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Title: Jedi Comlink
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: This is kinky Jedi sex. Sub/Dom. Very naughty Jedi knights need a spanking.
Disclaimer: Jedi don’t really use their valuable Jedi equipment for these nefarious purposes. I made it all up. Also, I would apologize to RCA for ripping off their “his master’s voice” ad slogan, but dammit, they’re a great big evil record company and I’m a little itty-bitty slasher doing stuff for fun.
Dedication: For woosgirl.
Note: Yet another Jedi Kink Story. Moving my way through the equipment list, gleefully pervifying every item I rest my eyes on… and don’t blame me if you start getting wet next time you use your cell phone. Blame Obi-Wan for being too damn hot.
Jedi Comlink
The padawan waits patiently. The comlink sits on the ledge beside him. He is in orbit above the planet where his master is conducting a reconnaissance mission. Ordinarily he would be on the surface, but his skills are required on board. He must maintain an irregular orbit to avoid the planet’s primitive radar system, and he must periodically relay the encoded information back to Coruscant as his master sends it to him.
It has been three days.
That is the longest the padawan has gone without serving his master in person since the mastery was expanded to include all areas of the padawan’s life.
Three LONG days.
Padawan Kenobi drums his fingers on the ledge in an un-Jedi-like fidget.
The comlink beeps twice, a pause and then once more. That is the signal that all is well. Master Jinn has successfully evaded the enemy and found safe shelter for the night. There is a gentle whirr as today’s information is uploaded. That is a sound that make the padawan’s balls tingle, because he knows what will happen next.
Three beeps signal the end of the upload. The padawan connects the comlink to the refractor unit and punches in today’s cryptic code. Soon, his master’s intelligence is speeding through space to the Jedi Temple. It can only be decoded by a matching unit. If anyone intercepts the message they will think they have stumbled upon a Fralaaxian recipe for live godi stew. Not even a Fralaaxian would be interested in that.
Padawan Kenobi rises and begins to remove his clothing. Robe, tunic, sash, belt, boots, trousers. He pauses. The upload to Coruscant can take a long time, and he is running all systems on minimum power to evade detection. It is not overly warm in the cabin. He decides to delay removal of his underclothes until the last possible moment.
The underclothes do not offer much protection from the chill. He can feel his nipples pebble into tight little nubs. Or perhaps that is because he knows what will happen next.
The padawan has not served his master in person for three days; that does not mean he has not been mastered in that time.
“Obi-Wan, are you appropriately attired?” his master’s voice asks when it is time.
Obi-Wan sheds the remainder of his clothing. “Yes, Master."
“Good. And are you prepared for the task at hand?”
Obi-Wan looks down. Prepared does not cover it. His cock is so hard he could use it to knock out a Wookiee if he could jump that high.
And Obi-Wan Kenobi can jump that high.
He cradles his cock in the palm of his hand. “Yes, Master.”
“You may proceed.”
Thank you, Obi-Wan silently mouths. It feels so good to tighten his fingers around his stiff cock and move them up and down. He slides the foreskin over the engorged flesh and sighs.
It is good but it would be so much better if his master was watching.
He pretends his master is sitting on the narrow bunk with one elbow resting where the comlink lies. The master has a calm, detached expression, except for in his eyes.
Qui-Gon Jinn might be a renowned Jedi master who has faced down armies with a steely glare, but he cannot hide his lust for his padawan to save his life.
“Slowly, Padawan. You must learn to savour the moment.” As if he is there. As if he is really watching.
The padawan slows his hand with reluctance. He does not want to savour. His cock has been hard since first meal, which was the last time he did this.
The master laughs. “Twice a day is not enough for my eager apprentice? However did you manage before I took you on as my full padawan?” As if he is reading his padawan’s mind.
Was Obi-Wan only a half-padawan before this began? He does not want to remember. Everything is so much better now. His cravings are merely of a physical nature. They come from his cock and his ass and his skin and his mouth, not from his heart. He is no longer alone. His connection to the force has opened. Blossomed. His aerials are sharper, his saber work more precise, his speed enhanced. And he no longer has to live through the agony of waiting for the perfect opportunity to approach his remote master.
