Archive: Master_Apprentice, all others, please ask.
Category: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None, yet.
Spoilers: None. Pre-TPM
Summary: Obi-Wan loses his memory.
Disclaimer: Everyone knows the boys belong to Lucas. What I do
with them, however, belongs to me.
Feedback: Feedback is the meat needed for the energy of
writing. /Any/ comments are more then welcome.
Notes: // indicates thoughts. ** is telepathic communication.
This hasn't been bata'd, and I haven't slept in over 24 hours,
so any mistakes are mine alone. =)
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the earth all Dana‰ to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
-- Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal, Lord Alfred Tennyson
"My head hurts," came the grumbling complaint from the
sandy-haired young man in the bed. He lifted one hand to touch
his brow gingerly, and winced as his fingers connected with
tightly wound gauze. "What happened to me?" he questioned,
lifting his gaze to the man who stood, silent beside his bed.
"You had a bit of an accident, my boy," came the reply. "You'll
be fine, in time, however." Strong, callused fingers moved over
the boy's cheek in a familiar caress, the tall man smiling,
though there was something cold behind it.
The boy nodded, green eyes turning from the man to take in the
room. It was small, but sumptuous, lushly lined with velvet and
satin. The huge featherbed in which he lay, dominated the
center of the room, spread with a wine-colored velvet coverlet
and satin sheets. The hardwood floor was covered in bright
coloured rugs, and heavy, wine-coloured drapes cloaked all the
walls, creating a feeling of warmth and muffling any noise.
The man at the bedside seemed content to watch the boy, making
no move to speak as those emerald eyes widened, then turned
back to him, questioning.
"Is something wrong?" he said smoothly, fingers once more
stroking down the boy's cheek.
"I... who..." he paused, then began again. "Where am I, and who
are you?" White teeth caught at his lower lip in sudden
distress. "And... who am I?"
A look of surprise crossed the man's face, brows pulling
together in a worried frown. "You don't know? You can't
remember a thing?"
The boy shook his head, then winced, fingers going to his brow
again. "Nothing."
The man nodded, almost to himself, then spoke gently, his deep
voice low and soothing. "You are in your bedroom, and I am
Peadair. You truly do not recall, Iain?"
"Iain? Is that... me?" Green eyes met blue, confusion in the
emerald depths. The boy's hands wandered across the velvet
comforter, then one lifted of its own accord to finger the spot
behind his right ear, frowning as the vague feeling of
something missing shivered through him.
Peadair nodded, watching him closely. "Yes. Your name is Iain,
and you work for me." His voice washed over the boy like warm
silk. Calm. Persuasive. "This is your room, and has been for
many years now."
Iain moved as though to shake his head, but stopped himself,
the pain from the last time still an unwelcome guest behind his
eyes. "I work for you? What do I do?"
Peadair smiled comfortingly. "Don't worry about that now, you
need to get more rest. We'll talk about it later." Ignoring
Iain's faint protests, he pressed the boy down on the bed with
a hand on his shoulder, then drew the comforter up over him.
"Sleep," he commanded. "I'll be back later."
As much as he wanted to stay awake, to question further, the
pain behind Iain's eyes swelled, and he relaxed into the
pillows with a groan. /It can wait/, he thought, lashes
sweeping down to shadow his cheeks.
Peadair's eyes glinted coldly as the boy drifted into sleep.
/It's so easy, I should be ashamed of myself. Almost./ Callused
fingers stroked Iain's cheek once more, then, smiling, Peadair
left the room.
With a harsh gasp, Qui-Gon Jinn sat up, blood rushing in his
ears from the sudden movement. He reeled, fingers going to his
temples, even as a strong hand closed on his upper arm,
ensuring that he didn't spill from the bed.
"Easy," a rich, mellow voice murmured. "You have not been fully
healed." Hands attempted to ease Qui-Gon back down on the bed,
but he resisted.
"Obi-Wan," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. "Is he
alright?" He forced his eyes to open, taking in Mace Windu's
worried expression though a pained haze.
Windu's expression became more shuttered, answering Qui-Gon's
question more effectively then any words. Despite the headache
pounding in his temples, he reached out mentally for his
Padawan... and found nothing. Inhaling sharply, he attempted to
force himself up, intent on getting to his feet, but Windu's
hands held him firmly in place.
"Qui-Gon, you must center yourself. You are injured, and you
must relax, so you may heal."
Qui-Gon reached up, and fisted a hand in Windu's robes, his
blue eyes dark with leashed fury. "Where is my Padawan?" he
demanded. "We were attacked, but I was sure I saw him make it
onto the ship."
