Archive: M/A and Mistress Nona's site are fine. Anybody else,
please ask.
Feedback: GOOD; Onlist or Off. BAD; If it's constructive, then
offlist, please. UGLY; All flames are held near and dear to my
heart. Not so, I lie. :-)
Disclaimer: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both belong to George Lucas. He
gets to do with them what he wants and call it canon. He makes
money off of them. I get to do with them what I want(like have
them practice the kama sutra's better positions). I make no
money off of them. Feh...fair enough.
Notes: First off, this is unbeta'd so go easy on me. I work
cheap, remember! The run-ons are intentional, honest. Secondly,
hey, if you can't handle the heat, stay outta this story. Fine
literature has ZERO to worry about when compared to this
diabolical piece of fluff. Remember kiddies; if you're not old
enough or suffer from either a weak heart or closed mind, run,
don't walk, away now. Consider yourself warned.
//this is bond-speak//
"This was a really bad, bad idea," grumbled Qui-Gon, talking to
himself, shaking his head. Certainly, there should have been a
better choice for a food establishment than this. Especially
since the locals who showed him to this place could have
mentioned that, after dark, it fairly mutated into a very seedy
club of some sorts. Sighing heavily, he grabbed the drinks he
had been waiting for and turned away from the order-bar to
weave his way back to the table that he shared with Obi-Wan.
Wading through the largely inebriated throng, he could already
see through the thick smoke that he had lost his seat at their
table.
"Oh yes...very bad," he continued to mutter to no one other
than his own bad judgement. What was he thinking to bring his
apprentice here at such a late hour? Irrelevant that neither of
them were sleeping well here on this hostile planet of Chelios
IV, but the negotiations that they were supposed to be
overseeing remained stalled, even after almost two weeks. These
factors, sidled with Obi-Wan's restless nature and his own
self-imposed rule of no sex until they were safely away from
here, were beginning to eat away his iron calm like acid.
Before he knew what he was agreeing to, he had caved to his
apprentice's rather substantial pouty influences for a meal
away from their stifling rooms. No matter. Negotiations
couldn't go on like this much longer. This was probably the
only chance they would have to see the small villa located so
conveniently closeby.
"Excuse me. You are in my seat," he spoke in loud even tones to
the man sitting next to his Padawan, even though he wanted to
laugh at the exasperated expression on Obi-Wan's face.
"Shove off, I saw him first." The brusque humanoid was leering
at his apprentice like he was about to jump over and grab hold
of him right there, so Qui-Gon thought it best to make a point.
Last thing they needed were problems with the locals.
"If you were to wager on that, you would lose, my friend. He's
been my apprentice for almost 10 years now." His voice
thickened with Force behind the words and dropped slightly,
"This little one is not worth your time. You will move on to
find a much more attractive partner for the evening."
"Yes...a much more attractive partner...," nodding absently,
the man stood, his leer turning quickly to a distasteful sneer.
He moved away and never questioned his own confused look.
Leaning over the table to place the drink in front of Obi-Wan,
he laughed softly at the offended look on his lover's face.
"More attractive, Master? Really? Have you spent so much time
with me that I have now become unattractive to you? Is that
your reason for no sex?" The tone was soft and humourous,
lopsided grin present, and there was a wicked little gleam in
those huge blue-green eyes. Eyes that he would usually keep
from staring into, lest he be pulled into their swirling
depths. Eyes he loved with every ounce of his being.
"Padawan, you know better. Extreme times call for extreme
measures," he chuckled, answering both questions deftly. "Drink
your kleskk and let's be on our way. To remain here any longer,
now that we've finished our meal, is only to invite disaster."
With that he tossed his mate a pointed look softened with a
humoured grin of his own.
"Stop it, Master. You act like it's all my fault. I didn't ask
him to sit down. Or the others either." Now his apprentice was
beginning to look rather sheepish as he drank deeply from his
kleskk and he was about to change topics to keep him from
blushing, but they were interrupted. Rudely interrupted.
"Well, aren't you a sight!" Now this is really getting
ridiculous, thought Qui-Gon, before realising that the large
creature standing next to the table, was staring at him and not
his much younger lover. Resigned, he was about to wave a Jedi
mind trick over the humanoid so they could finish their drinks
and be gone, but Obi-Wan managed to speak up first.
