Master Apprentice
Archive
Stoicheia 10: Iron
|
|
|||
"I'm home, Master!"
Silence.
"Qui-Gon?"
Grinning, Obi-Wan dropped his bundle of damp towels in the laundry bin and surveyed the scene. The common room was untouched, the dirty breakfast dishes in the tiny kitchen had neither been washed nor added to, and his Master's well-worn boots were leaning against the wall by the front door.
Qui-Gon Jinn must have been out pretty much all afternoon. Obi-Wan's heart leapt at the thought... since neither of them had any duties to do while they were on leave, his Master must have been out doing something fun while he himself had taken a long and gloriously exhausting swim. Like... shopping? He felt the faint flush of arousal spread through his exercise-loosened body at the memory of yesterday morning's drawing session and how it had ended.
Yes. That was it. Qui-Gon had procured... um, things. Ropes, dammit, say it, Kenobi! Had provided ropes and... stuff, and was now hiding in the bedroom, shielded as he always was when he was either busy doing something boring or busy doing something extremely interesting. Like waiting for his Padawan to discover him, and the beautiful scene he'd doubtless set up for him...
Smiling widely, Obi-Wan toed off his boots and tiptoed towards the Master's bedroom, putting an ear to the door. He heard nothing. That didn't mean much though, Qui-Gon could be extremely quiet. Besides, he would often pass times of waiting in meditation, and when he was deep within the Force his breathing would often be so calmed that it was barely audible if you were sitting opposite him, much less separated by a door the soundproofing qualities of which they had often had cause to be grateful for in the recent past.
Stealthily, he pushed the door open, preparing for the feast on the other side... Qui-Gon...
Qui-Gon was nowhere to be seen.
Stepping inside, Obi-Wan scanned the corners of the room, even peeked inside the closet, then let his Force sense reach out through the entire area until he sensed the faint auras of the Jedi on the level below him. Qui-Gon was not there. Instead, there was a scrap of paper lying on the bed in his stead. That was so Qui-Gon. Paper, and a hand-written note, containing little more than an address and a curt invitation, nay an order, to join him there as soon as possible, and to come in civilian clothes.
The address was familiar. Not merely familiar -- improbably notorious. The Crimson Factory was Coruscant's most renowned high-class nightspot, famous for its lavish shows involving the pick of all the sentient species on the planet, famous for its gaiety and light-hearted atmosphere, famous for its expensive but justly praised cuisine... in short, not a place a Jedi would see the inside of often.
And Qui-Gon had just invited him there. Ordered him there. What the Sith... all he could think of was some elaborate seduction scene, beginning with a delicious candlelight dinner and ending with brain-melting sex back home... not exactly a novel idea (more like an idea from a novel, he thought, grinning), but certainly not one he would pass up. Not if it involved Qui-Gon. In civilian clothes.
Rummaging through his small closet, Obi-Wan decided he might as well take full advantage of tonight's dress code and wear as few layers as possible. He briefly toyed with the idea of putting on the plain black tank top, the one that showed off his shoulders to such beautiful effect, then decided a little decency was in order of they were going to have dinner first, and in public at that. The wine-red thingy with the short sleeves would do nicely. It clung to his upper body snugly as he pulled it on, shimmering faintly, concealing yet revealing, outlining his lean torso just so. To anyone who looked. And Qui-Gon would be sure to look. A pair of plain black trousers and flat grey leather shoes completed the outfit, and a short length of silver wire wrapped around the end of his Padawan braid added a little festive sparkle. Running his hand through his hair and deciding it was neat enough to be decent and messy enough to be seductive, Obi-Wan commed for the Temple's transport crew to see if anyone was free to take him to the Crimson Factory, on important business.
The driver had merely grinned and winked three of his eight eyes to indicate that he wasn't expecting to take Obi-Wan back to the Temple any time soon tonight... so this was it. The Crimson Factory.
The entrance hall was surprisingly small, the walls covered in deep red velvet, the floor made of some dull near-black metal that reflected the elegant modernist brass furniture as blurs of uncertain gold. The plump Twi'lek girl behind the reception desk smiled at him encouragingly, showing off a row of perfect white teeth framed by painted lips that matched the deep red of her livery, but totally failed to match the natural pale green of her skin. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan approached her. "I'm being expected... by a Master Qui-Gon Jinn..."
