Whipping Boy

by Lilith Sedai (lilith_sedai@hotmail.com)

Archive: M_A, SWAL, OKEB, QJEB

Category: PWP, bdsm, fetish/kink

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Contains strong discipline scenes and SM. Implicit non-Q/O

Spoilers: Jedi Apprentice 1 and 2, sorta

Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon engage in some therapeutic role-playing.

Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome.

Acknowledgments: This is a gift to Master Ruth, for her Christmas challenge. :)

Disclaimer: George, you should have spanked Obi-Wan instead of killing Qui-Gon. Just think of all the profits you'd have made then that I'm not making now!

"Master?"

"Yes, Padawan?" Qui-Gon ran his hand over his student's flank lazily.

"I've always wondered why you struggled so hard to keep from admitting you wanted to have this," Obi-Wan rolled to his side and pushed himself up, drawing his knee up and draping his arm over it, "with me."

Qui-Gon stared at his padawan for a long moment, drinking deep of Obi-Wan's lazy beauty. "For the same reason I struggled so hard against taking you as my padawan," he admitted after a time, lying back and gazing up at the ceiling.

"Xanatos." Obi-Wan didn't sound surprised. He reached and traced his fingertips over Qui-Gon's belly. "I'd wondered if that were true, Master." His fingertips tugged lightly at the ruff of hair on Qui-Gon's broad chest. "Why would you resist loving me, after Xanatos, knowing that you could trust me?" There was a faint sound of pain in the thoughtful voice.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon growled low in his throat, catching his padawan's wrist, but the young man didn't relent, moving closer to his Master's side.

"Master, I wonder if you have some unresolved issues regarding Xanatos." He bent and touched his lips to Qui-Gon's shoulder. "For instance," he kissed again, then nipped. "Did you want him, as you want me?"

Qui-Gon jerked, shocked and discomfited. "Obi-Wan, I--"

"Did you ever have him?" Obi-Wan's lips danced across the older man's collarbone. "No? Did you fantasize about him, as you did about me, Master?" Qui-Gon swallowed guiltily, turning his head aside, but the relentless kisses continued. "You wanted him, didn't you. Loved him and wanted him. And when he left, he hurt you," Obi-Wan whispered. His lips fluttered against Qui-Gon's throat.

"Yes," the word was barely a breath, whispered on an exhaled sigh. So much pain, recalled by Obi-Wan's soft words. Pain and resentment and useless longing. Sometimes he still missed Xanatos, missed him almost as much as he hurt inside when he thought of how he had failed his second padawan, and how blind he had been to Xanatos's darkness.

"Master," Obi-Wan kissed his lips softly. "You should have closure on this."

"Is it impossible, padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, regret a thick lump in his throat. "Xanatos is at large in the galaxy, and I hope that I may never see him again." He stroked Obi-Wan's cheek softly, his love implicit in the tenderness of the gesture.

"That doesn't matter, Master," Obi-Wan nuzzled his cheek into the warm palm. "I think I can arrange what you need."

Qui-Gon returned from his teaching the next day to find his padawan arranged in a lazy sprawl on the common room couch. He reminded himself to remain calm, and waited for the younger man to speak.

"I'm going out later," he said casually. "I'll be home after curfew."

"When?" Qui-Gon struggled to keep his voice level. Even though they had planned this in careful detail, he found that he was uncomfortable and nervous.

"Does it matter?" Catlike stretch, and the young man rose, leaving his things on the couch.

"It matters to me," Qui-Gon held his breath for a moment, and dropped into the fantasy. "Xani."

"Not to me." A quicksilver laugh, uncaring.

Qui-Gon felt his temper rise. He would have to be careful here; the charade was getting to him already. "You may not go out this evening," he stated carefully. "I prefer that you remain here and study."

A sulky look. "But Master--"

"Are you questioning my commands, padawan?"

Instantaneous reversal, like the titration of a single drop of catalyst reagent. "Of course not, Master." Sultriness replaced sulkiness without even a flicker.

Force, Obi-Wan was right; it had never been like this with Xani, but it should have been. Qui-Gon had let him leave, let him come in as he pleased, had let that sultry air charm him too many times. "I think you are," his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I think you have for a long time, my Xani." His hands were shaking with need for this, and he stepped forward to where his padawan waited for him, faintly insolent.

