold off
orgasm but not lose his erection, as Qui-Gon had taught him.
A moment later, the fingers slipped from his body and the crown
of Qui-Gon's cock, hot and slippery, pressed against that
entrance. "Let me in, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice had gone
guttural with need and desire, hard with command. It was an
order, not a plea.
Obediently, Obi-Wan willed the muscles to relax. Qui-Gon
pressed harder. It was almost painful and yet not, dancing on
the knife edge with pleasure, as the muscles stretched more
than accustomed and just the head of Qui-Gon's cock slid
inside. A surge of pure physical need roared over Obi-Wan. He
wanted to heave himself back against that hardness and feel it
all fill him, he wanted Qui-Gon's large hands on his own cock,
wanted them squeezing his balls, but the older man held him
firmly by the hips, moving his own slowly and deliberately.
"Steady, love," Qui-Gon murmured, and kissed the back of his
neck. "We've all the time we could ask."
Obi-Wan didn't know what to think, or if he could think at all.
One moment Qui-Gon was all teacher and Jedi Master, the next
the usual tender lover. Well, not entirely that lover, but a
new, more aggressive one. Oh. Look what was in the box you
opened last night, he realized. As with most things one
greatly desires, it wasn't quite what Obi-Wan thought it would
be.
His breath was harsh and loud in his own ears in between the
gasps and small cries Qui-Gon's movements drew from him.
Where does he get this control? Obi-Wan thought dimly,
stupefied by the pulse of pleasure in his groin, one
threatening to engulf him any moment. Each time they moved,
Qui-Gon thrust a little deeper, allowed Obi-Wan to move closer,
until he'd taken his master all inside, trembling eagerly. They
rocked together for a moment, Obi-Wan's legs shaking. Finally,
with a groan, his legs and arms gave, and Qui-Gon caught and
followed him down heavily, one arm wrapped around his waist,
still inside him.
On the floor, they knelt at first without moving, Obi-Wan
straddling Qui-Gon's thighs as his master massaged his
trembling leg muscles. Then Qui-Gon held him back against his
body and ran his hands in long, slow strokes down his chest and
belly, then rocked hard up against him. Obi-Wan ground himself
desperately into the thrust of his hips as Qui-Gon's hands
continued to move down his body to just above the root of his
cock. He tried to move Qui-Gon's hands to his groin, but the
Jedi Master broke his grip easily and continued to stroke him
everywhere but. "Not yet, Padawan. Wait. Slow down. Tell me
what you feel."
"You," Obi-Wan gasped. "Your hands." Qui-Gon rocked up again,
hard, making him burn and ache. "Your cock inside."
"No," Qui-Gon corrected. "You're feeling your body, not mine.
This is what I feel." And Obi-Wan was flooded with sensation:
smooth, slick skin under his hands; warmth against his chest, a
tight heat closing around his cock; hands moving over his
torso, stopping where he wanted them to go on; trembling legs;
two heartbeats, two sets of lungs breathing, Qui-Gon's and his
own filtered through Qui-Gon's perceptions so there was almost
a third person with them. And then it was gone again and he was
cut off from the man he loved in all but physical sensations.
"I can't feel you," Obi-Wan cried. "Let me."
"No," his master said. "That's a privilege, not a right,
Padawan. My gift to you and yours to me, no matter how strong
our bond. I will give it when I feel you deserve it."
What? the younger man thought, too shocked and hurt to
speak. When I deserve it? What did I--
Then Obi-Wan forgot everything as Qui-Gon's hands dropped to
his groin, stroking and squeezing his cock in time to their
movements, mirroring the tightening muscles around his own.
"Good?" Qui-Gon whispered in his ear and bit the lobe.
"Yes! Hurry," Obi-Wan gasped, and, unbelievably, Qui-Gon
stopped, rising up on his knees and, pushing his apprentice
away, nearly pulled out of him entirely. "No!" Obi-Wan moaned
in frustration and thrashed in the older man's embrace. "Hold
still!" Qui-Gon hissed through clenched teeth, one hand coming
down in a vise grip on the back of his apprentice's neck,
forcing him forward and down farther onto his elbows and knees
as Qui-Gon covered him, so much larger and stronger. Obi-Wan
could feel Qui-Gon's heart thundering against his back, like a
double heartbeat. He huddled back against it, wanting warmth
and connection, any connection.
"Hold still," Qui-Gon ordered again, stroking and squeezing
Obi-Wan's cock, slowly, teasingly, as the young man trembled
beneath him, wanting desperately to move, trying to obey and
barely able to stop himself. "Good, Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered
approvingly. Then he plunged inward again, hard, pulling back
slowly, and again, and it was all Obi-Wan could do not to
shout. All thoughts of his master's pleasure disappeared.
"Harder. Hurry," he growled, feeling as though he were going to
explode.
"Wait," Qui-Gon said, and held him there, and held him there at
the edge of orgasm, letting it build and build, making Obi-Wan
hold himself back and then feeding the fire with a quick
thrust, a squeeze, a slow stroke, all interspersed with long
pauses; with fingers that touched and probed and trailed along
his skin without regard for what he wanted or needed; with the
curtain of Qui-Gon's long, feather-soft hair falling over his
own bare shoulder, across his back, down one arm as his master
licked and kissed and bit and sucked, all the movements
stopping when his apprentice couldn't control himself. Obi-Wan
felt as if every nerve he possessed were on the verge of firing
all at once. He panted and trembled and whined under Qui-Gon's
hands and body. "Please," he moaned. "Please, Master. Please!
