Disclaimers: blah blah blah George Lucas blah blah blah
Summary: Qui-Gon corrects Obi-Wan's stance.
Notes: Smut for the smutless -you know I love you sweetie.
Obi-Wan arched his body as Qui-Gon once again corrected his
stance, pulling his hips and shoulders back while pushing his
chest forward.
"You need to find your centre, Padawan, no matter what your
stance."
"Tell me, Master," asked Obi-Wan dryly, "when am I likely to
find myself in this particular position?"
"Well if you don't know..."
"But why would I need to know how to use my lightsaber if I
were...Master!" Obi-Wan tried to maintain his shocked look, but
failed to contain his laugh at the play on words as Qui-Gon
chuckled behind him. His master didn't indulge in humour very
often, which Obi-Wan had always thought was a shame given his
sharp wit and his sense of the absurd.
Qui-Gon's breath skimmed over Obi-Wan's neck as he laughed,
making Obi-Wan shiver and he suddenly juxtaposed his position
with Qui-Gon's words and the soft, warm breath at his nape.
"Master," he said softly.
"Yes, Padawan?" But Obi-Wan remained silent, caught between the
past and the future; the moment rendering him inert. He could
feel Qui-Gon's breath on his neck, hotter in the middle; the
mats were cool against his bare feet, worn smooth and soft by
thousands of feet before him; the lighting was bright without
being harsh. Their shadows, usually dancing over the mats,
remained as stationary as the two men and Qui-Gon, still
standing behind the younger man finally broke the frozen moment
with a question. "How would you defend an attack from this
position."
The query acted as catalyst and soon both the men and shades
were in motion. Obi-Wan reached back with his leg, bringing it
behind Qui-Gon's knee and sweeping his Master's feet off the
floor. Qui-Gon's breath left his body with an audible whoosh as
Obi-Wan landed heavily on top of him. Before the older man
could recover, Obi-Wan flipped over, knees to either side of
Qui-Gon's hips, hands holding the bigger man's arms to his
sides.
Qui-Gon's eyes looked up at him in surprise.
"I would turn the tables on my attacker," said Obi-Wan. "I
think that would work, don't you?"
Qui-Gon swallowed, chest heaving as he drew in a new breath.
"Yes, my Padawan. I dare say that would do very well."
Obi-Wan watched his Master's lips moved as he talked and became
mesmerised by them. He began to lower his head, still on his
hands and knees above his Master; their shadows observed no
distinction between the two, melding them instead into a single
figure.
"Yes, Master." And then his lips were on Qui-Gon's, slowly
tasting the soft warm flesh; the short hairs of his Master's
beard tickling, teasing the skin around his mouth.
Qui-Gon's thighs were hot against the inside of Obi-Wan's legs;
their thin training pants no barrier to that heat. The mat, by
contrast, was cool, it's force signature dull and muted. The
room smelled of sweat; the dry musty odour of thousands of
masters and padawans training through time and the sharp,
immediate tang of his and Qui-Gon's combined scent -as familiar
to Obi-Wan as breathing. But today it held something new,
something warm and mushy and thrilling. Responding to it,
Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, lowering his body to lie flat
against his Master.
Only to be flipped, his back landing with a dull thud on the
mat as the silhouettes on the wall twisted in a fine dance
before falling still once again. Qui-Gon's body covered his,
hot and warm and solid above him.
"You must never relax your guard, Obi-Wan, lest your opponent
regain the upper hand."
"Yes, Master," whispered Obi-Wan, licking suddenly dry lips,
watching as Qui-Gon's eyes darkened, waiting impatiently for
the storm within them to be unleashed. Obi-Wan arched back,
pressing his body up into his Master's stretching his neck;
inviting.
His invitation was not refused.