"What are you going to do about it, then?" The insolent smile was delivered beneath smoldering eyes.

Qui-Gon's breath quickened in spite of himself. "You will not charm your way out of punishment this time, Xanatos." His fingertips ghosted across the proudly lifted jaw.

His padawan turned his face and pulled away sharply, smug confidence in his eyes. "And how do you plan to punish me, Master?"

Qui-Gon's heart pounded in his chest. "Go into my room. Strip and kneel." He was obeyed with a saucy shrug and a flirtatious roll of hip; the young man was clearly unconcerned, not believing Qui-Gon could bring himself to mete out punishment. The Jedi Master's fists clenched. He would have what he wanted this time.

He entered the room, hands already working the buckle of his belt, anticipating the blade of its lash against pale, bared buttocks, but Xanatos had disregarded his command, and lay nude on his bed. He was stripped but not submissive; his eyes mocked the Jedi Master triumphantly. "Qui-Gon," the word was a taunt in its own right.

"I told you to kneel," Qui-Gon's voice was dangerous, a whisper of snakeskin on silk.

"But you know you want this more," Xani taunted him lazily, rolling to his belly and offering his slim hips, thighs parted temptingly. "Oh, I know you do, Master. I've known for a long time."

The belt struck with a hiss and Xanatos cried out, baffled, and struggled to crawl away, but Qui-Gon had his ankle, dragging him to the foot of the bed. The young man's fingers clenched in the bedspread and scattered pillows, exposing the sheets like a blade tearing a ragged wound in flesh. Qui-Gon was beyond caring; he caught the padawan braid and knotted it about his fist, dragging his student into the bathroom.

Shoving Xani against the cold tile wall, he reached to tear strips of towel. Xanatos struggled, spitting and clawing, fighting him with tooth and nail and Force, and Qui-Gon growled, driving him to the floor and shoving a knee into the smaller man's back. Bindings torn, he snatched the young man upright and bound his arms to the shower rod; it rattled in its place as Xani snarled and tried to reach him with heel and bite. Qui-Gon stepped back and raked his tumbled hair from his eyes, gasping for breath.

"You've had this coming," he gasped. "For a long time, my Xanatos."

And then the proud body before him straightened, seeming to disregard the bonds, seeming to stand there of its own volition, and the cold eyes sneered at him.

He extended his hand and his belt came to it like a shot. He swung, and it curled around Xani's ribs with a sharp crack.

The young man arched and cried out, the baffled hurt of someone who has never had a hand raised to him, no matter how he needed it. Qui-Gon steeled himself and swung again, watching the head fall back and the padawan braid whip against the taut, sweat-sheened hips. Red welts on the young man's ribs, his toes white and shaking with the strain of pushing his body away from the blows... and there, between his legs, the pale shaft of his penis, just beginning to swell.

Qui-Gon swung again, eyes locked to that hardening flesh, which surged even as Xanatos cried out under the blow.

"Qui-Gon!" Xanatos gasped. "Don't!"

"You'll not charm your way past me this time, padawan!" Qui-Gon grunted with effort as he swung and connected again. The penis was beginning to jut forth from the tangle of curls now; Xanatos lifted his head and screamed.

"Master!" Xanatos' body twisted in the bindings. Qui-Gon felt his own body surge with passion at the beauty of the young man before him, at his own relief and pleasure in what was happening.

He aimed lower, the lash of his leather belt curling around a narrow, sweet hip. "Master, please!" Xanatos wailed and thrashed, his erection standing straight out now. Xanatos, submitting before him at last, begging for him. Qui-Gon growled and threw the belt from him, reaching to the razor that lay on his sink and slashing the towel bindings that held him in place. He flung his gasping padawan over his shoulder, stalking into the bedroom and flinging him onto the ravaged bed.

"Master," the voice was choked with tears and passion, pleading. "Forgive me, Master..."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and looked down at the slim angular body that lay in his bed, half-shadowed in the dim light, face invisible. "Xani," he breathed. "Ah, my Xani..."

The slim thighs parted, the rampant shaft nudging at the flat belly. He rolled the slender body, turning Xanatos to his belly.

"My Master..." the arrogance in the sultry voice was tamed and humbled. "Love you, Master. Want you..."

