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Title: What Jedi Masters Really Think
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars. Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Jedi Masters are not as dignified as you might think.
Feedback: Yummy
Note on formatting: If it isn’t obvious that the parts Qui-Gon is trying to keep secret are in italics then I’ve utterly failed and will quit writing fanfic forever.
What Jedi Masters Really Think
“Master, have you taken the Vow of Chastity?”
Not a surprising question. Not under these circumstances. “No, Padawan, I have not taken the Vow of Chastity.” It is only polite to ask back. I prepare to be surprised. “Have you taken the Vow of Chastity, Obi-Wan?”
“No, Master. I have not.”
No real surprise, except for the strength of the relief I feel upon learning that my padawan has not rendered himself unavailable on principle.
“So, there is no reason for us not to take part in the festivities.”
An interesting leap of logic, and one of which I might be inclined to take advantage if it were it not for my obligation to point out the flaw in his reasoning. “One does not partake in sexual activity merely because one has not vowed to avoid sexual activity.”
“Yes, I see.”
Is it me, or does he sound disappointed?
“That would be like getting drunk merely because one had not take a vow of sobriety,” he suggests.
“A wise analogy, Obi-Wan.” Although not nearly as fun as the sexual activity.
“Does it not feel strange to you to be one of the only two beings in the entire city not engaged in… you know…”
It is ridiculously endearing when Obi-Wan’s considerable nerve fails him and he is unable to complete a sentence. Great pains should be taken to ensure it happens more often. “We are not obliged to take part in this portion of the festivities. The Jedi need only observe the formal proclamation of the D’Amo Taan, as they have done every eighth year since the Yitanei joined the Republic. Our obligation was fulfilled this morning at the ceremony. Were this an ordinary mission, we would be long gone by now, on our way back to the temple.”
“Except every cab driver in the city is not driving a cab but is otherwise engaged in… not driving.”
My smile is impossible to suppress. It is one thing to experience the joy of discovery one’s attractive Padawan has not taken the Vow of Chastity; it is quite another to learn he is so endearingly shy about the topic. It is a true blessing to have a being so pure of heart at one’s side.
In another way, it is a shame. I can think of at least a dozen ways I’d love to sully that purity, and I would make sure Obi-Wan would enjoy every one of them. But I am the Master. And Obi-Wan means more to me than that. I cannot take advantage of his youth and susceptibility to the environment. If the pheromones get any thicker I might have to pull out my rebreather. “I would suggest that we walk to the spaceport, but that would take the better part of the night,” I say.
“We could walk to the spaceport,” Obi-Wan says, “if the Ambassador’s gift weren’t so cumbersome.”
And damned ugly. Every fourteen years some poor Jedi has to lug home one of these things. Monstrosity. “Every culture has a different aesthetic. Art is ever diverse.” Yitanei notions of aesthetic beauty in sculpture are… without being over judgemental… severely lacking. The sculpture in question is a large, lumpy, misshapen… lump.
“And the streets are so busy,” Obi-Wan adds.
That’s putting it tactfully. You couldn’t walk a block without tripping over a pair of rutting Yitanei. And any not engaged in copulation would be all over Obi-Wan in an instant. Not acceptable. Or maybe that is what he desires. He has made a point of mentioning his non-celibacy, and has expressed a desire to partake in the revelry. Damn my Jedi training; I’m obliged to be fair to him. “You may join in the festivities if you wish,” I say, against my will.
“Me, Master?”
“Yes. I am sure you would have no difficulty locating a Yitanei willing” Eager. Desperate. “to celebrate with one so young and… fit as yourself.” Really should have said something more complimentary than that. Youth and fitness are certainly two of Obi-Wan’s attractive qualities, but they are only two among many, and two of the more superficial ones. But if I were to enumerate his many less tangible qualities I would expose my bias. It is the duty of a Jedi Master to instil a healthy sense of humility in his Padawan. His young, fit, attractive Padawan.
