Summary: A gift arrives from Sherla, causing Obi-Wan to cat out
again.
Dedicated to: Angela, who wanted a happy fic.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to George Lucas, their silly
kittenish antics to my twisted imagination.
As I approached our quarters, I reached out with the Force to
subtly brush against my Padawan's mind, seeking for a hint of
his mood. It was a common practice for Masters. We carried a
grave responsibility, educating young individuals to be Jedi,
to be capable to handling the daily tasks and mammoth crises
they would ultimately face. Padawans, particularly those in
their developing years, could be incredibly excitable, prone to
those normal hormonal imbalances each species seems to suffer
as they grow. Awareness of their moods often helped us
determine in advance how their day had gone, and what kind of
lesson we should ensure they received to ensure their
successful development into serene Jedi Knights.
By the time Obi-Wan and I became lovers, the automatic mind
check was no longer essential. He was a mature man, not an
occasionally hyperactive teen. His observations were uncanny,
his insights astute, his reasoning sound, his deductions
logical. Few lessons were required to mold his basic shape;
merely a light seasoning to ensure his perfection, in my
perhaps slightly biased opinion.
The mind check was too habitual to stop and I discovered an
extra advantage. Before I put hand on door, I knew if my young
lover would be most receptive to an evening of romantic
flirtation or a rough grasp on his tunic, dragging him into the
sleeping chamber. I sometimes wondered if he had begun mentally
gauging my mood, since if I did not take any initiating action,
he had a remarkable ability to give me just what I needed,
serious discussion, patient coddling, or passionate sex.
Today, he was ... a little perplexed. Confused by something. An
odd occurrence these days. He had so much field experience,
that few of his Temple lessons could truly surprise him. Oh, he
struggled with some of the more esoteric concepts in his
advanced classes, but he handled most social and political
situations with aplomb and polish.
He was sitting on the couch, studying the comm padd. His feet
and a wine bottle filled with a milky colored fluid were on the
low table. I crossed the room, bending down to give him a swift
kiss on the lips. He seemed pleased, if a little distracted, so
I gave him another. Then another...there's something about
Obi-Wan's lips. They have truly the most special flavor in this
world.
Since we're become lovers, I have become addicted to their
taste.
One of his palms met my chest, lightly pressing away, and I
acceded. A rueful smile, mocking my own eagerness, and I rose
to remove my cloak and walk back to the closet to hang it,
saying as I did, "Good evening, Obi-Wan. Did you have a good
day?"
"My day? Oh yes. Knight Col'voni's physics lecture, Master
Asme's class on cultural taboos, helped with the sparring class
for the initiates..." He was nonchalant while reciting his
activities and indeed, time at the Temple is pleasantly mundane
compared to many of our missions.
My cloak hung, I sat on the couch next to him, turning my torso
to look at him, one elbow resting on the back of the couch.
"You seem distracted."
"I received a communication and a present from Sherla."
Ah. Sherla. Not really one of my favorite people, though I must
appreciate that her antics brought us together. "Did she say
anything interesting?"
"She's been allowed to re-open her business. She made an odd
reference about conceding to your demands, hopes there's no
hard feelings, and sent that present." He gestured to the
bottle with his reader. Catarrian milk-wine, then, not really
one of my favorite beverages, but a tolerable drink. The
alcohol level is fairly low and the taste...well...milky. It's
certainly better than many beverages Obi-Wan and I have
ingested during our missions. Obi-Wan continued, "What did you
demand?"
"That she cease using your image in her advertising and that
she not use mine."
Suspiciously, he questioned, "Why did she concede? She seemed
completely unwilling when I asked."
This was going to be tricky. Making sure Obi-Wan learned a
lesson was not entirely comfortable since we became lovers. He
still took lecturing well and never reciprocated with coldness
in our romantic relationship, but it was undeniably awkward. At
least, it was to me. "You didn't threaten her with a lawsuit."
"You threatened her with a lawsuit?"
"No, my attorney threatened her with a lawsuit. Even the Jedi
have rights, including the right not to have their images used
for commercial purposes."
"Your attorney?" His voice rose. "You hired an attorney? A Jedi
with an attorney?"
"They are valid professionals on most worlds in this Republic,
including Catarria and Coruscant." My tone was calm and level.
"Yes, but..." he sputtered off. Well, perhaps, he doesn't
handle all situations with complete aplomb and polish. The road
from mentor and student to lovers has been a little bumpy. We
stared at each for a long moment, as I let him process the
information. "Why didn't you suggest an attorney before?"
"You didn't ask for my suggestions."
His eyes squeezed shut, as if stabs of pain were driving into
his temples, and he banged the data reader on his forehead. "I
was in charge of a mission and I didn't ask for suggestions. I
just sent you off to talk to the Catarrian public."
