Master Apprentice
Archive
A Piece of Living Art
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Obi-Wan listened to the sound of leather striking flesh, felt it on his back and legs and buttocks, and struggled not to writhe under the blows. He'd been ordered to be still and silent, and he was trying his best to do so. He didn't want to displease his Master.
The bands around his wrists were chafing and his arms throbbed with the strain of their position. Overhead, the room's bright lights glared down on him, causing tiny trickles of perspiration to roll down his naked back. Other moisture ran in rivulets down his thighs, memories of what Qui-Gon had just done to him.
*Master, is it nearly over?* he wanted to ask, but he dared not. *Master, I can't stand any more of this!* he longed to shout, but his orders had been strict, his Master's glare frightening in its intensity. And so, he would stand here, still and silent, until this was done.
Obi-Wan tried to focus on other things, leaving the present moment and traveling in his mind to a time before they had come here, before Qui-Gon had been given the y'nocia drug by the head of the local tribe.
He tried to recall a time before he had become no more than an object, a piece of living art which his Master could mold and sculpt and paint with stripes borne of some drug induced nightmare. But, it was not to be. Qui-Gon's efforts were impossible to ignore, and the sound and feel of the leather on his sensitive, yielding flesh made rational thought too difficult. Finally, a seemingly endless time since Qui-Gon had begun, Obi-Wan could bear it no longer.
"Enough!" he cried out, twisting away from his tormentor, though the effort brought its own kind of pain as trembling muscles protested. To his surprise, Qui-Gon allowed it, and Obi-Wan turned, meeting Qui-Gon's eyes.
"Padawan . . ." It was a growl, and Obi-Wan shuddered at the sound of it.
"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan said, feeling as if he should kneel in contrition but uncertain his legs would allow such a move. "I just can't take any more."
With a frown, Qui-Gon nodded, laying his implements aside. "I was nearly finished," he said. "It wouldn't have taken many more strokes."
Obi-Wan felt a flush of embarrassment, as if he had somehow let his Master down. "Forgive me," he said, but he couldn't bring himself to offer more. He turned to glance over his shoulder at his abused, discolored back. "May I see it?"
Qui-Gon reached for a handheld mirror and held it up, turning it so that Obi-Wan could see the stripes on his skin. For a long moment, there was only silence.
"An interesting pattern," Obi-Wan finally said, surprised to find himself as captivated by the image as Qui-Gon apparently was. He raised his eyes to meet indigo blue ones. "Is this really what you saw in your dream?" At Qui-Gon's nod, he bit his lip. The next words were hard to say. "Would - would you like to finish it?"
A half smile was his answer. "Oh, I'd like that very much," Qui-Gon rumbled, the sound sending another shiver through Obi-Wan's naked body. The Jedi Master caught his Padawan's wrists, careful not to damage the fragile grass-reed braids that tightly encircled them, and moved the younger man back into position. He picked up his flail again, moistening the strands before adding the last few marks with a wave of his arm and a flick of his wrist. As Obi-Wan trembled, he reached out to catch one trickling drop of red on his fingertip.
"Perfect," he declared, looking at his handiwork. He caught Obi-Wan with strong hands before he could move. "Stay there for one moment more." Turning, Qui-Gon called his holo-recorder to him and captured the image for posterity. Finally, he helped his apprentice into a nearby chair.
"Are you all right, my own?" he asked, stroking sweat dampened hair off his lover's forehead.
"I will be," Obi-Wan replied. He looked at the recorder. "May I?' he said, holding out one hand.
Qui-Gon handed him the device, and Obi-Wan switched it on. "Master!" he gasped, his eyes riveted to the image. "It's incredible!" For there, recorded forever on his naked back, buttocks, and thighs, was a depiction of the planet's much revered Bird of Magic, painted with stripes and splashes of vivid color loving applied with the soft leather paintbrush.
The End
Dedication: To all the m/a authors who have teased and tormented me with their addictive WIP's and their evil cliff-hangers. You know who you are. Isn't revenge sweet? Bwahahahahaha . . .