Master
Apprentice  Archive
The Rave
|
|
|||
"Wonderful party, isn't it, Master?" Obi-Wan shouted over the eardrum- shattering music, his mouth close to Qui-Gon's ear.
"Hmmm," Qui-Gon said noncommittally. He looked around at the huge gathering, hundreds of beings of several different species, all gathered in a field in the middle of nowhere. Many of them waved light sticks of some sort in the air, their size and shape vaguely reminiscent of a Jedi's 'saber, drawing eerie patterns in the darkness. "What did you say they called this?"
"A rave, I believe."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Are you certain this is allowed, Padawan?"
"Loud? Yes, it is certainly loud."
"No, no. I said 'allowed,' as in legal. Is this legal?"
"Oh, um . . ." The young man's voice trailed off, too low to hear over the ruckus.
Qui-Gon cupped a hand behind one ear and leaned closer. "What did you say?"
"I said, I'm going to get us something else to drink," Obi-Wan replied, just before drifting away in the general direction of the large refreshment table. He was back a few minutes later, offering his Master a tall glass of something red and fizzy. Qui-Gon eyed it suspiciously before taking a sip.
He screwed up his face at the strong, slightly bitter fruitiness of it. "Is this supposed to taste this way?" he shouted to his Padawan, who had begun to dance provocatively, swaying back and forth in time to the music.
"What, Master?" he shouted back, his own drink already half empty.
"I said, oh never mind." Qui-Gon squinted past the glow of the light sticks to the raised center dais, where a group of teenagers were dancing. They were paired off, pressing their hips against their partner's, and their seductive gyrations made it look less like dancing and more like --- surely not, he chided himself silently. No one would do that in full public view. Besides, they were fully clothed. He looked closer and amended that thought. Well, they were mostly clothed; most of them had begun to shed an article of clothing or two. "What are they doing?" he asked his Padawan, pointing.
"Oh, that?" Could he be mistaken, or was Obi-Wan actually blushing? It was hard to tell in the near darkness. "Podium dancing is a perfectly valid artform, Master."
'Podium dancing?' Qui-Gon wondered for a moment if the red, fizzy drink had gone to Obi-Wan's head. Those young people were definitely not dancing. 'Podium fucking' might have been a better description. His musings were broken off Obi-Wan nudged his elbow.
"Finish your drink, Master," he urged, his hips undulating seductively. "It's tradition. You wouldn't want to offend our hosts, would you?"
Qui-Gon wanted to point out that the staunch, stuffy bureaucrats that invited them here to negotiate their commerce treaty wouldn't be caught dead at such a place. He wanted to say that. But, watching his Padawan dance had suddenly made his throat entirely too dry for speech. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
Obi-Wan grinned wickedly, then grabbed his sleeve and began to tow him toward the center of the group.
"Come on, Master. Let's dance!"
"Absolutely not!" Qui-Gon told him. But Obi-Wan didn't release him, didn't so much as slow down. Must not have heard me, the Master concluded. He could easily have pulled free, could have held his ground and not let himself be towed who-knew-where, but for some reason, he didn't. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was unwillingness to be separated from his Padawan in a crowd this large and rowdy.
Perhaps it was that damned fizzy drink.
Or perhaps, old man, he told himself, you're only hoping that the boy will ask you to fu - er, to dance.
Obi-Wan dragged him to the stage and hopped up onto one corner. Undulating, scantily clothed bodies surrounded them, all waving light sticks and casting flickering, blue shadows. He shouted something, gesturing, his words completely lost in the pandemonium around them. Then, he leaned in closer and held out his hands, grinning challengingly. "Come on, Master! Dance with me!"
Qui-Gon felt a rush of blood head south, straight to his groin. "Absolutely not!" he shouted back. He glanced around at the dancers, swallowing hard. "I couldn't possibly . . ."
"It's easy! Just sway with the music then shove your hips forward, like this!"
Qui-Gon gulped, feeling his blood pressure shoot up and a certain portion of his anatomy follow it. Oh, Force, but the boy was enticing! He shook his head adamantly. "No, I couldn't . . ."
"You don't want to insult them, do you, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone plaintive but his eyes sparkling with mischief, and perhaps something else. Qui-Gon swallowed again, truly tempted. He hadn't realized he had raised one hand, however, until Obi-Wan caught it and pulled him up onto the stage. "Watch me, Master!"
Qui-Gon could do nothing but watch as his beautiful young Padawan copied the movements of the other dancers, swaying and undulating and thrusting slowly with his hips. His grin was positively wicked now, and as Qui-Gon stared, he saw the tip of a pink tongue came out and moisten full, soft lips. He found himself copying the gesture without thought, wondering what that luscious mouth would taste like under his.
It occurred to him that his own inhibitions seemed to be slipping, and he wondered briefly if it was the fault of that fizzy, red fruit drink. It suddenly didn't matter as a warm body pressed up against his back, arms that were longer than a human's wrapping around his waist.
"Hello, Ki-Gon," a familiar, heavily accented voice said near his ear. He turned his head slightly, seeing deep maroon eyes on a level with his own.
