Archive: All lists have permission. Anywhere else, just send me
the URL so I can go gloat. :)
Category: first-time, POV, romance
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: notta one.
Disclaimer: Sigh. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon belong to Master George,
not me. I'm not making a red cent off of this, either.
Summary: Pre-TPM. Q/O. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have an honest. . .
discussion.
Notes: This is a birthday present for my best friend, Snowy.
Hope this goes well with the Jedi birthday cake. :` This is
also my very first slash piece. Hope you like it.
Feedback: given tongue baths and a guaranteed reply at
JediWoman@unbounded.com
Huge thanks to my betas Catnip, Hikaru, Dorotea, Russet and
Calysta. (Can you tell I like a lot of opinions?) Any mistakes
found in this story are mine.
* denotes telepathy.
I slow my breathing and try to channel the Force through my
mind. The mat is soft under my knees, and it proves to be the
only solace I will get from this evening's meditation. I cannot
stop thinking, even for a second, about you. Part of me keeps
shouting that this is wrong, that you are my Master, and would
never reciprocate these desires. The other part hangs onto hope
with furious tenacity.
I am about to rise from the floor when I notice you standing in
the doorway. My breath hitches in my chest and I sink back onto
my heels.
"You are troubled, Obi-Wan."
I lower my eyes and stare at the carpet in front of my mat. I
don't think that I can avoid your questions if I'm looking at
you. "I'm fine, Master," I reply respectfully.
I hear your snort of skepticism and chance a glance up. Your
face holds the expression of good-natured exasperation that I'm
so familiar with, but your body makes me shiver with desire.
You wear only your sleep trousers, you are barefoot, and your
hair falls loosely over your shoulders. You look like a god,
beautiful and untouchable. I am a mere mortal kneeling at your
altar, hoping for a touch of divine attention.
"Don't lie, Obi-Wan," you say, keeping your tone light, "I'm
not quite an old fool yet. I know when something is on your
mind."
"I. . . I'm sorry, Master," I stammer, feeling my face flush
with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to imply that you are a
fool..."
You chuckle and I clamp my mouth shut. In the ten years I've
been your apprentice, I've never felt so ridiculously nervous.
"I know that, Obi-Wan," you say, striding across the room and
dropping to kneel in front of me, "I think it's time we were
honest with each other.
"I've always encouraged you to be open with me. You know that
you can come to me with anything. I want you to be frank." you
pause to look at me for a long moment.
"Tell me what is on your mind," you command quietly.
Your sudden closeness throws me off balance. The white lie was
almost perfectly formed on my tongue, but the heat rolling off
of your body, the sheer sensuality that you give off, dissolved
my words. I cannot lie to you anymore.
I swallow the fear that has been rising in my throat ever since
you came into the room. "You. . ." I answer, my voice barely
above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about this morning,
when you brushed against me outside of the 'fresher. How damp
and hot your skin was from the shower. How it felt against
mine, and how I really want to feel it. I. . . "
You regard me thoughtfully for a long time, then lean back on
your heels. "Obi-Wan," you say on a sigh, "It is said that a
Master should be the eye of a hurricane. Peaceful within and
swirling with the Force on the outside."
I am confused by your sudden change of the subject. Now
certainly doesn't seem the proper time to spout Jedi proverbs.
All of my hopes that you might want me as a lover fade.
"But I am anything but peaceful within," you continue. "My
emotions are in a turmoil. I find it difficult to focus on my
tasks."
You pause again, staring out of the window into the burgeoning
dusk. "Is it my fault, Master?" I ask quietly. "Because of
this?"
You seem to ignore my question. "The Force is urging me
forward. Showing me the paths I can take. It seems to be
telling me what I should do."
Your tone is emotionless, and my chest begins to ache dully. I
imagine the absolute worst outcome. You are rejecting me,
you're disgusted with me, you want to send me away. My throat
catches at the last thought. The way I'm feeling right now, I'd
rather die than be sent away from you. Even if it meant that I
would have to live and eventually die with my unrequited love
for you, I would still rather stay at your side.
"What is it telling you to do, Master?" I ask, strengthening my
voice so you won't hear the pain that is eating me alive.
"This."
I barely have time to wrap my mind around that single word
before your body crushes against mine and your lips claim mine
hotly.
I am so stunned by this that I can't move, and you take
advantage of my immobility. Your lips part mine and your tongue
slides hotly into my mouth, stroking every surface. You wrap
your arms around my body and pull me close, flicking the tip of
your tongue against the roof of my mouth.
I finally regain the ability to move and slide my hands over
your bare chest. Your skin is so warm and smooth under my
palms. It's something I never expected for some reason, but it
feels so good. I slide my fingers over your nipples and you
sigh against my lips. I sink my hands into your hair and pull
you deeper into our kiss, moaning when your erection rubs
against mine.
Your hands slide over my shoulders and begin skimming over my
chest, loosening my belt and removing my sash and stoles.
Barriers removed, you push my tunics apart and off of my
shoulders. I start to reach for yours, but my hands are are
caught in the sleeves of my partially-removed tunic. You take
advantage of my immobility and tear your mouth away from mine,
sliding down my body.
Your tongue flicks over my nipple and I cry out, swaying on my
knees and fighting against my bonds. Gods, I want to touch you.
