Archive: Yes, please, at the Master_Apprentice archive.
Category. PWP I'm afraid. Simple hummus.
Rating: NC-17...though some year I'm going to figure out a way
to write a PWP that doesn't have explicit sex, so the rating
won't seem quite so redundant with the category.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Obi-Wan returns after an extended trip
Feedback: That would be nice. I'd like that. I'm not on
thediscussion list, so you'll have to email me directly.
Thanks & such: Maygra, Thomas, and elynross, editrix rex,
all acted as betas on this; to them goes much thanks.
Notes: None, really. I wanted to finish something for once, so
I told myself I could write a short PWP, just to get it out of
my system. Hopefully then I could go back and work on one of
the longer pieces in another fandom...but unfortunately, that
didn't seem to happen. This is my third attempt just to get
something done in this fandom -- the other two grew plots, so I
had to shelve them for awhile, when I have some time to think
about it.
I hate that. NOT. (g)
He strode the halls of the temple, feet whisper-quiet against
the hard stone, senses searching hungrily for his prey,
greedily scanning every face, every body he passed. His
constant awareness of the others pressed into him, and none of
them right, damn it! All the wrong form, the wrong shape, the
wrong kind. He felt a few of them pull away, sudden stark
terror breaching their young Jedi calm, and realized he was
projecting; he forced himself to stop.
Calm and cool, like a glacier-fed lake, Obi-Wan controlled his
emotions. He wanted no master to come for him, no healer to
take him aside and question his presence. He wanted -- needed
-- to find his own.
To find Qui-Gon.
To set it right.
His pack lay heavy against his back, a constant weight during
the last few weeks of independent living, battered and torn
from the woods and foothills of Rivute where he'd been
searching for a child who was strong in the Force. The birth
had been felt, but then the child vanished, cut off from the
others as if someone had shut a gate, leaving the child penned
in.
It was the perfect task for an older padawan, someone who could
be trusted to work independently, and not requiring the skill
of an older master or full-fledged knight. Obi-Wan had been
proud to serve, but the task had taken far longer than he'd
expected.
Like the prince in fairy tales, he'd searched far and wide
across the land, finally finding what he sought in a mining
camp where the rock itself shielded the workers from the
strength of the force. Obi-Wan had paid full bride-price for
the girl, who was not yet six months old, then spirited her
away and back to his ship, delivering her to the creche this
morning.
And now Obi-Wan wanted to be home.
Alternating bars of multi-colored light and faint bits of
darkness passed over him as he walked, the temple windows
prisming simple sunlight into an orgy of color. Quickly, he
passed from the main halls into the living quarters of the
Jedi, the colors and tones muting, the windows no longer needed
for display. His footfalls were quiet, accustomed as he was to
silence from his recent time in the woods, and he sank into
shadows as others passed, his mind finally signaling to him
that the other was close.
He quickly palmed open the door to his room, tossed his pack on
the floor and his cloak on top of it, turned, and left, not
even registering where they had landed. It was unimportant for
now; that room was not home any more, if it ever really had
been.
Home now meant...this. The door to Qui-Gon's room yawned open,
and he slid inside, catching his master in the middle of
dressing.
Pants slung low on hips, fastenings not yet finished, chest
gleaming from a few fresh-caught water droplets clinging to
scattered bits of hair and flesh, nipples taut from exposure to
cold air -- his Master stood there, silent, startled, and
measuring, muscles tensed for fight or flight.
Obi-Wan gave him no time to make that decision.
He removed his wide belt and tossed it aside as the door sealed
shut behind him, the brief puff of air sealing them both in a
Force-shielded cage. His eyes fused with Qui-Gon's as he
stripped the outer shirt from his back, leaving the undershirt
lying open, his chest exposed, and watched Qui-Gon's eyes
darken with desire.