Obi-Wan peers out the window. “Just because I have not chosen the Vow of Chastity does not mean I wish to partake in sexual activity in public,” he quips.
It probably was not shyness that prevented him from saying ‘sexual’ earlier – it must have been prudence. The way Obi-Wan says ‘sexual’ is an open invitation to wantonness. He must have to ration his use of the word to prevent spontaneous orgies. Must find a way to get him to say it again. More. Often.
“It’s the hormones,” I tell him. Hormones indeed! I’ve never allowed my Padawan to do this to me before. Not in his presence. It has to be those cursed Yitanei pheromones causing me to lose my self-control. It is almost impossible to operate under these conditions. Thank the Force Yoda didn’t come on this mission. Overexposure to pheromones makes him sneeze. Or so he claims. That might just be his excuse for getting out of night duty in the teen dormitory. “The Yitanei are not this exhibitionist by nature. They are ordinarily quite a sedate and even reserved race. You will rarely see a couple holding hands in public, let alone what is going on out there.” Right under our window. I can hear the moans. “The D’Amo Taan is a cyclical occurrence for them. No one knows for sure what causes this explosion of overt sexual need. It was probably biological at one time, and has been ritualised over the years to include the ceremony we attended. The society has evolved its to accommodate this sort of periodic… openness.” The moans have been joined by a rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. Most distracting. “Take care with your assumptions, for appearances can be deceiving. Most Yitanei are not so brazen, and are conducting their revelry behind closed doors. It is only the young, the adventurous, who do their celebrating in the open for all to see. Those who have nothing to fear –”
“The beautiful, you mean,” Obi-Wan interrupts.
Yes. The beautiful. If Obi-Wan were Yitanei he could partake in the D’Amo Taan in the middle of the town square and all would be please to watch. All but me. I do not relish the thought of ever seeing Obi-Wan with anyone. Anyone but me. Not very Jedi of me, I suppose, but there it is. I have to admit it, at least to myself. I keep my face neutral though. It is my duty. “I am sure you could find a more private individual.”
“Oh, no one would want me, Master.”
I have been too thorough with the humility lessons. “Oh, yes they would. You are most beautiful.” And I mean that “most” with the utmost sincerity.
“And I don’t… I think… there is also the matter of compatibility.”
Sadly, no. The Yitanei are quite compatible physiologically with Obi-Wan. I read the briefing. Obi-Wan would know that if he had read the briefing as well.
“I know that look, Master. I assure you, I did read the briefing.”
“And you are well-versed in the rules and regulations regarding missions as well, so you know that as a senior Padawan past the age of consent you are well within your rights to pursue any pastime you wish, as long as it does not endanger the mission or your fellow Jedi.” Now there’s a thought. If Obi-Wan were to leave the suite, it would surely endanger me. At the very least it would make me so jealous it would make a mockery of that whole ‘no attachments’ thing. “If you wish to partake in the sexual fulfilment aspect of the D’Amo Taan, you will not violate the code.” You will only break your master’s heart.
“So, you think I should,” Obi-Wan says carefully.
“No!” I admirably resist the urge to forcelock the doors and windows. “I am merely stating that if your sexual urges…” Obi-Wan’s sexual urges; just the thought is enough to drive a man insane. “… if you are aroused…” Obi-Wan aroused; bottle that essence and you could probably rule the galaxy. “… I mean to say that if you want—”
“I don’t think I do want.” There is a trace of defiance in Obi-Wan’s voice.
Defiance. Now there is one of Obi-Wan’s more tantalizing non-tangible qualities. When that obedient, diligent Padawan of mine expresses his innate defiance the effect is devastating. But his defiance is tinged with something else. Vulnerability. The most tantalizing quality of all. It goes so well with the youth. And the fitness. And the defiance.
“It’s the tentacles,” he whispers.
Ah, yes. He has noticed them. “They are imposing, are they not?” If he had read the other report, the one classified ‘Masters Only’, he would not view said tentacles with such trepidation. They are by all accounts quite warm, only slightly moister than Obi-Wan’s own skin, have ducts at the base from which the pheromones are exuded, and the ominously sharp tips are blunted considerably with the onset of sexual arousal.