The girl smiled indulgently, wondering to herself where whoever this Master was had managed to pick up such a pretty piece of meat with such charming fumbling innocence written all over his face. "And your name is...?" -- "Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi." The girl tapped a few keys on her terminal, then nodded and flashed Obi-Wan another complementary-coloured smile. "He is awaiting you on the seventh level, last door at the end of the corridor. He said to knock four times -- sorry we haven't got a spare key. Oh, and the lifts are over there..."
Obi-Wan thanked her and made his way up to the seventh level. Up here, the walls were of the same dull greyish-black metal as the floors, still hung with heavy red draperies at regular intervals. The doors were of the same material, inlaid with brass in elaborate ornaments. Never quite symmetrical, but never quite depicting anything either, they looked like they'd been created by an artist with a vision. Specifically one brought about by a sizeable dose of a mildly illicit drug.
The door at the end of the corridor was covered with a webwork of brass that made it look like the edge of a dragonfly's wing, or the veins on the inside of someone's eye. Picking a smooth spot, Obi-Wan knocked four times, drew a deep breath, and waited.
He heard the door unlock manually from within, then it swung open to reveal a dark room that totally failed to capture Obi-Wan's attention. For the doorframe was filled with the imposing figure of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his Master, his lover, his everything, dressed impeccably, and devourably, in... well, yes, they were civilian clothes, only by dint of not being Jedi gear or any other uniform or professional outfit.
The long-sleeved shirt was made of some sort of crisp raw silk, slit down to the middle of Qui-Gon's chest at the front, with a small stand-up collar framing the man's throat in mile-deep midnight blue. The trousers were almost as plain as his own, if slightly tighter, and disappeared inside knee-high boots of supple thin leather that wrinkled and stretched with every move like living skin. A wide belt made up of dark metal squares linked together by concealed hinges separated the blue from the black, accentuating the Master's trim waist and giving him an edge of toughness that awed Obi-Wan as much as it aroused him.
Qui-Gon had let his hair down, and it tickled Obi-Wan's neck as he bent to kiss him welcome. Obi-Wan felt like melting into the big warm body, seeping into his adorable Master's skin and spending the night there, one with him, submerged in his warm wet insides... swallowing, Obi-Wan gathered his composure enough to speak. "Master... I had no idea you'd..." -- "Sssh, Obi. This room is ours for the night... so I'd appreciate you coming in and having a look around." With that, he grabbed his young lover around the waist and pulled him inside, slamming the door closed behind them.
The room was magnificent -- the ceiling so high that it was barely discernible in the flickering light of the candles and oil burners scattered around, and the end wall dominated by a giant floor-to-ceiling window criss-crossed with the same irregular latticework as the door had been, giving a fantastic view of Coruscant's gaudily-lit nightscape. The other two walls were completely covered with red velvet hangings, and the floor alternated between various materials sharing the same dull greyish-black as the metal that had covered the corridor's floor -- only here it was interspersed with patches of thick fuzzy fur, brushed and lyed ebony, polished glass or ribbed slate. Just walking across that floor would be a sensation.
The only pieces of furniture he could see were a small low black table near the window and two large red cushions acting as seats. The table held an assortment of what he assumed to be food from the distance, and his empty stomach reacted with a pleased growl at the same times as the rest of him reacted with an amazed gasp.
Qui-Gon laughed warmly. "Hungry, my love?" Obi-Wan merely nodded, nuzzling his face into the vee of warm bare skin left open by the midnight-blue shirt. "Yes," Qui-Gon purred, "Oh yes, we'll come to that too, Obi-Wan. But I think I can interest you in some food first, yes?"
They dined in silence, Obi-Wan still awe-struck, Qui-Gon simply enjoying the delicious titbits and the sight of Obi-Wan reverently eating. Before soon, the mental conversation had reached quite un-Jedi-like levels of lewdness, and the Master had taken to finger-feeding his apprentice, brushing his fingers through assorted sauces in mock clumsiness only to have Obi-Wan delightedly lick and suck them off. Obi-Wan could have eaten more, but reminded himself that the last piece of marinated wingfish disappearing into his Master's mouth also meant that his Master's mouth would be free for other tasks now.
