Master Apprentice Archive Petulant Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

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

Series: none

Categories: Q/O PWP, kink, first-time. Unapologetic smut.

Feedback: Dying for it, please. email above.

Summary: Bad Padawan. Bad.

Spoilers/Warnings: BDSM.

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

You know, I went quite schizophrenic over this piece. First they wanted to be funny. Then they wanted to be intense and serious. Then Obi-Wan wanted to be depressed and moody. It damn near turned into a choose-your-own ending. Maybe it needs to be, still. All you angstophiliacs, let me know if you want an alternate ending, 'cause I almost have one cooked up.

Credits: Bunnied, beta'ed and assisted along by Tem-ve H'syan, who empathizes with my wayward Padawan plight.

/..../ denotes thoughts. *..* denotes emphasis

"Padawan, I cannot believe you showed such little restraint in front of the Council. Do you know what Master Yoda told me after you were asked to leave?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, not caring. He rubbed at his achy head and dry eyes; the day had just been bad. This called-before-the-Council business was so terribly old. They hadn't even had a shower after getting off the bloody transport from their last assignment, and they'd spent two days draped in animal skins and dancing to three harvest moons! He smelled like a ronto. To say that the past several days hadn't gone at all the way he would have liked would be a galactic understatement.

"...come over you? You've been completely unreasonable recently. Are you listening to me?"

Obi-Wan looked up. "What did Master Yoda say, again?" He wouldn't have asked, but he had missed it entirely and was sure it would find a way to bite him on the ass later. It always did, when he tuned out on a lecture. He was too cross to care that his Master knew he hadn't been listening, and definitely too cross to care that he was sulking.

Qui-Gon leveled a glare at his Padawan. "He said that he wanted me to mete out some kind of discipline, and that if your behavior didn't improve, and immediately, the Council would reprimand you formally." He paused, narrowing his eyes and turning his face so that he looked at Obi-Wan sideways. "You've never been so ill-restrained, Obi-Wan. What is going on?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, looking up at his Master with just his eyes, his head tipped downward.

"Obi-Wan.." Qui-Gon managed to sound compassionate and threatening at the same time.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, and launched. "There has been no time for myself. Sith, there has been no time for a *bath.* I haven't got laid in two weeks-though I doubt I could pay a *prostitute* to do me right now-" He hesitated, some small part of him dimly surprised at his bluntness, then plunged forward recklessly: "The food was awful, I have a headache, and the Council always comes first. I'm *rather* tired of it." He had started out trying to keep his voice level, measured, but gave up quickly, ending on a note that was somewhere between irritated and whiny. He crossed his arms over his chest and cast his eyes down grouchily, refusing to be embarrassed about his uncharacteristic frankness.

Qui-Gon kept his expression still, knowing that to return anger in kind would only exacerbate things, but honestly, he was stunned. Obi-Wan was so much more mature than this-- *child*-- in front of him now. "Obi-Wan, you chose this."

Obi-Wan waved his hand disrespectfully, brushing off the old difficult-life speech. "Spare me, Master, please." He rose and turned to head toward the 'fresher.

Qui-Gon's eyes flashed angrily, the only indication that his restraint was completely worn through. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he rumbled, disbelief heavy in his voice, "you will *not* turn your back on me."

Obi-Wan was so far beyond caring that he glanced back over his shoulder, shot Qui-Gon a petulant look, and kept walking. He felt the thundering anger under Qui-Gon's thinning façade and experienced a second's nervousness. Perhaps he had gone too far? No. Refusing to admit the thought, he hardened his resolve. By the Sith, he *was* going to take a shower. He clenched his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw knot. He'd catch nine hells for this later, but damned if he wasn't going to get clean first.

When he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist and braid dripping, Obi-Wan felt better. And worse. He really needed to apologize to his Master: he'd gone *quite* over the top. But Qui-Gon was heading for the 'fresher, practically ducking out of the common room in his irritation. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of embarrassment. This was going to be bad. It was an ugly feeling to know that his Master was so angry that he couldn't even stand to be in the same room. Obi-Wan tentatively sent a query down the bond, and felt it batted away impatiently.

