Archive: Yes, please, at M/A. If anyone else would like to
archive it, please ask.
Category: POV, PWP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Obi-Wan reflects on his upcoming literature competency
exam.
Notes: elynross and Rosa beta'd this for me, since I whined a
lot.
In balance, the Force guides us
Summer, winter, fall
But in your arms,
Eternal spring
Poetry has never been my strong point.
I dropped my legs off the desk, and my chair righted itself
with a slight 'thud.' I wiped my palm over the reader, intent
on erasing the passage, then decided to let it lay. A
testament, perhaps, to a too-dramatic nature, one now harnessed
to the practicalities of Jedi life.
I smiled, thinking about what my Master would say. I'd pulled
out these old scribblings just to see if any of them were as
good as I'd thought they were when I'd written them, years
before, in the throes of my hormone-obsessed puberty. Dark
dreary things, for the most part, full of the pain and anguish
of teenage life and desperate, unrequited love.
I winced as I read them. It would be a kindness to delete them.
Still, they were how I'd viewed the world at the time.
It was lucky I survived.
I pushed my chair away from the desk and slouched down,
spreading my legs out wide in front of me. It was all Qui-Gon's
fault, anyway. I'd written them late at night in the throes of
passion and was now reading them six years later in the clear
light of day. I looked over at the passage again and
immediately hit the off switch on the reader, watching as the
light faded, leaving my room in sleep cycle twilight. No one
should have to read his old work like this. It was depressing.
But it was either this or '100 Poems Every Being Should Know'.
I scratched at my bare chest and pushed my braid 'round to the
back of my neck so it wouldn't get in the way. Most of 'em were
just as bad as anything I'd ever written, long maudlin things
about the nobility of the Jedi and the wonder of life.
Somewhere, deep in his soul, I knew Qui-Gon had laughed at me
when he handed out the course work; I'd seen it in the twinkle
in his eyes at the time.
Poor Qui-Gon. I love him dearly, but my Master has no poetry in
his soul. Sensitivity, yes, compassion, yes, but the two of us
together? 'A black cat at night' was the extent of our creative
endeavors.
It's lucky we became Jedi.
I ran my hand down my stomach to the waistband of my pants,
enjoying the feel of my own touch. Unfortunately, my literature
competency exams were scheduled for a few months from now, so
there was no way either of us was getting out of it. Qui-Gon
had looked so pained when he made the reading assignment, and
each poem I turned in -- oh, they just made him pale. I don't
know which of us hurt more.
Still, we would muddle through, just as we had folk songs and
stories from other worlds. I wrapped my hands about my wrists
and arched into a long stretch; I'd been cramped up in one
position for far too long, and my body was saying it wanted a
little more room...along with some other things.
I reached down and cupped my cock through my pants, changing
its position. Now, if Qui-Gon has assigned '100 of the Greatest
Poems about Sex', that was something that we both would have
done better on. Sex was a subject I'd always interested in,
even after I'd passed through my 'hormone-obsessed puberty'
stage.
'Budding flower' my arse. I'd enjoyed sex from the moment I
stuck my hand down Jarik's pants. I liked to think I'd found
one of those innate talents the Masters talk about. Some Jedi
could foresee the future, others fucked really well. I knew
where my gifts lay, and it wasn't with reading anyone any
poetry, not even '100 of the Greatest Poems about Sex.'
Now there was a thought. What if Qui-Gon read those poems aloud
to me, made me memorize the stanzas and repeat them back to
him? I felt my cock tighten at the thought, lengthening under
my negligent land. Oh, yeah, that magnificent voice ringing out
in the room, surrounding me with images of sweaty bodies
interlocked in various positions, and my own voice following
his, repeating every raunchy word.
Better yet, I thought, unfastening my pants and licking my palm
so it dripped with spit, Qui-Gon naked in bed, reading the book
aloud...gasping out a poem while I nipped at the flesh on the
back of his neck...or the poem was torn out of him as I deep
throated his cock...or maybe the words were muffled, with his
face down, arse in the air, begging to be taken...
Unfortunately, even in my imagination, I couldn't get Qui-Gon
to say some of the stuff he'd assigned me to read. "Obi-Wan,
suck my cock." That I had no problem imagining him say, but
"Obi-Wan, my love is like an ocean..."? I snorted. Never gonna
happen.
Why couldn't poetry be composed of my favorite phrases, like
"Come here," "strip," "kneel," and the all time winner: "fuck
me now." I mean, in the right mood, those had a sort of
lyricism in them, especially if they were being said by Qui-Gon
Jinn.
I closed my eyes and sighed, pushing my pants off, giving up on
the assignment and taking other, more urgent, matters in hand.
I pulled on my balls and pinched my nipples, alternating
quickly between them so the sensation spiked. When I tingled
just on the edge, I switched, grabbing my cock in my hand and
deliberately stroking it, imagining Qui-Gon spread out before
me, his head thrown back as I sank balls-deep into him. I
licked my hand again, making sure I was slick enough, and
pumped myself faster, the wet sound adding to the reality of
the moment, letting myself feel what it would be like to be in
him, fucking him, dirty and raw and hard--
How he would clench the sheets and writhe beneath me,
destroying me utterly with the small sounds he made when he
came.
I threw back my head and gasped, my body locking as I felt the
liquid surge out of my balls, up my shaft, and out onto my
hand. I shuddered and shook in aftermath, feeling over
sensitized even to my own touch.
When I felt okay enough to move, I got up, rolled my pants into
a ball, and used that to wipe myself off, then threw it into
the laundry bin. I couldn't help rubbing my hand across my
chest, feeling the wetness left behind by the cloth, and I
smiled. Someday, I planned to make that image a reality.
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