Windu made no attempt to free himself from the other master's
grip, hands shifting to rest on both of Qui-Gon's shoulders.
"We are unsure as to what happened. You were attacked, yes, but
as far as we know, your apprentice did not gain the relative
safety of the ship. The captain was taken by surprise, and
stuck unconscious. When she came around, she discovered you
outside, unconscious, and as she was unable to find your
apprentice, she returned you to Coruscant. You've been
unconscious for three days now."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, once more attempting to touch his
Padawan's mind, with no result other then worsening his
headache. "I have to find him. Let me up, Mace."
"We have people looking, Qui-Gon. What you have to do is rest,
and if you will not do so willingly, I will make you rest. I'm
sorry, my friend, but you have no choice." Windu squeezed the
other man's shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort.
Qui-Gon growled in frustration, then unfisted his hand from
Windu's robes, and relaxed back on the pillow. "How long have
the healers said I must rest," he demanded. Long fingers opened
and closed on the blanket covering him, and he suddenly became
aware of the burning pain along his right side.
"A few days, at the very least," Windu replied firmly. "You had
broken ribs, and there was some internal damage, as well. Now
that you are conscious once more, you can work with the healers
to repair the remaining injuries."
Qui-Gon nodded curtly, looking far from pleased. "Wherever
Obi-Wan is, he must be shielded. I can not sense him at all."
He looked up at the other master, frowning. "You will keep me
informed of the search progress, yes?"
Windu nodded in his turn, carefully guarding his expression,
and his thoughts. "Of course. Now, rest. The sooner you are
healed, the sooner you can join the search." He delivered
another comforting squeeze to Qui-Gon's shoulder, then turned,
long strides carrying him from the room, cloak swirling behind
him.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes once more as he was left alone in the
room. /Oh, my Padawan. Where are you?/ His fingers curled into
a fist at his side. /I will find you, Obi-Wan. Wherever you
are, hang on until I can find you./ The Medical Droid's
approach intruded on his thoughts, and then the hiss of a
sedative injection interrupted them all together.
Iain swung his feet from the huge, soft bed and stood
carefully, not wanting the headache to return now that it had
finally passed. He looked about the room, hoping something
would trigger a memory, but his past was still a blank.
Spotting a mirror in the corner, he padded, naked, over to it,
gazing intently at his reflection.
A young man with slightly clouded green eyes set in an angular
face, jaw smooth, cheekbones finely arched stared back at him.
His hand absently lifted to rub a spot behind his right ear,
brows furrowing faintly. "Something's missing," he muttered to
himself. "I just can't remember what."
His gaze wandered over the rest of his form, brows furrowing
once more as he noticed the needle tracks along his inner left
arm. He rubbed the marks with his fingers, resolving to ask
Peadair about them. His fingers trailed from his arm to feather
across his chest, then down his flat stomach, gaze taking in
the defined muscles. After a moment, he turned to the wardrobe
near the bed, and opened the carved rosewood doors. Inside, he
found a quantity of clothing, all finely made and seemingly, as
he found, drawing out breeches and a shirt, made for him.
He returned to the mirror and examined his reflection
critically. Partially hiding his lean torso was a long-sleeved
shirt the color of raw obsidian, fitted tightly at his waist
and billowing out above that; the sleeves snug with tightly
buttoned cuffs. The shirt ended at his waist, tucking into
tight breeches of tawny leather that hugged his thighs and lead
down into knee-high boots of hard leather, somewhat worn, and
very comfortable.
Smoothing the shirt, he moved to the door, turning the latch
and stepping out into a hallway. Green eyes swept right, then
left down the quiet hall, taking in the simple elegance in the
gleaming wooden floors and subdued rugs. None of it, however,
was familiar.
None of it.
Letting his bedroom door swing closed behind him, Iain made his
way along the hall, his booted feet almost silent on the thick
rugs. A few feet down the hall, he came to a door much like his
own, and he paused, pressing his ear briefly to the wood.
Hearing nothing, he curled his fingers about the latch,
pressing down lightly, then cracked the door open.
The room within was smaller then his own, the walls muffled
with velvet drapes in a slightly gaudy pattern of climbing red
roses, giving the room a cheerful, if faintly claustrophobic,
air. The floor was dominated by a wide, four-poster bed spread
with a bright crimson quilt and strewn with matching pillows. A
table skirted with red silk held court in the corner beneath a
mirror, bearing small boxes, colorful ribbons, and oddments.