"Yes he is, but he's with me," and Qui-Gon was surprised to
hear authority and annoyance in those dulcet tones. Gaping
open-mouthed at this usually soft-spoken man, he snapped his
jaw shut in a manner most unbecoming a Jedi Master, sitting
back and crossing his arms across his wide chest. Those strong
emotions so quick to roll off of Obi-Wan were not appropriate.
Especially with a bond between them, elbeit a new one.
//Possessiveness does not become a Jedi, my young Padawan.//
Receiving only a glare from the young man, he took note of his
would be suitor. Marginally smaller than himself, almost
entirely humanoid, long dark hair, deep bronze skin; he was
actually quite comely. Qui-Gon smiled up at him, saying
nothing, noting his Padawan's reaction. Right away their guest
took that for an invitation. //NOW is a good time for you to
say something, Master. Don't just sit there!//
"Well, your company seems like he may be willing to entertain
somebody besides you, boy. I don't mind sharing if you don't,"
and the man made himself comfortable leaning on the table, no
further than a few inches from Qui-Gon's face.
And there was the inevitable leer. The leer that was usually
aimed at his Padawan but he had been on the receiving end
enough to know that they could be redirected, easily enough.
Harder to assuade was the irritation he could feel coming off
of his apprentice in waves. //Calm yourself, Obi-Wan. I can
deal with this; there is no problem here. Where is your
control?//
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd prefer not to share." Obi-Wan's
face and words were semi-passive, even if Qui-Gon could feel
the impatience directed at the man not wanting to leave the
table. And also the impatience at himself for not directing the
unwanted stranger away by now. Judging from his Padawan's
emotions, he should have put an end to this farce when the man
came to stand next to the table.
"Really? That's too bad," the man swung his gaze back to
Qui-Gon. "Your both Jedi, right? If the little one is an
apprentice then that would probably make you a Master. I've
heard that Jedi Master's can do some amasing things using the
Force. Things during sex... unimaginable," and the large dark
eyes of the man were rolling theatrically as his inhumanly long
tongue snaked out and licked underneath it's own sharp chin. Oh
yes, this definitely had to stop now. He would use one more
Jedi mind trick tonight and then he would drag his apprentice
from here, drinks be damned. Unfortunately, he felt Obi-Wan's
anger spark and blossom, and the boy's words caught him off
guard.
"Yes, Master. Would you care to show him these amasing
things you can do? I can wait in our rooms if you'd like."
There was little respect in those tones and much anger. Obi-Wan
was incensed that his Master had let this little flirtation go
on as long as it had, and he was right, Qui-Gon decided. What
he had hoped would be a lesson in humility and control for
Obi-Wan had suddenly become a lesson in their bond and the
trust and faith securing it between them.
"Padawan!" Qui-Gon's tone wasn't deceptive at all but sharper,
harsher than he had intended for the reprimand to be. Oh, only
his Obi-Wan could drag the passion from him like this and it
shamed him and angered him at the same time.
"Master, my drink is gone and I'm going to go get another,
since you will be...entertaining...your guest." He could feel
Obi-Wan slamming his shields down at that and he didn't even
wait to be dismissed, didn't even bow, just strode off in the
direction of the order-bar, leaving Qui-Gon seething. Oh, we're
going to have some serious words, apprentice mine, when we get
back to the room, he thought, watching the retreating back.
Very serious words.
"Well, he must be a handful. I'll be happy to give you a
different kind of handful, now that it seems we're finally free
to do what we want. I have a room close by. We could be there
in a few minutes." The man who's name he had never bothered to
ask, stood expectantly, and Qui-Gon stood along with him.
"Yes, you will go to your room now," crooned Qui-Gon, casually
waving a hand slightly in front of the bright gaze. "You would
rather go back to your room alone than spend the night with an
old Jedi like myself. You will say goodnight and leave."
"Yes...yes...to my room...now....," the man mumbled and turned
dazedly to walk off. "Goodnight." Qui-Gon watched him leave to
make sure he was out the door and then began to cast about the
room for his bondmate. He was more than a little surprised to
find him dancing with someone who looked almost identical to
the man he had just mind-tricked into leaving.
//Obi-Wan!// No answer. Vice tight shields. "Damn." Muttering
beneath his breath, he began to walk over to the small dance
area crowded beyond belief with mostly humanoids, some aliens,
and enough noise to deafen a Bantha. He would wait until
Obi-Wan came away from his temporary partner and then he was
going to drag him back to the room, and they were going to have
a long discussion about his Padawan's disrespectful behaviour.