The scent of a mild incense lingered in the room; Qui- Gon must
have been meditating before his shower. A few whispered words
and the few windows changed from clear to translucent, the
artificial twilight a welcome rest from the brilliance of the
day. Wrapped in the darkness, Obi-Wan watched his master,
waiting for his acknowledgement, his agreement to let go.
He could see how Qui-Gon struggled, his emotions flickering
through his face and his force, sifted, sorted, and arranged
into order -- or what passed for order in his Master's
too-chaotic mind. He smiled slightly as he felt Qui-Gon's
certainty solidify, almost feeling his arousal in the pulse of
the air he breathed; yet he waited patiently, knowingly, for
the hesitant, acquiescent nod.
No words, no sounds, no mental touch, just the harsh knowledge
that it had been too long, desire lending speed as he crossed
the room, eradicating the distance between them. Fingers
threaded through his hair, pulling him in close; there was
flesh under his own fingers, hard and solid now, where there
had been only dreams. His hand slid up to cup Qui-Gon's neck
and pull him down just as his own head was tilted up, their
lips meeting and fusing with the incandescent joy of
welcome...a fact that some part of him registered as clearly
wrong, while another part registered it as clearly right.
//Balance in all things, young Padawan.//
Qui-Gon's voice, spoken now, spoken then, the words a seam in
their lives together. Balance, yes, my master, Obi-Wan thought,
his eyes burning as he feasted his hands and mouth on warm,
damp skin. Sometimes the tree must bend.
He pushed a little, and Qui-Gon folded, turning and bending,
muscles flexing so that Obi-Wan could tear the clothing from
the rest of his body, leaving him naked and panting on the
crisp linen sheets. Three movements - - spreading his master's
thighs wide, his mouth ducking in to drink from the fold
between thigh and ass, scratching the flesh, marking his
possession -- and Obi- Wan pulled off his own boots and pants,
his body hard and needy, demanding satisfaction.
The cool air chilled him, a sharp contrast to the heat of
Qui-Gon's body, as Obi-Wan pressed down on him, grinding their
cocks together, his open shirt covering them both.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and groaned, the sound sending twin
vines of satisfaction and want curling around his spine.
Vaguely, he was aware of the sheets scratching at him as he
leaned against the bed, the industrial feel of them softened
only slightly by the homemade quilts his master preferred, bits
of handiwork and color in a utilitarian setting.
The shirt he wore was far softer than anything the temple would
provide, and the swing of it as he moved, kissing and licking
his way down Qui-Gon's body, was all the more tantalizing for
the contrast it gave. Qui-Gon groaned again, pushing himself up
against Obi-Wan's mouth, his desire charging the air around
them. This was the glory of it all to Obi-Wan's mind, his calm,
cool, Jedi master writhing willingly beneath him, desperation
tingeing his mind and soul. He thrust down, knowing the lush
body was his for the taking, the joy of it all cascading out of
him in a deep throaty laugh.
He bit sharply, enjoying the small gasp it brought, then
soothed the spot with his tongue, reveling in the feel of
Qui-Gon's hands as they, too, mapped his body. This is what
some of his friends didn't understand, one thing he loved about
an older lover who was so much more...responsive...than his
age-mates. Nothing to break in, nothing to worry about, nothing
to be frightened of -- long, smooth strokes and quick, sudden
flashes, everything shimmering with indulgent desire.
The oil wasn't far, and he coated himself with it, his gaze
locked with Qui-Gon's. "I want you," he said tightly, his hand
clenched around his cock, fisting it repeatedly, slickening
himself for his lover's pleasure
"Yes..." Qui-Gon groaned, rolling onto his side, canting his
hips for easier access. He looked back over his shoulder, his
hair cascading down his face, his attitude wanton, not
submissive, the fire in his eyes igniting a fire within
Obi-Wan's groin.
Now he was the one groaning.
