Feedback: Please. My third completed fanfic, though my first
started.
Dedicated: To sockii, whose picture was truly inspirational.
Thanks Cincoflex for the great betaing!
Disclaimer: The great god Lucas's, may he never know what I do
with them.
Every element of the reception was exquisite. The elegant
clothes of the rich gentlemen and noble ladies, the sumptuous
feasts, the entertaining singers and dancers, all combined to
create a sensual and lush blur to delight the senses.
Unfortunately, it was all driving Qui-Gon quietly insane.
The two Jedi had been trapped on Alteria for three weeks now.
The Alterians were a rich culture, accustomed to indulging
their whims and mild vices. An open, loving people, who turned
into recalcitrant children at the negotiation table, in
Qui-Gon's opinion. He was a man used to hard work - teaching,
meditating, exercising, exploring and improving the use of the
Force by himself and his Padawan. Now he was trying to convince
the two dominant political factions of Alteria to settle major
differences of opinions before civil war erupted. At the
negotiating table, the Alterians ranted, raved and indulged in
every imagined slight. Come the evening, the two factions
happily united and partied until exhausted; it seemed to
Qui-Gon as if the whole threat of war was merely an excuse to
bring diplomats together at the government's expense.
"Looks like another long night, Master."
"Yes, Padawan. These negotiations could have been finished long
ago if the Alterians communicated their political differences
as intently as they discuss varieties of fine wines," Qui-Gon
responded wryly. "I think I will return to our rooms and
meditate."
"I'll join you. Quiet reflection sounds a preferable way to end
this evening than last night's drunken debacle."
The enthusiastic ruler of the Halterian faction snared Qui-Gon
as he attempted to slip out of the reception hall. "Master
Jedi, a word on a delicate issue, if I may be so bold?"
Qui-Gon paused and the two men instinctively retreated to an
isolated corridor outside the banqueting hall. Obi-Wan waited a
discreet distance, ready to be called if necessary but not
interfering with his Master's attention.
"Master Jedi, my wife has approached me about the servicing.
You must understand and forgive her, but she is a woman
accustomed to an older man and she is most enchanted with your
young Padawan. She has had enough of the virtues of experience
and would like to know again the charm of a virile youth. If
you would step aside in his favor, it would be greatly
appreciated."
"Lord Lavar, I am confused. What servicing?"
The politician hesitated. "You are not familiar with our
customs? I did not realize! No wonder you have not broached the
issue. When visitors come to stay, it is customary for the
senior of the party to offer himself to the mistress of the
house. In this case, that would be my wife, since you are
staying at my villa and I am hosting the main negotiations.
However, when the parties agree, variations in the arrangements
are permitted."
"May I ask . . . what exactly do you mean by 'servicing'?"
Qui-Gon kept his tone deliberately respectful, but feared the
answer.
"Why, a physical consummation of the two parties! It shows
honor and respect to the mistress, the offering of the body for
her pleasure."
"Then I'm sorry, Lord Lavar, but the Jedi do not offer
their bodies."
The Lord smiled weakly, afraid of his wife's displeasure if he
failed in this simple task. "But this would be a grave
dishonor! You cannot be serious."
"I am completely serious. My apprentice will not service your
wife."
"Master Jedi, if I may be so bold, perhaps you should consult
with your apprentice before refusing this offer. My wife is
quite an attractive woman and well, I understand . . ."
"Yes, understand what?" Qui-Gon demanded impatiently when Lord
Lavar seemed to hesitate for words.
"Well, your apprentice has not availed himself of any of the
diplomat's daughters or even the serving girls! We older men,
you and I, we are past the first blood, we can concentrate on
diplomacy, but the young, oh the young!" Lord Lavar waved his
hands expressively as Qui-Gon wondered wryly when exactly Lavar
had ever managed to concentrate on diplomacy. "Surely Jedi
Kenobi would be more - relaxed - if he had some satisfaction.
He seems a most intense young man. It is not good for a young
man to be too intense! And my wife is a most innovative and
passionate woman."
Obi-Wan felt the quick jolt of his Master's emotions through
the Master/Padawan bond they shared. While Qui-Gon instantly
threw mental shields up, the jolt was enough for Obi-Wan to
realize that he was involved in the discussion. He tried to
think of any unintentional offense he had done to cause such
alarm, but could remember nothing likely. He started to drift
stealthily toward the discussion, as the Lord waved him over.
"Obi-Wan does not need to be involved in this," Qui-Gon replied
firmly but short of dragging his apprentice bodily away, he
couldn't stop the expressive Lord Lavar from a second
explanation.