Finishing his kleskk, he began to notice that it had indeed had
some effect on him. He didn't think that it was going to be
that potent, but maybe this particular kleskk juice was a
different strain than what he and Obi-Wan were used to.
Dropping the empty glass on a nearby table, he noticed Obi-Wan
waving his second glass of the bluish liquor in his hand,
taking odd sips, while he moved gently with his partner.
"Damn!" Now he didn't think that Obi-Wan was going to be in any
shape to have that talk after all. Bad enough to lecture an
ill-tempered Padawan. Worse to lecture an ill-tempered drunken
Padawan. There was no sense in it. Perhaps it should wait until
morning then, Qui-Gon considered. While he watched, Obi-Wan's
partner wrapped one long arm around the cream coloured tunic
and drop his other hand onto the front of the smooth leggings,
close to his apprentice's groin, bunching the fabric, pulling
him closer, his large dark orbs sweeping over the boys face,
down his torso, obviously visually undressing him, his lips
moving over Obi-Wan's chin, nibbling, and his Padawan seemed
oblivious to all of it, paying no mind to the hands roaming,
roving across him, the lips sucking on his neck, the incredibly
long tongue snaking it's way inside of his tunic, he was simply
swaying and drinking and.....WHAT???????
Qui-Gon's body snapped into a straight line like he'd been
whipped and his eyes focused enough to see exactly what was
happening in front of him. In front of everybody. His jaw went
slack and his vision grew fuzzy around the edges as the room
seemed to want to tilt him right off into oblivion. He whirled
to get the vision out of his mind for a moment, just a moment,
long enough to clear his grogginess and reign in his emotions
which seemed to have, all of a sudden, gone supernova...and
when he turned back, things were worse.
The humanoid had picked his Padawan, his Padawan, up off
of the floor and embraced him in his arms, so they moved
together. Obi-Wan's thighs were gripped and pulled, one at a
time, so his legs wound themselves around his partner's hips.
The other man said something to Obi-Wan and he could see the
vacant nod and then those brown leather boots that Qui-Gon
himself had picked out for his Padawan, crossed themselves
behind that detestable creature, while hands were digging into
Obi-Wan's bottom, cradling it tightly, keeping him airborne.
The Jedi Master couldn't help but notice how the man would lean
forward slightly, shifting the balance of the precious cargo in
his arms, so that he could press himself into the tight crease
between Obi-Wan's thighs.
Qui-Gon couldn't breathe. Force, he could.not.breathe! He could
only stand there. Stand there and be shocked and angry. Stand
there and, for some Force-forsaken reason, not move! He could
not get his legs to move, to carry him to the dance floor, to
pry his Obi-Wan out of those arms that were holding him, oh so
crushingly tight. Away from that mouth that mercilessly roamed
over his lover's chin, his throat, seeking his lips, but
Obi-Wan pulled his face away at that. There was no sound, no
music, only his heartbeat, thumping loudly in his head,
screaming at him to MOVE!!! He watched as a human, not much
larger than Obi-Wan, sidled up behind his apprentice on the
dance floor. Watched as he added his hands to the heady mix,
biting on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, pressing himself against
his lover's back, grinding into his Padawan's ass......
With that, the sound came rushing back into him, through him,
deafening him, and he vaguely considered covering his ears as
he realised that he was reaching for his Padawan. He had jerked
the smaller man away from Obi-Wan first and when he had done
that, the original dance partner fell away almost as quick,
seeing the dangerous look in his eyes. Obi-Wan almost fell when
he was released but Qui-Gon showed him no mercy. Nobody paid
any mind at all as he latched on to one of Obi-Wan's wrists in
a bone shattering grip, yanking him along behind, never
bothering to look his lover in the face.
Anger, oh too much anger. He consciously began to recite the
Codes on Anger and it seemed to help a bit. He must have pulled
Obi-Wan the entire way back to their rooms, and thank the Force
that it wasn't that far of a walk, but he couldn't remember if
anything was said on the way back. Did he say anything to
Obi-Wan? Had Obi-Wan said anything to him? Finally sealing and
locking the door to their quarters behind him, he thrust
Obi-Wan away from him in disgust and began to pace furiously.
"WHAT were you thinking? WHAT? Did you do that on purpose? Was
that to punish me for earlier? WHAT?" He knew he was bellowing
but he just could not lower his voice. Oh, Qui-Gon Jinn,
where is all your beloved control now, he thought bitterly.