"Let's skip dessert, Qui. I find I quite fancy... a bit of Jinn." Obi-Wan stared incredulously as his Master's large hand pressed into his chest, holding him away from him. "Patience, love, patience. First, I've got a little gift for you..." Reaching behind the drapes on one wall and pulling out a drawer, Qui-Gon produced something shimmering which he effortlessly managed to hide in his huge hands as he clutched it to his chest. "Come here, Obi-Wan. Stand here..." Obi-Wan obeyed, standing facing the velvet-covered wall as Qui-Gon laid something cool and heavy around his throat, fastening it at the back with deft warm fingers. It felt... tight, just the faintest bit constricting without being uncomfortable. Incredulously, he ran his fingers over it. Metal. A wide band of unevenly-shaped metal...
Qui-Gon smiled at his Padawan's open-mouthed amazement. "Face the window, and you'll be able to see it, love. Quite gorgeous on you..." Obliging, Obi-Wan turned towards the glass, and was amazed. It was... it was iron, but such that hardly deserved the name. Polished and cut to scintillating brightness, it was a delicate tightly interlaced webwork of veins and gnarled arabesques much like the pattern on the door had been, interspersed with diamond-like facets. It was... he wasn't quite sure whether to call it a necklace or a collar, it was a little of both, and he felt a little shudder of delight at the tightness as he swallowed.
"It's... beautiful. So... regal, and so... it looks like it was designed for a man, you know?" -- "I know, love. It was designed for you, just for you. Just for tonight... and this," he ran his finger over the polished iron encircling Obi-Wan's pale pulsing throat, "isn't all. If you'd give me your hand...?" As if by magic, Qui-Gon had procured another piece from the hidden drawer, this one less ornate and polished, a simple plainly decorated band of iron that fitted perfectly around his wrist, a shining bracelet with no end and no beginning after Qui-Gon had skilfully fastened the little clasps that sank back into the smooth surface. While Obi-Wan was still busy admiring the style and craftsmanship of the first one, Qui-Gon had already picked up his apprentice's other hand and fastened the second one on the other wrist, two wide bands of silver and grey offset against Obi-Wan's creamy skin with its tiny reddish-brown hairs on the lower arms that were no standing to attention as Obi-Wan shuddered in delight.
Smiling, his master took a step back, the drawer in the wall apparently exhausted. But his hands... his hands were busy behind his own back, and it began to dawn on Obi-Wan that the carnal part of the evening had well and truly begun when Qui-Gon unclasped his belt... and held it out before him like an offering, then unhooked two of its links and wrapped the shortened belt around Obi-Wan's waist, tight over the trousers and shirt, a perfect border between the deep red and the black in its slick silver-grey simplicity.
Obi-Wan was still admiring himself in the window when he heard the sound of drapes being drawn aside, and saw that Qui-Gon was now exposing a section of the bare black wall... but what did that matter when that epitome of masculine wonderfulness was just this moment stalking towards him like a lion out for prey, wrapping his arms around him tighter than any belt could have been, devouring his mouth while dragging him across the room and pushing him up against the wall, squashed deliciously between smooth cool metal and the pulsing, living heat of his Master whose hands were now roaming all over him, stroking down his arms to his wrists, running possessive palms down his chest over nipples that were plainly visible even through the shirt, grabbing him by his waist and slamming him into the wall with delicious force before gentling his assault and returning to light kisses, kisses that were never enough, and Obi-Wan reached forward to get more of that maddening mouth...
Only he couldn't. He was stuck.
Jerking his arms futilely, he found himself pinned to the wall like a butterfly on display, wrists and waist held securely by the iron bands, his throat in the tender grip of the gorgeous collar... "Q-qui? What..."
Qui-Gon smiled. "They're magnetic, Obi, as iron tends to be. Like it?" Obi-Wan moaned, half in frustration and embarrassment at his predicament, half in need and arousal at what might happen next. Qui-Gon had returned to the drawer and picked out a pair of anklets which he proceeded to casually fasten on to Obi-Wan's feet after pulling his shoes and socks off slowly. Defenceless, the young man could do little but endure it... especially as kicking his Master in the face, the only option of movement open to him at this point, didn't seem appropriate to the delicacy of the situation at all.