Stepping into the empty room, something tickled at the edges of
his mind. Something familiar. He tested the air, inhaling
deeply, and lavender filled his senses, bringing with it a
sudden image of a small woman with large, grey eyes. He pressed
shaking fingers to his temple, brows furrowing as he tried to
force himself to recall more.
Marigold silk, the rustling of gauzy ankle-length skirts, not
quite clinging, not quite translucent. Long, night dark hair,
lips curved into a knowing smile.
/Who is she? I know her, I think, but I can't remember her
name./ A sudden feeling of wariness prickled at his nape, and
he shook his head, befuddled. /Something's not quite right. But
what?/
Iain sighed faintly, then stepped back out of the room, a frown
settled between his brows. /I need to find some answers, and
soon./ Continuing along the hall, he passed a still and empty
dining room, the long oak table polished to a gleaming finish,
fresh cut flowers in a crystal vase brightening the center.
Presently, he came upon a door that was ajar, from which could
be heard the sound of shuffling papers. Stepping up to the
door, he rapped lightly on the wood.
"Come in," a low, even voice called.
Iain pushed the door open further and entered what appeared to
be a study. The walls were paneled in dark woods, and subdued
rugs were scattered across the hardwood floor. A desk stood
near the far wall, a huge affair of mahogany and glinting brass
handles. Along the wall behind the desk were floor to ceiling
bookshelves, almost completely filled.
Peadair rose from his chair as Iain entered, stepping around
the desk to meet him, smiling warmly.
"Ah, Iain, up at last, I see. And how do you feel, my boy?" He
ran a familiar hand down Iain's arm as he looked the smaller
man over.
"Better. Physically, anyway," Iain answered, eyes following the
fingers trailing down his arm. "I still can't remember
anything, though."
Peadair nodded, frowning faintly as he shifted to slip an arm
about Iain's waist. "I think I'd better have a healer in to
have another look at you, then." His voice dipped slightly,
becoming more caressing. "Don't worry, Iain, I'll take care of
you. I always do."
Iain leaned into the offered comfort, letting the silky voice
wash over him. A memory flickered at the edges of his mind.
Large, strong hands. A low soothing voice, surrounded by love,
and warmth, feeling so very safe. This must be right, then. It
did seem so familiar.
Peadair's lips curled briefly into a cold smile as Iain's eyes
fell closed, tightening his arm about the boy's narrow waist,
fingers shifting to stroke over ribs. "I'm glad you're feeling
better," he murmured. "I've missed you quite a lot." He lifted
his other hand to caress Iain's nape, drawing him closer.
Iain's teeth caught at his lower lip, confusion warring with
the sudden heat tightening his belly. "Missed me?" he
questioned, not pulling away from the other man's warmth.
A note of sadness entered Peadair's tone, long fingers never
stopping their caresses. "You don't recall our relationship?
Ah, I shall simply have to remind you, then." The fingers at
Iain's nape slipped up to tangle in the short hair, drawing his
head back gently. Peadair's blue eyes roamed the younger man's
features, before he slowly lowered his head. "You're
beautiful," he murmured against Iain's lips, before claiming
them in a heated kiss.
Iain shifted, as if to pull away from Peadair, then pressed
closer, returning the kiss with rising arousal. His mind began
to fit Peadair's features with the memories of love and warmth,
arching to the touch of his hands. Those hand began to deftly
open the buttons of Iain's shirt, parting the dark fabric and
gliding over the paler skin beneath, even as teeth closed
firmly on the arch of Iain's throat.
Iain gave a ragged cry, fingers closing in the back of
Peadair's own shirt, clutching at the older man. His head
tilted back as Peadair's teeth urged it to, his eyes tightly
closed. Peadair's fingers abandoned Iain's shirt, and fell to
yank open the fastenings of the boy's breeches, peeling the
leather aside and delving within, sliding the breeches down
Iain's lithe hips.
His mind swimming, Iain made a faint sound that may have been
protest. Even he was not certain. Then Peadair's hands were on
his hips, and he felt himself turned abruptly, pushed down over
the large desk, cheek pressed to the gleaming wood. He could
hear the sound of Peadair opening a drawer and rummaging though
it. The hands returned to his hips.
Slick with oil, one finger teased the entrance to Iain's body,
making him gasp and press his cheek harder against the surface
of the desk. One finger, then two delved within his body,
preparing him, then his feet were nudged apart and his legs
spread further. Fingers were replaced with something hard and
blunt.