The phantasms on the wall merged, one becoming indecipherable
from the other as Qui-Gon lowered his body over Obi-Wan's. His
weight pressed Obi-Wan back into the mat as his lips met and
pressed against Obi-Wan's. The young man's mouth opened as his
body accepted the heaviness of his Master. Their tongues
duelled, twining together in a sweet dance of thrust and parry.
Obi-Wan dug his heels into the firm mat and thrust his hips up
into Qui-Gon, moaning into his Master's mouth as solid heat
branded him. His hands scrabbled over Qui-Gon's clothing and he
was suddenly unable to remember how to remove the training
tunic. Finally he took a hold of the material on either side of
Qui-Gon's throat and pulled, the thin cotton making a wonderful
tearing sound as he pulled.
His hands were caught, swallowed up by his Master's as Qui-Gon
broke the kiss and pulled away, their twined shades separating
as Qui-Gon pulled them both up into meditative poses on their
knees.
"We must stop," said Qui-Gon, finger reaching out to silence
his apprentice, heavy on soft lips. "This isn't right."
"I'm well past old enough to make up my own mind, to know what
I want, Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan snapped, hands shaking as they
again wrapped around the thin material at Qui-Gon's throat,
pulling Qui-Gon towards him. His voice dropped, becoming low
and intimate. "And what I want is you."
It was Qui-Gon's chuckle that stopped him.
"Am I really just an amusement to you, Master?" The words were
light, but the question was heavy enough; the hurt twined
through the words.
"No, my Obi-Wan, but when I said that we must stop, I meant
making love here, in the training rooms where anyone could walk
in on us at any moment." He reached out to grasp the slim
braid, tugging gently at it until Obi-Wan's lips were merely a
whisper away. "And I don't want our first time to be on the
floor."
Obi-Wan's eyes fell shut at the words, his mouth opening
beneath the sure warmth of his Master's. They broke apart,
gasping.
They left the training room quickly -their shadows chasing
after them as they tried not to hurried through the halls of
the Temple. Qui-Gon laid his hand on Obi-Wan's arm, slowing him
down as quick steps began to turn into a run.
"Softly, Obi-Wan, we will get there."
"Not soon enough." The words were uttered in a throaty
half-growl and Qui-Gon's strides lengthened until he was
practically dragging Obi-Wan along in his wake. They passed
through the Crystal Gardens and the Ornamental Hall without
pausing to admire their beauty; their silhouettes, equally
uninterested in the Temple's delights, followed, nipping at
their heels.
Qui-Gon palmed open the door, pulling Obi-Wan into the room
and, spinning, pressed him up against the wall. Slate eyes
glittered up at him and Qui-Gon pressed his body, from knees to
chest, against the length of Obi-Wan's. His hands grasped
Obi-Wan's and slowly drew them up over the young man's head.
Their compact shadows were pressed tightly between them and the
wall. Qui-Gon grinned as the hips trapped beneath his thighs
twitched and pressed forward. Lowering his head, he ran his
lips over Obi-Wan's face, barely touching the skin with
feather-light contact. He touched Obi-Wan's mouth, allowing him
to deepen the contact before drawing back, just out of reach.
The room around them was familiar, but this evening it seemed
to sizzle with electricity.
"Well, Padawan," he said, his best teaching voice marred by the
ragged edge he couldn't quite control, "it seems you are caught
once again."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan's eyes glittered now, like emeralds in
the soft evening light from the windows.
"How would you free yourself?"
"Why would I want to?" Obi-Wan asked, twisting his hips and
rubbing his erection against the bigger man.
Qui-Gon pulled back until he held Obi-Wan in place with only
his knees pressed hard just above Obi-Wan's, and his hands
wrapped around the slender wrists, holding the younger arms
stretched high above his head, like some virgin sacrifice
chained to a rock, waiting for the monster to come devour him.
