Master Apprentice Archive Naming Days III Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none at all. Honest.

Notes: This one's especially for Kylara Dee who kept bugging me wanting to know where the Naming Days 'series' would go, and for all those of you missing nice sticky smut from me. Here it is. And this is the end of it too.

Also, this is in response to Master Linda's Obi-Wan-in-cherries challenge (picture is up in the M_A files), because I figured if her own Padawan's not answering it, nobody will, and it's a damn delicious idea ... :)

Summary: On his 55th Naming Day, Qui-Gon Jinn gains some delicious insights into what it's like to be a Darksider.

Qui-Gon woke with a start. Sunlight! Daytime. Get out of bed, Jinn. He stretched languidly, then winced at the unexpected stab of pain in his groin, just a bit to the right, where the skin was especially pale and tender. Propping himself up on his arms, hands planted firmly behind him, he let the sheets slide down and pool around his hips. Ah yes. It all came back to him now.

Well, at least you're not wounded, he thought to himself, though I might want to have a word with you about old age and amnesia setting in, Jinn. He shook his head, then grimaced again as he settled himself back into the pillows. Of course. It was his 55th naming day today, and the unexpected pain in his groin stemmed from his annual Naming Day ritual. After 37 repetitions you should be used to it, Jinn, he thought. In any case, the chain tattoo's almost full circle now so you'd better start thinking about where you want to put the next links, Force willing ... he trailed one hand down his stomach and gingerly fingered the fresh cut. A perfect black oval, still raised and tender but full of the slight itch and prickle of healing. Placed there by his Padawan, at his own request, with gentle nimble hands ...

Images flooded his slowly-waking mind, of those hands, specifically the wickedly wonderful actions those hands had indulged in later that evening, and the altogether climactic nature of the naming-day celebrations. How that tease of a Padawan had fed him sheer heaven off those fingertips and that delicious little tongue and kept him on the edge until the midnight chime, and then ... the memory alone was enough to make Qui-Gon blush furiously, blood pounding in his temples, heat flooding his veins, not to mention other body parts, and his hand felt magnetically drawn away from the healing scar and towards his rising flesh, stroking rough fingertips along the silken length, then squeezing hard, a pale echo of last night's mind-melting pleasures, but right now the sheer memory threatened to pull Qui-Gon under, and he would have given in to the warm waves if he hadn't been startled to second wakefulness by the slight rustle in the other room.

Of course. His Pada- -- Jinn, old fool. Here you are revelling in what this amazing sprite of a boy did to you all night, and you don't even realise he's supposed to lie here in the big bed with you, untidily sprawled all over the crumpled sheets, snoring quietly, a warm delicious animal that purrs when you nudge it awake? Where is that boy? Well, judging from the noises he was in the common room quietly unwrapping something, and Qui-Gon was just about ready to leap out of bed and demand an explanation (among other things) when his Padawan entered the room.

The sight stopped his heart.

The throb went on further down his body, and more intensely too.

Here was Obi-Wan Kenobi, in all his nineteen-year-old glory, naked to the waist and clad in obscenely tight suede pants that exactly matched the colour of his hair and brought out his long elegant thighs to stunning effect. And the considerable bulge between them, Qui-Gon noticed dimly, blinded by so much radiance at this early hour. And it wasn't like Obi-Wan bothered to walk in these pants -- he was slinking over towards the bed in a flow of movement that Qui-Gon had only ever observed in liquids until then, a transparent green silk scarf wrapped tightly around his throat, the loose ends trailing, dancing in the air as he advanced. Sheer seduction poured into the lithe shape of a young man who Qui-Gon was lucky enough to call his Padawan. And his lover. He felt his throat constrict at the pure unadulterated lust radiating off Obi-Wan's every feature, and licked his dry lips, suddenly quite unable to move.

Obi-Wan's pearly little laugh flew towards him, drawing the smiling face in its wake, and oh, those lips. So soft and tender, such a sweet spicy delicacy. Qui-Gon fed, greedily, moaning urgently and pulling his Padawan down on to the bed in a devouring kiss, desperate for the sensation of skin on hot skin, hungry for the taste of Obi-Wan ... when the younger man finally extricated himself from his Master's clinging arms and gasped for air, his eyes were glazed and his face flushed with a faint blush, a glow that was nothing to the pulsing heat in Qui-Gon's groin.

"Happy Naming Day, Master!" said the glowing face, and Qui-Gon took several dazzled seconds to divert his attention to the thick bundle of something soft and black that was being shoved on to his chest. "Padawan ... a ... gift? For me?" -- "I couldn't think of any other forgetful old man who's celebrating his name today, Master," that slight quirk of a smile again. Qui-Gon really felt like nothing more than devouring that delicious boy right here, right now, but felt quite rightly that the heavy bundle of fabrics would get in the way, and his Padawan seemed pretty focused on that now ... "Dress blacks?" he managed through the haze of lust in his brain, reluctantly allowing the Force to nudge him back towards his calm centre.