Another cry spilled over Iain's lips as Peadair thrust within
him, his oiled cock piercing him easily. His fingers curled
against the wood, grating, eyes closing as his body adjusted
easily to the invasion. Over and over Peadair thrust into the
smaller man under him, almost violent in his abandon. His
breathing grew uneven, ragged, as his hands left Iain's hips to
grip the edge of the desk, giving him leverage to pound into
the boy harder.
Iain's soft cries faded into moans that grew louder and louder,
his hips thrusting back to meet the other man's strokes. He
cried out raggedly as his body arched in climax, his seed
spilling over the polished wood of the desk. Peadair continued
to thrust through Iain's climax, piercing him several times
before he groaned and sunk into Iain hard, his cock bursting
forth with heat, deep within the young man's snug, hot passage.
He bent over him, his weight pressing him down as he covered
him, his chest against the boy's back. "Iain," he murmured,
then bit the back of his neck.
Iain moaned loudly at the bite, arching to press his neck back
to Peadair. "Oh Gods..."
Peadair whispered roughly against Iain's ear, "Lovely, so
lovely." His hips bucked a couple of times, then finally
relaxed.
Iain turned his head slightly, green eyes glazed. "Am I?" he
murmured.
"Yes, my boy," Peadair replied. "Oh yes." He growled in
pleasure, his breathing unsteady as he drew back, dark eyes
sated with passion. "Iain... Mine..." A possessive look crossed
his face for a moment as he helped Iain straighten from the
desk and turn, lifting a hand to run a thumb along the young
man's lower lip.
Iain's lashes fluttered against his cheeks, his tongue darting
out to brush Peadair's thumb. The confusion still fogged his
mind, but his body was suddenly too tired to worry about it any
further at the moment. He leaned into Peadair, sighing
languidly as strong hands fixed his clothing. Peadair's lips
curled into a cold smile, then he murmured quietly, more in a
tone of command then anything, "Come back to my bed, Iain."
Iain nodded silently, trembling slightly. Peadair reached down
and caught the smaller man up into his arms, letting the sandy
head rest against his shoulder, then turned and carried him
towards the door.
When Iain woke once again, he was alone.
He sat up in the large bed, looking about the unfamiliar room
with sleepy green eyes, then pushed the blankets back, and
swung his feet to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed a
moment, taking in the room as he woke more fully.
Polished hardwood gleamed on nearly every surface, from the
rug-scattered floor, to the huge, four-poster bed he'd been
sleeping in. In size, this room made his look like a closet. He
stood, swaying a moment, one hand steadying him against the
bedpost, then looked about for his clothing.
Nothing was in sight, other then a long robe, draped over the
back of a chair.
He chewed his lower lip briefly, then shrugged one shoulder and
padded across the room to lift the robe, and slip it on. After
tying the belt about his waist, he ran a hand over the sapphire
velvet, the fabric so lush, his fingers almost seemed to sink
into it, and shook his head. //You'd think all this luxury
would seem familiar, but... it just seems pretentious.//
He looked about the room again, one hand absently rubbing the
bite mark on his throat. Then, his ears caught the clink of
china, drifting in from the open balcony doors. After making
sure his robe was tied snugly, he padded to the double doors,
pausing as voices drifted to his ears.
"It is, of course, a pleasure to do business with you again,
Kerlin." Peadair's voice, Iain recognized it at once. "However,
before we get down to it, won't you break your fast with me?"
"I don't have time for this, Peadair," came a wary voice Iain
didn't know. A sigh, then, "Oh, fine, then, damn it."
Iain peered out from behind the heavy velvet curtains, watching
as a large, rough looking man lowered himself into the
wrought-iron chair across from Peadair. The table was laid out
for two, but as Iain watched, a servant appeared with a third
place setting, arranging it neatly before the stranger.
Lifting a crystal glass of some violet juice, Peadair took a
slow sip, seemingly content to let his guest sit and fume a
moment, until the servant dished them both out a breakfast of
eggs, fruit, and some dark, dark brown bread.
Taking a bite of the still warm bread, Kerlin waved the slice
at Peadair. "Now, can we get down to business, so I won't have
wasted the whole damn day coming here?"
Arching a cool brow, Peadair took a spoonful of his fruit. "You
think that your time is so valuable and that mine is not?"
Kerlin blanched, then shook his head quickly. "Of course not!
That's not what I meant at all, Peadair. I simply meant-"
"I know very well what you meant," Peadair cut him off curtly.
"Very well. What is it you wish of me this time?"