But there is no need for Obi-Wan to know all that.
Obi-Wan shudders. “I do not like the looks of them.”
It is not like my adventurous Padawan to reject something outright, or to be negative about an alien species. There must be something specific about the tentacles that bothers him.
“They are…” He bites his lip.
He mustn’t have any idea what that looks like. A good Padawan would never tease his poor master so.
“It’s just that they are rather large, and both the male and the female are expected…”
Squirming Padawan. Oh, my. And a Padawan, though not particularly adept with the Living Force, more than skilled enough to perceive that the vast majority of the pheromones in this room are not being exuded by any neighbouring Yitanei. I must find a way to calm myself. “They are not so dangerous as they seem. Remember, Padawan – appearances.”
This is unlike him. Under normal circumstances, my padawan is self-assured. He always looks me in the eye, even when he’s angry or disappointed. Now he is looking at the floor, the ceiling, everywhere but me. That disturbs me. “We need not pursue the matter, Obi-Wan.” I brutally subdue the urge to pursue it doggedly. After all, a padawan deserves some privacy. “You need not reveal such personal details, not even to your master.”
“But I want to, Master! I trust you, and I know you would never hurt me.”
Only if he asked me to. “I am always here for you, Padawan.”
He crosses the room and sits next to me.
My body temperature is a full two degrees higher than his. I hope I am not ill. I do a quick check of my systems. No, not ill, merely horny.
“Master, I have not taken the Vow of Chastity, but the opposite is not true either. I am not promiscuous.”
That’s a relief. “I did not suspect it of you.”
“And yet I am not entirely ignorant of sexual matters.”
Funny how when he says “sexual” is sounds so much like “sinful.”
“It’s just that I haven’t exactly…”
What a terrible time for Obi-Wan’s voice to trail off like that, right before he has a chance to tell me exactly what it is he hasn’t…
Oh.
My.
Thus far I have managed to keep a firm control over my sexual arousal – not an easy task when the entire city is throbbing with the sounds, smells and sights of mass copulation, nor when I am so close to my young, fit, attractive padawan. I have purposefully not tuned my senses to the multiple ripples I the Force caused by the rampantly overstimulated Yitanei. Nor have I allowed myself to look closely at the way Obi-Wan’s tunic sways when he moves his hips. Or the pinkness of his tongue when it darts out to moisten his lips. Also pink. Or the way his robe is slipping off one shoulder suggestively, tugging his braid to the side. I have not allowed any of this to effect me.
But this insinuation – no, not insinuation – this possibility that Obi-wan – no, he did not say he was - it must be my lust-addled mind, clouded by the hormones - I’m jumping to unwarranted conclusions. It doesn’t seem possible Obi-Wan could have reached this age, looking like that, and still be… a virgin.
“I’m not a virgin,” he says quickly.
I thank the Force for that. If Obi-Wan were a virgin, I would be guilty of more than mere lust; it would be sacrilege.
“I’ve fucked girls.”
I refuse to thank the force for that.
“Fucked a girl,” Obi-Wan corrects himself.
He’s said ‘fucked’ twice and my head has not exploded. Feat worthy of a highly trained Jedi. They don’t call me Master Jinn for nothing.
“Once.”
She must have been an idiot if she only wanted it once.
Obi-Wan sighs. “To be honest, it was over quickly.”
If he sighs like that again, it might be over for me pretty quickly too.
“Is it always over with so fast, Master?”
How in the Sith hells would I know how long it takes to fuck a woman? “It is nothing to worry over, Obi-Wan. First times are often less than ideal.”
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t her first time, and she wasn’t very gracious about it.”
The bitch. When I find out who she was I’m going to hunt her down and—
“She might be right, though. I think I might prefer boys.”
Well.
This is indeed a day of discoveries.