I'm so close-- Now! Don't--stop."
"'Stop,' Padawan?" Qui-Gon murmured in mock astonishment and,
maddeningly, did stop. "You don't want this?"
Obi-Wan cried out wordlessly, panting and squirming. "No! Don't
stop!" he gasped desperately, when he found language again. He
writhed beneath Qui-Gon, who only held him more tightly,
crushing his breath out of him until he could barely inhale,
until he was lightheaded. "Hold still, Padawan!" Qui-Gon
growled, nearly smothering him into submission. His groin ached
and throbbed painfully, he was so near coming. "No!" he gasped
again. "I can't--"
"No? You can't? You will." Qui-Gon swept his apprentice's arms
from under him, forcing him down at an even sharper angle, face
pressed to the tile floor, his wrists held tight in one hand
behind and slightly above his back, effectively immobilizing
him. "You'll do as I say, Padawan," he said harshly, jerking
his arms painfully, "feel what I want you to feel, when I want
you to, and come when I let you." Obi-Wan felt his shoulders
burning. It only sharpened the edge on his arousal.
Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's balls just to the threshold of pain.
His apprentice whimpered again, more in desperation than hurt.
"Wait." Now Qui-Gon's hand took his cock again, squeezing,
stroking the tip in circles, until Obi-Wan felt dazed and
almost paralyzed, his heart slamming against his ribs, limbs
shaking as if he were recovering from a stun charge, panting so
hard he was almost hyperventilating. "Wait, wait . . . Now,
Padawan," he said, finally--finally!-- letting go his arms and
thrusting hard and fast once and again and again into that
glove-tight passage in Obi-Wan's body.
Every nerve in him did fire then, cum spilling out across
Qui-Gon's hand and the floor. The sound that came out of him
was nearly a scream, or would have been if Qui-Gon hadn't
clamped his hand over his apprentice's mouth. "Quiet--Padawan,"
he gasped out with each violent thrust, and then came his own
low groan with the wet rush deep inside Obi-Wan.
Both their erections softening, they collapsed side by side on
the cool tiles, Qui-Gon's chest heaving, Obi-Wan still moaning
quietly, muscles quivering. Qui-Gon pulled him into a close
embrace, running one slow hand over his arm and ribs and flank.
"Did I hurt you, Padawan?" he whispered in Obi-Wan's ear,
nuzzling.
"No, Master," Obi-Wan said faintly, feeling both utterly
drained and somehow shell-shocked, now that he'd gotten what he
wanted. It was an automatic rather than a necessarily truthful
response. He lay very still in Qui-Gon's arms, as though
considering it. Truth won out a moment later. "A bit," he went
on hesitantly, and then, amending it, "I--I don't know."
Qui-Gon could feel the tension in Obi-Wan's body as he curled
around his apprentice, offering one arm as a pillow, running
long, now-gentle fingers through the short hair, flipping the
braid back and stroking the tip of it along Obi-Wan's skin.
"It's hard to tell, sometimes, isn't it, Padawan? And it feels
strange to want it when it does. We've spoken of such
vulnerability before, how neither of us can afford to have it.
You've forgotten that lately, and so have I. Be mindful of what
you ask for, and what you give that's not asked for."
Obi-Wan nodded a little, shivering, and was silent. "I didn't
think it would be like that," he said after a time.
"Is that what you wanted, Obi-Wan?" the older Jedi said gently.
"That I play the master this way? Or that you do? We can't
both, Padawan, and we can't shed our roles so easily for a few
hours. I should have known it without you having to teach me."
He kissed the back of Obi-Wan's neck again. "It's no excuse,
but this is a new experience for me, too, loving my own
padawan. I'm learning as I go along, as you are, and I'll make
mistakes. We both will. Tell me when I do. If we start playing
power games with one another without laying the ground rules
first--"
"I know," Obi-Wan said contritely. "I'm sorry. I never wanted
to hurt you. I thought--I don't know what I thought. You were
so distant, and I wanted more of who you are. I wanted what we
had in the gardens. It was stupid and cruel of me. "
"Stupid, perhaps, but not necessarily cruel. A hard lesson,
yes." He pulled Obi-Wan tightly against him again. "I wanted
you more than I've wanted anyone in a long time, last night,"
he murmured fiercely. "And I wanted what you were giving me so
badly I'd have done nearly anything to get it. That won't work
between us, Padawan. Not right now. When you've become a knight
in your own time, then, perhaps, we'll explore that avenue as
equals. But right now, I must lead, and you must obey. Your
life depends upon it, and mine. I won't risk that, even for our
love. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, feeling both chastised and
grateful and deeply touched by Qui-Gon's admission, and pleased
to know that Qui-Gon did still want him, did still love him
that much. "Thank you," he said quietly, twining his fingers
with the long ones spread across his chest.
"However," he went on, "I think that in the course of your
lesson, the top of my head may have come off. Would you look,
please, Master?"
Qui-Gon chuckled and ran his fingers through his apprentice's
short, sweat-damp hair. "No, still there, my love," he
reported, kissing the back of Obi-Wan's neck and stroking his
chest. He pulled away, out of Obi-Wan's body, drawing one last
sigh from both of them. "Now," Qui-Gon said, "after that rather
exhaustive and exhausting lesson in controlling yourself,
Padawan, come to bed and we'll see what we can do about your
feverish little body, if not your feverish little heart."
#END#
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