For a moment, Obi-Wan looked slightly stunned.
"I will do it, Master." Obi-Wan could tell by his set
expression that his Master was not happy with that decision.
"Please Lord, a moment?" When the Lord retreated a sufficient
distance, Obi-Wan turned to his Master. "Master, I am 18 now. I
am old enough to choose sexual partners and it is about time
that I begin to do so." He raised a hand, silencing Qui-Gon. "I
have been hesitant for, well, for many reasons, but you have
told me more than once that Jedi need to experience passion to
learn control of that passion. Lady Lavar is an attractive
woman--I see no reason why she should not be a suitable partner
for my first-time."
Qui-Gon wanted to argue but could tell from his Padawan's
determined expression that he would lose. Reluctantly, he
nodded in resignation and gestured for Lord Lavar to join them.
"It is settled, yes?"
"Yes, it is settled," Obi-Wan said firmly. "When?"
"But tonight! Tonight! Come, my wife is waiting." The Lord
wrapped one hand around Obi-Wan's shoulders and hustled him
down the corridor as Qui-Gon stared stonily after the
retreating figures.
Obi-Wan Kenobi strolled as quietly down the spacious corridors
of the castle as three-inch stiletto spike heels would allow
him. A drunken courtier stumbled down the hall. Obi-Wan froze
next to a statue, and with a swift movement of his hand and a
brief tug on the Force, convinced the courtier to continue
stumbling without noticing his frozen figure. /This would make
an excellent training maneuver in coordination and stealth,/
Obi-Wan thought bemusedly. /Maybe I should recommend it to
Master Yoda./
Safely reaching the quarters shared by Qui-Gon and himself,
Obi-Wan entered and moved softly towards to his bed. He
flinched when bright light illuminated from one corner of the
room.
His Master stood by the reading lamp placed in the window
alcove. "You're back early, Obi-Wan."
"Yes, Master. Lady Lavar was satisfied with . . .the evening .
. . and suggested that I should pass the rest of the night in
my own bed. I did not mean to wake you."
"You didn't wake me. I have been--meditating." The tone of
Qui-Gon's voice was low and husky. He advanced on his young
Padawan, with a measured tread that appeared to be stalking
him; Obi-Wan almost flinched again at the unusual haze in his
Master's eyes.
"Is there a problem, Master?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan, there is a problem. I have spent the evening
trying to calm my mind, trying to accept that an attractive
older woman was introducing you to the pleasures of the flesh,
pleasures that I realized . . ." Qui-Gon circled behind
Obi-Wan, his hands coming to rest on the youth's shoulders and
gently guiding him forward until he stood in front of the
full-length mirror. " . . . pleasures that I realized I
wanted to show you. I had almost accepted that my opportunity
had been lost, that I was wrong to dream of such an event, and
now--you return to me, an erotic but untouched vision of
loveliness."
Qui-Gon's taller form towered over the younger man in the
reflection. His strong, capable hands caressed the skin of his
apprentice's throat, his shoulders. Stock still, Obi-Wan stared
at his own reflection, his hair loosened from his ponytail and
braid so that it drifted around his shoulders. The black dress
with spaghetti straps revealed his muscular form, the deep
color contrasted strikingly with his fair skin. Lady Lavar had
deftly painted his face with deep red lipstick, blusher,
mascara and eyeliner, casting a femininity to his strong
features. The dress was nipped in at the waist, creating a
silhouette, before ending above the knees. The stiletto heels
enhanced the definition of his muscular legs.
"Master . . .?" Obi-Wan questioned, hardly daring to breathe,
to hope. For the last two years, he had been strongly attracted
to his Master, to the strength and presence and formidable male
beauty ever present in his mentor. Qui-Gon had remained his
affectionate but eternally professional self, always the
diligent Master instructing a bright Padawan. Obi-Wan had never
let his hopes visualize, never dreamed that his Master might
return his intense feelings of love and lust.
"You didn't make love to her, Obi-Wan. I can tell. I could feel
your aura through the Force, your confusion and your amusement,
but not sexual excitement and satisfaction. Why did you not?"
Obi-Wan was still confused, unsure how to respond to oddly
tender tone in his Master's voice. He took a risk on honesty.
"I found that I could not perform, Master. She did not excite
me. I feared that she would be offended and the mission
jeopardized so I threw myself on her understanding and
sympathy. I begged her to accept that I loved another and that
the Jedi could not disassociate love from lust. She accepted
good-naturedly, but asked if I would play dress-up." Obi-Wan's
lips quirked in a tolerant wry smile. "She has borne only sons
and misses never having had a daughter."