Qui-Gon shivered with need, running his fingertips up along the curve of a calf and the sweetness of inner thigh. "Xani," he tasted the name hungrily, knee moving onto his bed, weight shifting over the younger man. "Xanatos." He sank down, blanketing the red-streaked back with his body. He reached and stroked between the cleft of the soft hips, found that the young man was ready for him, prepared and obedient for his master. Submitted, willing... and loving. He could feel the love thrumming in the soul of the man beneath him, and he bit softly at a pale shoulderblade, nudging the slender legs apart with his knees.

A low whimper greeted the first gentle pressure of his erection, and Qui-Gon stroked his hand through the short, silk-soft hair reassuringly. "Don't move."

"Yes, Master." the voice was chastened, submissive... and hoarse with need. Qui-Gon caught the young man's wrists in his hands, forcing them up and out, and hooked his ankles around Xanatos's, spreading his body wide. Then he slowly rocked himself upward, holding Xanatos in place under him as he slid deep inside his padawan's body.

"Yes..." twin groans of passion and pleasure escaped them, and Xanatos' fingers scrabbled at the headboard, finding purchase there.

"Keep your hands where they are," Qui-Gon growled softly in his ear.

"Yes, Master." Pride was replacing defiance now; and Qui-Gon withdrew, thrusting back in fiercely, bracing with hands on either side of the slim, fine-muscled torso.

The young man squirmed as Qui-Gon nipped at a welt that ran over his shoulder. "Pride is of the Dark Side, my Xanatos," the Jedi Master warned. "Do not make me test your resolve to obey my order, padawan."

"I am sorry, my Master," the voice was muffled by the mattress. Qui-Gon thrust in sharply again, burying himself to the root, feeling the younger man's groan resonate through him.

"So good," Qui-Gon murmured, nuzzling the nape of the sweating neck. "Will you always be good for me, my Xani? Swear it. Swear it." His voice shook with intensity, and he rammed the repetitions home with savage thrusts. "Swear it!"

"I swear, my Master!" The words were a soft wail.

He ran his hands down sweat-slippery sides, feeling the shudders that raced through the narrow body as his palms moved over the heat of the welts Xanatos had earned. He thrust steadily, scattering kisses over his padawan's shoulders and neck, pressing them into the silken hair. He tasted sweat and devotion on the younger man's skin.

He changed his angle, driving the young man into the mattress with each powerful thrust of his hips. "Come for me, Xani," he growled into the pale shell of his padawan's ear, and Xanatos cried out beneath him, hips bucking and shuddering. With a low groan, Qui-Gon thrust a final time, expelling himself deep within the warm, tight body. "Ah, my Xani." He was spent, exhausted, and sated, his soul weary, but filled with a strange, transcendent peace.

After a long moment, he moved off the younger man; trembling legs failed to hold him and he slumped to the mattress, drawing his padawan into his arms and burying his face in the young man's neck. Sleep reached out to him, drawing its gauzy curtain over mind and breath, and he sank into dreams, his padawan cradled tightly against him, the young man's head tucked under his chin.

"Why didn't you safeword?" Qui-Gon gently spread soothing cream on Obi-Wan's bruised back, morning sunlight washing over his padawan's smooth, pale skin.

Obi-Wan shrugged a little, abashed. "I think I would have done, if you hadn't stopped then. But you needed it, Master."

Qui-Gon rubbed the lotion in, easing its way with a touch of Force.

"Don't heal them," Obi-Wan murmured, protesting, wriggling to escape.

"You didn't earn them." Qui-Gon admonished. "He did."

"I'm sure I've earned more than that in my day, Master, that you never discovered." A sly grin curved Obi-Wan's mouth, and a single blue eye sparkled wickedly up at Qui-Gon from the downy pillow. "How do you feel now?"

"Better," Qui-Gon admitted, half-surprised at himself, stroking a fingertip over his padawan's bare thigh. "Next time, would you like for me to be Bruck?"

Obi-Wan raised his head with surprise, then flopped back onto the pillow, laughing. "Only if I can be Master Windu after that."

Qui-Gon snorted. "You'll surely need a safeword then."

Obi-Wan laughed softly, and Qui-Gon tumbled his padawan onto his back. "Thank you, Obi-Wan," he murmured, kissing his padawan's lips. Obi-Wan just smiled at him, his eyes shining.

-end-