"Aah." Qui-Go took a step back, admiring his handiwork. Pinned to the wall by a force older than the Living Force, arms and legs spread wide, a broad scintillating collar clasping the tender throat, Obi-Wan was a feast for the eyes. With maybe one little blemish -- he was still wearing far too many clothes.
Obi-Wan gasped at the sight of the scalpel in Qui-Gon's huge hand, and stared mute and wide-eyed as it whispered through the cloth of his shirt, splitting it open from sleeve to neck, the blade tracing a faint tickling line across his bare skin without even scratching it, and then tearing across the fabric again to the other sleeve. The elastic red fabric slid down to his waist, and Qui-Gon quickly slashed it free while fastening his mouth on a freshly exposed nipple, making Obi-Wan moan. "Good?" he murmured into his Padawan's silky skin, cool with fresh perspiration. "V-very...," Obi-Wan ground out, testing his bonds by squirming luxuriously, and finding them unyielding.
Meanwhile, the blade had whispered its way down his legs, slitting open one leg of his trousers, and slashing the other apart on its way back up, until Obi-Wan stood in nothing but his underpants, a small black shape marring creamy skin, and quickly disposed of with two speedy slashes of the knife, leaving nothing but perfect pale Padawan adorned with polished iron.
Qui-Gon licked his lips at the sight. "And now... dessert."
Obi-Wan whimpered at the loss of contact, straining fruitlessly against the snug iron bands that held him to the wall. All his strength was no match for the magnetic forces behind that wall -- the best he'd be able to do would be
to hurt himself... but then, escape wasn't what he wanted. Writhing was what he wanted, feeling the bonds caressing him, gripping him, spreading him against the wall, with no weapon but his own beauty... and the hard spear of flesh that was rising between his spread thighs...
Qui-Gon returned with a small box of raspberries, squeezing one on to the tip of his little finger an trailing it around Obi-Wan's expectant mouth. It was cold, cold and velvety and ripe and ever so slightly out of reach as Obi-Wan tried to suck it off his Master's devious finger, struggling to get a little closer than the collar would allow him. Qui-Gon merely smiled, a wicked little smile that left no doubt as to how much he was enjoying the sight of his naked Padawan immobilised against the wall, cock jutting, eyes dilated with need, small whimpers of desire spilling over those pink lips that were reaching for the ripe fruit, tongue snaking out hungrily...
...until Qui-Gon crushed the berry against Obi-Wan's mouth by force, droplets of deep red juice running down the young man's chin. Obi-Wan gasped, and Qui-Gon's mouth was upon his in an instant, sharing the squashed red berry with him, pumping sheer pleasure into him with his insistent tongue while his hands were roaming all over him, stroking, grabbing, teasing... scratching! Obi-Wan howled into the kiss, and his cock made a little jump against Qui-Gon's thigh as the Master's nails raced across his pale flesh, leaving deep pink marks and shudders of pleasure in their wake. Oh Fore yes, he wanted this, wanted it so much.. the sensation, never quite painful, but so, so possessive, so hot, and down down down... "Master! More!!" A desperate scream from the bottom of his lungs, and Qui-Gon jumped as if he'd been stung, then took a step back and eyed his panting Padawan mischievously. "More, Obi-Wan? I rather think you could do with a little less... a little less noise."
With that, he picked up the rags of the red shirt off the polished floor and unceremoniously tied them around Obi-Wan's head, gagging him quite effectively. More than a little overcome at the sight, he allowed himself a good long nibble on the lush lower lip, so soft and pink against the cruel taut red fabric... and there were more delicacies to be had...
Dipping his hand into the box of raspberries, he squashed a handful of the icy delicacies against his Padawan's chest, following the dripping red juice with the tip of his tongue, tracing lines of heat in the wake of lines of ice while scratching lines of pink fire all over Obi-Wan's thighs until the muffled moans had become almost as loud as they had been before he'd gagged his eager young lover, and until the glistening red juice had reached the base of Obi-Wan's proud hard cock.