"Ah. And who does excite you, Obi-Wan?"
A unbearable tense pause glided through the room.
"You, Master, only you." Obi-Wan's voice dropped to a low
whisper, but he kept his gaze steady on Qui-Gon's eyes in the
mirror, noting the delight and wonder that filled that fine
dark gaze as the words registered.
"Then her loss is my gain and I will wait no longer, Obi-Wan."
Qui-Gon dropped his head to Obi-Wan's neck, starting first with
gentle kisses before advancing to licking and nipping. For a
time, Obi-Wan was content to wait, enjoying the surprisingly
soft feel of Qui-Gon's lips, but too many years of longing had
passed for eternal patience. Obi-Wan turned into his Master's
arms, wrapping one hand into the thick brown hair while the
other slid down the long line of his back and clasped one
buttock in his hand.
Qui-Gon groaned deeply, throatily, and pushed away from his
apprentice, creating a gap of several feet between the two.
Once again, he held Obi-Wan's gaze, but this time while pulling
off his own clothes. Jedi robe, tunic, boots, breeches were
discarded. Obi-wan licked his lips and admired the form
uncovered for his gaze. He had seen his Master unclothed many
times in the course of their adventures together, times when
the two had been forced to share sleeping and bathing quarters,
but never with the freedom to admire every rippling muscle.
"Stay here. Don't move." Obi-Wan waited, stifling impatience
until Qui-Gon returned from the bathing room, a bottle of
lotion in one hand. Standing in front of Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon
massaged the lotion into his own chest, circling the taut
nipples, before skimming down his tight abdominal muscles and
smoothing oil onto his stiff erection. Obi-Wan licked his lips
nervously, dazzled by the sight of his Master preparing
himself.
Qui-Gon stretched out upon the silk cover of the bed and
finally gestured Obi-Wan to him, releasing him from the spell.
Obi-Wan started to pull the dress up over his head, but a shake
of his Master's head stopped him. He kicked off the spike heels
and crawled onto the bed, settling one thigh on each side of
Qui-Gon's hips. Slipping his hands under the dress, Qui-Gon
delighted in the strength of his young lover's thigh muscles,
brushing his fingers through crisp hair before clasping his
erection. Obi-Wan groaned in ecstasy as his penis was pumped by
Qui-Gon's skilled fingers, and leaned forward for more kisses.
Wiping up excess lotion from his own body, Qui-Gon fondled
Obi-Wan's buttocks, massaging oil into the tight hole.
"Obi-Wan," he gasped, "this may not be the best way to start .
. ."
"Please, Qui-Gon, I need you so."
Permission granted, Qui-Gon raised his apprentice slightly to
position him correctly before lowering him onto his rigid
erection. Obi-Wan eased down slowly, letting his body adjust to
the overwhelming feel of his Master within himself. Qui-Gon
placed one hand on Obi-Wan's penis, languidly stroking and
cupping the soft sacs of his testicles, waiting for Obi-Wan to
become accustomed to the pressure. The young Jedi began a
rhythmic movement, raising up and down, as Qui-Gon arched his
hips off the bed. The pace quickened as the two men fought for
satisfaction. The struggle continued for long, delicious
moments as Obi-Wan fondled his Master's chest muscles, rubbing
his thumbs over the brown nipples. Qui-Gon tightened his grip
on Obi-Wan's penis, increasing his pace to match their speed,
the silk fabric of Obi-Wan's dress drifting over his forearms.
Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingling with the body lotion,
as cataclysmic fire ripped through their nerve endings and with
husky groans their passion exploded into an inferno beyond
control.
For long moments later, Obi-Wan simply laid upon Qui-Gon, too
stunned for words or action. Qui-Gon idly rubbed his hands
possessively along Obi-Wan's back as they both recovered their
breath.
"If I had known this is all it would take, I would have
borrowed Leesa's blue party frock two years ago," Obi-Wan
teased when he could talk.
"But what excuse could you give?"
"I would have dreamed up something. I can be quite creative
when the need arises."
"Good. You can think about it on the trip back to Coruscant."
Obi-Wan laughed. "You can't actually be serious, Master.
Leesa's nearly half a head taller than me. The dress would
swamp me."
"Yes, but it would fit me wonderfully. And match my
eyes." Qui-Gon rolled his apprentice onto his back, smothering
his exhilarated chuckle with more kisses, determined that
tomorrow the Jedi would be the ones who strolled in hours late
for negotiations . . . and that his apprentice would find an
artistic explanation to borrow that dress.
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