"You'll see," came the amused answer, "I suggest we put you in them and then see what they are, mh?". Obi-Wan made as if to get up off the bed, and was promptly stopped short by a Masterly arm flung around his waist, and a large warm hand gripping his bottom through the tight leather pants. "Obi-Wan?" -- "Yes, master?", a perfect tone of innocence in that voice, damn him! Qui-Gon let the overwhelming red wash of his lust bleed into his voice, low and quiet: "Don't you think we might want to get you out of yours first?"

Obi-Wan giggled, then jumped off the bed, almost dragging his Master behind him. "I'll bear that option in mind, okay? Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather like to present you with your present. Come here ... " Reluctantly, Qui-Gon got out of bed and padded over to where his infuriatingly sexy Padawan stood, still half-dressed in those painted-on pants, ready to eat. And he was holding out a hand. The wrong way. Palm forward. "Stop. Now, I want this to be a bit of a surprise, so if you don't mind ... " with a quick flick of the wrist, the green scarf slung itself around Qui-Gon's face, blindfolding him, and before he could even gasp in surprise or protest a warm tongue was caressing his hungry lips, eating away any possible complaints while Obi-Wan's hands busied themselves at the back of his head, securing the blindfold.

"Oh, you're beautiful like that, Master ... but then you know that of course. Let me show you what else you would look brilliant in!" A second of quiet rustling, then something smooth and cool trailed up Qui-Gon's legs, setting the hairs on end with the feathery lightness of the touch. He shuddered, and Obi-Wan indulged in a wide grin, knowing that he wouldn't be seen. So he was on the right trail, by the look of things. Not that he particularly wanted to see Qui-Gon's legs veiled, if he had his way his Master would never go dressed in anything but his glorious smooth taut tanned skin, but if it had to be clothes it might as well be ... "Like that? Corellian silk, the finest and toughest quality available," he demonstrated by stretching the gossamer fabric taut just as he'd reached the root of Qui-Gon's still impressive erection, drawing a hoarse moan from his startled Master.

"Left foot," Obi-Wan directed, and stroked one finger up Qui-Gon's heel to illustrate the point. Slowly, with uncertain grace, Qui-Gon lifted his foot. "Right." The same procedure on the other foot, then he felt the thin silk trailing up his legs again, encasing them gently, a whispering touch of cool smoothness sliding over his thighs, covering his aching cock, then closing in around his waist as his Padawan tied the drawstring.

Shyly, Qui-Gon trailed his hands down his hips and thighs, feeling the smooth cool fabric warming against his skin, delicate yet firm ... "And once more: left foot," came his Padawan's whispered command, and he obeyed without thinking as his foot slid into the solid smooth leather of a boot. Quick hands tucked the trousers inside, the tightened the buckles on the side. Two buckles only, at wide distances. Not his own boots, then, and yet they fit as if he'd worn them for years. How on earth had Obi-Wan managed to ... "Right foot." The miracle repeated on his other foot, and the very thought of Obi-Wan half-naked and crouching on the floor lovingly tightening the straps on his boots made him moan with delight.

Unbidden, his hands trailed down his sides again, homing in on that hot spot, caressing his throbbing hardness through the silk ... a firm hand grabbed his wrist and slowly pulled it away, replacing the snug warm grip with something cool and hard, fitting equally tightly. "What do you think you are doing, Padawan?" Qui-Gon growled, half-disappointed, half-aroused at this new turn of things. "Me? Right now I'm blessing my own generous estimate and the persuasion techniques you taught me, Master. Knight Vaurt was absolutely certain a codpiece wasn't meant to be that size. But then, it was me who had done all the research into this, so in the end she gave in and made it anyway ... " -- the hands had flitted to Qui-Gon's head now and were gently lowering a soft warm shirt over his upper body, "Arms. Thank you.", and tying the wide sleeves off with bands just above and below the elbow.

