Spoilers: none; takes place a couple of years or so before TPM
Summary: Obi-Wan's Jedi patience fails when he sees his Master
meditating in the nude.
Archiving: M_A, GiffStein, anyone else ask (I'm likely to say
yes)
Notes: I blame Black Rose. Really I do; it's all her fault. So,
like, I'm getting out of bed, sorta sleepily downloading my
mail, and then, whamo! Qui- Gon meditating in the buff. See
what I mean at:
http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/gallery/fan/meditation.jpg
Does that deserve a PWP or what? So this is for you, Rose, in
thanks for the many lovely pics. Also this was a true quickie;
no beta at all,so please forgive any mistakes in the
grammar/punctuation department. Now if y'all will excuse me, I
have to go take a cold shower.
My Master doesn't often meditate in the nude. Which is a good
thing, really, because he usually chooses one of the many
Temple Gardens designed for meditation. I can just imagine how
many other Jedi would find it hard to meditate in the presence
of a naked Qui-Gon Jinn. Not to mention the younger Padawans
who might be a little . . . let's just say intimidated by the
sight of my Master without his robes.
I tell myself I'm used to the sight of him naked, and in one
way, it's true. He doesn't intimidate me; I've grown up knowing
what he looks like in all manner of clothing or none at all. I
went through one awkward period of feeling certain I'd never
develop muscles like his or the physique to carry them off, but
he solved that by explaining to me that my strength would be
more compact. It might not have been enough for a nervous
14-year-old, if he hadn't also shown me a flatpic of himself in
running shorts and a singlet, all gangly knees and elbows. I'd
laughed in spite of myself trying to reconcile the gawky young
Padawan with my strong powerful Master.
In another way, I'm not used to seeing him naked. Not at all.
He probably thinks I'm a prude, the way my shield slam up the
minute I see him without clothing. Far better he think that
than guess the real truth.
I am far from a prude. If he knew how much I know about what
goes on between men who love each other, and how much I've
practiced what I know, he'd probably be shocked. But I'm driven
to learn as much as I can, wherever I can. In the palaces,
temples and cities our travels take us to, a young man can find
what he's searching for . . . up to a point. But he can't find
love, not when his love already lies locked inside his heart
waiting for the one man who holds the key.
So instead, I seek knowledge of the art of love. I've probably
learned enough to qualify for a mid level courtesan's license,
which might make a lovely career choice if I don't pass my
Trials. Or even if I do pass my Trials and he rejects
what I intend to offer him, Knight to Knight. Not really, of
course, even if I can't ever be his lover, I'll remain true to
everything he's taught me. In love or out of it, I am still a
Jedi. And I use all I've learned as a Jedi to quell my heart's
ache.
"Patience, Padawan," has become my watchword to myself. On all
those missions with cramped quarters when I could make a
move, I keep my true thoughts buried and tell myself, imitating
his voice, "patience, Obi-Wan." I meditate on passionless
serenity. Frequently. It helps for a time.
It's helped this morning, after waking from a dream that left
me reaching for my mouth, hoping to find it swollen from hard
kisses delivered in between protestations of love. No such luck
and I knelt on the hard floor of my room and meditated yet
again. After, calm once more, I rose, pulled on leggings and
wandered into the common area in search of breakfast.
Only to find my Master, completely naked, kneeling on a
meditation mat.
He is perfection, and I lost everything I'd gained by my own
meditations, and simply stared. How much would it hurt, I told
myself, if I looked at him just this once? And so I did. I
looked at that frost touched dark hair that I want to bury my
hands or my face in, the face I wanted to cover with kisses,
those lips I wanted to bite and suck on. I looked at the beard
I want to feel against my skin, the neck I want to leave marks
on, proving my loving claim on him.
My gaze kept moving, taking in the muscles I wanted to trace
with my tongue, the nipples I wanted to tease and lick and bite
until they stood erect and greedy for more. Now more muscles,
the flat smooth plane of his stomach narrowing down to the hips
I wanted to clutch and claw at, the lean sweep of his flanks
that I want to caress and mold with my hands, imagining that
I'm a sculptor creating the finest work the galaxy has ever
seen. I stared at his strong legs, legs I wanted to feel
wrapped around me as I sunk slowly into his body, my hands
tight on his perfect ass.