You slowly circle your tongue around the hardening nub,
bringing it to a peak, then close your lips around it and suck
gently. After a few sweet, torturous minutes, you switch to the
other side and repeat the process, sucking until I am moaning
incoherently.
You smile up at me briefly-- a coy, seductive curve of your
lips-- and your beard brushes against the hyper-sensitive flesh
of my nipple. I gasp, unable to drag my eyes away from the
sight of you slowly moving down my torso, nipping my skin
around the waistband of my pants. Sliding your hands around to
knead my ass, you press your face into my groin, nuzzling my
cock through the fabric of my trousers. I thrust my hips
forward impatiently and you chuckle, sliding my pants down over
what is easily the most urgent erection I've ever had.
"Do you want this?" you ask, your voice deliciously hoarse and
sexy.
"Oh, gods, yes. Please, Master..."
"No. There is no Master here," your eyes glitter. "Not this
time."
"Qui-Gon," I moan, and you shudder with desire, "I need you...
I love you."
You murmur something that sounds like 'love you,' but you've
suddenly engulfed my cock in your mouth and I really don't give
a damn about what you were saying. Your tongue flickers for a
moment around the head, then your mouth slides down around my
shaft, sucking strongly. The wet heat of your mouth is almost
too much, and it takes every shred of control I have not to
come immediately. You seem to sense this and back off a little,
satisfying yourself by licking up and down my shaft.
I lean back until my bound hands touch the floor and bow my
back, offering myself to you, pulling myself back from the edge
and you start sucking in earnest, bracing yourself on the floor
with one hand, the other wrapped around my hip. I struggle, my
arms still trapped within the sleeves of my tunics, wanting
nothing more than to bury my hands in your hair and hold on for
dear life.
You abruptly stop, just when I'm getting close again. You rise
and your lips meet mine, sharing my taste with me, and you yank
the tunics off of my arms. I immediately wrap my arms around
your body and arch against you. The meeting of bare skin
against skin is heavenly. Rising, you pull me to my feet, never
ceasing your kisses, and guide me into your bedroom. Between
your kisses, my incredibly hard cock and the fact that my pants
are hanging precariously around my knees, getting to the bed is
a dangerous task.
You slide my trousers down and I step out of them, kicking them
out of the way. You follow suit with yours, and push me down
onto the bed. Your body immediately covers mine, pressing me
into the mattress. Gods, your naked skin burns mine, it's so
hot. You plunder my mouth, and I eagerly return the kiss,
writhing beneath you until your hips rest between my thighs.
You brush your cock against mine and I jerk and moan. "My
Obi-Wan... gods, I want you.... I want to take you," you
whisper, laving my throat.
"Yes, Qui-Gon, take me," I breathe, sliding my hands over every
bit of skin that I can reach.
You sigh against my skin, giving my neck one last nip before
lifting yourself off of me. "Is this what you really want?" you
ask, the hoarseness of desire betraying the seriousness of your
tone.
I push myself up on my elbows, looking you straight in the
eyes. "I want this more than anything," I tell you.
Your lips curve in that deliciously wanton smile, and you lean
over to the shelf above your headboard. You take down a small
glass bottle, twirling it lightly in your fingers.
At my questioning look, you pull the stopper out. "It's an oil
native to Corsin," you explain, pouring a liberal amount onto
your fingers. "Lore says that it is a powerful aphrodisiac."
"What do you think?" I ask teasingly.
You shrug lightly and slip one oiled finger between my legs. I
tense at the first touch against my opening. The sensation is
completely foreign to me. I'd been with women before, but never
with a man. . .
*Trust me, love.*
A wave of reassurance comes across our bond and I relax into
your touch. You are infinitely gentle, and caress and stretch
me until I'm writhing under you, begging to be taken.
You pour oil into the palm of one hand and slick it over your
cock. With the other, you pull the pillows from the head of the
bed. I lift my hips and you stack them underneath me, so that
my body is angled perfectly for you.
Leaning over me, you kiss me hard until the passion is at its
peak again. Then, you rise to your knees and slowly push
against me. Swells of love and trust wash over me, and my body
slowly gives way.
"I love you," you whisper at the exact moment you slide into my
body.
The twinge of pain ebbs into a wonderfully full sensation. You
pull back slowly, and thrust more deeply. Your cock brushes
against my prostate and I gasp, arching as if I've been
electrocuted. The pleasure is so keen that I feel like the
world is falling out from under me. "Oh, gods!" I cry out,
gripping the bedsheets hard, "More..."
You growl and thrust again, angling deeper. I cry out with
every movement, practically ripping the covers off of the bed.
You move your oil-slick hand from my hip to stroke my cock,
demanding my orgasm. My breath comes in hard little pants,
echoing yours. You continue to stroke me and stoke inside of
me, your thumb flicking against the ultra-sensitive ridge.
The sensation is entirely too much and I buck wildly against
your hand, coming in thick, hot spurts. Your face contorts into
a beautiful mask of pleasure and you come, too, hot and wet
into my body.
After an eternity of ecstasy, you ease out of me and collapse
on the bed, pulling my mouth to yours for a soft kiss. I still
can't trust myself to think, so I curl against you, pillowing
my head on your chest. Your pounding heart mirrors mine, and
the sound lulls me to drowsiness. The peace that has been
eluding me for months finally comes.
"I love you, Qui-Gon," I whisper to your sleeping ear, then
settle into your arms and fall asleep.
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