Iain shifted, trying to get a better look at the pair, and
accidentally bumped his hip against the doorframe. Peadair's
gaze turned to the doors, and a smile curled his lips. "One
moment, Kerlin," he said, holding up a hand. "Ah, Iain, awake
at last, I see. Come and join us."
Flushing faintly at being caught eavesdropping, Iain stepped
outside, crossing to the table. As he moved to slide into the
other chair, Peadair caught his wrist, and tugged the young man
into his lap, sliding an arm firmly about his narrow waist.
"Sit here," he murmured, pressing his lips to Iain's temple.
"Now, where were we, Kerlin? Forgive the interruption."
Kerlin scowled, eyes skimming over Iain a moment, then he
leaned back in his chair. "I need money, Peadair. You aren't
sending me enough to keep things going with any competence, or
profit."
A considering sound spilled from Peadair as he lifted his glass
of juice, pressing the rim lightly to Iain's lips. The boy
blinked, surprised, then parted his lips and accepted a drink,
nearly groaning as the cool liquid slid down his throat, and
burst into sweetness on his tongue.
"Is that so? Really, Kerlin, I should think that if you made a
few cut backs, you would have more then enough funds. Perhaps I
should pay a visit, hmm? Would you like a trip, Iain?" Peadair
stroked his fingers along Iain's side, offering him another
drink from the glass.
Iain took a deep sip eagerly, and then tilted his head at
Kerlin. The man looked both angry, and frightened. "I... I
don't know," he answered Peadair after swallowing, then paused
as the tall man leaned closer to murmur softly to him, lips
pressed against his ear.
"Focus on him, my love. Tell me what he's feeling. What he's
thinking."
Iain blinked, surprised again. "But," he protested, turning his
head to whisper in return, faltering as Peadair pressed a
shushing finger to his lips.
"Try, love," murmured the voice in his ear. "You will find you
can do so."
Scowling at this display, Kerlin shifted in his chair, rubbing
his hands along his thighs. "Peadair, play with your pet some
other time, eh? I'm trying to discuss something with you here."
Iain tilted his head at Kerlin again as he spoke, brow
furrowing as he reached out... and grasped something. He
inhaled sharply, as feelings of fear, anger, and hatred flooded
his senses. He shook his head hard, then stiffened, as another
presence was suddenly in his mind, faint, but unmistakably
there.
Peadair frowned at Iain's reaction, and shifted to slip a hand
under the table, flicking a switch on the device concealed
below. "I think we shall have to continue this another time,
Kerlin," he said smoothly, as Iain sagged in his arms.
Kerlin ground his teeth together, but stood and bowed stiffly.
"Fine," he snapped curtly, then with a last glare at Iain,
turned and strode out.
Turning his attention to Iain, he cupped a smooth cheek in his
palm, gazing down at the boy. "Iain? Are you all right, love?"
Iain opened his eyes slowly, groaning. "I... I felt what he was
feeling. He was angry, and scared."
A pleased smile curled Peadair's lips at that. "Excellent.
Very, very good, my love. Thank you. It is good to see you can
still use your abilities, despite your lack of memory."
Iain rubbed at his brow, sighing. "Yes, but now I have a
headache again." He bit his lower lip, then looked up at
Peadair again. "When I... did what I did... I felt someone.
Someone else was in my mind."
The smile faded at once, and Peadair frowned. "Indeed? We shall
have to take steps to protect you from such invasion. Do not
worry, Iain, I always take care of you, do I not?"
"Yes, but... somehow, it didn't seem wrong. It seemed so
right."
"Do not let yourself be fooled that way, my Iain. Other's with
your talents are no doubt in the employ of my enemies, and they
would seek to do those I love harm. Let no-one into your mind,
if you can prevent it."
Iain bit his lip, and nodded. "Alright. I'll be careful."
Peadair nodded, and pressed a kiss to the boy's temple. "Good.
I would not see them hurt you again, my love. Now, up with you.
Finish your breakfast, I have things to attend to."
Iain slid from Peadair's lap, and into the other chair, tugging
his robe closer about himself. "Alright."
Peadair gave him a smile, and then strode from the room, his
mind already elsewhere.
Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan hard enough to drive breath from his
slim body. "I love you, my Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan oofed, then gasped in a breath and laughed softly. "And
I love you, Master," he murmured.
Qui-Gon rose from his chair, gathering his padawan in his arms
and carrying him bodily over to the sofa. "How much?" he asked,
a smile suddenly on his face.