Oh, yes, no question: he was in trouble. Obi-Wan bit his lip anxiously and retreated to his room as nervousness shook through him. He dressed in sleep clothes and paced a little, wondering when Qui-Gon was going to come for him and . and what? Lecture again? No, this was far, far beyond that. He winced when thought of the way he had *turned his back* on his Master. Formal disciplinary action was certainly on the horizon. He sat on his bed for a little while, but grew increasingly anxious as he realized his Master had shielded against the bond. He rose, and began to pace again. Finally, his nerves drove him to leave his room, and he went to find Qui-Gon.

He was standing in soft, loose leggings and nothing more, gazing out his bedroom window and brushing his hair. The Coruscant sky was going pink in the sunset, and speeders and taxis rushed along traffic lanes. Obi-Wan wished he were on one of them. He found his eyes lingering inexplicably on the broad, muscular back. Oh, this was even worse than he thought. His Master always asked him to brush his hair. Obi-Wan couldn't remember the last time he hadn't, unless they had been separated. "M-master?" he fairly squeaked.

Qui-Gon turned around, and the look he gave was flat, and told nothing. Not hot, not cold, just. expressionless. He said nothing, then turned back to the window and continued brushing his hair.

Obi-Wan quivered inside. He had been expecting at least a little anger. Perhaps not a tirade; Qui-Gon wasn't given to those. But the almost-serene, measured look was positively unnerving. He tried again. "I-I just wanted to say--"

"--That you're sorry," Qui-Gon supplied for him, his voice as calm as his face had been before he'd turned away. "That it won't ever happen again. That you realize you were wrong." He sighed, displaying his bone-deep disappointment. "No, Padawan, I don't think that's going to be enough this time."

The words chilled Obi-Wan through, but he could find no reply. He bit his lower lip and glanced at the carpeting.

Qui-Gon turned back around, a curious expression on his face. He was looking at the hairbrush, studying it, and turning it over in his hand. Then he set it on the windowsill, almost wistfully. Obi-Wan was thoroughly puzzled.

"You have been acting like a child for four days, Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded morosely, staring at the floor.

"And something's going to have to be done about it."

Obi-Wan met his Master's eyes with a pained expression, but nodded again.

"And the Council is already aware of just how horribly you've acted. So we will have to make sure this is a punishment that won't be forgotten."

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded. "The Council is very good at finding punishment like that, Master," was all he could think to say. It was a shoddy, failed attempt at humor. Qui-Gon snorted.

"Oh, no," Qui-Gon's voice had gone very dangerously quiet, and he moved toward Obi-Wan. "No, no. If I can't handle my own Padawan, then I might as well not keep one."

Obi-Wan blanched. "Then... wh-what.?" was all he could get out.

"You're going to have to have a spanking, Padawan," Qui-Gon informed him in that same gray, quiet voice. He had moved directly into Obi-Wan's immediate space, hovering, filling Obi-Wan's entire field of vision with intimidation and shock.

"A sp-" Obi-Wan swallowed. "Sp-" He sucked in a breath. He couldn't even say it. His chest and stomach ached with adrenaline. He looked up at his Master, whose eyes now carried the smallest glint of humor at the wayward Padawan's discomfiture.

Obi-Wan's breath left him in a broken whoosh of laughter. "Oh, Master-Great Sith, you scared the Force out of me. I was sure you were--"

"Serious." Qui-Gon's tone was very serious, and so, now, were his eyes. Obi-Wan's heart hammered in his chest.

"...Spanking?" he said, mouse-like, the word disappearing at the end.

Qui-Gon nodded, folding his arms over his chest and arching his eyebrows. "Yes, Obi-Wan. This is your wake-up call. You've been acting like a crèche outcast, and you're going to be punished like one."

Obi-Wan tried to find righteous indignation, but couldn't. His breath was coming fast and shallow, but he didn't feel like he was getting any air. His Master was serious about this. They stared at one another a moment, then Qui-Gon shifted and broke the spell. "We might as well get to it, Padawan."