I have discovered that which I have studiously avoided learning since my padawan reached his age of maturity. It is none of my business, but I appear to have learned that Obi-Wan is not celibate, not a virgin, not very experienced and possibly homosexual, all of which elevates him from ‘most desirable padawan in the room’ to ‘most desirable man on the planet, possibly in the galaxy’.
Except for what he is about to say next.
“Except I don’t think I like penetration.”
Damn it all to Sith hells! It would be so unfair of the Force to create such a perfect creature with that for his only discernable flaw!
“But you’ve never tried it,” I say, hoping to sound more helpful than hopeful.
“Oh, I’ve given it plenty of thought, and I’ve tried once or twice. Several times, actually. With other male padawans. But I freeze up whenever it gets to the part where… you know.”
I know. And if he keeps making that gesture with his hands, I might have to kiss him.
“I’ve given up trying. All I ever got for my efforts was a bad reputation.”
I am not aware of Obi-Wan having any sort of reputation, other than that of a dedicated, perfect padawan. “Your reputation is sound.”
“Not among the padawans.” Obi-Wan gives a weak laugh. “And some of the knights.”
“Obi-Wan, have you been mistreated in some way because of this flaw?”
“I’m sorry, Master. I’ll try to do better.”
Better? Could he get any better? I hope not. I couldn’t take it. “Obi-Wan, there is nothing wrong with you.”
“Of course there is, Master. You said so yourself.”
“I did not.” I did NOT.
“You said it was a flaw.”
I did? Then I’m a Sith-spawned jackass who deserves to be tossed off a cliff. “Obi-Wan, I meant that if others gave you problems… maybe they think it’s a flaw. I don’t. Honest.” Nicely said. This from a Jedi Master renowned for his negotiation skills. The pheromones must have fried the language part of my brain if that’s the best I can do to correct the stupidest thing I’ve said in a long, long time. Come on, Jinn, pull it together; say the right thing; make all this right.
Obi-Wan looks miserable. He’s got his hands jammed so far up his sleeves he must be grabbing his elbows and he’s rocking like a first-year initiate in the crčche. “I honestly am sorry, Master. I do not wish to shame you.”
“How could you ever shame me?”
Obi-Wan sniffs. “By being a cock tease.”
I cannot deny that my cock is feeling somewhat teased, but that is through no fault of my padawan. It is my own raging hormones doing that. That and the way he’s got his legs curled up to his chest. Oh, my poor padawan. I mentally dunk my erection in a bucket of ice. “Obi-Wan, you are not a…”
I can’t say it.
“A cock tease,” Obi-Wan says helpfully.
And the way he says it makes me think maybe he is one, even though he doesn’t mean to, because his lips wrap around the word ‘cock’ so nicely, and then the hiss of the ‘tease’ lingers. I’ll have to conjure up a freezing waterfall to cool my ardour before I can deal with this situation responsibly.
Brrrrrrr.
That helps. Marginally.
“Obi-Wan, you are not a cock tease. You are young and inexperienced and attractive.” Very attractive. “That sometimes gives men the notion that they will get more than you are willing to give. I’m sure it is because they want you.” So very badly.
“I wish it were so innocent, Master. But you see, I want to give them more. I do. I just can’t, so they get angry. And then they call me… you know.”
I want names. I want names of padawans and knights, and I want their training schedules. I cannot embarrass my padawan by defending his honour outright, but I can seek out the offenders and wipe the floor of the training salle with them. “They have no right to be angry.”
“They do, Master. I give them every reason to believe that I want to… you know.”
Oh, I know. Because I want. But I would never, ever blame my padawan for my frustration. That’s my problem, not his.
“And then…”
I can imagine it. I can imagine Obi-Wan aroused and willing. Obi-Wan writhing in delight, encouraging with little moans and delightful sighs, raising expectations with every roll of his hips, every shift of those powerful legs, every arch of that perfectly formed back. (But I usually only imagine such things in the privacy of my own bedroom, and with shields firmly in place.) If I take it further, I can imagine some arrogant, swaggering boy with a hard on thinking he’s going to get into that young, fit, very attractive ass. I can almost picture his clumsy seduction technique, his utterly inadequate foreplay, his complete neglect of proper preparation and finesse-less touches. Dry finger on a hot, dry hole. Or worse, he shoves an insistent prick against it, demanding entry.