His master can no longer be remote, except in the spatial sense.
“Tell me what you see.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes to better see. “You, sitting on the bed with all your clothes on, watching me while I stand here naked and masturbating.”
“Very good. And what do I see?”
Obi-Wan adds a half-twist to the steady pumping action of his hand. “You see your naked, hard padawan, Master. I am standing facing you, with my hand on my cock. I’m stroking it, pulling the foreskin back so you can see how wet the head his.”
The phantom master nods his approval and slips the robe from his shoulders.
“More,” the master says.
“You see, um, you see…” Obi-Wan’s voice falters. He is no good at describing himself.
“I see your skin, pale but a little flushed in places. Your cheeks are pink and you’ve got a glow across your chest. Your arousal colours you rosy.”
Obi-Wan does not need to look down to know it is true.
“Your chest hair is surprisingly thick and dark for one with such a boyish face. It grows sparser in the middle of your torso, and then thickens again as it spreads down to the base of your cock.”
Fairly clinical but accurate. Obi-Wan does look down, but only to make it easier to imagine his master reaching out and running a finger down the centre of his chest, smoothing the hair.
“Your cock is beautiful,” the master almost whispers. “So greedy for me. Always eager for more. Unless I have made you come so hard you go unconscious for a moment. Then you soften. Then you are sated for the night. I like you sated.”
The low growl of his master’s voice is making Obi-Wan hope he does NOT come so hard he passes out. He’s the only one on the ship, and he’s needed to keep it running. He has to stay alert. What if he hits his head and hurts himself?
“Now, stop!” the master commands.
There is a long hiss, and it turns out that stopping is harder than continuing, and that he might pass out after all. He lets go and raises his hand to his head and holds it there with his other hand. It’s the only way to keep himself from touching himself.
“Now what do I see?”
Obi-Wan swallows. There is not other choice. He is going to have to look. He gives the fresher door a little force shove. It slams shut and the padawan is reflected on its sleek surface.
“Need, Master. You see me naked and needing your touch. Needing to touch you. I need to kneel before you and take your cock in my mouth.”
“ Yesssss, Padawan. Do it.”
Obi-Wan kneels and the phantom master rises. Obi-Wan wants the phantom master to strip off his clothes, but his imagination has other ideas. The phantom master pulls his cock out from between layers of tunic and sash. He stands before Obi-Wan and holds it out to him.
“Is your mouth open?”
Obi-Wan looks through the phantom master to the mirrored door. His mouth is open. Wide. Wide enough to hold his master’s cock. He makes a noise and it is muffled by the imaginary cock.
“You look so good with your mouth full of cock,” his master coos.
Obi-Wan sees his stomach muscles harden with the strain of holding himself like this, on his knees with his hands on his head, hips tilted forward, cock jutting out.
“And you look good with your ass full of my cock, too.”
Obi-Wan glances around frantically. His light saber hilt is too big. Too rough. Besides, if it were to ignite suddenly there is no telling what damage would ensue, and that would be even harder to explain to the council than a random fainting spell. There is a spanner on the console. It has a smooth, hard handle.
“Just your fingers, Padawan. No need for anything elaborate.”
Obi-Wan keeps looking at the spanner. The handle bulges a bit at the end, almost like the head of a cock.
“Do you acknowledge?” The master’s voice has a harsh edge.
“Yes, master. Fingers. Three fingers.”
“Do not be greedy, Padawan, not when I am not there. Two fingers will suffice.”
They won’t, but the padawan daren’t disobey. He watches himself trail his hands down his torso, imagining them larger, more scarred, hotter. He spreads his legs so he can reach between them. He touches the skin, a little damp with sweat, behind his balls.
“Practice!”
Obi-Wan concentrates on the force. It is the same basic technique used to cushion a fall or block a blow, but spread thin around his fingers, and made slippery by his now will. His fingertip slides in easily, as if it is coated with the finest Aldaarian shimskee oil.
“I can tell from that noise that you have successfully envisioned the lubrication.”
Obi-Wan whimpers. It’s not enough.