And then I stopped teasing myself and stared at his cock,
hidden as it was between his legs and under his foreskin. I
wanted to know what it looked like erect and proud. Erect
because he wanted me, my mouth, my hands, my ass . . . my love,
not just the love a Padawan has for his Master, but the love of
one man for another.
And then it happened. As I stared, his cock stirred, ever so
slightly at first, just the faintest twitches. And then more,
until it was rising from between his legs to finally rest,
trembling, against his belly. Sure I was still in bed dreaming,
I blinked furiously, but the view before me remained the same.
He remained in meditation pose with no indication that he was
even aware of his body at all.
Well, if he wasn't, I was, and all those repetitions of
"patience Padawan," vanished from my head. I dropped to my
knees and, very quietly, like a larcat stalking his prey,
crawled forward until I was right before him. I could smell
him, faint traces of soap from that morning's shower, and the
stronger scent of himself, musk and spice and something that
was uniquely Qui-Gon.
I bent my head slightly, and slid my tongue, once, across the
head of his cock. Salt and bittersweet and I knew I had to have
more of him, all of him. My tongue slowly traced every fold of
skin, every vein, as I worked my way to the base and then back
up again. He made no noise, gave no indication that he was
aware of my attention and I didn't care. Opening my mouth wide,
I slid it down over him in one swift movement, at the same time
reaching up to caress that warm sac of skin beneath my chin.
And then I did it again and again, plunging my mouth over his
cock with all the finesse dozens of encounters had given me.
I could feel him tightening towards orgasm, but realized that
this wasn't enough. If I was going to have the man I loved, I
was going have as much as I could of him, considering this
might be my only chance. Making sure to leave his cock as wet
as possible on my final movements, I forced myself to release
him from my mouth, while my hands fumbled my leggings out of
the way.
Without thinking too much about the possible discomfort, I
quickly moved to straddle him, and, with one quick movement, I
took him inside me. It hurt, or course, and I bit my lip hard
enough to draw blood, and rested a minute while my body became
accustomed to the girth of my Master's cock.
Just the thought of who he was and what was inside me, and the
pain was melting away, leaving nothing but need. Heedless of
what I was doing, I grabbed his shoulders, found my balance and
began to move myself over him, driving his cock into me with
slow hard strokes. It felt good . . . what a silly word, hot
showers feel good. This felt like nothing I'd ever felt
before, it was heat and an invasion I welcomed and it was
almost ecstasy.
Almost . . . But he didn't even know I was there, did he? I
spite of my determination to remain silent, a gasp escaped my
lips.
"Love you," I breathed, leaning in towards his ear. "Love you,
Qui-Gon."
A pair of large hands suddenly gripped my hips, steadying me,
helping me move into a faster pace. A mouth moved forward to
bite at my neck, causing me to cry out happily.
"Obi-Wan," he moaned, when his teeth finally left my neck. "Oh
Force, I've waited so long for you, love."
I wanted to question his words, but both of us had increased
the rhythm of our coupling to the point of no return. I could
no longer tell if I was riding him or being ridden by him and a
harsh scream tore out of my throat as my whole body tightened
in his arms. He was just as tense and for one timeless moment,
his cock buried to the root inside me, we were still, our
bodies straining to hold off the inevitable. We failed of
course, and screaming each other's name, we came, neither of us
knowing, or caring, who came first.
It was some time later, as we lay in a tangle of limbs held
together by sweat and semen, that I felt his chest vibrate and
heard the chuckle.
"Master?" The title came automatically, but he didn't seem to
mind.
"If I'd bothered to do my laundry," he said dryly, "I'd have
been wearing leggings at least."
"Ah," I replied, trying to match his tone of voice. "And no
doubt, you'd have meditated on something less . . . rousing."
He laughed, a full out laugh, and rolled until I lay on top of
him. "No," he replied, "I get like that every time I
meditate on the subject of my Padawan."
And then I was silencing him with the hungry kisses I'd dreamed
of, and he was returning them with equal need and it was better
for my soul than all the meditation in the world.
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