Obi-Wan freezes up. Of course, he does. He’s frightened.
I take him in my arms. For real.
“My dear Padawan, you’ve had some unfortunate experiences.” He sinks into my embrace gratefully. That makes it more difficult to be the wise, all-knowing, detached master, I must say. “There is nothing wrong with you at all, Obi-Wan. You are a victim of your own inexperience, and theirs.”
His hand clutches the front of my robe like a child’s. That makes it much easier to push my own desires aside. He is my responsibility, no matter how old he is. As long as he is my padawan, I will take care of him.
“So, you think I need someone with more experience,” he says.
That makes dispassionate, calm mastery difficult. Again.
“Perhaps a master,” he suggests.
Correction – impossible.
“Perhaps…” He sits up. He looks up. Into my eyes.
Force, I’ve fallen. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. His eyes are a little moist, on the verge of tears, and so bright green they sparkle.
“Obi-Wan,” I am compelled by my rank to caution him, “we are in an unusual environment, surrounded by sexually suggestive stimuli, and the air is full of…” Is he licking his lips?
“Pheromones, I know. We’re practically swimming in pheromones. Don’t you think that might help me get over my problem?”
“You have no problem.” Good Force surrounding us, he looks hungry.
“But I do, Master. I have a terrible problem.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am too tight.”
I knew it was a mistake to go on this mission. I should have insisted on the one to Naboo. But no, Yoda said we should come here. “The D’amo Taan you will witness, yes. Simple assignment it will be. A vacation you will have.” Some vacation – the most desirable man in the galaxy comes onto me and I’m attacked by an untimely case of guilt. I do not want him if he only wants me because of the pheromones.
Okay, that’s a lie. I do want him. I want him like a fish wants water.
That is wrong.
I am a Jedi Master.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is Obi-Wan shrugging out of his robe.
No passion.
There is my beautiful padawan untying his sash.
There is serenity.
There is Obi-Wan wearing nothing but an undertunic and pants, and to hell with being a Jedi Master.
There is Obi-Wan in my arms with his lips pressed to mine and my tongue in his mouth. He tastes so good. I want to eat him. I’ll start with his ear lobe.
“Master.”
“Mmmmm.” Tastes good.
“I need to know this isn’t just because of the pheromones.”
Curse the pheromones.
I push him away from me and sit on the couch again. I take a deep breath an purge the foreign pheromones from my system. It doesn’t make much of a difference. “These are all mine,” I say.
“You do want me!” Obi-Wan exclaims.
For longer than I’d care to admit.
“I didn’t think that was my dream last night.”
Dream? What dream?
Oh, yes. That dream. With the sunlit meadow. And the feather bed. And the honey. “I would not dream of taking advantage of you, Obi-Wan.”
“No, I was quite willing throughout the entire dream, as I recall,” he says, twinkle in his eye reassuring me that he’s not been traumatized by my inadvertently leaking shields.
“And you,” I say, “must be sure you are not under the influence of the pheromones.” I do not want to wait until we are off-planet, but I will if that’s what it takes to be certain.
“Did you never witness the D’Amo Taan as a padawan, Master? The healers injected me with a Yitanei pheromone suppressant before we left. It’s mandatory for anyone not yet knighted. Was that information not included in your ‘Masters Only’ report?”
Maybe I only scanned the report.
“I admit that our proximity to all this sexual activity is stimulating, but any desire is my own,” Obi-Wan announces.
And there is a considerable amount of desire, judging by the size of the bulge in his pants.
“Master, will you help me overcome my problem?”
Will I? Wild rancors couldn’t stop me. But I will be in control. We will take this slowly. One step at a time. “I would be honoured, Obi-Wan. Come here and we’ll get comfortable.”