“Next finger.”
The next finger is not enough either, but it is more, and that’s what he needs.
“Concentrate. Maintain lubrication as you thrust in and out.”
It’s a delicate operation. He must sustain a constant field around his fingers at the same time his cock is begging for attention.
“Now hold that beautiful cock again.”
“Yes, Master… oh.”
“Oh, yes, I can picture you, so hard and naked. I can picture your fingers disappearing inside you, and your eyes closing. Close them. Give yourself up to me.”
Obi-Wan obeys. He lets his entire body stiffen. His muscles flex simultaneously. His asshole spasms around his fingers, crushing the force lube, and his cock spurts.
There is silence for a moment.
The force lubricant is gone. Obi-Wan is panting and weak and unable to find it again. That is fine as long as he doesn’t move, but when he pulls his dry fingers out of his dry hole he hisses.
“Were you unable to maintain lubrication?” The 'again' need not be spoken.
Obi-Wan's feelings of inadequacy are somewhat mollified by the small groan that comes from his master, but he still feels himself lacking. “I’m sorry, Master. No, I was not able to maintain it.”
“Then we cannot try that with my cock when we are reunited.”
“Oh, Master, I am sorry!”
“Do not worry yourself, Obi-Wan. It only means that we will have to use actual lubrication. Is that such a hardship?”
“No, but I am frustrated at my inability to perform this task. It is proving to be the most difficult part of my training. I am beginning to fear it is impossible.”
“Nonsense,” his master says. “It is entirely possible. I can do it.”
“Really?”
“I just did.”
Wow. Qui-Gon Jinn just created a force field around his fingers so he could fuck his own ass without lubricant.
Obi-Wan sputters.
Qui-Gon Jinn just fucked himself?
While Obi-Wan was there. Maybe not there, but listening to there.
Obi-Wan gasps.
That has to mean that Qui-Gon Jinn enjoys… penetration. Being penetrated. With fingers. Hence he would enjoy being penetrated with an object. A thing. Maybe even an organ.
Obi-Wan’s organ?
Obi-Wan sinks to the floor. It is far too much to think about. He shudders against the cold tiles. It would never happen. It is only because they are separated by miles of atmosphere and space. It is not something that will ever happen. His master has never done such a thing in his presence. It is only because Obi-Wan is not there. Because he misses Obi-Wan.
He misses Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan rolls his head back and groans. The effect he appears to have on his master gives him the most delicious feeling of power. He opens his eyes and sees the pulsing light on the bottom of the comlink cable.
He sits up abruptly narrowly missing the ledge and certain unconsciousness. “Um, Master?”
“Yes. Obi-Wan?” his master’s voice asks with an alarming degree of languor.
“We… I… made a mistake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The cable is still connected to the comlink.”
“What?”
“It’s active, Master.”
Obi-Wan stares in horror at the cable, which is at this moment transferring his utter humiliation halfway across the galaxy. His mouth is open again, but this time it is in shock, not submission.
The comlink is silent.
For a long time.
Obi-Wan begins to consider his new life in AgriCorps.
Then his master’s voice begins to laugh. It is warm and deep and not at all telling him to slice off his braid and pack his meagre belongings.
“I was hoping that would happen sooner or later,” his master wheezes when the laughter subsides enough to allow for speech.
Obi-Wan looks down and, much to his delight and dismay, discovers that his cock is again erect.
Deep in the bowels of the Jedi Temple, a headset jiggles in the air as an ancient being chuckles.
“Task at hand prepared for,” Yoda chortles to himself. “Always with the euphemisms is my former padawan. Although, not entirely mean that did I when I taught him to in the moment be.”
In the hallway, a young knight stands at attention, guarding the door lest Master Yoda be disturbed. “Expecting top secret message I am,” the venerable old master had told him. “Must not intruded upon be, even if strange sounds you hear. Difficult to master, this secret code is.”
The knight stands at attention and obeys, even thought there are faint grunts and high-pitched moans coming from within.
The knight hopes he will never have to learn that particular secret code. He imagines it would be quite embarrassing to use in the field.
The End
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