"Yes." I didn't elaborate.
He voice seemed a bit accusatory as he snapped, "I recall a
number of missions when you didn't accept my advice."
"True, but you always spoke your mind and I always listened."
"So, I was supposed to request your valuable input?"
"It would not have been unreasonable, to seek advice from a
Jedi Master on your first assignment."
"You were teaching me to not to be prideful." Definitely
accusatory.
"A vital part of leadership is paying attention to all members
of your contingent, including those who don't speak. When we
handle negotiations, you know we pay as much attention to the
silent ones as to the bombastic. The same principle applies to
your own team."
"Maybe you were just upset because I wanted to handle things
myself for once, without having my advice disregarded. As I
recall, it was your actions that truly turned that mission into
a fiasco."
I flinched inside, though my face was neutral. There was
obviously some lingering hostility from the early years of his
padawanship, when I must admit, I did tend to believe my
evaluation of the situation was more correct than anything a
youth might suggest. And based my actions on that belief. "We
have already discussed my flaws on that mission. When we first
went to Catarria, I did hope you might convince Sherla without
resorting to legal threats. It was only after the
Disani/Polonian incident that I fully appreciated the damage
that might result from her advertising."
Obi-Wan grimaced. The teasing around the Temple had been
tolerable, if a bit juvenile. My request for tea delivery
cancelled, with an extra order of milk inserted. A family of
Kertharian field mice suspiciously loose in our quarters. The
bad puns. Someone clearing his voice and accidentally purring.
But when the wives of the Disani and Polonian delegates
insisted that the 'darling cat boy' must be respected, listened
to, and the nice treaty signed for him, I realized damage
control had to start. Jokes among our peers were one thing; an
impact upon his professional reputation was another.
After all, one of these days, the negotiators' wives might be
dog people, and then where would Obi-Wan be?
Though it had been rather cute, the way they hung on his every
word and introduced him to their own multitude of cats. The
inquisitive beasts had climbed all over him, coating his beige
tunic with many colors of cat fur. The wives pleaded with him
to send a personal introduction for them to Sherla, a favor he
promptly performed. He had blushed from embarrassment, bore
their attention manfully, and learned the value of connecting
with negotiators' families.
His mood appeared more distracted than annoyed as he replied,
"Damage you'll never have to suffer now."
I shrugged, downplaying. "News vids do generally receive less
distribution than ad vids, though I doubt I will escape
entirely. I certainly haven't here." I rubbed one hand on his
shoulder, massaging the tense muscles, hoping we could change
the conversation. "Have you eaten?"
"I'm not hungry. Why don't you eat in the dining hall?"
Not instantaneous forgiveness, then. Sometimes it is better not
to force the issue. I pressed a soft kiss on his smooth cheek,
ran my hand down his braid, and nodded. "Very well. I'll see
you later tonight."
"Yes."
I rose, wanting to give him the privacy he needed to think
things through, but hesitated to leave with the atmosphere
unsettled. Casting about for a comment, I noted the milk-wine.
"Are you going to drink that?"
"I thought I might have a glass. Why? Do you want me to wait
for you?"
"No." Involuntarily, I shuddered. "No offense intended, but I
wouldn't trust gifts from Sherla." I mentally cringed at my
slip. Leaving after insulting his friend was going to be
awkward. Sometimes I'd rather handle negotiations between two
blood-thirsty, warring tribes than navigate the asteroid field
that a romantic relationship can generate.
Though, looking at Obi-Wan's lithe form, exquisitely shaped and
well-muscled, the comm padd still clasped in one hand, boots on
the table, it cannot be disputed that the benefits of a
successful romance are heavenly. Even though I believe strongly
in the will of the Force, small doubts creep into my mind,
wondering why I have been so truly blessed, to be united with a
mate whose body is as beautiful as his soul.
I decided not to try to recover from my miscalculation. Another
pat on his shoulder and I strode out.
It was late when I arrived home. A lively discussion on the
Giinevian crisis had sprung up over dinner, with several of the
Masters taking opposing positions. While the debate was purely
academic - Master Bellota and her Padawan had already been
dispatched to the planet - the conversation was intriguing, the
differences of opinion well-argued. Being able to see and
analyze all viewpoints is a critical Jedi skill. The
conversation flowed back and forth, Master Seret and Knight
Volra taking the most extreme positions, with the rest of us
fueling the fires in the genial, albeit sporadically heated
encounter.
I reached out with my mind and met only the lack of
consciousness that characterizes sleep. I quietly entered to
find the lights still on. Obi-Wan was sprawled on the couch,
fully dressed. His right leg was on the couch, while the left
was flung over the back. His left hand rested on his chest
while the right dropped to the floor.
