Perfect in Your Eyes

by Tem-ve H'syan

Title: Perfect in Your Eyes

Fandom: Star Wars TPM

Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Behind the closed door of their room, the word 'Master' takes on a wholly different meaning.

Notes: Written for the "humiliation (in private)" prompt on my Kink Bingo card over on Dreamwidth, this one could also conceivably have been a master/slave rolepay fic. But yes, even the humble Jedi can be humiliated
quite satisfyingly. For them.

Warnings: The prompt says it all - if humiliation squicks you, please advance with caution. In this fic, it's consensual role-play, if that helps.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of their respective creators, and no profit or infringement is intended.

The door was dialled locked; that alone should have been enough of a hint. And sure enough, when he entered, there was the candle and the collar on the table, a deliberate invitation, no, an entreaty. He had the right to refuse, of course, and he has occasionally invoked that right; there were days when even a Jedi cannot find it in himself to serve others all his waking hours. And his Master understood, of course.

His Master was the understanding kind, and revered in the Order for his uncommon level of empathy among the warren of empaths that this Temple was. Out of habit, Obi-Wan checked the shielding around their room and found it intact; freshly cast by a mind capable of far greater things than merely hiding his deepest desires.

Yes, his Master was understanding; that did not, logically, mean that he was easily understood.

And he would be lying if he'd said he'd suspected; for all that he had gotten to know his Master, he had not even been given a clue as to the depths that lay at the bottom of that steely mind, that fist-sized heart. Had not even suspected when the first cautious advances were being made, the first shy touches that led, step by barefoot step, to the committed pair relationship they maintained these days, under the wary eye of those who would term it undue attachment.

They would never find out about this side to their love, for they would surely term it the dark side. They might have noticed that Master Jinn was less easy to unbalance these days, and less given to being a thorn in their sides, but he had no reason to doubt they would put it down to Master Jinn putting his wayward mind to use in teaching a worthy student. And, as a tolerated aside, loving him in every way the word entailed.

In truth, it had taken more out of both of them to achieve this level of serenity than either of them would be willing to admit. It had taken a near-death experience on Master Jinn's part, and Obi-Wan doubted that anyone beside him knew what private misery had made Master Jinn so distracted in battle that he almost got himself skewered. It had taken many tightly shielded half-sentences, whispered at first on account of a collapsed lung, later out of habit, to even begin to understand the ingrained need that was making it hard for Master Jinn to retain his sanity sometimes. It's like my mind overflows with the responsibility, he would say, and needs clearing.

That Master Jinn's choice had fallen on him of all people to do the clearing had been a shock to him at first. But if there was anyone in the universe capable of making him understand such strange desires, and even feel them, then it was Master Jinn. His hands had a way of guiding, and his voice had a way of opening up that vast mind and exposing the messy and strangely compelling insides that Obi-Wan had only to make that first conscious step. The rest had been intuitive, in a way that only a Living Force user such as Master Jinn could experience or share.

And apparently tonight was a night Master Jinn needed to share, and clear his mind.

Obi-Wan shucked off his robe, picked up the collar in one hand and the candle in the other: their accustomed gesture of agreement. As if on cue, the quiet figure crouching in the far corner of the room raised its head, uncloaking its presence enough to be recognisable.

Obi-Wan put the candle down.

"Jinn," he said casually. "Got nothing better to do than skulk around in corners waiting for me to come home, have you? Come here." A curt hand wave had the Master rising to his feet gracefully and walking over to where Obi-Wan was still standing, collar in hand.

"Barefoot already, I see," Obi-Wan commented curtly, pushing Qui-Gon's long hair out of the way before fastening the leather strap around his throat, tightly. He felt Qui-Gon swallow, saw the faint flush rising at the base of his throat, and had to focus on pulling the hair tie out of the neatly bound-up mane just to keep his hands from caressing that face. Not yet time for that. The first few moments were always the hardest, and Qui-Gon was so much more natural at slipping into that space.

"Since you're still wearing your clothes, I assume you've been busy?" Obi-Wan asked sternly. "Anything you care to present to me now to please me, do so now."

Qui-Gon lowered his eyelashes and managed to look absurdly small for a man over a span taller than Obi-Wan (and that was spans of his own massive hands). "I've not made dinner yet, sir. I could not decide what best to please you with, so I merely awaited your return. I am prepared to do your every bidding."

"Prepared, are you?" Obi-Wan snorted, letting himself slide into the character they had both come to build, know, and love. A wicked itch started in his throat, there where that tone of voice sat, and he breathed out slowly and let it spread and pool in his groin. "What am I to do with you?" he said quietly, fingers toying with Qui-Gon's collar.

"Anything," Qui-Gon said, his eyes still lowered but his voice deep and confident. "Shape me according to your whims. Make me perfect in your eyes."

