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continued from part one...
Obi-Wan was kneeling at Qui-Gon’s outstretched feet, caressing him tenderly, fingers well above the ankle and in direct contact with Qui-Gon’s skin. He gently kneaded the calf muscle, swept his fingers up behind Qui-Gon’s knee and back down to the ankle, all the while pressing Qui-Gon’s bare heel against the hard ridge of his…
“Is that better, Master?” Obi-Wan whispered.
Qui-Gon groaned. It was much better than anything he’d hoped for.
He could not, however, as much as he was enjoying his position on the floor, ignore his position as Master. He was an authority figure. He could not take advantage, nor pressure his Padawan in any way. He could make no assumptions. Assumptions could be coloured by desire. Incorrect assumptions lead to the dark side.
He must remain calm and passive.
He must let Obi-Wan make the first concrete move.
Obi-Wan lowered Qui-Gon’s foot to the floor and leaned forward, with one knee between Qui-Gon’s long legs. “Master?” he said cautiously, crawling up until his knee was nestled between Qui-Gon’s thighs. He hovered above, with his braid swaying across Qui-Gon’s chest. “Is this acceptable?”
Qui-Gon willed his hand to move and grasp the middle of the braid.
Obi-Wan lowered his head so his cheek rested against Qui-Gon’s trembling fingers, keeping his eyes locked with Qui-Gon’s. “Is it, Master?”
“It is,” Qui-Gon answered helplessly, “most acceptable, my Padawan.” He tugged the braid. Obi-Wan’s head dropped to his chest, and was relieved to not have to look at the startling blue of those eyes, so unlike the usual serene grey they normally were after Obi-Wan’s meditation.
Qui-Gon drew one foot up the back of Obi-Wan’s leg, pressed the side of his foot against the thigh, pushed Obi-Wan down fully on top of him. His Padawan stretched out across his body, a warm solid weight. “It is most desirable, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed.
Obi-Wan stretched up and pressed his face against Qui-Gon’s neck. “I was not interested in any of the young men at the celebration,” he murmured against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Only one stubborn old Jedi Master.”
Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulders tightly, held him close, strong shoulders under Qui-Gon’s hands, the exquisite curve of Obi-Wan’s hip against his hip, the muscular thigh between his legs, pressing against his hardness.
They might spend the entire night in that position, Qui-Gon realised. Obi-Wan would make no more advances without express permission. Ever the obedient, humble Padawan.
It was simply not acceptable.
“Obi-Wan, you know that when negotiations come to a standstill, it can be most difficult to break through the inertia.”
“Yes, Master. Once must always keep the parties talking to prevent deferment of a conclusion,” Obi-Wan said as if repeating a lesson.
He was, actually, repeating a lesson.
He raised his head to look at Qui-Gon’s face. “Master? Do you consider this a business transaction?” He looked remarkably hurt.
Qui-Gon curled up to a half-sitting position.
Obi-Wan moaned.
Qui-Gon worried he might have injured him somehow, but then felt the tightening of Obi-Wan’s fingers, which had come to rest on Qui-Gon’s now rigid stomach.
He tried to ignore the way the fingers quivered against his hard muscles, and how Obi-Wan nudged himself against Qui-Gon’s hip.
“Not at all. You are most precious to me, but we are entering dangerous territory.”
Obi-Wan pulled himself away from Qui-Gon, rising on his knees. He automatically reached to straighten his tunic. “You think me dangerous to you?”
“No.” That was the last thing Qui-Gon had intended. “My apologies. I’m not expressing myself well.”
Qui-Gon was understating the case. If he had been this clumsy in his mediation attempts, they would still be sleeping in the city, near the main square, fitfully or with one eye open, listening to the raging battles outside.
He sat up fully and pulled Obi-Wan to his side. He would have preferred to pull Obi-Wan into his lap, but it would remind him too much of his responsibility as teacher and mentor. And it would have reminded him that Obi-Wan had come to him at a young age, seeing him as a father figure.
“Obi-Wan, this is not forbidden but there is a matter of propriety. We must be certain we understand what we expect of each other, and what we are willing to give.”
“I don’t want to have to negotiate for your favours, Master. That isn’t the way it should be if two people desire one another!”
