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Disclaimer: Do I really have to tell you that I don't own these
guys? If I owned them, I wouldn't have to post this stuff on
the Internet I'd have put it in the movie! But, just in case,
I'll just say they belong the to mighty Lucas, and not little
ol' me. Thanks goes to my Padawan D'Angel for beta reading this
for me.
Summary: Qui-Gon's thoughts as he is lying awake one night.
I can resist this.
I'm awake in our shared room on TaHareel, watching you sleep.
You've already tossed half your blankets on the floor with your
nightly twisting and turnings. Indeed, it is often quite a feat
to actually -sleep- in the same room as you, restless as you
are, although that isn't what is keeping me awake this night.
I'm awake because you're dreaming about me.
I'm watching you, watching the moonlight cast a diffused glow
over you and the first thought that comes to me is, 'How -dare-
you be so beautiful?'
I dismiss it immediately; your appeal is far from your fault,
more so at night than during the day. In your blissful
innocence you have never known your appeal, wouldn't believe it
if you did. But I see it.
And as I watch you this night, I have thoughts of you that no
Jedi should -ever- have of his Padawan.
Thoughts about the curve of your throat, the taste of your
skin, your lips...
No. I can resist this. A Jedi has control over his emotions and
himself and I can resist this.
I have been for years now, since the awkwardness of adolescence
left you and instead you became a vision of masculine beauty.
But I resist it; I must resist it because I know that you will
not. You are as clear to me as the lakes of Alderaan and if I
turned the warmth of my thoughts to you, you would bend to me
like a flower to the sun.
But my light would burn you, my Padawan. The last thing a
vision such as you needs is an aged man who is far too reckless
for the good of either of us. On this, I will not be reckless,
no matter the temptation.
I will resist this because it is forbidden, and with good
reason. A Master and Padawan should not, can not, be lovers. It
interferes with the teacher/student relationship, it brings in
heated emotion where there should be calm, it is -wrong-. And
you, my Padawan, are destined to become a far better Jedi than
I am. I will not allow myself to taint your learning with my
desires. Or yours. It is a double-edged blade that we must
tread with careful balance, lest we both be cut.
And if I were to give in, I would lose the piece of you that I
have. It is all I can do now to hide my feelings from the
Council, I could never hide a bonding from them. We would be
separated and I am selfish enough to want to hold on to you, no
matter how difficult these nights are. And I know you too well
to think that you would let me stand before the Council alone.
No, my apprentice, you will never be subjected to the scrutiny
of the Council, not over my lack of control. Because I can
resist this.
Or perhaps I'm a masochist.
I don't need to sit here, awake, and torture myself with the
siryn call of your dream. I can put myself to sleep, I have
before on many occasions, too many to count. But here, away
from the prying minds of a few thousand Jedi, I relax my
shields just a little and watch you.
I can't see your dream, but I can feel its intensity and I
watch you and think of what you might be dreaming. Would you
have me touch your cheek, kiss you gently, sip of your
sweetness? No, your dream is not so chaste, you would have me
devour you, invade you, I would press my lips to yours hungrily
as a starving man because I have been starving, for you.
I would bite down the tempting curve of your neck, push you
back on the lumpy mattress and meld my body to yours, to feel
as much of that golden skin as possible against my own. I would
trace your lips with my finger before I pushed it into your
mouth, let you suck on it before I would pull it back and
stroke your nipples with the wetness, let them slip between my
fingertips. I would taste those hard nubs myself, bite them
hard enough to make you gasp, stop before you could protest. As
if you would.
I would travel further downward, leave a damp trail with my
tongue as I explore the smooth plane of your stomach and you
would arch against me, begging silently for more. But I would
ignore the hard curve of your cock, crimson and leaking clear
silky fluid from the tip. I would move lower, kneel between
your legs and kiss the soft skin of your inner thighs. You
would spread your legs wide, desperate for any touch from me
that might bring you closer to your release.
I lick my way upward, press my nose against the soft sac at the
base of your cock and inhale deeply the scent of your sex, a
sharp tang that is sweeter to me than the most costly perfumes.
I would continue upward finally where you most want me, the
heat of my breath caressing the swollen need of your cock.
Would you plead with me, lift your hips to me? Or would you be
silent but for the harshness of your breathing, still wearing
that dignity of yours wrapped around you like a cloak.
I would make you beg, if only to hear the sensuous rasp of your
voice beseeching me to take you.
Would you give a choked cry as I lick the shimmering jewel of
fluid from the tip, lightly circle the head with my tongue
before licking my way down the shaft? This is a delicacy I have
never enjoyed with you, salty and rich, and I intend to savor
it.
I would play your body like an instrument, work you to a
fevered pitch of need before I would finally take your cock
between my lips, feel it pulse strongly with repressed longing.
I would caress you with my mouth, sucking hard then soft,
teasing you. Your hands would wind themselves in my hair and I
would capture them and hold them down, hear you wail in dismay
as you realize that you are trapped, trapped in a web of
ecstasy and raw passion that you can not evade.
And just as you reach the peak you have been striving for I
would pull away, ignoring your protests that are nearly
screams. I would pull your legs up and over my thighs and press
my cock against the entrance of your body and you would freeze
and fall silent, waiting.
We would hesitate there, I would be leaning over you looking
into your eyes and a battle would be waged there, silently,
until finally, finally...
"Please," you would whisper. And I would thrust inside the
crimson heat of your body, gentleness and teasing forgotten in
the storm of carnality that surrounds us. I slam into your
body, uncaring if your cries are pain or pleasure because I
know that you are as lost as I and we are swept away in a
glorious nova of sensation that mounts until the explosion runs
a shock wave through us both that I pray will never, never end.
You shift slightly in your sleep and I freeze, the only thing
surrounding my cock is my hand, which is wet and sticky with
semen.
Quickly, I soothe you, as carefully as my trembling senses
allow, using the force to weave a comforting shield against
reality around you and you relax into it, into sleep, your skin
gleaming with sweat and your own pearly essence that coats your
stomach. I use the force to gingerly clean away the evidence of
your orgasm with the edge of your blanket and I do the same
with my hand.
I lie back on the bed and push the fantasy from my mind,
ignoring a soft cry from my soul, a tiny part of me unwilling
to release that bit of hope. But I ignore it, because that will
not happen. It will -never- happen.
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