Awedly, Qui-Gon trailed his fingers over the lush soft fabric as it bunched around and flowed over the muscles of his upper arm. Something smooth and cool hit his shoulders and one of this hands simultaneously, much like a casually thrown-on stola would. What was this costume? Qui-Gon could not make heads nor tails of it and contented himself with mentally cataloguing the sensations the various parts of it evoked in him. Next, something like a sash, pressing the soft shirt tightly around his waist, followed by a belt that was just an anonymous ring of gentle hardness through the sash. Then, nothing. A quiet rustle from near the floor. "Finished, Padawan?" The question answered itself as a whispering heavy weight settled on Qui-Gon's shoulders and Obi-Wan gently slid his arms through the armholes of a sleeveless cloak that reached all the way down to the floor by the feel of it. "Force, what are you dressing me up as, Obi?" -- "Ssssh. All will be revealed soon, Master, if you could just keep still for another minute." As if to emphasise this, a cool leather glove slid over his lips, momentarily clamping them shut with gentle pressure before taking up residence on Qui-Gon's left hand, and its twin on the right. Long wide shafts were lovingly smoothed over the shirtsleeves, and Qui-Gon was just about to touch them with incredulous newly-gloved fingers when he found himself with an armful of eager Padawan, on tiptoes and kissing him senseless while fiddling with the tie that held his hair back.

Only when the silken mass of his own hair trailed down the sides of his face to pool on his shoulders did Obi-Wan let go of his lips. Qui-Gon felt two small but determined hands settle on his shoulders and smiled inwardly at the thought of how Obi-Wan would have to stand on tiptoes to do this convincingly. The voice, however, was firm and allowed no protest as he whispered into Qui-Gon's beard. "Now stay here until I tell you to come into the next room. Don't move, and don't take off the blindfold. Believe me, you won't regret it."

As Obi-Wan's bare feet pattered across the floor to the common room, Qui-Gon trailed a few shy tendrils of Force down his body. It felt strange, this outfit. Oh, it was good, the tightness of the silk pants against his heated flesh, the wonderfully soft shirt with its extravagant sleeves, the extraordinarily comfortable boots ... and yet. The stateliness of the robe was edged with something else, with a sweeping power, an in-built wind that spoke of flight and predatory attack and sheer power. And as for the gloves ...

"Okay, take off the blindfold and come into the common room. Slowly." Qui-Gon needed no prompting on that last bit, as his first port of call was the dressing mirror on the other side of the bed. Could this be a ... he stared at himself in the mirror. And stared. Staring back was a gorgeous, proud, rather wild-looking ...

... Sith Lord.

Qui-Gon stormed into the common room. "Have you been reading my dreams again, you cheeky little ... " his voice trailed off at the sight before him. Yes. Yes. Obi-Wan had been reading his dreams, down to every minute detail it seemed. Right down to the seasonal fruit.

Right down to the ... cherries. Covering his ... hips. And belly. And thighs. In a proud heap of glistening black-red globes, the tip of Obi-Wan's erect cock a delicious fruit among delicious fruits, inviting the ravenous appetite Qui-Gon had, even as a Jedi Master. How much more so as a ... Sith. He shook his head in disbelief. How could his Padawan have known ... or maybe he had felt the same, had felt the same strange allure of the fairy-tale villains, the mythical Dark Side Knights that the initiates heard about in the crèche, those deadly but beautiful creatures of a glorious and dangerous past, battled and eventually defeated and eradicated by the equally near-mythical Jedi of centuries ago. All that survived were the legends, and some illustrations in the old paper books. Obi-Wan had spent a lot of time in the library recently ... it all fell into place. And the part fell into place in Qui-Gon's mind, and he became the savage mythical Sith Lord, and it was the rage of Darth Jinn more than anything else that coloured his voice when he finally regained it.

"Obi-Wan!!"

The young man looked up from his gloriously languid supine position under the pile of cherries, smiling innocently. "What? Isn't that what you always dreamed of? Don't you want it? Don't you want ... this ... right now?" He languidly picked up one of the soft cherries from his belly and placed it between his lips, squeezing it gently, letting a single drop of the deep red juice trickle down his chin seductively ... and Qui-Gon fell. Fell to the beautiful Dark for the moment. Fell on top of his Padawan, growling with lust, squashing the cherries between them as he descended upon Obi-Wan, fighting that sweet little pink mouth for possession of that cherry, biting those tender lips roughly and sucking hard until both their mouths were bright red, flushed from the bruising kisses and the cherry juice, craving more. The smudges of red on Obi-Wan's swollen lips sent Qui-Gon spiralling into a frenzy of desire, bearing down hard on his red-stained Padawan, covering him with the weight and heat of his body, crushing that delicate squirming creature under him and relishing the strangled moans as he bit Obi-Wan's throat, leaving marks of purple and red, cherry juice for blood, before diving into Obi-Wan's willing mouth once more, sharing the taste of his sweat and lust and the ripe cherries with him.

Momentarily disregarding the sticky and stained state his costume was in already, Qui-Gon gleefully burrowed in the pile of crushed, glistening cherries until he got a good hold on Obi-Wan's leaking shaft, then squeezed it hard with one gloved hand, squashing some more cherries against it in the process and grinding the stones into his Padawan's tender flesh. The yelp could have come from pain as well as from pleasure, but the bucking of Obi-Wan's hips was unmistakable and screamed 'more' in more languages than even Obi-Wan spoke. And Qui-Gon was happy to provide, happy to hold his Padawan's pleasure tightly in his fist, towering over the delicious writhing body in his black robes, taking, owning, devouring, soaring up to new and unknown levels of arousal.

