by Vermillion Flame (vermillion_flame@hotmail.com)
Series: Anatomy (also includes Toe, Knee, Navel, Baldpate,
Finger, Elbow)
Archive: M_A - anybody else just ask.
Category: PWP
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Feedback: Any and all, please - including constructive
criticism!
Summary: Obi-Wan has discovered a particularly sensitive spot
on Qui-Gon's back, and his attentions have driven his master to
believe it is possible to have too much sex. Can Obi-Wan
convince him otherwise?
Note: The Macmillan Visual Dictionary shows "loin" as that spot
very low and in the middle of the back, just above the
"posterior rugae." (You can look that one up yourself.)
Thanks, michelle, for your Useful Thoughts and body check on
the boyz.
Qui-Gon stared out of the ship's viewport, almost hypnotized by
the myriad flickering stars flying past. He wondered why so
many life-forms went to the trouble of installing viewports in
spaceships when they weren't at all necessary. One needn't see
the stars to navigate through them. Perhaps it was a concession
to the wanderlust that possessed so many creatures across the
galaxies.
Although he himself certainly suffered from a compulsion to
explore, that was not what brought Qui-Gon to his present
position on the ship's forward deck. He was hiding from
Obi-Wan. Well, maybe hiding was too strong a word. He had to
admit, though, that he was at least *avoiding* his apprentice.
Having a youthful lover was, all in all, a wonderful experience
for which he thanked the Force regularly. But in the past week,
the Jedi Master's endurance had been tested to the limits.
Obi-Wan had discovered a new sweet spot on his lover's body,
and he was driving Qui-Gon mad with it.
Six days ago, Qui-Gon had been leaning, naked, against the wall
of their common room. His head rested against his crossed arms
while Obi-Wan kissed and licked his way down his back. The
talented tongue had ultimately landed at the very base of
Qui-Gon's spine, just above the crevice of his buttocks. The
licking and sucking Obi-Wan proffered on that spot had sent
Qui-Gon spiraling into a sudden, intense and unexpected orgasm,
his shout registering surprise as he came all over the wall.
"Well! My goodness," Obi-Wan had commented wryly. Qui-Gon
turned as he struggled to catch his breath, and caught a
glimpse of a single raised eyebrow and a self-satisfied grin on
the young man's face. He knew that his bright, skillful lover
was busily making plans for exploitation of that particular
spot.
It wasn't bad at first. Qui-Gon was accustomed to the
advantages Obi-Wan took with his body, including the little
assaults that occurred in somewhat public places. He could
smile at the soft brush of the hand across his groin as they
passed in the hallway. He tolerated the quick grope of his
posterior as they exited the lift. At least Obi-Wan was
discreet enough to keep the flicking tongue and teasing teeth
to more private locales, even if they were given at inopportune
moments.
He chalked up the latest addition to Obi-Wan's repertoire of
fondling - rubbing his lower back through his tunics - as yet
another example of his lover's youthful exuberance. That trifle
had lasted a few days. But now, he was at Obi-Wan's mercy.
Through diligent practice, the padawan had managed to perfect a
Force-touch to that precise area -- a Force-touch that
perfectly mimicked a soft warm tongue. It left Qui-Gon gasping
for breath. It left him a puddle of incoherent lust. Worst of
all, it left him instantly hard, no matter where he was.
If he tried to be objective about the situation, Qui-Gon had to
be impressed with his apprentice's skillful use of the Force.
But as a Jedi Master, he was in trouble. He began to wonder if
he had unknowingly been gifted with a tattoo that encouraged
his lover to "lick here."
Obi-Wan had at least exercised some restraint by not using his
trick in truly embarrassing situations, such as in the Council
chambers. Most of the Temple, however, seemed to be fair game.
Qui-Gon was almost brought to his knees as they entered the
dining hall and he felt the excruciatingly sensual touch to his
loin. Walking down the Temple hallway with another master, he'd
been forced to feign a dizzy spell as Obi-Wan made his presence
known through a deft, warm swipe at the spot. Qui-Gon had hoped
his shields were sufficient to disguise the overwhelming wave
of desire that shot through him. He'd made excuses for himself
and his apprentice, taken the young man back to their quarters,
and barely waited for the door to close before attacking the
oh-so-willing padawan.
Every time. Every time it affected him so. He dreaded it. He
craved it.
Qui-Gon broke his gaze from the star-swept expanse of the
viewport and looked down at his hands grasping the ornate gold
railing. He cast a tentative query over the bond he shared with
his lover, trying not to be noticed. Good. His apprentice was
still meditating.
The master had left his padawan in their rooms aboard the
lavish royal transport. They were en route to yet another
planet on yet another mission. Both men had spent adequate time
studying the files, brushing up on history, protocol and the
subtleties of the local language. Now, they were left to their
own devices for occupying the remaining days of their journey.
Obi-Wan made it plain what his preference was for passing the
time.
They had spent hours indulging in each other's bodies. It was
uncommon for the two men to have so much time to express their
passion, and they both savored the opportunity. It was,
however, getting to be exhausting. At least Qui-Gon thought so.
That evening as they had settled in for their usual meditation,
Qui-Gon excused himself, pleading restlessness. And here he
was, hiding.
He pondered the best course of action. He didn't want to seem
unappreciative. The physical side of their relationship was
just as important to him as it was to Obi-Wan. He just needed a
respite from the intensity of it all.
He realized he'd better decide what to do quickly, because
Obi-Wan had finished his meditation and was casting about for
his master's location. Qui-Gon tried to quiet himself mentally,
but he knew it was for naught. The bond he shared with his
padawan was too strong to completely douse. Obi-Wan would find
him soon.