Some part of Obi-Wan's rational mind simply wasn't willing to believe this was happening, and his eyes widened in horror. "I-- you can't-- you're not really going to...?"

Qui-Gon stared at him and patted his lap. He smiled faintly with his eyes, as though he'd just decided he found the whole thing amusing. "And take down your leggings," he added, nodding toward them.

Horrified, Obi-Wan discovered his body was moving of its own volition toward Qui-Gon. He caught himself, immediately before his Master, and shook his head, opening his hands in supplication. "Master..."

"Padawan," Qui-Gon warned, and slapped his hand down on his knee once more. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head down, disappointment shading his face again at Obi-Wan's further hesitation. "Now!" he barked.

Obi-Wan moved before he knew what he was doing, tugging down his leggings and leaving them draped around his ankles. He didn't even take time to be modest about his nudity-clearly this exercise was meant to strip him of such small luxuries as prudishness. Besides, his Master had seen him hundreds of times. the thought trailed off and he flushed.

*That* wasn't going to work. This was an entirely new world, and Obi-Wan knew it.

He placed his stomach across his Master's lap awkwardly, extending his legs and balancing on his toes and hands. His disbelief had peaked. He was numb, having trouble staying steady, and now painfully humiliated.

"This is how it's going to work," Qui-Gon said calmly, his emotions buried beneath the tone he used almost exclusively with the Council. "You're going to get a swat for each letter in your name."

Obi-Wan nearly released a sigh of relief-that wouldn't be so bad-until Qui-Gon added, "Your full name." There was a pause, and he seemed to contemplate a moment. Obi-Wan held his breath. "And I want you to detail to me *why* you're being punished. One word for each letter. So that we understand each other, and know that it won't happen again."

Obi-Wan understood the impact of how he had acted, and why that kind of behavior had to be curbed, but he craned his neck around, draping one arm on the edge of the bed to better hold his weight. He was puzzled. He wasn't sure what to make of this exercise.

"Like this," Qui-Gon said. "O." And he brought his open hand down on Obi-Wan's right cheek in a hard, ringing slap.

"Ow!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, his body jerking as he gripped the bedspread in a fist. It stung far more than he could have anticipated-his Master had huge, quick, hard hands. Obviously Obi-Wan had never fully realized *how* hard.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'obedience.' As in: you are being punished for your obvious lack of it. Understand now?"

Obi-Wan began to feel mildly irritated. "Yes, Master," he gritted, thinking this was perverse and entirely unnecessary.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes critically. "I don't think you do," he said thoughtfully. "We shall see." He almost felt sorry for his Padawan. He had released most of his ire-certainly he would never strike his Padawan in anger-but he felt enough residual irritation to fuel his thought that this was the right way to handle the situation. He squelched the vision of the sour look on Obi-Wan's face as he walked away, trying not to think about the disrespect Obi-Wan had shown to the man who was both his Master and his friend. Now was not the time. They would talk about that when this was done.

But now, Qui-Gon was well aware of Obi-Wan's tense, wounded pride and the uneven pink splotch on his skin. Otherwise, the skin was smooth and perfect. He shook his head. /Don't get carried away,/ he reprimanded himself. /This is disciplinary action./

Obi-Wan's breathing was shallow but silent as he waited.

"B," Qui-Gon announced, and slapped, harder than before, landing it directly on the warm target he had created with the first swat. Obi-Wan jerked and bit his lip, still gripping the bed, and thought in a flash of anger, /'Bastard.'/

It slipped through the training bond. He shoved his shields up forcibly, too late.

Qui-Gon reined himself in tightly. He would not succumb to anger, as his Padawan was doing. "Brat," he supplied, in a perfectly rational voice, and added, "If I am going to have to provide your explanations for you, then we'll have to repeat on the other side."

Obi-Wan forced himself calm, but there was still petulance in his tone: "I'm sorry, Master, but I fail to see--"

"*I.*" Qui-Gon said firmly, and *slapped.*

Obi-Wan hissed in a breath at the sharpness of it. It was getting worse. And he was expected to think through this? "Impudent," he said, surprising himself. That was good. "I was very impudent, Master, with you and with the Council." This could work. He decided he could play this game.