Qui-Gon merely stared at Obi-Wan for a moment. He wondered when his shy, serious young Padawan had become so mature.
Obi-Wan turned his face away. “At least I’d hoped it would be different.”
As did Qui-Gon. If it weren’t for the veritable chasm between their respective positions in the order, the issue of informed consent, the age difference, the difference in levels of experience…
“Obi-Wan, have you ever… with anyone?”
Obi-Wan shook his head sadly. “No, Master. I’m not very popular.”
Qui-Gon remembered the last time he’d seen Obi-Wan interact with one of his peers, as they were preparing to leave for the mission. Obi-Wan had been leaning against a packing crate near the landing bay, talking with another Padawan, a fetching young woman, about his age, with lush red hair and a delicate flower tattooed on her left temple. Qui-Gon had felt a flare of something hot inside, and when he’d approached the woman had scurried off, stuttering something about being late for a class.
How long had Qui-Gon been scaring off Obi-Wan’s potential partners? he wondered.
He must have terrified every Padawan in the temple with his unconscious jealousy.
He would have to be sure to do that to every interested young man in this city as well. Especially that very handsome young one.
Had he caused Obi-Wan to be unnecessarily lonely? It was not as if they spent that much time at the temple. They were usually travelling to or from a mission, when they weren’t actually on a mission. It must have been a dreary life for Obi-Wan, yet he rarely complained, was always cheerful and ready to serve his Master with a smile.
“Have you been… waiting for this?” Qui-Gon dared to ask.
Obi-Wan tugged the end of his braid.
Qui-Gon clamped his hand over Obi-Wan’s fidgeting fingers. They stilled immediately. Obi-Wan leaned against him and touched his forehead to Qui-Gon’s shoulder.
“Obi-Wan, you are my Padawan. I cannot allow anything to come between us.”
Obi-Wan looked up grinning. “Really?” His hands rushed to pull off Qui-Gon’s belt. “I’d prefer it with nothing between us as well.”
Qui-Gon would have stopped Obi-Wan. He should have explained that he’d meant that figuratively and not literally, but Obi-Wan’s fingers wriggled through the opening of his tunic and brushed against the bare skin of Qui-Gon’s waist. Qui-Gon had to accept Obi-Wan’s enthusiasm as consent before his anticipation caused an accident. The wildly fumbling fingers at his waist, the look of impatient concentration on Obi-Wan’s face as he wrestled with the sash, the hot slide of Obi-Wan against his thigh, all threatened to shred his Jedi calm and dignity.
It took all Qui-Gon’s restraint to not push Obi-Wan on the floor when he realized Obi-Wan was straddling his thigh and rubbing himself against it. Vigorously.
“Obi-Wan, let me…” But help was not necessary, for Obi-Wan tossed the sash aside and slid both hands up under his tunic.
“Oh, Master,” Obi-Wan breathed out as his fingers flicked across Qui-Gon’s hard nipples and ruffled chest hair.
Ah, so the little misunderstanding about literal and figurative meanings had been on purpose. Always the clever little Padawan.
Qui-Gon gave up trying to control himself. He pulled Obi-Wan fully onto his lap and spread his hands over the muscles of his Padawan’s ass. Obi-wan wriggled forward and pressed his pelvis against Qui-Gon’s hard cock, sighing another ‘oh, master’ before he raised his mouth to meet Qui-Gon’s.
Obi-Wan’s lips were unskilled but determined. He pressed hard and opened them, eagerly licking around them. Qui-Gon felt a surge of energy when their tongues met. So sweet, so delicious. Obi-Wan squirmed on his lap and whimpered.
“Master, I have wanted this for so long, but I never had the courage to approach you.”
“I’m glad you found it,” Qui-Gon assured him. “I hope this is not the result of too much grarbous and scrotto.”
Obi-Wan rubbed his smooth cheek against Qui-Gon’s neatly trimmed beard. “No more negotiations,” he whispered. “I want this to be as it should be, between… lovers.”
Absolutely perfect. It was a simple matter to grab Obi-Wan’s slim hips and lift him off his lap and over to the nearest sleep pallet. It was less simple, but also less physically straining, to whip Obi-Wan’s sash off his waist, push his outer tunic open and the inner layer apart, to reveal the clean lines of his chest and belly. Qui-Gon licked from the indent of his navel to the shallow indent of his chin, one long, delicious stroke that made Obi-Wan shudder violently.