He knelt behind Qui-Gon, one of Qui-Gon's long legs between his
thighs, the other angled to give him better access. No
preliminaries, no worries, just the sharp- solid thrust of his
cock into Qui-Gon, deep into the liquid fire welcoming the
invasion. He pulled the angled leg up a bit, let it curl around
the arm bracing him against the bed, let it beg for him to push
himself deeper inside. The heat, the feel of skin and muscle,
hair and sweat and salt, simmered around him, adding fuel to
the need deep within him. The delicate brush of his shirt only
heightened the sensation.
He dropped Qui-Gon's leg and pressed his thigh, guiding him
onto his stomach, moving with him and shifting in deeper as he
turned, unwilling to separate them even for an instant. He
pulled Qui-Gon's ass up and cupped himself over and around the
strong back, reveling in the feel of the body under his hands.
He licked the drops of water that clung there, felt the
saltiness of sweat and soap beneath his tongue, heard the hard
groans and gasps of his lover as he shifted to accommodate
Obi-Wan's girth. He slid his hands down and around Qui-Gon's
sides, seeking out the thick shaft jutting out between his
master's thighs.
Obi-wan smiled as he clasped it, briefly nipping at Qui- Gon's
back as his lover thrust into his hand. Even though he couldn't
see it, Obi-Wan knew what it looked like: hard, red and
weeping, the head exposed and wanting, sensitive to the
slightest touch -- as the escalation in Qui-Gon's breathing
proved the moment Obi- Wan's hand wrapped around it.
Moaning softly, he moved his hands over the shaft, a
counter-point to the deep, luxurious thrusts that encased him
in Qui-Gon's flesh. Enveloped, impaled, a circle of passion and
desire, Obi-Wan fed himself into Qui-Gon's need as Qui-Gon fed
into his. The luxury slowly disintegrated into hard, powerful
pounding, each of them gripping and clutching at the flesh and
fabric that came closest to hand. Scratches from untrimmed
nails became pinpoints of pleasure, giving momentary clarity in
the slick, sweat-filled haze that surrounded him, letting him
catch a gasp, a sigh, a groan, or soft, demanding words begging
for release.
Qui-Gon levered himself up, shoving himself back onto Obi-Wan's
cock, his voice loud and demanding, meeting each lunge with a
push of his own. Obi-Wan thrust as best he could, his leverage
gone now as Qui-Gon rode out his pleasure, setting the pace for
them both. Obi-Wan spread one arm behind him to brace himself,
his body a tripod that his master used ruthlessly, making
Obi-Wan drunk with the power and pleasure of it. He slid his
hand up and down Qui-Gon's cock, fitting the rhythm to the one
that his master initiated, something hard and fast and driving,
wiping away reserves in the safety of their enclosed universe.
Qui-Gon gave one last shove, stilling as he impaled himself
fully, his body trembling and shaking as his seed spilled out
onto Obi-Wan's hand, the power of his release demanding
Obi-Wan's own.
Obi-Wan pulled the larger man tight to him, pressing in and
upward, seeking his own completion; a few more thrusts and the
wave coursed through him and out, leaving his body shaking with
tiny earthquakes of its own.
They tumbled into the bed together, side by side, passion
momentarily at rest, letting hands and lips memorize each other
again. Obi-Wan pulled off his shirt at last, tossing it across
the room, then lay his head on his Master's chest, listening as
the pounding heartbeat slowed to a more moderate pace. He'd
missed the sound, the feeling of it part of what meant home to
him anymore, like an infant and its mother's heartbeat.
Only...it wasn't quite like that. He smiled to himself and
nipped at Qui-Gon's neck, who returned the favor by swatting
him on the ass.
A laugh, a squeeze, and then they were back to normal again. "A
good trip, my young padawan?" He could hear the smile in
Qui-Gon's voice, even though he couldn't see it.
He laid his head back against Qui-Gon's chest. "It would have
been better with you, my master."
He felt his master nuzzling his hair and heard the deep breath
and soft sigh. "I missed you, too."
THE END
Preferred Vintage
By Rachael Sabotini
08/19/1999
rachael@mediafans.org
http://mediafans.org/rachael
Archive 