Qui-Gon hummed in his throat, releasing a sigh. He placed his hand over the warm, red place on Obi-Wan's cheek, surprising Obi-Wan with the tenderness of it. "Obi-Wan, this is going to be very difficult if you don't believe the seriousness of it."

Obi-Wan blanched as the warm place on his ass grow even more so under his Master's unmoving hand. The skin was oversensitive, and -- he swallowed -- Obi-Wan was thinking things he shouldn't be about that large hand covering his flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable all over again to believe he was draped, naked from the waist down, over his Master's lap like this. Worse, he was beginning to feel a pale red wash of arousal rush through him. He angled his neck and put his head on his forearm in shame, his fingers still holding the coverlet in a death grip.

Qui-Gon sighed, pulling his hand away from Obi-Wan's increasingly warm skin. It was a bright pink flush against a white background, and Qui-Gon had to resist the urge to touch it again. He wanted to slip his hand over Obi-Wan's flesh, feeling the cool/warm/cool contrasts in the softness of the white/pink/white expanse of skin. He closed his eyes and found resolve, from somewhere, to quit thinking this way about his apprentice.

/At least for the time being,/ he added mentally, and continued: "W." He brought his hand down, harder even than he had before. His palm and fingers were warm and stinging.

"Wa-" Obi-Wan started, gasping at the fire that now suffused his skin. "Wayward," he said quickly. He had nearly said, "Want." He gritted his teeth, hoping the slight difference in intonation had gone unnoticed. But it was true, he was growing hard now, and struggling not to shift against his Master's firm legs and the soft material they were clothed in. He hoped desperately that if he stayed still, Qui-Gon wouldn't notice his erection. He was quite sure he wasn't meant to be *enjoying* this punishment.

He focused on the angry red pain. He focused on his embarrassment, which, to his horror, was fading. He tried to prod himself into mortification again, and couldn't. His body was betraying him completely, and now, so was his mind. He realized he wanted his Master, wanted peace between them, wanted this punishment over so that he could be sure his Master wasn't angry anymore, and so that he could stop being angry at himself.

The small revelation surprised him, even as Qui-Gon said "A," and brought his hand down again in a hard blow that rocketed pain through him. Unquestionable, fiery pain. "Angry!" Obi-Wan cried out immediately, all of his will focused on not pressing his erection firmly into Qui-Gon's legs. "I acted badly, Master, because I was angry, even though-even though I had no right to be." His breathing was reduced to ragged panting as he fought for control, trying to distract himself.

Qui-Gon was too painfully aware of his own erection to notice Obi-Wan's. He was glad that his Padawan was positioned a little away from his torso, or it would be as plain as day. His hand itched and felt like he had laid it on a hot teakettle, but this had to be finished.

"N." *Slap.*

"N-naughty," was the best Obi-Wan could do, and his bit his lip as a flare of lust jolted through him at the double entendre. Now he was ashamed again, afraid his deep arousal would be discovered. What would happen then?

His shielding slipped and he clung to it almost fearfully. This was too much, too much--he couldn't be letting this happen. Why had he acted so horribly? What kind of Jedi acted like that? He tried to think ahead to the next letter, and couldn't remember what it was.

"K." *Slap.* Harder still than before, sizzling through Obi-Wan's nerves. Obi-Wan's throat ached with tension and his eyes began to burn. K? What in the galaxy started with a K? /Kiss,/ he realized, and laughed a short bark of a laugh, not nearly as terrified as he thought he should be: as the laugh jerked him, his erection shifted against Qui-Gon's leg, perfectly evident.

"Knight," Qui-Gon offered, and his voice was thick and strange. "You weren't acting like one." Obi-Wan nodded and closed his eyes tightly, pressing them against the back of his wrist.