“If you are sure of that, then I would ravish you,” Qui-Gon growled.
The blue of Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Please, Master,” he said breathlessly.
The tunics landed in a pile beside the bed. Qui-Gon spent a few minutes rubbing their bare chests together and kissing his Padawan thoroughly. Obi-Wan was as unstill as a Padawan could be. He writhed beneath Qui-Gon’s larger body, grasped at waist, thighs, ass, ground his pelvis up into Qui-Gon’s belly, wriggled his legs until he was hugging Qui-Gon’s leg with his thighs.
The wild humping against his leg drove Qui-Gon down Obi-Wan’s body to curse at the straps of his boots. He understood the need for Jedi footwear to be sturdy and secure, but surely the outfitters could have devised a less intricate fastening system. The leather warmed under his fingers, was smooth, even slick from the sweat on his palms. The thick boots fit Obi-Wan’s calves perfectly. Qui-Gon found himself running his hand up and down the back of one leg, feeling the muscle strain against the leather.
Obi-Wan sat up and wrestled the boots off without ceremony. His entire body went still when Qui-Gon’s hands hesitated at the waist of his pants.
This was a moment of truth. If Obi-Wan was not sincere in his desire, if he wanted to have the slightest chance of stopping his Master… Obi-Wan roughly pushed the hands aside and opened the pants. His back arched as he threw himself back on the bed and shoved the fabric past his hips.
Pure bliss, Qui-Gon thought as he gazed at Obi-Wan’s erection for the first time. So exquisitely shaped, so achingly hard, so gracefully proportioned. So like his Padawan to be sculpted to perfection everywhere. Qui-Gon’s lips itched. He bent and took it in his mouth.
The moan from Obi-Wan was music. The taste of him was succulent and rich. The satin skin of his hips under Qui-Gon’s fingertips almost brought tears to the master’s eyes. Qui-Gon knew he would drink of Obi-Wan, drink him down as if he were the finest wine, lick him as one would lick the sweetest honey, and that Obi-Wan would be as refreshing as sparkling spring water.
“Qui-Gon!”
The sound of his name urged him to suck more intensely. Obi-Wan’s fingers tangled in his hair and tugged him upward, but Qui-Gon paid them no heed. If nothing else, he would have this taste.
His name was repeated over and over. He had rarely heard it from his Padawan’s lips, and never had it sounded so pleasing. He wished for the ability to communicate without speaking. He would tell Obi-Wan to let go, to let his emotions pour forth into Qui-Gon’s mouth. He had to rely on his tongue in a different way. He lashed it around the head of Obi-Wan’s cock and pressed his lips tightly around the shaft.
The first spurt of seed was bitter, the second bracing, and the third only made Qui-Gon want more. Obi-Wan’s thigh quivered under one large hand, and his whole body sank into the bedding. “Oh, Master,” Obi-Wan groaned.
Qui-Gon threw the rest of his clothes to the floor and pulled himself up beside his panting lover. He caressed Obi-Wan’s cheek gently. He would be patient, give the boy a chance to recover. He needed the time to calm his own nerves.
“My Padawan, it is a rare treat to see you out of breath,” he said lightly, hoping to diffuse any awkwardness before Obi-Wan’s natural shyness surfaced. He skimmed his fingers over the sheen of sweat on Obi-Wan’s chest. “And as much as I love to watch your body glisten when you perform your katas, this is infinitely better.”
Obi-Wan looked up at him blearily. “You watch me like that when I exercise, Master?”
Qui-Gon could not help grinning. “Indeed. Of late, I have watched you ever closer. Especially when you strip to the waist. You are strong and beautiful, and that I had a hand in shaping you brings me more pride than is suitable for a Jedi, young one. But this is something I had not dared to believe possible.”
Obi-Wan snaked his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck. “I did not think someone so young and foolish could ever appeal to someone like you.”
Qui-Gon laughed. “Young you are. Foolish? Never. You are already wiser than I, Obi-Wan.”
“But you always tell me to be more mindful.”
“Of the living force, yes, you could be more aware. Sometimes you rely too much on this,” he tapped Obi-Wan’s forehead lightly. “And these.” He leaned down and kissed first one eyelid as it fluttered shut, then the other.
