Shadows

by Pumpkin <apumpkin@rogers.com>



Archive: yes

Author's webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/

Category: I'm not sure exactly how to categorise this -if anyone has any suggestions...

Rating: NC17

Summary: Sex and contemplation

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

Feedback: Yes, please -any and all feedback is always appreciated Disclaimers: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm

Notes: Thank you very much to Destina for the wonderful beta.





The dark night was relieved by the light of dozens of torches placed at short intervals around the plateau. Unseen, drummers beat out a slow, intoxicating rhythm, giving the flickering darkness a pulse. The young man climbed up and knelt on a large, round stone. Around the stone, around him, were people, naked men and women decorated with dark swirls of paint. They reached toward him, pulling at his robe and tugging on his padawan braid, chanting in a language he couldn't understand. The drums pulsed around him, making him feel slow to react, like thick honey.

The robe slipped easily from his shoulders and off his arms, leaving him feeling exposed, naked, though he was not. Hands moved over his body, caressing him through the soft linen fabric of his tunic and leggings. His face was lightly touched and fingers stroked through his short, tawny hair. His boots were already missing, the stone cold and smooth against his bare feet. He was pulled to one side of the stone and a mouth covered his own, a hot, insistent tongue pressing in. He let it in with a gasp as his tunic was torn from his back and warm hands pressed along his skin.

He was shoved roughly a few feet to his right and new hands, new mouths touched him, caressed him. Moaning joined the drums and chanting as his nipples were pinched, bit, licked, sucked and he trembled as he felt his cock begin to stir, growing with each anonymous touch. He closed his eyes against the faces distorted by paint and the moving torchlight, but opened them again as he was passed along, feeling vulnerable.

These new hands tore at his leggings, exposing him to the cool night air. The pace of the drumming increased slightly, still slow it crawled along his spine, throbbing at the base of his neck. Breasts were rubbed against his chest, nipples teasing his own. His face was pulled down and a cock rubbed along his cheeks and pressed against but not into his lips.

Passed again to the next set of hands, more mouths and breasts and cocks pressed against him. Fingers fondled his testicles, gripping his cock and pumping with the same irresistible rhythm as the drums, which seemed now to throb within his skin. He came, the noise he made swallowed by a mouth, the chanting and beating unbroken by his shout. Sticky and wet, his own ejaculate was spread over his chest.

On to the next group, his knees growing numb from the cold stone, new mouths and hands reached out to him. Another cock rubbed along his arms and hands again gripped his penis, pulling it to hardness to the pulsing rhythm that surrounded them all. Twice more he was made to come, the cooling liquid spread over his body as he was passed around the stone. The painted faces of the men and women who touched him were all the same in the flickering half-light, their eyes dark and unfocussed. Even their hands felt all the same -smooth, warm, equally arousing and invasive.

Another cry was swallowed as fingers pushed his semen into his body. His virgin opening was stretched and lubricated, the blunt fingers felt impossibly large as they breached him. He was shoved into the centre of the stone, their willing sacrifice, still on his knees and he shivered as a breeze blew over his wet skin, coldly caressing him. The chanting changed then as the drumming beat pulsed faster. All heads turned to look toward the edge of the plateau.

A flare of light revealed a robed figure. With little ceremony the robe was dropped to expose the form of a man. The chanting changed again as he stalked slowly to the stone, long hair blown back from a bearded face. Tall, muscular, he moved with easy grace. Reaching the edge of the table he stopped, eyes locked onto the young man's. He threw his head back and roared, the sound primitive, possessive above the pulse of drums and moan of chants.

A single leap brought him up onto the stone slab and the young man reared back slightly, moving awkwardly backward on his knees as the man stalked forward. Reaching him easily the man pushed, shoving the youth's shoulders and he fell, sprawling onto his back. The stone was colder than the air had been, shocking him.

The people around the table began to bang on it in time with the drum, lending an urgency to the beat and the youth shuddered as the man went to his hands and knees and lowered his head, sniffing. His hair trailed along the young man's skin as he scented, starting at the youth's feet and working his way up, but no other part of him touched the youth. Crouched over the young man, he threw his head back and howled before lowering his face and licking from the youth's left hip up over the planes of his flat stomach, along his chest to his right shoulder, tongue hot and barely textured, soft. The man licked his lips, which glistened with come.