Obi-Wan laughed again, and let go of his Master to stretch his
arms to the side as far as he could, trusting the older man not
to drop him. "This much?" he grinned, then broke off with a
squeak as Qui-Gon dumped him on the sofa and began to tickle
his sides.
"Keep trying, love," Qui-Gon said, chuckling himself, as
Obi-Wan wriggled wildly under his fingers.
"No! No tickling!"
Qui-Gon's laughter rang out through the room. "Oh love... how
much? How much do you love me?
Obi-Wan gasped for breath though his giggles. "More then
anything. The whole temple isn't big enough to hold it all!" He
swatted futilely at his Master's deft hands, squirming. "Oh,
please, Master..."
Qui-Gon gave up the tickling to lower his weight on top of
Obi-Wan suddenly, mouth hungrily seeking his, hands sliding up
the younger man's arms to capture his wrists and hold his
padawan pinned beneath him. Obi-Wan continued to wiggle beneath
Qui-Gon a moment, then made a soft sound in his throat,
responding eagerly to the kiss, his lashes sweeping down to
shadow his cheeks.
Qui-Gon's hips ground down against Obi-Wan's, his building
desire readily apparent. His tongue slid along Obi-Wan's lips
in a demanding caress before slipping between them. The small
sound devastated whatever control he had, and his hands
released Obi-Wan's wrists to tease up and down his sides. Once
freed, Obi-Wan's hands darted up to tug pleadingly at his
Master's tunic, the pulse in the hollow of his throat
fluttering wildly as burning need shivered through him.
Lifting up enough to pull at the edges of Obi-Wan's tunic,
Qui-Gon tugged gently and dragged the soft material upwards.
His lips left the younger man's to whisper against them, "My
heart, my soul... I love touching you."
Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered, that soft sound spilling from him
again. "I love you touching me," he whispered, lifting a bit so
Qui-Gon could pull the tunic off. "Master... I love you."
Qui-Gon ran his hands along the bare skin of Obi-Wan's chest,
groaning and plucking at a nipple teasingly, his gaze filled
with love and desire as he looked down at his padawan. Obi-Wan
arched slightly and gave a soft moan. His hands tugged at
Qui-Gon's shirt again, the gesture urgent and pleading, and
Qui-Gon rose to his knees, his fingers lifting to unfasten his
tunic, pulling it off quickly. "Never doubt, Obi-Wan, that I
love you more than the air that I breathe." He let his own
tunic follow Obi-Wan's to the floor and then hugged the younger
man again, bare skin against bare skin.
Obi-Wan gasped softly, skin heated from the desire burning
through him. He pressed a kiss to Qui-Gon's shoulder, and then
trailed his fingers across the broad back, reveling in the feel
of the older man. "Master..." he whispered, his eyes closing
again, "Yours..."
Qui-Gon's breaths turned uneven, rushed, as he lifted up again
to tug at the sash and the bindings to his breeches, his eyes
locked on Obi-Wan's face, a smile on his parted lips. "So
beautiful, my love," he murmured, gaze sliding downwards along
Obi-Wan's skin. "So beautiful."
Obi-Wan flushed slightly under Qui-Gon's gaze, gasping softly
for breath. "Thank you," he whispered, and then set to
struggling out of his breeches and boots. Qui-Gon pushed each
of his boots off with the other foot, letting them drop as he
rolled to his side and slid the breeches down. "Obi-Wan," he
whispered hoarsely, eyes never leaving the younger man. Obi-Wan
yanked his boots off along with the breeches, and chucked them
aside, before sprawling back on the sofa naked, watching
Qui-Gon and taking ragged breaths.
Qui-Gon growled softly, dropping his leggings to the floor and
laying beside Obi-Wan, his chin propped on one elbow, the other
hand trailing up and down Obi-Wan's chest in a soft caress.
Obi-Wan shifted to curl closer to Qui-Gon, almost purring at
the caress, hand reaching to stroke along Qui-Gon's arm and
side. He leaned closer to press his lips against Qui-Gon's
shoulder, and then his teeth caught flesh in a sharp nip.
Qui-Gon's arm snaked about Obi-Wan, pulling the young man
against him. At the nip, he growled, his arm tightening. "Are
you asking for trouble, my Obi-Wan?" he asked in a low, sensual
whisper, one hand skimming down to Obi-Wan's backside, cupping
one soft cheek of his bottom.
Obi-Wan tilted his head back to cast his Master a wide-eyed,
innocent look. "Who? Me?" he purred, even as he wiggled his
hips wantonly against Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon lifted his hand and then spanked Obi-Wan's backside
sharply, cupping the cheek afterwards and dragging nails across
it. "Yes, you, my lovely little brat."