Dropping to one knee, he began to take huge sucking lungfuls of
air, trying to quiet his racing heart and trembling hands. It
was only then that he heard Obi-Wan speaking to him through the
bond.
//...I said I'm sorry, Master. I'm so sorry. I did ask him to
dance, I did, it was childish of me and I'm sorry for that but
I never meant for it to escalate to anything else, it wasn't
supposed to, it was just a dance, just one dance, and then I
couldn't stop him, I couldn't even feel him touching me, I just
knew that he was, and I think I had too much to drink, and
ohforcei'msosorry...// and Qui-Gon noted that his young lover's
bond-speak didn't sound right. Sounded...less than distinct.
Yes, the liquor, he nodded to himself, and he turned and looked
at Obi-Wan for the first time since he'd dragged him from the
dance floor. He was sitting on the floor, a few feet from
Qui-Gon, head resting on drawn up knees, hands folded over his
head, like he was trying to protect himself from the room
crashing down on him. Or his world.
And then he was pulling Obi-Wan into his arms, holding him
tightly, running his hands over his back, telling him he was
sorry. Apologies ran from both of their mouths, lifelines
thrown to drowning men, and the closeness and shame brought
soft regretful kisses and roaming hands.
There didn't seem to be much to talk about just yet, the feel
of his Obi-Wan's soft lips brushing chastely against his own
cleansing away the remorse and replacing it with a small
burning ember of longing. Obi-Wan pulled away long enough to
grab both sides of his Master's much loved face and his eyes
cleared enough to ask, "Please, Master. I'm sorry, so sorry.
Earlier, when you didn't ask that man to leave, I felt...I
thought maybe you..."
"Obi-Wan..." and that was deeply said, deeply felt, crushing
the smaller man to his chest, covering the bowed mouth with his
own and he only answered in a soft low growl. It resonated from
between them, a gentle rumbling sound confirming love,
commitment, undying need and want. The answering hum from
Obi-Wan's throat only came as an acknowledgment and
confirmation of trust and faith and utter completeness.
Qui-Gon ran his hand round the back of Obi-Wan's neck, buried
in the soft hair at the nape, squeezing gently. He tipped his
apprentice's head back slightly to allow better access to that
delicious line of neck, the colour and taste of spiced cream,
kissing away from the lips, meaning to lick to the hollow
between the clavicles but never getting there. His gentle
kisses and nips only made it as far as the endearing cleft in
the boy's chin and stopped cold.
What was that flavour? What was that taste on his Obi-Wan?
Where was the flavour that he found so addicting? He dipped his
head lower to the soft swell in the middle of the throat and
closed his mouth over it gently, feeling the bone beneath dip
and bob as Obi-Wan swallowed. He sucked gently and tasted,
licking a little higher, listening to the soft moan, and that
damned flavour was wrong. It was WRONG. It wasn't his
Obi-Wan that he was tasting at all. It was the others... and
then he was assaulted with imagery in his mind, imagery burned
into his retinas. Their lips traveling over his
Obi-Wan's cheeks, suckling at his chin, across the jawline,
biting the curved neck as it bent back beneath the onslaught.
He could see their hands running over the shallow dips
and muscles of the youthful form under the soft tunic, hands
that were insistent, squeezing, pinching, caressing. Somehow,
almost like a voyeur, he watched his mind's eye play out the
scene beyond what had actually happened. Obi-Wan's clothes
seemed to fall away from him and those damnable hands were
traveling over his lithe form, unhindered this time, evoking
strong responses. He can see Obi-Wan's head thrown back in
rapture, soft brushstrokes of amber eyelashes fluttering over
his cheeks, mouth drawn into a soft O, all the while those
other lips flowing over him, never stopping, never
stilling. Their combined hands moving over his lover, HIS
lover, and they traveled further to where they had no right to
be, fingers seeking, entering him, stretching him, preparing
him, as the tongues worked over the taut skin and almost on
queue with his masochistic mind, he heard Obi-Wan cry out.
In pain.
It pulled him back from the edge of what surely had to be Sith
Hell long enough to see that his Obi-Wan was seated before him,
not at all like the Obi-Wan in his vision, his head canted to
one side, with an intensely pained expression. It was then that
Qui-Gon saw why. He was inches from Obi-Wan's face, holding the
back of his lover's neck in a crushing vise grip, even
tightening as he noticed, and he had to force himself to loosen
the hold and let go.