"No, I wasn't," he agreed throatily, his voice muffled against the bed. His mind babbled, /And I'm not, now, either. I'd rather be acting like a lover--/

"E." Obi-Wan had no time, no thought to brace before the next swat landed solidly, still in the same place, the hot, red pain drawing a shudder through him as it snapped inside him and caught on all his nerves. He grunted as his teeth sank into his bottom lip again, and he no longer had the focus to maintain the veneer around his mind.

"Excuse," Obi-Wan said, his voice just above a whisper as it shook. "I have... no excuse for my behavior." But privately, he whispered, /Excited. Excellent. Exhilarated./ It dawned in his quivering thoughts that the lust could be attributed equally to Qui-Gon, whom he was distantly aware he must have wanted for a long, long time, and the pain, which was now, inexplicably, not the same pain anymore.

"N," Qui-Gon said with effort, and spanked again, his hand one great impatient burn, much like his erection. His arousal was commanding more attention than he would have liked.

"Never again," Obi-Wan promised in a whimper, breathless now. He was torn. He hated the shame at having disappointed his Master so thoroughly. And he was disturbed-- fundamentally so-- by the fact that he had begun to enjoy the physical sensation of his Master's hand landing on his bare skin. He wanted to retreat into himself and hide from it, but at the same time, he longed to embrace it.

"O." Qui-Gon brought his hand down again, sending searing hot pleasure along with the pain. Unmistakable pleasure. But before Obi-Wan could speak, he said softly, "Let's try for 'obedience' again, shall we?"

Obi-Wan nodded, and choked out the words. "Yes, Master, obedience," he promised raggedly. He didn't know what to feel anymore. He wasn't even sure he knew what was happening. This all started out so ridiculous. He couldn't imagine that he'd deserved such punishment when Qui-Gon had started. But now... now...

"B," Qui-Gon spanked. Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward uncontrollably, and Qui-Gon gasped sharply. "Beautiful," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, suddenly.

Obi-Wan's breath caught. "Beg," he rasped. He didn't know where that had come from, and didn't care. "Qui-Gon--"

"I." The last blow landed hard, too hard, and Obi-Wan lurched. A cry escaped his throat that wasn't a word. Then he stammered, "I-I'm sorry," completely out of rational thought. The fire was too intense. "Intense," he breathed, just to have one more thing to say, because he had completely forgotten the exercise. He knew he hadn't given the right words for the last few blows, but he didn't know how to correct that now. He hoped it was enough, that they were done.

His body was on fire and his mind was numb. Dully, he realized he'd been grinding his hips downward into Qui-Gon's lap, trying to ease his aching arousal. His throat was sore; he didn't know if it was because he'd been breathing so heavily or if it was the fact that he was near tears. He was ripped in too many directions to know which way to go.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered, his voice heavy. He gently placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, intending to let him know it was all right to rise. When Obi-Wan made weak, struggling motions, looking for strength that wasn't there, Qui-Gon shifted and put his arm under Obi-Wan's chest, guiding him up to a weak standing position and then bending, tugging Obi-Wan's sleep pants up around his hips. He marked the wince and hiss of pain as the fabric drew over the ravaged skin. Then he looked into Obi-Wan's eyes.

Obi-Wan's entire heart was visible in the blue-gray pools, shining with unshed tears. His lips were parted and his breath still hitched unsteadily, his face flushed and tense. But his eyes. in them, Qui-Gon saw all the pain that had flared along Obi-Wan's nerve endings. Moreover, he saw Obi-Wan's pain on realizing he had been completely out of control, completely childish. Qui-Gon saw remorse, Obi-Wan's fear that his Master might still be angry, and, yes, it was plain: desire. But the emotion that shone with the most definition was hope. Hope that he had fulfilled his part of the discipline. Hope that he hadn't been *alone* in his desire.

Qui-Gon longed to reassure his apprentice and ease the conflict between them. He wanted to sweep Obi-Wan into his arms and kiss him, express his aching need, and his sorrow at having hurt him. But he faltered, unsure. What kind of lesson would that be, then? Shaking his head, he put his hands platonically on Obi-Wan's shoulders and patted them, drawing in strength with a deep breath of air. He stroked the side of Obi-Wan's head, the heel of his hand resting on a damply flushed cheek. Obi-Wan's skin was cool against the hot, electric throbbing of his palm.