Spurred on by this sudden rush of power, Qui-Gon withdrew his hand from Obi-Wan's hard cock and promptly stifled the frustrated moan with his fingers, thrusting deep into the open mouth. Oh, the sight of Obi-Wan diligently and abandonedly licking the cherry mush off the smooth leather gloves was enough to nearly undo Qui-Gon. True, the gloves did not allow him to feel the warm wet softness of Obi-Wan's mouth, but seeing that little pink tongue licking and laving, totally lost in pleasure, and doing it because it pleased him, his Master, proved a kick so powerful that Qui-Gon was unable to resist it.

Lightning quick, he'd leapt up off his dazed Padawan, yanked the constricting codpiece off and the tight silk pants down and knelt down over Obi-Wan's face, feeding the parted lips with his desperate needy flesh until he felt close to exploding with the sheer heat and tightness of Obi-Wan's mouth. Oh, so willing, so his. And how well he sucked, Sith damn it! Sith damn it, Qui-Gon thought through a haze of animal lust, I'd better do that while I can still think. Damn him, and damn him well ... he let himself fall forward again, catching his weight on his hands, face dangerously close to Obi-Wan's red-stained erection rising out of the nest of squashed cherries. He propped himself up on one elbow, pulled one glove off with his teeth and bathed his free hand in the mushy fruit, massaging Obi-Wan's soft juice-slick skin. Everywhere but where he needed it most, of course. Qui-Gon felt an exciting wave of deviousness rising in him and rode it out, taking a cherry stone between his fingertips and raking it along his Padawan's sensitive skin, from the base of his proud cock over his balls all the way to his sweet hot entrance. He circled it, cherry pit still in hand, tracing rough rings of sensation around the tender muscle, then dripped some more cherry juice over it with his other hand and slowly pushed his naked finger inside.

The moan in Obi-Wan's mouth set his cock on fire, and the slight touch of teeth heightened the pleasure further. Oh where had that boy learnt to suck so well??

With a massive effort of will, Qui-Gon jerked his cock out of the willing wet mouth, scrambled to kneel between Obi-Wan's legs and concentrated on his fingers, adding a second, then a third, until the young man was squirming beautifully, demanding in a quiet needy voice to be taken, and taken now please, and hard ... and Qui-Gon was only too happy to oblige, sinking his aching erection in Obi-Wan's tight hot flesh to the hilt, pushing Obi-Wan's milky red-stained thighs up and gripping his hips hard and setting up a punishing rhythm straight from the start. Oh, the heat! It felt so damned good to ram into this wonderfully tight hot body, to pound into him like an animal, regardless of anything but his own wildly cresting lust, taking this gorgeous helpless creature, and taking him hard, so hard it was evil, and it was so good!

Qui-Gon roared as he came, a wild deep roar that tore through his body hot on the heels of the searing orgasm sending sharp flames of shining darkness and light through him and turning his mind inside out. For a fleeting moment on the crest of ecstasy, he got an impression of what it must be like to be dark inside and light outside, and he screamed at the horror mingled with the most intense pleasure he had ever felt, and collapsed on to his Padawan's slender from, all power gone from him.

Obi-Wan's hands were gentle, cupping his Master's cheeks stained with tears and red juice, soothing the aftershocks of the most intense sensation Qui-Gon ever remembered feeling. And he was here, with Obi-Wan, now, and it was good. That soft little mouth kissed him back into shape, instilling into him a love too big for one heart to hold, and he gladly soaked it up, and gave all he had to give in return. Slowly, as if he was doing this for the first time in his life, Qui-Gon trailed kisses down Obi-Wan's pale skin, gently laving rosy nipples, licking trails down his red-stained stomach and finally, reverently, kissing the tip of his Padawan's proud erection, still waiting for a climax to rival his own.

And Qui-Gon dug in, fired up by the renewed fervour of the love that he had felt overcome even the Dark, even the specks of Dark that he knew lay within him as they lay within every human, and he gloried in the taste of salt and sweat and cherries and above all Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan who would do these things to him without even questioning their rightness. He knew it was right. Such faith in their love ... such unbelievable belief, such a stream of pure trust spurting from this impossible Padawan -- no, hang on, Jinn. You're still not quite awake, are you? Sith damn it, you should recognise Obi-Wan's seed when it's tickling the back of your throat, man!! On second thoughts, 'Sith damn it' ... ?

Eleven hours into his 55th Naming Day, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn decided there was yet much Sith-damning to do, and he would damn well do it.

---The End---