“What about this?” Obi-Wan asked, and he wrapped his fingers around Qui-Gon’s thick cock. “I don’t need the Force to know what this wants.”
“No,” Qui-Gon moaned. “But search your feelings. What do you sense?”
Obi-Wan squeezed lightly and nuzzled his Master’s cheek. “I sense desire. Need. I sense your caution. You do not want me to do anything I will regret… I sense your love. And it warms my body, inside and out.” Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Brilliant blue they were now. “You want to be inside me.”
Qui-Gon resisted the urge to congratulate his student on his accuracy.
“Will you… fit?” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.
“Only if you wish it.”
“Then you will fit!”
“Well, it takes more than merely wishing.”
“What must I do?” Obi-Wan asked eagerly, already beginning to harden again as he twisted against Qui-Gon’s flank.
“Nothing at all. Just relax; I will take care of everything.”
“That’s not fair. You’ve already done all the work.”
Work? Nonsense. Qui-Gon had done nothing but pleasure himself thus far. He gently turned Obi-Wan on his side. “You are not work,” he murmured against the skin under which the ridge of Obi-Wan’s spine passed between his shoulder blades. “You are effortless luxury.”
That didn’t sound very Jedi-like to Qui-Gon’s ear. But then, neither did what he was about to do to Obi-Wan with his tongue. He pushed Obi-Wan’s top leg forward and scraped his beard across the firm, round ass, earning himself a very surprised ‘oh’.
Qui-Gon kissed the base of Obi-Wan’s spine, licked the swell of his hip, nibbled the lush flesh of his left buttock enough to cause a delicious squirm, and drew his tongue across goose pimpled flesh to the dark cleft. Here the taste intensified, the dark hairs reminded him that Obi-Wan was no longer a boy, and the low groan from above assured him that everything he had done was welcomed. Coarse hair tickled his tongue as he licked lower. The timbre of the groans rose and Obi-Wan spread his legs further apart.
There was another bright surge of energy when Qui-Gon’s tongue connected with the virgin ring of puckered skin. He soothed it, prodded gently, then with more force, spearing it and spreading Obi-Wan’s ass with his hands as he lapped at the dusky hole. The muscles loosened and quivered under his tongue.
He would not hurt Obi-Wan; he would make sure of that.
He thrust his tongue as deep as he could and reached down to stroke the heavy balls that pressed against his chin. Obi-Wan twisted and lifted up on his knees. His moans were muffled, and Qui-Gon realized Obi-Wan had grabbed Qui-Gon’s discarded robe and had buried his face in the cloth.
Qui-Gon doubted he would ever be able to don his robe without thinking about that.
He judged it time to move on. He slid two fingers into his mouth to wet them thoroughly. Obi-Wan pushed up, moaning, when Qui-Gon’s knuckles brushed over his opening.
“Yes, Master,” he gasped, in a way Qui-Gon had never heard him say ‘yes, Master’ before. He thought he’d experienced all the variations. He thought he’d known his Padawan as well as any Master could know a Padawan.
Well, he had never claimed to be infallible.
He pressed a fingertip tentatively, delicately… until Obi-Wan lunged back and impaled himself. Ever the impatient Padawan, Qui-Gon was known to say. He did not say it, as his mouth was far too busy exploring the underside of Obi-Wan’s balls while his finger snaked in and out, stretching and caressing inside. Two fingers snaked in and out. A frantic sob came from the depths of his robe.
Qui-Gon looked around the room and spotted a slender glass bottle beside a sputtering candle. How thoughtful of their hosts. He reached for the gleaming bottle with one hand and uncorked it using the Force. Expecting to find some exotic unguent, he was pleasantly surprised to smell the familiar aroma of sweet almond oil. Perfectly harmless, perfectly safe, and perfectly smooth as he drizzled it down his fingers and inside Obi-Wan.
“Better?” he asked harshly.
Obi-Wan nodded within the envelop of the dark brown fabric. The only part of his head still visible was the braid, slung back over his shoulder and skidding across the smooth skin as Obi-Wan jerked about on the bed.
“Master, please…”
Qui-Gon answered the plea immediately. He pulled Obi-Wan back down on his side.