His emotions or thoughts must have been passing along their
bond; there was no anger from Obi-Wan, only a sense of regret
and embarrassment. The boy hadn't even raised his hands to
defend himself, Qui-Gon realised. Leaning forward as if to kiss
Obi-Wan, he only breathed deeply...and he could swear he could
still smell the scent of others on his lover's fine
skin.
"Padawan, stand up and take your clothes off." Obi-Wan never
hesitated, only nodding, and doing as told. Once fully
disrobed, he stood, simply, before Qui-Gon, who had finally
risen from the floor while his apprentice stripped. Qui-Gon
drew near, only ran a finger over the boy's mouth, tracing the
lips, rubbing the soft fullness at the centre. He dragged his
finger lower, across the cleft, down under the chin, forcing
the head up and silently demanding that those lovely eyes, that
were so eager to avoid him right now, meet his own smouldering
gaze. Obi-Wan looked a little unsteady, rocking slightly,
breath hitching lightly in his throat, and Qui-Gon mentally
filed the visual feedback away.
Lower now, achingly slow, his finger traveled across the swells
and valleys of the throat, passing to the half-hard nipple that
pebbled instantly as he scratched it lightly with his
fingernail, across the shallow waves of the ribs and down the
gentle hollowed plains of the belly. Around the bellybutton,
the fleshly pad of his digit whorled slowly and he hooked it
into the small opening suddenly, listening to Obi-Wan's sharp
gasp. He glanced up at his lover's face and saw the lust-lidded
eyes, the slack jaw, the softly parted lips, the rapid rise and
fall of his silken-skinned chest and cruelly, he continued his
trek downward. Gently withdrawing his finger, he moved it
below, to follow the sparse smattering of red-gold hairs
becoming ever more abundant, until finally he weaved his finger
back and forth in the thatch that curled around the straining
erection as it jumped to meet his wrist and slicken it in
passing. A loud moan erupted from Obi-Wan as he pulled his
finger over the length of it, tracing the lines of furiously
pumping blood, up until it reached the soft plushness of the
tip, dragging it fleetingly across the clear bead pooled at the
slit. He turned his wrist so that his finger could continue
it's quest underneath, following the thin ultra sensitive
strand, and listened to Obi-Wan moan again as that line
stretched taut when his nails grazed it gently.
"Master..." it was only a soft plea but it made Qui-Gon's own
painfully hard arousal twitch in answer. Lightning quick, his
hand shot up and gripped Obi-Wan's throat hard enough to
strangle the cry of surprise. He flashed a fierce look into his
lover's eyes and saw something akin to fear but only
fleetingly, and then it settled into concession, deepened back
into lust, his body once again going lax after tightening so
abruptly. He stroked his hand gently over Obi-Wan's throat,
fingers flitting lightly, soothingly, and then brought both
hands to bear over the shoulders of his apprentice, pushing
insistently down.
"Kneel, Obi-Wan." He obeyed while Qui-Gon divested himself of
his clothing and said nothing as his Master turned to him
finally, only inches away. Swaying dangerously close to
Obi-Wan's face was Qui-Gon's angry length, bobbing defiantly,
challenging lips to meet flesh, screaming for release. And
Obi-Wan complied silently with that, as well.
The thrill racing through Qui-Gon's nerves was undeniable,
debilitating. It kept his thoughts from anything other than the
incredibly soft mouth teasing his cock, nibbling, tongue
lashing the underside, soft moist sounds filling his ears,
fingers wrapped tightly around his own hips. He heard his own
moans of deep, deep pleasure echoed in the soft rumbles of his
lover's throat; vibrations that, even now, were making his
knees weak. He dared to look down and saw the most captivating
sight. Simple, really. His Obi-Wan, so intent on bringing
pleasure, so focused on this alone. Focused on Qui-Gon
alone. Eyes softly closed, working diligently, fingers now
kneading into the tightening, textured sacs so close to his
Padawan's chin. He watched rapt, as his apprentice pulled back
off his length, only to hold the tip balanced precariously on
his lower lip. The softly heaving heated breaths caressing his
erection were making it difficult to think.