"Master." Obi-Wan breathed, his eyes large, and shivered.

The phrase 'Go to your room, now, Padawan' rose to Qui-Gon's throat but never made it out. Qui-Gon released a deep moan and closed on his Padawan's lips, plunging his tongue into Obi-Wan's mouth before he even knew what he was doing. His rational mind had just begun to protest the dangers of this kiss. It explained coolly that if something went wrong, he and his Padawan would have a very, very big problem, and furthermore, this was not a prudent time to be exploring latent sexual tension. But when Obi-Wan's tongue met his, Qui-Gon thanked his mind for its input, and shut it down.

Obi-Wan was a very good kisser.

Their lips slid over each others' wetly, tongues meeting, withdrawing, meeting again, and Obi-Wan gripped Qui-Gon's shoulders for support. His own thoughts were tumbling around randomly now. After the shock of being spanked like a child, and the much greater shock of *liking* it, being kissed like this by his venerable Master seemed to simply be one more interesting item in a very prominent day. He felt completely naked and raw, spread and vulnerable to his very core, and he couldn't find it in himself to be bothered.

Qui-Gon pulled back, his eyes shining ferally. "Obi-Wan, are you sure--"

Obi-Wan made a noise in his throat and moved forward, driving them both backward onto the bed. They landed in a creak of springs and a mutual grunt, Obi-Wan on top of his Master's body. Obi-Wan was kissing him again, demanding, holding his Master's face in his hands, and Qui-Gon's own large hands were sliding under his sleep shirt, cool demeanor and protestations out the window, somewhere over Coruscant.

Obi-Wan sat up, his hips in full contact with Qui-Gon's as he stretched and tugged the sleep shirt off of his body. Qui-Gon slid his hands over Obi-Wan's muscular torso, enamoured with the feel of muscle under skin. Obi-Wan stared down at him and felt relief mingled with his lust. They were here, doing this, and the rest would work itself out later. His awareness was pinpointed to one Moment after another, a series of immediacies strung together. His skin still burned from the spanking, but it was pushed aside as background noise to the sharp, sweet ache of his hardness against Qui-Gon's large, equally hard erection. He leaned down, pivoting his hips forward and arching into the lean, large body beneath his.

Qui-Gon reached up suddenly and held Obi-Wan's face, staring at him. He didn't move, just stared. Obi-Wan didn't ask: he'd bought enough trouble with his speech today. He received the stare and gave it back, seeing what Qui-Gon's stunned eyes were seeing: this partner in all things suddenly wrapped up with him in a brand new kind of collaboration. Qui-Gon pulled him down and kissed him again, hotly and softly at the same time. Obi-Wan ground his hips downward, sliding his cloth-covered heat against Qui-Gon's, smug to feel Qui-Gon levering his hips up. It was hot, sharp, and intense, like the stinging slaps Qui-Gon had delivered. Obi-Wan moaned at the thought, bringing his lips to Qui-Gon's neck and then biting him sharply as his pleasure built. Qui-Gon groaned and thrust his hips.

"More," Obi-Wan muttered, tearing himself from Qui-Gon's grasp and scrambling down, yanking Qui-Gon's legs onto the bed properly, then yanking his leggings off, and his own as well. The sore skin on his right cheek protested at the scrape of cloth, and he ignored it. He looked around quickly, impatiently, searching until Qui-Gon picked up on the unspoken question, flashed a ragged smile and pointed to a dresser drawer. Obi-Wan moved to it and jerked it open, retrieving the small tube. He found himself smiling at his own eager need, and at the fact that this would, some day, be very funny. In fact it would probably be so now if he didn't have a raging, almost-painful erection.

Qui-Gon shifted as Obi-Wan approached the bed, leaned up on one elbow and put his hand on Obi-Wan's hip. He pulled his Padawan sideways until they faced each other, Qui-Gon lounging, Obi-Wan standing, staring down at him. Then Qui-Gon gripped the base of Obi-Wan's shaft and sheathed him in his mouth.