He should have looked a bit crass, so artlessly disarranged
with his legs spread wide and his braid trailing to the ground,
his face muscles loose. Instead, he simply looked ravishing.
I picked up the bottle and his glass, placing the rest of the
milk-wine away in the chiller, rinsing the glass. He had
finished at least two glasses from the amount of liquid
remaining. I gave him a slight nudge, intending to encourage
him to undress and move to the bed. The couch is relatively
comfortable, but he would be stiff in the morning.
I would rather he would be stiff tonight. In our bed.
He didn't wake.
I shook harder. He still didn't wake.
I sank back on my heels and contemplated the matter. Obi-Wan
was well-accustomed to snapping to awareness in an instant. He
was a trained Jedi warrior, taught since his first years in the
crèche to be ever vigilant. His day had been long, but
classes and sparring with initiates couldn't push him to the
edge of exhaustion.
Leaving two logical options. Sherla was miffed about her loss,
sending drugged wine as a form of revenge.
Or Obi-Wan was faking it.
I found neither prospect appetizing.
I shook him roughly, and he eventually opened his eyes,
blinking lazily. "Meowr?"
For a moment, I had to admire as he stretched. He'd always been
an athletic person, but since his time in a state of cat
mentality, he was even more deliciously tempting to watch when
he moved, stretched, exercised, walked... Every single muscle
rippled with feline grace, and his stride was positively
slinky.
"Obi-Wan," I said sternly. "I am well aware you are faking it."
His "Meowr" was indignant, as it might very well be, if his
conscious mind was trapped by but fighting a bestial dominance.
Or if he was faking it.
"Obi-Wan." This time, I tried for a threatening tone.
The "Meowr" was conciliatory, as he leaned forward, rubbing his
cheek on mine, a purr rumbling in his chest. His tongue darted
out, lapping at the skin of my throat.
My third "Obi-Wan" was decidedly weak, encouraging his arms to
wrap around my neck, as his tongue licked up the column of my
neck, reaching my right ear, where his teeth nipped at the
lobe.
This didn't make sense. He hadn't slept nearly as long as the
last time and the unabashed amorousness was new. Unless, of
course, Sherla had experimented with the formula, reducing the
time for the potion to work its way through the body, and
potentially creating side effects. Maybe the side effects were
deliberately created for newlyweds....perhaps the formula
worked differently on second exposure...I was finding excuses,
wanting to justify that this was her mischievousness.
But if it was her fault, then Obi-Wan was literally out of his
mind, driven by impulses he couldn't control, his rational mind
an impotent observer to his own actions. Picking him up and
carrying him into the bedroom, as I strongly wished to do,
would be...tacky to say the least. Taking advantage of a
drugged individual, even a lover who would enjoy the
experience, would be beneath the honor of a Jedi.
Particularly if Obi-Wan was faking it, to trick me into such
reaction.
I scrambled back, out of his arms. I aimed for stern again and
succeeded. "Obi-Wan."
He answered my words with more lazy blinking, his
ever-changeable eyes looking amazingly blue and innocent.
"Either Sherla has been reprehensible and drugged you, or you
are faking it." A very long blink, his eyelashes dark against
his cheeks. "If you are drugged, I will not take advantage of
you. If you are faking, please stop this moment and we will not
discuss this again." That instruction generated a yawn, his
head rolling back as his mouth opened wide, his pink tongue
flicking against his top teeth.
I clasped him under the armpits and picked him up. He went limp
in my hands, head dropping, chin hitting his chest. He is a
good half head shorter than I, slimmer of build, and never
appeared so fragile. I sighed. "Either way, I'm going to let
you sleep in the other room tonight." By other room, I meant
his former room. We'd rearranged our furniture and personal
belongings after becoming lovers, using the other room
primarily for storage. We kept the single bed for infrequent
visitors.
He dangled bonelessly as I carried him. I am strong, but not
strong enough to carry the weight of a grown man in this
fashion. A judicious boost from the Force helped, since I
didn't want to swing him into my arms, allowing him close
access. He was too tempting and regrettably, I am too weak. I
crossed our main room and into the padawan bedroom, depositing
him on the bed.
He flopped back on the covers, one knee bent so his booted foot
was on the bed. His legs were spread and he was half-erect. He
was downright...scrumptious.
Out of consideration, I removed his boots and swung his legs
onto the bed. "Good night, Obi-Wan. We will talk when you are
well." I left, sealing the door shut with a shield of the
Force.
An insufferable howling emerged from the sleeping room, a long,
tortured moan of pain and neglect. I faced the door but didn't
open it. "Obi-Wan, stop this," I demanded. There was a
momentary break and I congratulated myself on the effectiveness
of a firm hand. Then the howling resumed, agonized and lonely.