"Hello, Ki-Evir," he said, gulping as the slender native melted against him. He could feel every bone in that thin body, he thought, from the prominent knees to the angular hips, all pressing tightly against his own. The arms tightened, drawing him closer, close enough to feel the hard swelling against his ass that could only be one thing. "Um, Ki-Evir," he began, trying to extricate himself. "I don't really think . . ."
"Thinking you should not be, Ki Jedi," Ki-Evir purred. "The Moon Celebration is a time for feeling, not thinking." His hips surged forward, pressing his swollen sex more firmly against Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master turned within the restraining arms.
"I think you want to dance with your betrothed," he said, putting a touch of the Force behind it.
Blinking slowly, the Kirian released him, backing away. "I think I wish to dance with my ki-love now, Ser Jedi-ki." He pulled his thin lips back into a parody of a smile, something he seemed to have learned from Obi-Wan, since he was the only Kirian that Qui-Gon had ever seen doing it. He gave a half bow, arms spread wide. "Later, I come back to my ki-friends."
Qui-Gon watched him go, then turned back when he heard his Padawan chuckling. "Shame on you, Master," Obi-Wan said. "Using the Force on a poor, defenseless Kirian like that." He clucked his tongue teasingly, all the while still undulating like a ten-credit whore. "Dance with me."
"I really shouldn't . . ." Qui-Gon began, but he got no further as Obi-Wan pressed up against him much as Ki-Evir had, only face to face. The young man's arms slid around Qui-Gon's hips, trapping the Master's erection between them. Obi-Wan's eyes darkened with what could only be lust.
"Dance with me, Master," he whispered, his voice thick with need. Qui- Gon found himself obeying without thought, allowing Obi-Wan to direct his movements. The dazzling smile he got in response was more than worth it. Then, Obi-Wan released him, smile still in place, and stepped back a pace as he took off his Jedi robe. He did it slowly, sensuously, his stormy eyes holding his Master's.
"It's getting a bit warm, don't you think, my Master?" he murmured.
Qui-Gon could only nod in response, watching as Obi-Wan dropped the discarded robe off the edge of the platform and began tugging his tunic free of his belt. He kept dancing as he stripped to the waist, his skin glistening with the sheen of perspiration. Dropping the tunic, he surged forward again, sliding his hands under Qui-Gon's robe and stripping it off as well.
"Padawan," the Jedi Master began, his voice hoarse with arousal, "this isn't proper . . ."
"It's a celebration, Master. No one will care."
Qui-Gon's tunic was soon gone, dropped over the edge somewhere, and Obi-Wan's warm hands came up to stroke his chest, fingers circling Qui-Gon's nipples and tracing heated paths along his ribs. One hand slid up behind his neck, pulling him down and forward so that Obi-Wan could whisper in his ear.
"Watch me, Master."
The hands released him as Obi-Wan stepped back, and Qui-Gon immediately missed their warmth. But he couldn't take his eyes off his Padawan as the younger Jedi ignited his lightsaber and moved into the first position of the Moon Kata. Dancers nearby gave way, turning to watch as Obi-Wan spun and dipped and twisted through the movements, his speed slowly increasing until the glow from his 'saber was nothing more than a blur illuminating his supple, gleaming body.
The crowd, as caught up in the kata as Qui-Gon was, began to chant, swaying and waving their light sticks in time with the kata. Qui-Gon thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, so sensuous, and he had to struggle not to reach out and pull his Padawan to him, wanting nothing more than to claim that beauty as his own.
// Dance with me, Master. //
The invitation rang in his head, thrummed through his nerves.
// Please? //
It was too much. Unable to say no, Qui-Gon drew his own lightsaber with an animalistic growl and took up the kata, mirroring Obi-Wan's movements precisely. Around them, the chanting increased in volume, overriding even the deafening music. Soon, the others took up the challenge, dancing and waving their light sticks in conscious imitation of the two Jedi.
As the kata drew to a close, Obi-Wan stepped closer, mashing his body against his Master's, his arousal quite evident as it pressed into Qui-Gon's thigh. The hand holding his still lit 'saber snaked around behind Qui-Gon's hips, pulling them closer. "Dance with me, Master," he whispered.
With another growl, Qui-Gon captured the waiting lips, thrusting his tongue forward to war with Obi-Wan's. He deactivated both their weapons with a flicker of the Force, clutching the young man to him and grinding his erection against the other's abdomen. "It's not wise to tempt a Jedi Master," he warned when he came up for air. Whatever reply Obi-Wan might have had was cut off as Qui-Gon captured an earlobe between his teeth, nipping and sucking.
"Master!" Obi-Wan cried out, thrusting forward as he came. Qui-Gon followed him a second later, drowning his own cry against the soft, warm flesh of his Padawan's neck.
For long moments, neither of them moved. Finally, Obi-Wan drew back slightly, just enough to gaze up into his Master's eyes. "I love you, my Master," he said, his eyes shining in the glow of the light sticks.
"And I love you, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said, opening his shields so that Obi-Wan could feel the truth behind the words. "I've loved you for so long."
A dazzling smile was his answer. The twenty-one year old Apprentice stretched up for a quick but thorough kiss, then dropped his head against Qui-Gon's chest, drawing them both back into the slow, swaying dance. "Thank you, Master," he said, his warm breath puffing against Qui-Gon's shoulder and making his cock stir again. "Tonight, I've learned the true meaning of ecstasy."
The End