"Obi-Wan, look at me." Smoky orbs of endless sea-green opened
slowly and traveled up his chest to meet his own sapphire blue
eyes, pulling the bounty dangling on his lips along with...and
he felt like he'd been struck, such was he rocked. The vision
tightened something in his chest, something that he couldn't
define. Something tweaked and pulled and brought the hunger,
the love, the desire, the raw need for his Padawan right into
the front and centre of his mind...and it burned like flashfire
to think that there had been other hands, other mouths
on this beautiful creature before him. He watched as his lover
watched him, and jumped when his thickness was lapped at
gently, tongue teasing a tiny bit more. Watched as Obi-Wan,
leaning his head back a bit, half-closed eyes boring into his
Master's, settled it right onto the cleft of his chin, tip of
his pink shiny tongue flicking over the heavy glistening jewel
that had presented itself at the slit. He watched as Obi-Wan
moved his head slightly side to side, letting that damned
endearing and apparently useful cleft in his chin, rub
against the tightening filament on the belly of his imprisoned
arousal, and the sensation threatened to snap his spine in
half.
And then the most glorious thing happened. His talented
apprentice tilted his head down and pulled the entire length
deeply, ever so deeply, into his throat.
Qui-Gon screamed.
Now Obi-Wan's throat worked tirelessly and the lips, fingers
and tongue traded off and Qui-Gon could not keep his hands from
filling with handfuls of his lover's soft pelt of hair. He held
it tightly, pulling him ever closer, pushing himself impossibly
deep, thrusting blindly. Obi-Wan pulled a hand away from his
Master and hooked a single finger into his mouth along with the
flesh already present, and the hard coldness of it brushing up
against the slick heat inside of his Padawan's mouth only drew
shudders from Qui-Gon. He moaned disapproval when it was
withdrawn but Obi-Wan only moved the lubricated digit to reach
between his Master's thighs and find the small hidden entrance
he was searching for. Deftly, he thrust his middle finger
inside, twisting then stroking fleetingly, maddeningly,
bringing waves of pleasure from his bondmate.
Qui-Gon had pulled one hand away and now cupped the underside
of his Padawan's jaw, large palm feeling for the vibrations of
the moans, and the thickening of the throat as his own length
was pulled in deeply again. He couldn't tear his gaze off his
lover, those eyes so knowing, watching him being watched. He
pulled completely away from his Obi-Wan's mouth now, just as
fingers pressed persistently against that small pleasure point
within him. He barely had enough time to cup his own cock as
the creamy fluid jetted out into his hand, tremors quaking
through his broad body, howls of satisfaction filling their
room. Obi-Wan withdrew his finger from his lover as Qui-Gon
finally released the lock on his knees, and he crumpled to the
floor next to his Padawan.
Still breathing heavily, he pushed Obi-Wan backwards to the
floor, settling his much larger body partially on top. He
watched himself, as if disembodied, reaching out a finger
covered in his own pearly essence, to those wicked lips that
had held him so lovingly only moments before. He stopped short
though, and clenched his hand into a fist, squeezing the
viscous fluids and distributing them evenly. Then, watching
those much beloved huge eyes, he began to slowly paint his own
name across his lover's cheeks, chin, throat, chest. Everywhere
they had been. Even places they had only touched in his
own demented vision. Qui-Gon could hardly see the glint of
light reflecting off of the barely visible writings, but he,
and more importantly, Obi-Wan, knew they were there. The
slippery feel of his own fingers drawing across his lover's
body, the sheer eroticism of the claiming, was making him hard
again and Obi-Wan, who had not found release yet, only hummed
and gasped softly, begging silently from slitted eyes.
Finished now, he settled back a bit, sensing his Padawan's
approval through the bond and he could feel the faint
vibrations of a soft sigh building in his chest. How utterly
basic, Qui-Gon thought absently, to stake a claim on the
man he loved.
Beyond that, any and all thoughts were relegated as unnecessary
when Obi-Wan pulled the quill for his Master's writings into
his mouth. He suckled fervently on each finger, nibbling,
biting gently, then harshly, then flicking his tongue between
the lengths into the soft hidden fold of skin between, then
slowly dragging it across the extended length of that palm,
rocketing shivers through the spine of his enthralled Master.
The sigh that had begun in Qui-Gon now became a deep resounding
growl as he pulled his hand away from the heated lips and
replaced them with his mouth.
He didn't nibble, he didn't lick, he didn't taste. He devoured.
Patience in the seduction gone now, he mindlessly thanked the
Force there was no clothes between them; they would have been
torn to shreds.