Obi-Wan gasped, then groaned, his eyes falling closed as he
pressed his bottom back to Qui-Gon's hand, his cheeks flushing.
"No, not me," he murmured. "I'm an angel."
Qui-Gon's chuckled, his tone laced with something darker than
normal. "You have the face of an angel, I will agree, but your
body is definitely the sinful flesh of something else." The
hand lifted again and came down with a resounding smack against
Obi-Wan's bottom, then again.
Obi-Wan groaned and pressed closer to Qui-Gon, moaning
raggedly, his Master's tone sending shivers through him. He
nipped hard at the broad shoulder again, as Qui-Gon whispered
silkily, "Wrap your arms around me, Obi-Wan. Hold on tight."
His fingers slid across Obi-Wan's hip with a light caress,
slipping between them to curl about his cock, stroking the
younger man firmly. Obi-Wan obeyed at once, clinging tightly to
his as he moaned again, writhing at the caress along his sex.
"Yes, Master," he murmured.
With a sharp, indrawn breath, Qui-Gon quickened the pace of his
strokes, fingers caressing over the tip of Obi-Wan's sex,
pressing his lips to the honey-gold hair and rubbing his cheek
to it as he continued the torment. Obi-Wan cried out against
Qui-Gon's throat, arching slightly against him, his moans
coming almost without stop, wriggling against his Master.
Qui-Gon's shaft pressed against Obi-Wan's firm stomach,
throbbing and erect as his padawan wriggled against him. The
strokes slowed for a moment, dwindling to a stop, and he gently
teased his fingertips over Obi-Wan's heated flesh. Obi-Wan
whimpered, pressing his sex to his Master's hand, gasping in a
breath, and clinging all the tighter to him. "More...
please..." he choked out in a breathless voice.
Qui-Gon's lips lifted into a dark smile and he whispered in the
young man's ear, "Of course, Obi-Wan." His fingers encircled
Obi-Wan's cock one again, his strokes quick and firm. Obi-Wan
buried his face against Qui-Gon's throat and cried out his
pleasure, trembling wildly against his Master, moans spilling
over his parted and flushed lips. Qui-Gon's own breath turned
rough in anticipation and he murmured in Obi-Wan's ear, "Come
for me, Obi-Wan. Come for me and then I will take you."
Obi-Wan moaned all the louder, writhing against Qui-Gon, as he
gasped for breath, eyes tightly closed, hips jerking in small
circles, his breathing ragged. He cried out loudly, his
Master's name falling from his lips like water as he stiffened,
his back arching as release rushed over him, his slight form
trembling wildly.
The arm around Obi-Wan loosened as Qui-Gon caught the burst of
Obi-Wan's climax in his palm. He groaned, then parted Obi-Wan's
thighs with the knee between them, his slick fingers sliding
along the seam of his padawan's bottom, parting the cheeks to
rub the lubricant against the taut muscle there, preparing him.
Obi-Wan whimpered softly, sagging against his Master, even as
his hips shifted to press back against Qui-Gon's fingers. He
moaned the older man's name and soft pleas as he shuddered.
Qui-Gon's thighs parted Obi-Wan's legs farther, opening the
young man to him before his hand left Obi-Wan's bottom to wrap
around his own shaft. He guided himself to the tight ring of
Obi-Wan's bottom, his other hand moving to the young man's
chest and pushing, urging him upwards. "Mount me, Obi-Wan," he
whispered.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, then moved to obey, still trembling
with the aftershocks of his climax. He whispered something that
might have been 'yes Master', as he pushed himself up, and
shifted to lower himself onto Qui-Gon's shaft, moaning
raggedly.
Qui-Gon's breath hissed out from between his teeth at the snug,
fiery grasp of Obi-Wan's body. "Obi-Wan," he moaned raggedly,
hips bucking uncontrollably upwards, impaling his padawan on
his shaft. The hand that pushed Obi-Wan upright slid down the
boy's stomach and locked around his cock, squeezing gently,
while the other hand moved to encircle Obi-Wan's thigh in a
tight grip. Obi-Wan's fingers curled against Qui-Gon's broad
chest, his eyes closing as he gave a low cry. He held still a
moment, then slowly begin to move, tightening his inner muscles
about Qui-Gon's cock.