Obi-Wan's hand found its mark faster than his tongue did, and there was an odd half-second of silence while Qui-Gon's cheek reddened from the stinging slap. "You are not to demand the impossible, Jinn. Perfection is not within your reach. You can but attempt to please me, and find what solace you can in the act." Make you perfect, he thought to himself, what in the world would I want to add?

"Strip," he said out loud, "and kneel here. I want nothing between my hand and your skin."

With that, he sat down in the easy chair, gave a passing thought to at least taking his boots off, and then allowed himself to be thoroughly distracted by the sight of Master Jinn stripping. Even at his age, he was still magnificent: lean, seasoned muscle under hard-used skin, only the lines on his face and the greying hair that peppered his body betraying his advanced years.

He knelt quietly and elegantly, and when Obi-Wan placed a hand at the back of his neck and hooked a pair of fingers into the collar and pushed his head down to the ground, he went without struggle or protest, his face obscured by the fall of his long straggly hair, but Obi-Wan knew it wore the serenest of expressions. Possibly even the ghost of a smile.

He leaned back and placed a foot on Qui-Gon's upper back, felt the resistance of a body taut as a bowstring and yet soaking up the sensation almost actively. He put a little weight on the foot and watched Qui-Gon's shoulders drop even lower, hands splayed on the floor, face as low as it would go. Obi-Wan nudged the fall of thick greying hair aside with the tip of his other boot. Qui-Gon's eyes were closed but his mouth open ever so slightly. His tongue sneaked out, tentatively at first, then more purposefully, licking a short wet stripe up Obi-Wan's boot.

"Does licking my boots please you, slut?" Obi-Wan can't help the tinge of amusement in his voice because yes, 'slut' is an appropriate word for Qui-Gon Jinn in any number of circumstances. 'Giant shameless sensation-sponge' would also cover it, but not quite as concisely.

"What pleases you will please me," came the murmured answer, Qui-Gon's mouth still busy worshipping the leather of Obi-Wan's boots.

"Oh, really?" Obi-Wan replied sharply, sliding his other boot up to the back of Qui-Gon's neck and pushing him down hard, right where the collar sat, chokingly tight in this position. It didn't matter; he wouldn't be in it for long. "I could think of a few places you could lick that would please me rather more than my old boots," he continued. "Could you?"

"Yes... sir." The voice was quiet, breathy, slightly strangled, and Obi-Wan let his boot slide off Qui-Gon's neck and rest on the floor on the other side of his head, on his hair.

"Show me, then." Obi-Wan made no move to assist, and so Qui-Gon had to first extricate his hair from under Obi-Wan's boot. When he did kneel up, his face was flushed, his eyes dark, and his cock full and eager.

"Gladly, sir. Anything to please you." Blunt fingers fumbled with the fastening of Obi-Wan's leggings, eager hands pushing them and the underwear out of the way just far enough to expose his hardening cock. The next sound that came out of Qui-Gon's mouth was a muffled noise that's half groan and half contented sigh, a strange purring noise that travelled right to Obi-Wan's most sensitive spot, channelled there by a tongue that was more than eager to please.

Obi-Wan had to force himself to keep his eyes open, to take it all in - his Master, kneeling naked between his legs, thighs spread and with nary a thought for his own mighty erection, wholly focused on pleasuring Obi-Wan.

Anyone who says Master Jinn has a mouth on him has no idea what they're talking about, he thought raggedly. Between those lips, that tongue, the sheer sucking licking eagerness and the hand holding his throbbing cock in a steady grip while that mouth worked its magic, Obi-Wan had no chance. "Close," he ground out, and the fist around his cock tightened while the tongue withdrew, dancing around the tip as if to tease the orgasm out of it. "Come," he managed to gasp before going under in a powerful orgasm himself, hips pumping hotly into that iron grip.

He caught his breath just in time to see Qui-Gon pumping himself to his own orgasm - two, three hard strokes was all it took and the mouth was wide open again, on a glorious low moan, the beloved face flushed and sweaty and twisted into a grimace of sheer unbound lust. The splashes of his own semen in Qui-Gon's beard only added to the effect, and Obi-Wan felt himself twitching in time with the powerful aftershocks that rocked the man's body.

To give oneself over to sensation to such an extent is a rare gift indeed, he mused breathlessly, for what felt like the thousandth time even though it had hardly been a full year since Qui-Gon's whispered revelation had made him twist away at first, then into the vortex of sensation and release that came with the collar and the candle. I shall keep it as best I know how.

He reached for the candle and blew it out, the sharp scent of its smoke the signal for Qui-Gon to raise his eyes off the floor once again.

His hair was a mess, as was his beard, but his face shone with a quiet joy that brought a warm flush of pride to Obi-Wan's throat. Slowly, Qui-Gon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's thigh, resting his head in Obi-Wan's lap.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly.

Obi-Wan knew no words that would encompass the messy shining turmoil of feelings eddying in his heart, so he said the first that came to mind.

"Thank you, Master."

And he felt Qui-Gon smile against his thigh.