He straddled Obi-Wan, desire engulfing them both, need
crippling any gentleness that would have been there, replaced
with rough handholds, bruising grips, nails scraping skin, as
they searched for new flesh to touch. Even weighed down as he
was, Obi-Wan was arching up into him, pushing with every ounce
of his slighter weight against his Master's long body, even as
Qui-Gon pressed mercilessly down, onto him. He could feel the
moist friction between them as his Padawan bucked upwards, but
his lips swept every part of his Obi-Wan within reach, although
he had to stop more than once, his mouth busy forming deep
gasps. He couldn't take it anymore, his breathing was erratic
now, his erection painful, and he pulled away from Obi-Wan
enough to swallow the boy's heavy erection.
"MASTER!!!" Obi-Wan's shoulders had shot up so far off the
floor he was almost sitting for a moment, so Qui-Gon dropped
one hand neatly on his chest and pushed him back down to the
floor.
"Say it again, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon continued licking and
nuzzling and gently soliciting more sea-taste fluid to the soft
slit.
"Master," voice husky, dripping with unfulfilled need. His
hands on Obi-Wan's hips tightened.
"Again, my Obi-Wan." He pulled back to see the boy's
lust-lidded eyes and watch the mouth form the words.
"Master. My Master." Oh yes, he was growling again, he couldn't
seem to stop. He was sounding like some alien beast declaring
itself champion in some extravagant hunt. Well, Qui-Gon
considered nimbly, isn't that appropriate?
He roughly pulled Obi-Wan up against him and kissed him deeply,
kissing down the chin, licking into the cleft, biting and
holding the jaw for a moment, only to release it to lick
further down, lips trailing along the neck and into that much
loved hollow. He could taste himself on his lover's skin. Only
himself now, and it pleased him to no end to not taste the
others. He traveled over the bones and muscles at the
shoulders, biting hard enough to leave marks, his hands busy
pinching and tweaking at the textured nipples that peaked
suddenly, falling away to tug at the slick length against his
taut middle. His mouth moved over onto the side of the neck,
teeth grazing the sinfully soft skin, and there...THERE!
Finally, finally, oh Force, finally...he could taste his
Obi-Wan. Taste the smoothness, the velvety richness of a muted
flavour of spiced cream, signature flavour of his Obi-Wan, and
his straining cock twitched and jumped in agreement.
Dizzying now, he flew over the neck, laving it
indiscriminately, pulling back up to the mouth as Obi-Wan cried
out and he swallowed those pleas greedily. He was hardly
conscious of the boy's hands on his own body, stripping him of
the last of his highly prized control. He spun Obi-Wan around
and pulled him up enough so that he was on his hands and knees
and Qui-Gon reached around to grab at his lovers length,
pulling gently while he dropped his tongue deep into the small
opening presenting itself to him. He rubbed his bearded chin
against whatever had the fortune to lay so closely to where his
mouth and lips worked and his bondmate's thighs were quivering
uncontrollably. Obi-Wan was beyond receptive and Qui-Gon felt
guilty for making his lover wait so long. He would make it up
to him. Oh yes, he would spend the rest of his life making it
up to him.
Running his slick tongue around and into the tight muscle while
coaxing more lubrication from Obi-Wan's cock, he pulled back
and pushed a slippery digit, knuckle deep into his lover. He
wasn't surprised to hear Obi-Wan groan and pushing back against
it, wanting more. His lover was desperate now. As soon as the
tightness eased enough to take two fingers with ease, he placed
his considerably larger flesh there at the opening, leaning
over to bite at his Padawan's hip first. Watching as the teeth
marks were stealthily claimed back into the flesh and swallowed
into secrecy, he slowly impaled the tight body beneath him,
listening to the sharp cries, feeling the slim hips bucking
against him. He wanted to shout, he wanted to scream, he wanted
to cry, the feeling was so intense. Burying himself to the hilt
took a small matter of time, the opening so incredibly tight;
the pleasure bordered on pain.
Finally, he felt his taut belly lay flush against his lover's
back and he reached forward to pull Obi-Wan off of his hands,
into a kneeling position. He kept one strong arm wrapped around
his Padawan's waist to keep him from slipping off of his lap,
and the other worked indelicately circling the base of his
bondmate's cock, holding it tightly. He squeezed him against
his chest, rocking slowly, one of Obi-Wan's hands finding it's
way into his Master's hair somehow and the other scratching
deeply at his hip and thigh, trying to bury him more fully
inside.