"Now what?" he asked softly. Teeth flashed whitely as Obi-Wan
laughed up at him and tried to arch his body into Qui-Gon's,
twisting and pushing until he conceded defeat. He stood in the
trap of Qui-Gon's body, panting softly, his face flushed with
exertion. Qui-Gon lowered his head and took Obi-Wan's bottom
lip between his own, running his tongue over it and tugging
until a moan slipped from Obi-Wan's mouth, breathing heat into
Qui-Gon.
"You are so beautiful," he said softly, moving to capture
Obi-Wan's top lip, intent on giving it the same treatment.
Obi-Wan sank his teeth into Qui-Gon's lip, the older man
yelping and pulling away in surprise. Pressing his advantage,
Obi-Wan surged forward with his body and the Force until
Qui-Gon felt the back of his knees hit the arm of the couch and
he fell back into it, the world tipping on it's axis.
Refusing to give up his one advantage, Qui-Gon kept his hands
wrapped around Obi-Wan's wrists. Obi-Wan turned it to his own
benefit by pressing his palms against the cushions on either
side of Qui-Gon's head as he climbed up until he was seated
across Qui-Gon's hips. His thighs pressed tightly against the
bigger man, his knees digging into the cushions.
Qui-Gon flexed, looking for purchase, but with his knees over
the arm of the couch, his feet didn't quite meet the ground and
he stubbornly refused to relinquish his grip on Obi-Wan's
wrists. He could thrust up with his hips, but not enough to
dislodge the younger man, succeeding only in pressing tighter
against him. Obi-Wan rolled his own hips forward, bringing
their erections together through the thin cotton of their
training pants. Qui-Gon tugged on the hands in his, pulling
Obi-Wan's face down and their lips met in a deep kiss.
Their tongues wrestled, Obi-Wan pressing the advantage of his
position atop Qui-Gon and pushing his tongue into Qui-Gon's
mouth, sweeping over teeth and gums, running lightly over the
sensitive skin on the roof of Qui-Gon's mouth before mating
with his tongue to Qui-Gon's. Silky flesh thrust against silky
flesh in an echo of the movement of their hips.
Their lips parted and Obi-Wan ran his tongue over Qui-Gon's
face; tracing his eyebrows, sucking at the slight bump on
Qui-Gon's nose where it had been broken but never properly
healed. He combed the short beard with his lips and teeth and
then, pressing his face down, he fluttered his eyelashes
against Qui-Gon's cheeks in a soft caress. All the while their
hips moved together, driving their cocks against each other;
their shadows merged into one undulating form.
"You do realise," Qui-Gon began only to be cut off as Obi-Wan
tightened his grip on Qui-Gon's hips and thrust harder.
"No more lesson tonight, Master."
"Yes, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, his meek tone coloured with
need and belied by the insistent movement of his hips.
Obi-Wan's mouth covered his again as their rhythm became
frantic. Qui-Gon's grip tightened, bruising the wrists he held.
Obi-Wan arched his back, his own hands locking awkwardly around
the wrists of those that bound him and he shouted, wordless
noise, his orgasm riding him hard. A moment later Qui-Gon
whispered his name and stiffened. They held the position while
their pleasure stormed through them, soft tremors and quivers
passing through their bodies. Obi-Wan collapsed on the older
man, their breathing harsh, hands still locked together beside
Qui-Gon's head.
"Master. Qui-Gon."
"Mmmm?"
"Do you think you could let go of my hands now?"
"Only if you will let me up."
"Deal," said Obi-Wan with a chuckle. Qui-Gon let go of him and
Obi-Wan sat up, stretching for a moment as he rubbed his
wrists. Both men grimaced as the air hit their wet trousers.
"I think a shower is in order," commented Qui-Gon wryly as he
accepted Obi-Wan's hand and help in standing.
"Do you think," Obi-Wan paused and then looked up earnestly.
"Do you think I could join you?"
"That eager to be rid of your sticky mess?" Qui-Gon teased,
hand already reaching for Obi-Wan's, fingers twining around
fingers, silhouettes already beginning to merge once again.
Archive 