He returned to his contemplation of the stars through the
viewport, and was not surprised when he caught Obi-Wan's
reflection in the smooth surface.
"Master, are you well?" The apprentice passed by the conference
table and climbed the two stairs to the platform where Qui-Gon
stood. He turned and leaned against the railing, looking up at
his master. His thigh pressed against the taller man's leg.
"Yes, love. Perhaps a bit tired. I needed a few moments of
solitude."
"Should I leave?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.
"No." Qui-Gon brushed the backs of his fingers across the
padawan's cheek. "I need to speak to you."
"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan's eyes returned Qui-Gon's gaze, but the
touch to his cheek seemed to have given him ideas. His fingers
were on the move, infiltrating the master's tunic.
Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "We have spent much of the last two
days..." he began, but couldn't bring himself to finish the
thought. How did one complain about too much sex? Especially
when a lovely hand was snaking its way through his clothing to
caress his skin.
Obi-Wan looked at his master expectantly.
"I am not as young as you are, Obi-Wan."
"Master! Not this again, please?" The tone was despairing. The
hand was brushing against a nipple. Qui-Gon suppressed a
quiver.
"No, no. It's just that ... the years take a certain toll on a
man's body," Qui-Gon tried again to explain, but Obi-Wan had
withdrawn his hand, and its absence rather distracted him. He
didn't know whether to sigh with relief or frustration.
Then his utility belt fell to the floor.
Qui-Gon grasped the busy hands in his own. "Obi-Wan," he began
sternly, but then made the critical mistake of looking into his
lover's eyes. The apprehension apparent there took his breath
away.
"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan's use of his given name revealed the depth
of his concern.
"It's all right, Obi-Wan." He dropped a reassuring kiss onto
the young man's forehead. "It's a matter of physiology. My body
is simply not capable...."
A derisive snort interrupted his careful rationalization. The
incredulity on Obi-Wan's face revealed his opinion of this
particular proposal.
Hands were once again on the move. Qui-Gon's tunic hit the
floor.
"I will show you what you are capable of, my Master." The
silky, seductive tone was mesmerizing.
Obi-Wan slid around to Qui-Gon's back, leaning into the taller
man. His hands reached around his master's waist, briefly
caressed his chest and stomach, and then deftly untied his
leggings. Qui-Gon caught the waistband before they fell.
"Obi-Wan! The pilot..."
"...is doing what pilots do," the padawan retorted, prying
loose his master's grip.
"The copilot..."
"... is a droid," Obi-Wan disdained. His hands glided over
Qui-Gon's hips, exposing more of his body.
"The door..."
"...is locked," came the answer, following a quick Force-laden
motion.
Qui-Gon could find no further excuses as he finally gave into
the wondrous seduction of his lover's lips moving over his
back. He closed his eyes and relished the rough hands wandering
over his body, teasing the soft skin on either side of his
rapidly responding phallus.
"Oh, Obi-Wan." His lover's name, their passion, that amazing
tongue - all of these combined into a cascade of lust that
rolled through his body, stealing the strength from his legs.
Qui-Gon sagged forward, resting his weight against the gold
railing. Its support was the only thing that kept him from
collapsing.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes to be confronted with an incredibly
erotic tableau displayed in the viewport: his own reflection,
and that of his lover. Qui-Gon saw his own lidded eyes
displaying wanton need, his bare chest heaving with his
arousal, his hips bent over the railing, his knuckles white
with the tight grip he maintained, his leggings drooping over
the tops of his boots.
He could not see much of Obi-Wan, just a bit of his form as he
knelt behind him, and his hand moving to surround his erection.
Qui-Gon moaned and thrust forward to meet the embrace as it
reached his phallus.
He rocked then, finding decadent pleasure in both his forward
and backward motions. The mouth. The hand. Again. Again.
Qui-Gon stared in fascination as he lost himself in the
exquisite rhythm. The sight of his cock sliding through
Obi-Wan's hand made him light-headed. He leaned further
forward, resting his head and his palms against the cold
transparency. The sensations were incredible, and he knew what
was yet to come.
Finally, Obi-Wan moved to the spot. The tongue swept softly
over his loin, offering only a quick tease, but Qui-Gon heard
himself groan loudly in response. He sank a little further down
onto the railing. He was utterly, totally lost to his lover's
skill.
Obi-Wan evidently took the guttural moan as encouragement. He
began to work the spot in earnest, licking, kissing and
sucking. Qui-Gon was astounded by the degree of pleasure it
provoked, so much that it was almost painful.
He breathed harshly, wanting to both prolong the building
ecstasy, and reach the ultimate release. He tried to stop
moving, but couldn't. His craving for his padawan's touch drove
him on. It was too much. He thrust forward once more into his
lover's fist and came, jetting all over his own reflection. His
shout bounced off the viewport and reverberated around the
room.
Qui-Gon collapsed onto the floor, and was quickly pulled into
his lover's arms as the final waves of orgasm rolled through
him. The tingling pleasure receded slowly, small aftershocks
pulsing through his system as he relished the contact with his
lover's body. At last he relaxed and sank his weight against
Obi-Wan's chest.
"You were saying, Master?" Obi-Wan's ironic tone matched the
smirk Qui-Gon saw in the smeared reflection of the viewport.
"You are proud of yourself, aren't you?" Qui-Gon asked in mock
exasperation.
"It's not often that I have the opportunity to prove my Master
wrong."
Qui-Gon let out a long sigh. "Just don't do it too often. I
don't think I could stand it."
Obi-Wan smiled in reply, and gave his master a squeeze.
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