Obi-Wan did not understand what was happening. “I meant to go forward, not halt,” he wailed in desperation.
“I am fully aware of what you meant.” Qui-Gon nestled behind Obi-Wan and used the slick, hot fingers that had been inside to guide his stiff cock. “Take a deep breath and relax your body. I’m going to glide into you, and you’ll open up for me naturally, so easily.”
There was no need to put the power of the Force behind the suggestion. Obi-Wan was more than ready. He panted and gave a small whimper at first, but Qui-Gon slid easily inside and was soon enjoying warm ass pressed against his groin. He wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan’s torso used his other hand to pull the robe off tousled hair.
They had been on this planet long enough for Obi-Wan to be in need of a haircut. His hair stood out in short tufts, and made him look even younger. Qui-Gon ran a hand over it to smooth it.
“There, much better,” Qui-Gon murmured. He used his considerable powers of concentration to ignore the heat and pressure and intensity; an ordinary man would have reached his peak before he was fully sheathed. He ran his hand down Obi-Wan’s ridged abdomen and settled it on his fully erect cock. “Rest a moment, and get used to the feeling.”
Obi-Wan pushed back. “No, I want to feel everything. Stop using your powers to make it calmer. I don’t want calm. I want this to be like it is for everyone…”
Qui-Gon stroked the rigid cock in one hand and squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder with the other. “Shhhhh, Padawan. That is impossible. It cannot be like it is for anyone else; you are not with anyone else. And…” Qui-Gon kissed the top of his head. He might as well admit his feelings; Obi-Wan would sense it now if he held anything back. “I do not want you to ever do this with anyone else.” He pushed his hips carefully forward. Obi-Wan met the thrust gracefully. “Ever.”
“Yes, please, Master.” Obi-Wan rolled his head back to rest on his Master’s shoulder.
They rocked together, slowly at first, building, rising, mounting as they grew more familiar with each other’s bodies, the curve of Obi-Wan’s ass, the shape of Qui-Gon’s thigh, the rasp of beard on shoulder, the pinch of fingers on nipples, until Obi-Wan reached up over his head to twine his fingers in Qui-Gon’s hair. Now he slammed his hips back with all the power he could muster. Qui-Gon fought to retain control, lost the battle and flipped Obi-Wan onto his knees, shoulders pressed to the bed.
“Only us,” he growled as he fucked his Padawan without check.
Obi-Wan sang his approval with a low, continuous moan.
“Mine,” Qui-Gon said as he thrust for the final time. His grip on Obi-Wan’s hips kept him in the moment, was the only thing that kept him in the moment.
Obi-wan surged up to meet him and reached his own peak seconds later. Qui-Gon was aware enough to fall to the side instead of crushing the smaller man beneath him. Obi-Wan pressed back against him, panting furiously.
Qui-Gon nibble the end of Obi-Wan’s braid, where it had fallen across his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Hmmm.” Obi-Wan wriggled slightly and pushed back more. “I want you inside me as long as possible.”
“That sounds ideal, Obi-Wan.”
They lay peacefully, watching the candles flicker a slowly burn out.
“Master.”
“Yes, my Padawan?”
“Have we upheld the Jedi reputation for honesty in all dealings by confirming the impression we made at the ritual?”
“Is that how you wish to justify this?”
“There is nothing to justify, is there?”
Qui-Gon buried his face in his robes. There was much to answer for, much to trouble him. But the lithe body in his arms was worth whatever it would take to bring back the balance. “I honestly do not know. As I said before, it is not forbidden, but it is dangerous. Others will notice; there will be questions, from friends, from colleagues, from the council. We cannot allow this to alter our relationship as Master and Padawan. We cannot allow unhealthy attachment to form.”
“Too late,” Obi-Wan murmured happily.
“No, my young one. I said ‘unhealthy’. If we can maintain our calm and behave responsibly, then we do no harm.”
“And we do a great deal of good.”
It was good. A great deal of good. Too much good for an old Jedi such as Qui-Gon. He could not help but fear that this was too good to be true.
But he would not think on that now. Fear leads to the dark side. In Obi-Wan he could see only light. Now he would rest with his Padawan in his arms.
In the morning, he would have to figure out a way to explain all this to Master Yoda…
End
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