Finger

by Vermillion Flame (vermillion_flame@hotmail.com)

Series: Anatomy (also includes Toe, Knee, Navel)

Archive: Yes to M_A - if you want it, sockii

Category: PWP

Rating: NC-17, you betcha

Warnings: none

Feedback: Any and all, please!!!

Summary: Qui-Gon administers a lesson in table manners.

Obi-Wan was flirting. Sitting close to his master at the small table in their quarters, the apprentice had been shooting his master sultry looks and dropping double entendres for the entire duration of their meal. Too many exhausting missions, followed by a brief but unavoidable separation, had caused a forced sexual abstinence that had gone on far too long. At least Obi-Wan thought so. With a free evening stretched gloriously before them, he intended to remedy that situation.

Qui-Gon's reaction to his padawan's overtures was typically reserved, but Obi-Wan could read the small signs of interest. He noticed the arched eyebrow, the indulgent smile and even a slight chuckle at a particularly scandalous remark. As the meal progressed, Obi-Wan found his master was paying far more attention to him than to his food. Yes, Qui-Gon was anxious, too.

It had been Obi-wan's turn to prepare the meal, and he'd deliberately chosen a variety of foods to delight the senses. Fragrant, spicy stew and cool, sweet fruit. Coarse bread and smooth butter. It was simple fare, but exactly what Qui-Gon preferred.

Now, as they were finishing, Obi-Wan resisted the temptation to lick his fruit-sticky fingers. As he instead began to wipe them on a cloth, he noticed a bit of food on Qui-Gon's tunic, just under his chin.

Obi-Wan reached over to pick off the offending morsel, and found his wrist locked in a vise grip. His hand was pulled up before his lover's face, and examined closely.

"You have very messy fingers, Padawan," Qui-Gon scolded. "Haven't I taught you better table manners than this?"

"Evidently I need a course refresher," Obi-Wan countered. Teasing. Daring.

The Jedi Master murmured his agreement, scooting his chair a bit closer to Obi-Wan's, but not letting loose of that wrist.

Smooth, wet heat glided over Obi-Wan's palm, once, and again. It was wonderfully sensual. He could sense the sweetness of the fruit residue on Qui-Gon's palate. A shudder ran down his spine.

The iron grip loosened to an easy grasp as each finger was treated to a thorough washing from Qui-Gon's tongue. One by one, each was licked and sucked carefully, almost methodically, to be sure all traces of the sticky food were gone. Great care was taken to reach the tender, silky skin between the fingers.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, giving himself over to the sensations coursing through his system. By the time he felt his master finishing with his smallest finger, he was breathing heavily, thoroughly aroused.

Soft kisses peppered his hand now, on the palm, on the back, on the knuckles. Just as Obi-Wan expected his wrist to be released, his master briefly used his own hand to close his fingers into a loose fist.

The tongue returned. Obi-Wan felt the tip slide under the end of his middle finger, prying it upward until it was fully extended.

Around the end of the finger circled Qui-Gon's tongue, sliding alternatively over the nail and the calloused pad. Occasionally the hypnotic sensation was broken by the very tip of the tongue rubbing over the very tip of the finger. And then the entire length was drawn into a hot, sucking mouth. It was just like.... Obi-Wan groaned. Was it possible to fellate a finger?

Evidently it was.

Qui-Gon licked up the underside of Obi-Wan's digit with the flat of his tongue before once again engulfing it in his mouth. Light touches of teeth nipped and scraped. Lips bit down on the tip before the tongue flicked across it, exactly the way Obi-Wan liked.

The padawan didn't know whether his master was using a Force-touch on him, or his own vivid imagination was going into hyperdrive, and he really didn't care. He could feel that tongue on his phallus. It was wondrous. He rocked his hips, wanting more.

Obi-Wan reached down with his free hand to unfasten his leggings. Qui-Gon allowed it, seeming to concentrate on his efforts, but only until Obi-Wan succeeded in freeing his erection. When he would have touched himself, Qui-Gon's hand shot out, interlacing his fingers with his lover's. He brought their joined hands up onto the table, preventing any further attempts by Obi-Wan to augment the process underway.

Down over the finger went Qui-Gon's mouth, and then back up again. He was sucking, beginning a firm rhythm up and down the shaft. Obi-Wan moaned repeatedly. This was outrageous. Sitting at the dinner table, his master doing excruciatingly pleasant things to his finger, fully clothed except for his exposed erection, which bobbed upright in the air like some sort of lustful exclamation point.

Obi-Wan's pelvis drove in time with Qui-Gon's attentions. The master was enjoying this himself. He groaned, sending a deep vibration over his lover's finger, down his arm, through his chest, landing in his groin.

Qui-Gon's tongue stroked the finger relentlessly, over and over. The mouth riding his finger became one with the maddening sensation Obi-Wan felt, or imagined, riding him in that lower region. The simultaneous stimulation was exquisite.

A sudden scrape of teeth on the upstroke pushed Obi-Wan over the edge, and he came, hips thrusting upward as he rasped out his release with a startled cry. Qui-Gon sucked his finger just as he would have sucked his phallus, pulling out every last drop of Obi-Wan's orgasm.

At last, the padawan caught his breath, and opened his eyes to find a self-satisfied smirk on his lover's face.

Qui-Gon leaned forward and gave Obi-Wan a long, deep kiss. He pulled back and smiled as he chided him, "Maybe next time you will remember your manners, Padawan."

Obi-Wan let out a sigh. "If this is the reminder, I think I would rather make a habit of forgetting them."