Crouching, feet to either side of the youth's hips, the man began to fist his own erection, drawing all eyes to the length of it. The youth swallowed, unable to take his eyes from the slow push and pull of the man's hand. The beat of the drum sped slightly, the man matching the rhythm. The young man felt the beat pulse inside him, his body throbbing with it where it had been breached. The man watched him, even as his face became tight with his own pleasure. He growled as he came, the streams of fluid hot against the young man's body, hitting him in the face.

The man reached out a finger and smeared his come over the youth's lips. The young man couldn't help but flick out his tongue to taste. The crowd around them shouted and the man moved back, kneeling at the youth's feet, his knees spread wide, his cock still full and hard.

The people surged forward, grabbing hold of the young man, easily lifting him. He swallowed as the beating drum increased, the chanting become louder, more urgent. Ass raised, legs pulled apart by the hands holding him, the people holding him moved him forward until he could feel the hot, hard head of the man's cock press against his opening. The chanting increased in volume, the drumming sped, the noise rising around them until it climaxed and the abrupt silence seemed loud. The youth was moved forward and he screamed as the man's cock was plunged into his willing body. Everything froze for a moment. The drums and voices silenced while the youth was held suspended above the stone, his body impaled by the man's large phallus. He could feel it pulsing within him. He watched as the man slowly reached out a hand and touched the tips of his own and then the youth's nipples and then pressed against the top of the young man's cock. The youth jerked, body spasming as he came. He could feel the pulsing throb of the man's cock as he came as well.

The drumming began again, a quick, throbbing beat and the youth gasped as the people moved him until the man's cock almost slipped from his body and then forward until he was fully filled again. Back and forth, faster and faster as the beat of the drum led them. The youth could feel their arousal, could feel the way it fed into his own, into the man he was being fucked on. It grew and grew, building within and without, the drums speeding, the beat coming faster and faster until with a united scream they all came, the climax passing through and around each one of them.




Qui-Gon woke, his own scream ringing in his ears. He lay there, watching the shadows move along the wall as his breathing calmed, his heartbeat slowing. He shifted, grimacing as he became aware of the sticky mess on his belly and groin. Pushing aside the soft cotton of his sheets, Qui-Gon left his bed.

The 'fresher light seemed unusually bright after the dark and shadows of his room. Though his skin shrank from contact with the cold square of terrycloth, he cleaned himself thoroughly, wiping the ejaculate from his body.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the basin. The stark light offered his face no kindness. The small lines around his eyes had become more pronounced, joined by lines in his forehead and around his mouth. His grimace deepened them. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it, releasing his worries as he released the air from his lungs. When he opened his eyes again, the man who stared back still looked far older than Qui-Gon remembered seeing himself, but a mask of calmness had settled over his features. Just as he turned away he caught a brief flash as the light found a grey hair. That too was new, but he didn't turn back to examine the new evidence of his age.

Bypassing his bed, he strode with purpose toward the kitchen. The light there was warmer and Qui-Gon moved easily around the small room, preparing his tea with precise, even movements. Water in the kettle, kettle on the warmer, warmer turned on full. Open the tea tin, measure out the tea, dump it into the pot.

The water bubbled noisily in the kettle and Qui-Gon turned off the heat before pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves. Leaning into the steam rising from the pot, he breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the tinak and soft ming that drifted warmly up to him. He took his cup from its place by the water basin, turning it twice before placing it on the counter before him, the handle pointed toward the centre of the temple.

Qui-Gon counted out the minutes, using his exhalations to track the passing seconds. When the tea was ready he poured a small measure into his cup and swirled it twice to the right and then twice more to the left before emptying the cup into the sink. Ritual complete, he poured himself a full cup of the steaming tea and, cup in hand, he sat in the high-back chair by the window.

The sky was the total black of pre-dawn. He sat, slowly drinking his tea, watching as the inky darkness gave way to the coming light, changing first to grey and then to a yellow-tinged rose.

Putting down his empty cup, he at last turned his thoughts to the dream that had disturbed his sleep. He supposed that he should, at least, be grateful that it hadn't been another nightmare about Xanatos. But those had developed a certain comforting familiarity and he knew that they were merely the manifestations of his guilt and regret over losing his apprentice.

This...he didn't know where this new dream had come from, what it was. And the closer he tried examine the dream, the more illusory it became. The harder he tried to grab on to them, the more the images faded, twisting as though he were looking at them through water. Resolving to meditate on it and release the last of his disquiet, Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder about the young man from his dream. Who was the beautiful padawan who had so willingly offered himself? What did he represent?

End.