Qui-Gon gazed up at his padawan, the smile on his lips rather
languid. "Yessss... I like that, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan smiled in return, green eyes half open. "I like to
please you," he murmured. Moaning in pleasure himself, he rode
Qui-Gon as slowly as he could, thighs trembling as he tried to
draw this out.
Qui-Gon's muscles tensed and he began to arch to match
Obi-Wan's slow, teasing movements, his eyes locked on the
younger man's face, lazy desire shining there. "I could stay
like this... forever," he murmured, breathless himself at the
desire coiling in his stomach, the hand around Obi-Wan's shaft
moving in time with the slow dance of ecstasy.
Obi-Wan gasped softly, his arousal growing again as he moved in
time with his Master. His fingers stroked in light circles over
Qui-Gon's chest and stomach, his gaze locked on the older man's
as he trembled above him. Qui-Gon struggled for control,
wanting it to last, but the raw hunger searing its way through
his body gained sway finally. His fingers tightened on
Obi-Wan's thigh, almost brutally so, and he began thrusting
upwards, faster, a growl escaping his lips as he lunged into
his apprentice.
Obi-Wan submitted to his Master's thrusts, his head falling
back as he moaned in pleasure. "Master..." he gasped, thrusting
down hard to meet Qui-Gon, his fingers curling against
Qui-Gon's chest again.
Qui-Gon's thrusts turned wild, untamed, as he forced himself
deeply into the tight, hot grip of his padawan's body. His hand
worked along Obi-Wan's shaft, stroking it faster and with more
force, the groan torn from him revealing how close he was to
the edge. "Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan, love, I can't hold back much
longer..."
Obi-Wan whimpered continually now, driving himself down on
Qui-Gon's throbbing cock, shaking wildly with the pleasure.
"Master... Master..." he gasped out, then his slim form
stiffened again as he reached his peak a second time, crying
out loudly as he half sagged against Qui-Gon, his inner muscles
fluttering about his shaft. Qui-Gon moaned with relief and
surrendered to the rush of ecstasy as it overwhelmed him, his
hips jerking in small, sharp thrusts as his cock pulsed and his
seed spilled forth within the young man. An arm slipped around
Obi-Wan, holding his against Qui-Gon's sweat-soaked chest as
the older man took shuddering breath after shuddering breath.
Obi-Wan whimpered softly, trembling as Qui-Gon held him. "I
love you," he gasped out, shuddering with aftershocks, closing
his eyes and rubbing his cheek against his Master's shoulder.
Qui-Gon pressed his lips against the young man's temple. "My
beloved Obi-Wan," he murmured. "My heart..." He rolled to his
side, gently slipping from within Obi-Wan and holding the boy
against him.
Obi-Wan made a soft sound of protest as Qui-Gon withdrew, then
snuggled into his arms. Qui-Gon kissed his padawan's forehead,
his breathing slowly returning to normal as he cradled the
younger man against him. Obi-Wan smiled happily, one hand
moving to stroke along Qui-Gon's back. "I love you, Master. So
much."
Qui-Gon nodded and tucked Obi-Wan's head underneath his chin.
"And I love you," he said softly, his heartbeat slowing
finally. "We'll never be parted, my Obi-Wan."
As he gazed down on his love, an alarm sounded sharply, causing
Qui-Gon to jerk awake, hands groping for the young man who was
no longer there. "Obi-Wan?" He shook the fog from his mind, as
the autopilot corrected the small ships course, steering away
from an asteroid that had drifted to close.
He sagged back in the chair he'd fallen asleep in, eyes closing
again, though this time in pain. It had seemed so real, and the
anguish of losing Obi-Wan yet again was almost too much to
bear.
Qui-Gon dropped his head into his hands, sighing as he rubbed
at his face. It was difficult enough to sleep, without worrying
about what he might dream. He sighed and pushed up from his
seat, his thoughts drifting to the coffee in the galley. Then
he staggered, shocked, as another presence flooded his mind.
"Obi-Wan," he gasped out, stunned as the bond flared brightly
to life between then, nearly knocking him to his knees from the
intensity. Just as he gathered himself enough to reach through
the link for his Padawan, it was cut off, sending him reeling
one more, one hand clutching at the arm of the chair to keep
him on his feet.
"Obi-Wan," he gasped again, the name a bare whisper this time,
as he sat down hard in his seat. "Not dead. Not dead, simply
shielded. Oh, my Obi-Wan, I am coming for you." Filled with a
new resolve, he checked his coordinates, then settled back to
meditate, hoping to reach his padawan through the shielding
surrounding him. //I am coming, Obi-Wan.//
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