Qui-Gon disregarded it completely, focusing instead on the young man's delightfully smooth balls, sucking one into his mouth and suckling and squeezing it until Obi-Wan was bucking so hard he was threatening to break his skin against the irons. Laying his palms flat on his lover's heaving flanks, he gentled him for a while.... before continuing his maddening assault on the other testicle, drawing urgent cries and moans of pleasure from the cruelly gagged mouth, watching tears of desperate arousal trickling over Obi-Wan's cheeks and soaking into the red fabric. Oh yes, he was ready. So ready and needy, so hopelessly horny that he didn't care about whether he hurt himself in his futile struggles against the bonds... so fucking perfect.
Holding on to the last of his control, Qui-Gon unfastened his trousers and freed his raging hard cock, then sucked two fingers into his mouth, watched eagerly by Obi-Wan who surely cursed the fact that his own mouth was occupied by the gag. Faster, his eyes seemed to be saying, inside me, fuck me already!
The finger was almost sucked into the tight welcoming heat of Obi-Wan's body, and Qui-Gon thrust in a few times, as much to loosen Obi-Wan's passage as to give him as much pleasure as possible. With the last shreds of his mind, and his free hand, Qui-Gon reached for the control panel hidden under the curtains and released Obi-Wan's ankles and the belt off the wall, leaving the collar and the wristlets holding the squirming young man securely as he picked up Obi-Wan's legs and splayed his huge hands over his lower back. Obi-Wan twined his legs around Qui-Gon's hips, offering himself, whimpering quietly, eyes moist and dilated with arousal.
The moan was bone-deep when Qui-Gon finally slid home, and neither of them was present enough any more to tell whether it had been Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon or both... writhing and screaming, Obi-Wan gave himself up to absolute blood-boiling pleasure as Qui-Gon rammed into him, hard and rough and blind with desire, head thrown back, long hair flying, mouth wide open in a scream as he came, shooting more heat into Obi-Wan's already overheated body, scrabbling for a handhold and grabbing hold of Obi-Wan's leaking cock, squeezing it hard and plunging him into an orgasm that felt like falling, endless flying and falling, screams of pleasure and laughter echoing off the walls as the red haze slowly enveloped him...
When consciousness returned to his body, he found himself lying on one of the soft furry patches of the floor, Qui-Gon kneeling by his side, still fully dressed in that glorious black and blue outfit but now wearing the glow of the sexually sated... so it hadn't been a dream -- Obi-Wan winced slightly as Qui-Gon unclasped the iron bands from his wrists, drawing soothing fingers over the chafed skin. "L-leave it... I want a reminder of tonight... oh Force... what can I..." -- "Sssssh, Padawan. Love. You were wonderful. You _are_ wonderful. And you are such a delight to surprise." -- "Thank you, thank you so much, Qui," Obi-Wan breathed, feeling quite exhausted, excess adrenaline still pinging through his body making his skin tingle.
"Thank you, Obi... I can never thank you enough for being you, you know?" Obi-Wan grinned. "No fault of my own, Master. But... Force... you planned all this, didn't you?" -- "Of course I did. Wasn't hard once I'd guessed at your secret fantasies, love... and the planning was almost as delightful as the execution."
"Qui-Gon?" -- "Mh?" -- "Then I'm sure you've got something planned as to how to get me out of here semi-decently after you've slashed my clothes to bits, right?"
Qui-Gon looked mortified for a second, then his face lit up in a wicked grin. He got to his feet, picked up the knife from where he had discarded it on the floor, and Force-threw it to the top of the red curtain, hidden in the twilight of the ceiling, and let it slide down in a straight line, cutting a long swath of deep red velvet that puddled on the floor softly.
Qui-Gon picked it up and handed it to his nonplussed Padawan. "What the --? " The Master smiled, indulgently. "Wrap it around yourself, Obi, in the manner of a toga or a tebenna. You remember those southern Kyldians we saw at Temple the other day? I figure you'd look even better in it." If a little more conspicuous, he added, as he watched Obi-Wan wrap the soft velvet around himself, the drunk burgundy contrasting sharply with his creamy skin. But then, he didn't want his Obi-Wan to have the dark coppery skin of a Kyldian of the southern continent.
He wanted his Obi-Was just as he was. And as many times as possible.
---The End---