I had not exactly had Obi-Wan straddling my things in mind when I suggested comfort, but my padawan’s instincts prove accurate. It puts him at the perfect height for kissing.
There is no hope of maintaining a logical train of thought while kissing Obi-Wan. Nor of maintaining adequate shields… tastes like something sweet and warm and of the light… goodness, who knew his tongue was so agile… weight on my thighs… oh, that little cleft in his chin feels so good on the tip of my tongue… hair soft… hot… oh, that’s… hard and hot and I want that in my mouth… fucking tunics are too well constructed… why did I do such a good job of knotting my belt this morning?… sweet, so sweet… what an incredible curve, and it fits my palm perfectly… boots… off!…oh, yes, more tongue…
“Master, you need to let go of me so I can get my pants off!”
Brilliant strategy. I slide the pants down over his hips and… incoherence strikes again. Long… oh, so delicious… haven’t opened my mouth this wide in a long time… slippery hips, they writhe so delightfully… hold still, I don’t want to choke on it… that’s it, oh, yes, that’s a lovely sound… sooooooo delicious… don’t be shy… mmm, strong legs… must be careful not to keep my nose up or I’ll suffocate… gods, that vein, if I can get my tongue along it… a little out of practice but it’s like riding a speeder, isn’t it?… yes, yes, my padawan… let go for me… oh, soooooooo delicious.
“Oh! Master!”
Heh. They don’t call me Master Jinn for nothing.
“Mmmm, Master!”
He’s certainly not shy once he gets going. And not afraid to kiss a man who just swallowed his come. Excellent. Adventurous. Sensual. Perfect.
“That was my first time doing that,” Obi-Wan says.
“So you are a virgin, of sorts,” I tease. The way he wriggles in my arms is more graceful than anything I’ve ever seen or felt. “Obi-Wan, I would be most pleased to give you more first experiences tonight, but you must promise to stop me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
He sighs. The sigh I’ve been longing for all these years. “I can’t imagine anything ever being uncomfortable again, Master. I’ve never felt this good.”
I run my hand up his naked torso, brushing over the golden hairs of his chest. I’ve never felt anything that good either. I run my fingertips around the gentle curves of his pectoral muscles. “I see the extra repetitions of the fifth form have paid off,” I tease and lick at a hard little nipple.
Obi-Wan moans and tugs at my hair. “Please, Master. You said you would help me.”
“I did help you.”
“But I want…”
If he can’t even say it, I won’t do it.
“I want you to penetrate me.”
“With what?” He can have anything he wants.
“With your coc… fingers first, I think.”
Good boy. One step at a time. The truly amazing part of all this is that even as I lay him out on the couch and begin to kiss my way back down his chest, I am perfectly satisfied to simply touch and taste him. Well, maybe not perfectly satisfied. My cock is throbbing in my pants, which he was not quite so eager to remove, and I would dearly love to bury it inside his fit young body, but giving him that orgasm, feeling him come in my mouth, swallowing his come, that was strangely satisfying and almost as good as my own orgasm… okay, not that good… but good. Force, it was good. Must be because I love him so much.
I patiently stroke his cock, let my fingers flit down between his legs. Prod gently at the little hole there. He is tight. And he’s tense. Which makes him tighter. “Obi-Wan, you must try to relax.”
“I’m trying, Master.”
He’s overwrought. I let all my anger at those who have caused this anxiety in him flow out into the Force; it will do me no good in this task. I slide down further to kneel on the floor and lift his leg up on my shoulder. Mmmm… thigh tastes good… slightly salty at the crease… warm, fuzzy… ah, so soft… so warm… tickles my nose… he must have just showered… can still smell the soap… not unpleasant at all… those fingers are pulling my hair too hard… “Mmmm, relax. I know what I’m doing.” No, I don’t. I’m following pure instinct. I’ve never done this before. But he lifts his leg and oh, tight little hole… so lovely… little ridges… strong taste makes my mouth water… softening, opening up… now that is a moan I’ve never heard before…‘please’ to you too, impatient padawan… I’m busy with my tongue, no need for fingers yet… open for me… if only I had a longer tongue… fine, a finger…
“Oh, Master!”