Obi-Wan's eyes slid closed and a shivery moan spilled out of his throat. He didn't really notice that the lube slipped soundlessly to the floor, and he didn't notice that he wasn't on the bed, where he had planned to be. He sank his hands into Qui-Gon's hair, more to steady himself than to guide the mouth that played over his cock so expertly now. There was no guidance he could have given to improve the slick tongue wrapping itself around his head, or the depth and speed that engulfed him. He wanted to murmur something important, encouraging, or sweet, but suddenly forgot how to speak as Qui-Gon's tongue and throat worked over him. The white shine of orgasm began to build inside him, uncoiling rapidly as Qui-Gon's fingers found his sac and stroked delicately. Obi-Wan's moans turned to a stunned yelp when Qui-Gon released him and leaned over the edge of the bed, taking up the lube.

He applied it to himself quickly, almost tersely, his hands sliding over himself efficiently, spreading the slickness. Obi-Wan stared in helpless fascination, his erection aching and cold now, drying in the air. Only when Qui-Gon said his name unsteadily did he remember to move.

He straddled Qui-Gon's hips, staring down at his Master, who was reaching between Obi-Wan's legs and delicately sliding one fingertip against his opening. Obi-Wan moaned and threw his head back, bracing himself with his palms splayed on Qui-Gon's chest, rocking his hips onto the fingertip that now pressed inside him, coating him with cool wetness and teasing. It wasn't enough.

"I can't-- more," Obi-Wan demanded, pulling away from Qui-Gon's hand and grasping his large-- oh. Very large cock. He closed his eyes, drew himself up, and relaxed, guiding Qui-Gon against him, then into him slowly.

It burned like his skin did, throbbing fire. He shuddered a sigh and focused on Qui-Gon, whose eyes were tightly closed, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's folded knees.Relentlessly, Obi-Wan sank onto that rigidly thick cock under him, gasping when his ass met Qui-Gon's hips, but the seared skin was nothing to the scorching heat inside him, striking sparks as he struggled for control. It hurt but he needed it, just as he had needed it before.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan licking his lips, his breathing shallow and uneven. He reached up and touched his Padawan's cheek, trying hard not to thrust. It was good, and tight, but he knew that he would rather drop everything than hurt his Padawan further. It was a thrice-blessed event when Obi-Wan, staring down, began to rock over him.

And Qui-Gon knew, with that slick tightness wrapped so firmly around him, it was going to be over too soon. He wrapped his still-lubed hand around Obi-Wan's straining shaft, relishing the sharp gasp of pleasure. He slid his thumb over the tip, sliding it around in the wetness there, delighting in Obi-Wan's easy moans and indecision: he couldn't tell whether to move forward into the hand that stroked him, or backward onto the heat inside him. Gently, slowly, Qui-Gon pivoted his hips up, taking the decision away.

Abruptly, electricity jolted through Obi-Wan and he came with a loud, uneven cry, jerking back onto Qui-Gon and spilling himself all over the large hand and flat stomach. His panting and clenching took Qui-Gon's last thread of control and snapped it. He gripped Obi-Wan's hip with his free hand and pressed up into that dark heat, hard, and the release broke over him like water, drenching him, drowning him. It spread through him liquidly, the ache disappearing in a rush of sweetness as he came into Obi-Wan, gritting his teeth and hissing and moaning.

Gingerly, panting softly, Obi-Wan settled back onto Qui-Gon's hips, trying to relax his shaking legs and arms, his Master still sheathed firmly. "I." he began, but couldn't for the life of him think what to say.

"You're amazing," Qui-Gon told him. "I *love* you," he added, astonishment in his voice.

Obi-Wan sighed, and stared, his eyes wide and stunned and reciprocating. "All of this because I couldn't hold my tongue."

Qui-Gon pulled him down and said in a very un-Masterly tone, "Come here. I'll hold your tongue." And kissed him.

End.