Qui-Gon lay back against his folded legs a little more, drawing
Obi-Wan with him, and he steadied himself with one arm, to keep
them both from falling backwards. Obi-Wan had found a sort of
balance on his spread knees and was pulling himself off of
Qui-Gon slightly, then letting himself drop, impaling his slim
body on his Master's length, as he reached for his own orgasm,
expertly trying to pluck it from his tightly drawn flesh.
Qui-Gon could see all of this over his Padawan's shoulder as
the head dropped back onto his shoulder, and he turned enough
to pull a velvet lobe into his mouth, holding it between his
teeth. He scratched his beard against the side of that long
expanse of arched throat, biting whatever was available, then
flicking his tongue out to greet the intimates of the ear. He
could see his apprentice working himself so close to rapture
and it was making Qui-Gon's vision go hazy.
Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan forward, back onto all fours, and
soundly began thrusting into him, gripping the chiseled hips
with enough force that he was sure he would see bruises in the
morning. Obi-Wan obviously didn't care, he was moaning so loud,
head arched back, eyes closed... and Qui-Gon thought smugly,
that those moans were meant for him, invoked by him,
only him, and he suddenly felt how right everything was.
How very right.
Reaching around his apprentice's waist, he grabbed hold of the
rigid cock, forefinger and thumb circling tightly at the base
while the other fingers dexterously caressed the almost
impossibly tight sacs nearby. He dragged the semi-circle up
around the length to the tip, brushing his palm over the velvet
plushness, and angled his brutal thrusts so that, with every
pass, he would stroke against that pleasure nub treasured away
within his Padawan's body.
Three quick thrusts and he heard the scream of ecstasy and
answering spill of wet heat across his fist as his lover
strained to squeeze himself into the tight fist and, at the
same time, push backwards, deepening the impalement. The orgasm
tearing it's way across the slight figure beneath him only
served to pull his own into the blend, and he must have howled
out his own deep gratification, his body undulating
unconsciously. The muscle gripping him constricted in waves,
milking his very breath from him, and he collapsed against the
back of his Padawan, who in turn gave way to his Master's
greater weight and collapsed onto the floor. Both breathing
heavily, they rolled onto their sides, and he wrapped his arms
tightly around his Obi-Wan and remained that way until their
breaths took on some shade of normalcy. Pulling slowly from his
lover's body, finally, he turned him around to face him,
kissing him gently on the lips, watching the slight smugness in
the eyes and quirk of the mouth. Surprising, that. To see a
glint in those chameleon eyes that said 'You are mine' without
ever voicing it. Yet he knew, without a doubt, that he did
indeed belong to his young lover, much as he knew his young
lover belonged to him.
"Obi-Wan." He searched the cocky grin that dared to rear it's
beautiful head.
"Mmmm?" And that grin bloomed into a wide open smile, hiding
nothing and revealing everything between them, affirming
that there was indeed another claim besides his own present,
devastating in it's clarity.
"Mine." One word. So simple, gently stated. A sculpted tawny
brow arched and the humour in those intoxicating eyes lit
briefly as he watched the cockiness and soft dimples flash
again. Oh Force save him, he wasn't just claimed by this
bewitching beauty before him, he was possessed by him.
"Possessiveness does not become a Jedi, my Master," said
Obi-Wan brightly, almost echoing his thoughts and with that, he
was forced to pounce on that grin, covering it with his own
demanding mouth, lashing his tongue between those satin lips,
leaving his Obi-Wan breathless and undefiant.
He rolled them so Obi-Wan lay under him, straddled him around
the thighs and bracketed that young face with his huge hands.
He arched his long muscular torso so that he was just above his
Padawan's face, close enough to know that his heated breath was
caressing those softly parted lips as he spoke.
"Padawan, you are mine. Never doubt that. Never question
that. Never forget that. Do you understand? Mine," and
even though he spoke mildly, he knew that his words were backed
with unconditional conviction. //I love you, Obi-Wan//
"Yes, Master. I am." //And I love you, Qui-Gon//
"It was not a question, my Obi-Wan," and he saw the gleam of
acknowledgement in his lover's eyes and then that hint of
smugness returned. He grinned as Obi-Wan rocked his hips
underneath his Master's spread thighs and wagged his brows
suggestively. Then his Padawan spoke one word and it stirred
him in places he thought were surely unarousable for the
remainder of the night.
"Good."
"Mmmm...," he answered, staring a little too long into those
swirling blue-green depths and felt himself lost to the power
they had over him. Hopefully, the negotiations they were here
for, would remain stalled indefinitely, he thought, as he leant
down to crush that crooked grin once more.
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