Master Apprentice Archive Quiet Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Categories: Q/O, BDSM, PWP

Archive: yes

Feedback: yes, please

Warnings: BDSM/bondage

Disclaimers: Lucas.

Notes: Just a little thing out of nowhere. Master Ruth betaread as she does for all the MPiC fare, and this time provided the title, too.

There isn't anything on the air. There's no moisture, no wind; the night is clear and thin with stars. The deep black and blue sky between systems is wide and far, and Obi-Wan stares up into the universe with a kind of melancholy that is only solved when he's with Qui-Gon. He is with Qui-Gon now, but the melancholy won't go.

This is what comes of wondering too much, he thinks. This is what comes of not being able to let go. Sometimes, though, he finds himself deliberately not letting go, just to feel again. Just to hang onto something he shouldn't.

Everything is condoned in this universe at some point or another; the Jedi are tolerant and kind and politically neutral and ordered. Their regulations prefer that Qui-Gon is trained for this, and don't mind that he is tied up right now, on his side, ankles to wrists. Masters are bound to their padawans in many ways; this is only another of them.

He is gagged and blindfolded, silent; he hasn't fidgeted against this particular act in years. They have been here for a good while, on this quiet planet with its quiet people; they were given a Prime Minister's suite with a deep foyer perpetually full of flowers and a balcony overlooking the water. Qui-Gon has enjoyed it since day one, but never as deeply as he does when he's bound this way, still and silent.

The fidgeting stopped shortly after Obi-Wan began binding him, actually, and Obi-Wan knows that the only reason his master had ever shifted or chafed at the ropes at all had been because he was unused to the position; neither of his other padawans had bound him this way. His movement certainly had never been out of a desire to get away, and it absolutely wasn't out of any real disobedience.

Almost absently, Obi-Wan reaches over and strokes Qui-Gon's flank. "It's so quiet," he sighs, a little sadly. "How long have we been here? Three, four months? I miss the wind. I never thought about it, really. There is always wind on Coruscant, and there is none here." He talks for a little while, knowing of course that Qui-Gon cannot answer, nor would he, even without the gag.

Obi-Wan slides his hand down across one hip and to the building erection his touch creates. The power is always here, and it always lies with him, and because of it, the ennui of mission after mission lifts. He looks over at Qui-Gon, who seems to feel the shifting regard of the man who touches him. The padawan strokes idly, watching. It's been a long time since Qui-Gon stopped trying to move into this kind of touch; Obi-Wan knows it's light and maddening for a forceful, passionate man like his master, but he does not increase pressure or speed. It's not a tease; it never has been. It's simply his way.

The only sound on the air now is Qui-Gon's uneven breathing and the faint, moist sound of him trying to wet a dry mouth. Obi-Wan knows what comes next. He doesn't wait for it, doesn't even anticipate. He has long taken this for granted, this offering, and while he knows he shouldn't, he can't help it. He stops the stroking, removes his hand when Qui-Gon finally moves, inching his body uncomfortably along the wooden decking to rest his head on Obi-Wan's thigh.

Smiling, Obi-Wan unlaces his leggings, freeing himself, pushing the cloth down out of the way just enough. Qui-Gon hears, and moves closer with the cumbersome difficulty of being large and rendered nearly immobile. He leans up on one wide shoulder, and Obi-Wan takes the same measure of pity he always does and helps him get into position before ungagging him, allowing Qui-Gon to engulf the erection in front of him in moist suction.

"Ah," Obi-Wan sighs, tipping his head down to watch. He cups the back of Qui-Gon's head in his hand, just feeling. The long padawan braid brushes the side of Qui-Gon's face as he moves, and for the first time since Obi-Wan blindfolded him, the master moans. It sends a shuddering pleasure through Obi-Wan; Qui-Gon knows it, so he does it again. It is the only time they both know he won't be reprimanded for making sounds.

The padawan's hand tightens on Qui-Gon's neck, holding him, leaving him able to do nothing but suck and work his tongue, and that's enough. It sends Obi-Wan groaning into orgasm quickly, that hold he has, physical and mental. He's young, and Qui-Gon is expert; it never takes much, not like this.

Struck in a way he never has been by the ending of his strange, almost lonely meditation, Obi-Wan does something he's never done before: he leaves Qui-Gon ungagged as he reaches over with one hand to grip the master's cock again, stroking it with heavy intent that he seldom uses. Qui-Gon's face turns up questioningly, as though he can see Obi-Wan's face and would ask "why?"

"I want to hear you," Obi-Wan whispers. "I never get to hear you unless my cock is buried in your throat."

Qui-Gon is so well-trained, so expertly controlled by now that neither of them are certain he can make sounds in this context. When he was chosen, it was because of his stoic appearance in diplomacy, his warm smile in social settings and his superior grounding capability; he is as profoundly gifted in the Living Force as Obi-Wan is in the Unifying. But it was also whispered that Qui-Gon's other two padawans, one of them an excellent Jedi and the other an unfortunate mishap, had trained him well even as he'd trained them. So it was that Obi-Wan Kenobi became padawan to one of the most self-possessed Jedi in the Order.

So self-possessed is he, in fact, that at first it seems he is truly unable to work within the freedom Obi-Wan has given him. Obi-Wan can almost see his confusion as Qui-Gon opens his mouth, issuing no sound. The padawan squeezes harder, strokes faster, demands, "I want to hear you. Moan, Qui-Gon."

Finally, Qui-Gon does. It is quiet, and shaky, and sounds perplexed, and it is beautiful. Obi-Wan has never heard it this way before, unencumbered.

He strokes harder. "Again. Don't stop. I want to hear you. I know you want this--prove it."

Qui-Gon catches his breath, then, and the moan that gets out now is louder, longer, more certain of itself. He is still perfectly motionless. Obi-Wan works his hand harder, and Qui-Gon whimpers, and oh, that is a delicious noise. Then, as the padawan loosens his grip again and slows his hand, there comes a lovely, deep groan that is sweet and involuntary. Obi-Wan plays, producing the noises that he's never managed to make Qui-Gon produce before, and now he knows that it will be this much harder for the master to attain silence again. Even as he thinks it, Obi-Wan is giving the order.

"Come--quietly."

Mouth open and suddenly soundless, Qui-Gon does come, and his shuddering is completely accidental. It is somehow made more intense, this orgasm, by the allowance and then denial of sound. Obi-Wan can feel it as it coats his hand and a little of the deck, as if the intensity were carried by physical heat of the come itself.

Languidly, Obi-Wan smiles as he presents his hand to Qui-Gon's mouth. The master licks and sucks avidly, cleaning with a care that would please any padawan. When his hand is free of come, Obi-Wan silently gags Qui-Gon again, tying the knot carefully so as not to catch any of his hair in it. Then he unties the blindfold.

Qui-Gon's eyes are wide and grateful, soft with the love and devotion of a well-kept master.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" Obi-Wan whispers, still smiling. He strokes Qui-Gon's hair softly. "Yes, it was. We'll do it again."

Qui-Gon's eyes smile.

(end)