Summary: Those of us who keep or hold were challenged to write
an 800 word story about said item. I just can't keep to 800
words, but I suppose you could just stop reading at word 800
(tee hee). I hold Qui-Gon sash, and I let Obi-Wan play with it.
Feedback: Oh pretty please with Godiva Jedis for all!
Normally Qui-Gon Jinn would have taken a lengthy shower, or
possibly even a bath, after such a tense mission report to the
Council. But not tonight. Ever since he'd returned to the
Temple, he'd felt something a little . . . off with his Padawan
Learner. Not wrong; the 20-year-old apprentice was not in
trouble, but something, some emanation of the Force was
surrounding him in a subtle way, a way Qui-Gon could not figure
out. He'd refused to even skim the surface of young Obi-Wan's
mind for information, allowing Obi-Wan to help him disrobe as
normal and keeping all speculation to himself.
And now, his quick shower over, the Jedi Master headed toward
his Padawan's rooms, determined to see what was going on.
Teacher, friend, trainer, father, confessor . . . we're
supposed to be all that and more, he thought as he knocked
lightly on the door. Getting no response, he lightly slid the
door open, expecting to see the young man sprawled across the
bed in his usual untidy way.
What he saw instead caused him to stop breathing.
Obi-Wan, most certainly naked, was tied to the bed frame.
Qui-Gon took an instinctive step forward, wondering how in the
world the young man had been attacked in the midst of the
Temple's security, and then he realized something far more
breathtaking and world-shattering.
It was totally obvious that Obi-Wan wanted to be there.
The tie that bound him to the bed was nothing else but
Qui-Gon's sash, the one Obi-Wan had, so shortly ago, removed
from his Master's waist. Now it was wrapped, in a way that
could only be accomplished with the Force, around Obi-Wan's
wrists, rendering them helpless. Obi-Wan was on his stomach,
grinding his hips into his bed, and tugging at his self-imposed
restraints. His head tossed from side to side, the thin Padawan
braid whipping around his head and shoulders in his eagerness.
Qui-Gon didn't want to look, wanted to bolt this incredibly
private moment and spend the night trying to find peace in
solitary meditation. But how could he not look? The tossing
head, the rippling muscles of his apprentice's shoulder and
back muscles, the lean waist and those narrow hips, so bent on
release. And then there was that ass, tightening and relaxing
as if something vital were missing from the scene; there was no
way Qui-Gon could look, let alone walk away. Even Obi-Wan's
legs kept spreading and then moving back together, and Qui-Gon
was overcome by the need to kneel between them.
He couldn't of course. Obi-Wan could be fantasizing about
anyone; he'd been spending a lot time with Masters
M-Bast's Padawan Ereu, and there was even Master Kel-Ava, with
whom Obi-Wan studied Medical Sciences. Hell, Qui-Gon
thought to himself, he could be thinking about Mace for all
I know.
Suddenly Qui-Gon knew there would be no solitary meditation
that night. Dropping his robe to the floor, and calling to his
hand a bottle of oil he'd been saving for this moment (although
perhaps not this scenario), he knelt on the bed between
Obi-Wan's now open legs.
There was and odd sound, a little between a gasp and gulp from
the head of the bed, and Qui-Gon quickly leaned his long frame
over Obi-Wan's shorter one. "This won't happen, unless you want
it," he whispered into the young man's ear, unable to resist
biting the tender ear lobe. "It can all be a dream . . ."
"No please," pleaded Obi-Wan. "Besides," he added with a spark
of his usual humor, "It already is a dream." As if a
frightening thought suddenly hit him, he turned until he could
look Qui-Gon in the eyes. "Unless you don't want . . ."
Qui-Gon moved slightly, letting the ample evidence of his
arousal brush one cheek of Obi-Wan's ass. Obi-Wan sighed and
spread his legs further.
"Have you . . .?" Qui-Gon, asked.
"Not with anything flesh, Master," Obi-Wan admitted. "But,
look at me, Master. Do I look like I want you to coddle
me? Have I ever wanted you to go anything other than full out
in a . . . training session?"
Qui-Gon looked. There was a fair amount of his sash left after
it tied Obi-Wan's wrists, and it didn't take much for him to
reach up and rip off the end. He pulled Obi-Wan to his knees;
the young man eagerly cooperating. Anther rip and the sash was
torn lengthwise, after which, a judicious use of the force and
the sash bound Obi-Wan's legs to the side of the bed.
"How do you feel?" Qui-Gon asked, looking at the new view and
wondering if he'd actually make it to the sex. There was
Obi-Wan's ass, something he'd been carefully not
thinking about for the last year or so, spread and ready for
him, and in a few minutes . . .
"Scared," Obi-Wan admitted softly. "And safe, with you,
Master."
Oh, by the Force, how many times had he heard those words from
his Padawan? His Padawan. "My Padawan," he
growled.
"My Master," Obi-Wan wriggled a little as he replied, and
Qui-Gon answered that wriggle with a pair of oil-slicked
fingers. "Oh yes!" Obi-Wan yelled out, pushing back, hard, onto
his Master's hand. Encouraged, Qui-Gon quickly oiled his own
aching erection and moved into position.
Heat and tightness, yes of course both were there. But there
was more, more than he'd ever felt with a lover before.
Acceptance and surrender and trust and the core of love that
made up their existing bond . . .
Qui-Gon felt himself losing control, pushing hard into his
apprentice for a few moments. Appalled with his behavior, he
was about to stop, when he actually managed to listen to what
Obi-Wan was saying.
"OH . . . yessss . . . just like . . . that . . . yes Master .
. . hard . . . pleasepleaseplease . . ."
Qui-Gon responded by grabbing onto Obi-Wan's hips with a
crushing grip.
"Everything you . . . want . . ." he gasped out. "Take from you
. . . give to you . . . because . . . you're . . ." He trembled
on the edge now, and it didn't matter that the figure beneath
him hadn't had his orgasm yet. "MINE!" Qui-Gon bellowed as he
came, hips slammed up against Obi-Wan's ass.
"YOURS!" Obi-Wan yelled in return, coming without any
stimulation to his cock as his Master came in him.
The sash lay on the floor, half-forgotten, as Obi-Wan leaned
against Qui-Gon's chest accepting biting kisses from his
Master. There were things to discuss and boundaries to
be set, but those would come later. "Yours?" Obi-Wan asked
after one particularly burning kiss.
"Mine," Qui-Gon replied.
"Poor Master," Obi-Wan said with a smile. "You think I'm a
handful as a Padawan . . ." His words trailed off and he looked
at Qui-Gon. "You wouldn't?"
Qui-Gon dismissed his hairbrush, which had hovered into the
room briefly. "What do you think.?"
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "But only if I'm really bad?
Qui-Gon pulled him into a position for sleep. "Only if."
There was a long moment of silence.
"Master?"
"Mmmm?"
"What's 'really' bad?"
"Keeping your Master from sleep."
Another longer silence.
"I worked on my backhand while you were gone," Obi-Wan said
brightly. "Master Mace thinks I need to change my wrist angle,
but Master M'Bast thinks that my footing needs work. What do
you think Master?"
"Hairbrush, Obi-Wan."
And both men laughed a little and moved closer. In his
innermost thoughts, Qui-Gon wasn't sure what the results of
this dramatic change in their relationship would be, but one
thing was sure. With Obi-Wan Kenobi around, love, like
everything else, was never going to be boring.
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