Tight… tight tight tight… Force, no wonder no one’s been able to get in… yet… where is that lotion?… so hard to search your rucksack with the force when you’ve got a luscious young padawan’s thighs draped around your neck… there it is!… that’ll cool things down a bit… and heat it up again just as fast… oh, velvet heat and the sound of bliss… more lubricant and just a little further… there it is.
“Mmmmmmmmmmaster!”
Found it, all right… not too much… don’t want to irritate him… oh, he likes that, doesn’t he… a little more and then pull back… always keep him wanting more… no, demanding more… pushy for someone who is begging to be fucked, isn’t he?… that’s the way I like my Obi-Wan… moaning.
“Please, Master, I know I’m ready.”
And who is the master here? “Hush, Obi-Wan. That’s only two fingers. I’m a large man.”
“Let me see.”
I have to get my pants off. Now.
“No, don’t take your fingers out!”
I’m not going to unfasten the pants one-handed, am I? Actually… I have to shut my eyes to concentrate but it’s really not that difficult at all to unfasten pants with the force.
“Master!”
“What?”
“I can’t… you can’t…”
“Yes, I can.”
“Too big!”
“You wanted fucking, Obi-Wan.”
“But I thought you had a cock in your pants, not that.”
“We’ll work up to it. I promise I won’t do it until you’re ready.” But now that the pants are off… oh, Force, I wish…
“Let me.”
Yes, yes, yes… “What about the fingers?”
“You can fuck me with the fingers later. I want to do this.”
YES! Hot and wet… what obscene slurping noises my refined young padawan makes when he…yeeeeesssssssssssssssssssssssss. Sucking… hands… oh, that’s too hard on my.. that’s better… a bit clumsy but the potential is there… don’t want to scare him off… “Obi-Wan, I think you should stop now.” If he doesn’t stop soon…
“I want to make you come, Master. Let me.”
“Yes, but it’s an acquired taste, Obi-Wan and…” It’s not going to be pleasant on the receiving end. This is going to be one hell of a load… oh, thank the Force, he’s decided to be smart about this instead of… ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.
“Thank you for the warning, Master. I don’t think I could have swallowed all that.”
Gurgle.
“Are you all right, Master? You look a bit—eep!”
If he would stop squirming I could get my mouth back down between his… oh, I think I’ll stay right here with his cock in his mouth for a while… ah, the recuperative powers of the young… I shall have to wait a while after that… all the more time to taste my delicious young… now, that is not the sort of language the Temple encourages… where did he learn words like that?… I think I like it when he talks like that, actually… as long as he stays prim when we’re not in bed… what a contrast to the boy who had trouble saying ‘sexual activity’…
“Fuck, Master, more! Shove your fingers up my ass.”
I feel a flicker of doubt. Was he really telling the truth when he said he’s never done this before?
“Oh!” He freezes.
He must have been telling the truth. He’s having trouble with the third finger. A little more lube. A little more licking. Mmm, much more licking. Forget the lube. This’ll do for now. It’s only three fingers and he stretches so beautifully… I love the way he clenches when I stroke him inside… oh, this spot here, smooth and bulging… he almost snaps my fingers off when I suck the skin… lightly, just lightly… oh, the way he moves when I do that… lovely balls… I hadn’t thought his hair was quite so red, but it suits him well….
And suddenly he relaxes. His hole loosens around my fingers and the bulge I’ve been carefully tonguing goes rock hard. No one has ever been this ready before in the history of fucking… well, in my history of fucking. This couch is too small. There’s no room to manoeuvre. I’m not going to put this precious ass on the cold hard floor.
“Master, the sculpture.”
What?
Obi-Wan gets up and drapes himself face down over the sculpture. The position puts his ass at the perfect height. And there is a groove that seems to have been designed to cradle his hard cock and his sensitive balls. And when I stand behind him and lean over him, there is are convenient handholds so I can keep my weight off him without losing leverage.
