Archive: Yes to Master/Apprentice, Nesting Place and SWAL; all
others ask 1st
Warnings: Nothing but smut - hope you like it
Summary: Snack time! Our boys kill some time.
Feedback: Yes, pretty please!! Writing a PWP makes me very
self-conscious.
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em. I use 'em. Lots.
Author's notes: This is not the PWP I promised the
wonderful folks who helped me with my series. This is something
else entirely which sort of escaped from my brain at 2AM (I
hate it when that happens)...and I apologize to the creators of
9 1/2 Weeks. ::chuckle::
"I know this one..." Obi-Wan suckled his lower lip, frowning
slightly as he tried to place the tangy flavor.
"Taste again," his Master urged, leaning forward and capturing
Obi-Wan's mouth with his own.
Obi-Wan's tongue curled around Qui-Gon's, seeking heat and
flavor, until his Master released him. With a triumphant grin,
his apprentice opened his eyes and proclaimed, "Cerean spiced
wine!"
"Yes," Qui-Gon acknowledged, his eyes darkening with desire as
he watched the self-satisfied expression which lighted
Obi-Wan's face. Nothing, absolutely nothing about his young
Padawan was more alluring than his self-assured confidence and
his mischievous spirit, and Qui-Gon had devised this little
game to take advantage of those very traits.
Obi-Wan looked at his Master expectantly. "Well?"
Qui-Gon's eyes found and held Obi-Wan's as he unfastened his
tunic and tossed it aside. He noted how Obi-Wan's breathing
came faster, how his eyes dropped to the athletic, handsome
torso which was bared by that simple action. The naked lust in
Obi-Wan's eyes took Qui-Gon's breath away.
"My turn," Obi-Wan said smugly, his eyes sparkling.
Qui-Gon obediently closed his eyes and leaned back while his
apprentice rummaged through their meager supplies. He heard a
jar opening, and pictured Obi-Wan's fingers dipping delicately
into the substance within. Such skilled fingers...he felt
himself hardening, too soon, and tried to banish the image.
"Taste me, Master," Obi-Wan said huskily.
Qui-Gon moved without opening his eyes, and allowed his
apprentice to guide him gently to his waiting, eager mouth. He
sensed the heat of that opening and plunged into it, sweeping
it with his tongue, feeling Obi-Wan's answering pressure.
Within moments he knew the taste, but he could not, would not
withdraw, biting Obi-Wan's lower lip with restrained savagery.
"Wild eserberries," he mumbled, eyes half open, still reluctant
to separate his lips from Obi-Wan's.
"Yes," Obi-Wan murmured, shoving his Master away slightly and
laying back, throwing open his arms with deliberate abandon.
Qui-Gon's hands deftly unfastened his Padawan's tunic and
yanked it open impatiently. Obi-Wan merely gazed at him,
green-blue pools of passion fixed in that beautiful, familiar
face. Qui-Gon wrenched the shirt off his apprentice, leaving no
doubt about his state of mind, and ran his hands down the
exposed skin, his breath quickening as Obi-Wan's eyes rolled
back into his head and his eyelids closed over them.
"My turn," Qui-Gon growled. Obi-Wan nodded, writhing in place.
Qui-Gon reached for the treat he had hidden under his pillow,
and slipped it between his lips, allowing the warmth there to
melt it.
This time, no words were needed. Their connection was pulsing
with power, the Force flowing through them, magnifying their
want, their most complicated obsession, the wishes of their
souls. Obi-Wan reached for his Master and found him near, and
they locked together effortlessly, softness to hardness,
seeking and finding, crystal beauty and midnight darkness,
until Qui-Gon pulled away, his breath ragged.
"Well, Padawan?" The voice was throaty, thick with unsatisfied
craving.
Obi-Wan felt a convulsive urge to straddle his Master and give
him what he required, but contained his desire and answered,
"Iktotchian chocolate!" He licked the residue from his own lips
and opened his eyes. Qui-Gon's gaze was locked on him,
transparently lustful. His Master settled his hands on his
tightly muscled stomach and waited, not at all patiently.
Obi-Wan's fingers trembled as he drew Qui-Gon's leggings from
his body, exposing his Master's most obvious show of hunger for
his Padawan.
"My turn," Obi-Wan panted, barely able to breathe. He thrust
Qui-Gon back against the pillows and grabbed for the special
ingredient he'd left by the bedside.
Qui-Gon's nerves, stimulated to their limits, threatened to
throw him into ecstasy as he felt his Padawan's hand on his
cock, covering him with sticky goo. He emitted a low cry as the
hand was followed by a mouth, swallowing him whole, consuming
him. Obi-Wan devoured him deeply, lips and tongue scouring his
flesh, faster, then slower, then with an unbreakable rhythm,
locked onto him. Qui-Gon neared the breaking point and could
not hold back, and as he submitted to his Padawan's will, he
felt his entire being drawn through one small speck of light,
expanding, his raw nerves fusing together indelibly.
Obi-Wan lifted his head and ascended his Master's spent body,
his hands everywhere, delighting in the small noises of painful
pleasure he induced. His lips touched Qui-Gon's, relishing the
essence of his Master, mingled with the flavor of...
"Thisspiasian honey," Qui-Gon said softly, his arms closing
around his Padawan.
"Yes," Obi-Wan confirmed, chuckling. "Your turn."
End.
6/9/99
Qui-Gon's turn - yes? No? All feedback welcome to
destinaf@hotmail.com
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