I don’t know how I’m going to tell the Council that for all these centuries the Yitanei have not, in fact, been gifting the Jedi with supremely bad art, but with incredibly useful sexual aids. Hey, wait a second, didn’t I see one of those in Mace’s rooms? Never mind. I’ve got the most desirable man in the galaxy spread out in front of me. The sex lives of Council members can wait.
Oh, the way his back curves up when I do that… he breathes out steadily and lets me inside… fuck!… tight… tight tight hot…
“Oh, Master, everything I hoped for.”
Obi-Wan hoped for me? Obi-Wan lay in his bed, dreaming of my body entering his? I grip the handholds so hard I fear I’ll tear the sculpture apart. No, the sculpture is holding together marvellously. It’s probably built to withstand this sort of treatment. I try to think of something else, a distraction to keep my mind occupied so I don’t pay too close attention to the way Obi-Wan is moaning, and the way he surges up to meet every thrust, and the way his insides ripple around me, echoing the very strong patterns in the Force that swirl around us, and his shoulders, which are hard and sculpted more beautifully than the sculpture could ever be as he arches his back and grinds his cock against the smooth surface.
Heat… so hot inside… so hot outside… sweat glistening on a deltoid… salt and steam in my mouth… hair tickling my ear… gods, when he thrusts back his ass is so firm… rounded… grasping… clutching… wailing… hissing… growing… growing harder larger faster deeper…
“Obi-Wan!” I cry out.
He flails one hand back and grabs my hip, forcing me deep inside at the moment I come. He rocks against me and whimpers. Poor boy. I should be attending to him but I can’t because all my energy is draining away, sucked into his young body. I slump over him and feel that body mould against mine. I want to stay buried here forever. He wriggles some more, and I find a groove cut into the surface of the sculpture, just large enough for me to slide my hand under his hip, palm up, fingers stretching. Hard cock… satin skin… hot drops of liquid sex on my fingertips… only a few strokes needed… he tightens around my cock and I begin to consider the possibility of male multiple orgasms. So good, so good. So Obi-Wan. Yes!
He goes limp under me. “Oh, Master, that was…”
Yes, it was. I only hope it wasn’t the only time. Because I know I’ll never want sex with anyone else as long as I live. “Shhh, Obi-Wan. Give yourself time to think.”
“Time to go over it. Meditate on the wisdom of the act.”
“It is the way of the Jedi.” Something like that. Mostly to give me time to recover. I’ve managed to wedge myself against the taller part of the sculpture so I’m not crushing him. Beyond that, my legs are not responding to commands.
“Master, I want you inside me forever.”
That’s something, coming from someone who thought he didn’t like penetration half an hour ago. “Obi-Wan, you may have me inside you whenever you wish it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stop shielding your thoughts from me?”
“I’m not shielding my thoughts anymore.” Not much. “Not all of them. Only some.”Only the ones he doesn’t need to hear. “I am letting you know everything you need to know.” A Jedi Master deserves some privacy after all.
But I reassure him by sending him the best thing I can think of. Obi-Wan, naked and draped over the sculpture with me still inside him, and I make sure he notes that our heartbeats are in sync. “I love you, my padawan. I will never hide that from you again.” He doesn’t need to know about the cramp in my left calf
Obi-Wan lifts his foot and hooks it around my lower leg, runs it up and down, massages my left calf. “I don’t think your shields are working as well as they used to, Master.”
Damn.
”Does Master Windu really have one of these sculptures in his quarters.
Double Damn.
“I really liked that part of your dream last night when I sat on your cock and rode you.”
“Obi-Wan! Such language!”
“You love it, Master.”
That I do. And always will. Even if it ends up killing me.
The End Or rather the beginning, if I have anything to say about it.
"Master, that's getting tedious."
"Sorry, Obi-Wan."
"Come over here and suck me."
With pleasure...
End
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