"Obi-Kitty," I yelled over the noise.
I heard the ping of the comm unit. My "What?" was brusque, and
Obi-Wan's caterwauling shrieked ever higher in the background.
The dour visage of Master Racinne appeared. A more humorless
Jedi I have never met. Unfortunately, his quarters are right
next to ours. He complained, "Really, Qui-Gon, I've tried to be
tolerant of a Master having an affair with his Padawan, but
whatever bondage or kinky games you're playing must stop. Some
of us would like to sleep in this temple."
I tried to object strenuously, but it was difficult to talk
louder than Obi-Wan's howling. Racinne snapped, "At least gag
him if you must be deviant," before disappearing from
the screen.
Pounding on Obi-Wan's door didn't get any results. I opened the
door and found my arms immediately full of demonstrative
padawan, arms and legs curling around me, his head butting
against my chest as he nuzzled on tunics. I forcibly separated
him from me. "No, Obi-Kitty, no." I had this vague idea that
cats didn't accept the word 'no' very well, but Obi-Wan seemed
to understand. He hung in my arms, looking dejected. I sighed.
"You may sleep in our bed. Only sleep. No howling." Leaning
forward, he brushed his head against the small patch of my
chest revealed by my tunics and purred an apparent assent.
His hips swung as he sauntered into the bedroom and leaped onto
the bed, landing on his hands and knees, rumpling the covers. I
tugged off most of his clothes as he considerately rolled on
the bed, easing their removal, giving an occasional purr or
"meep." I left him wearing his leggings with another strict
instruction to sleep.
Deciding discretion was wise, I retreated to the freshing
chamber. I didn't need his interested stare watching me as I
undressed. I pulled on a pair of sleep pants and then I
stalled, fussing over my ablutions, washing my face and combing
my hair, trimming a few hairs from my short beard, hoping to
find him curled in a small lump, fast asleep.
My wish was granted, though he wasn't quite curled in a small
lump. Rather, he was sprawled on his back across both pillows,
arms and legs flung carelessly out on the sheets, mouth
slightly open as he breathed. At least, he had left me the
majority of the bed this time, rather than claiming the exact
middle. The pillow from the other bed was easy to fetch, and I
settled down to sleep, having to curl slightly since he was
hogging the upper quarter of the bed.
I awoke in ecstasy. Absolute sweet bliss. My cock was hard and
aching while a warm, wet tongue licked up and down its length.
I raised myself to my elbows so I could glare down at Obi-Wan,
lying between my spread legs. "Obi-Kitty, stop that." He was
oblivious, licking me as if I was the finest delicacy, mouthing
my balls, licking me some more, his tongue tasting the slit...
"Stop!"
His expression could only be called wounded, as I pushed him
away. He sniffed, scooting up to sit on my legs, his knees on
each side of my thighs. He didn't try to touch me again.
He did something much worse.
His hand clasped his own erection, and he began lightly
stroking himself. Just staring down at me, masturbating,
watching me watch him. My eyes were trapped, torn between
meeting his gaze and staring at his hand roughly pumping his
erection.
I must admit my sensual side has always appreciated the
aesthetic benefit of the Jedi lifestyle, and our continual,
vigorous athletic training that creates almost perfect physical
specimens. When I first became sexually aware, I couldn't help
but compare and contrast the Jedi to others I met - many of
them indolent diplomats who might command armies, but couldn't
survive five minutes in a pitched battle. Selecting lovers
among the Jedi has undeniable advantages. This appreciation,
though, was rarely a major factor in my life after those
initial, raging hormone years; I experimented with sex, love,
and relationships, but my primary interest was always the
Force.
Falling in love with my own Padawan resurrected all those
youthful cravings which I had suppressed in the service of the
Jedi. Never was I so aware of a handsome face and a giving
spirit. An undiscovered, frankly carnal side of my personality
asserted itself, and I had to meditate many hours to control my
inappropriate lust before the barriers between us were crumbled
by his first cat-transformation.
He wasn't tall and broad like me, but lean and slim, his
compact body rippling with solid muscle as he rocked above me.
Creamy skin covered his frame, its silk disturbed by only his
rosy brown nipples, the curly hair surrounding his groin, and
his darkened erection. His hand was jerking his cock
vigorously, squeezing himself as the other hand toyed with his
own nipples, flicking one then the other. The thin braid swung
back and forth with his movements. His tongue darted out,
wetting over his lips as he breathed heavily. Entirely absorbed
with his self-pleasure, his eyes closed shut as a low, purring
wail emitted from his mouth. The veins in his cock throbbed as
semen erupted from the head, splashing onto my thighs. His
bottom pressed heavily on my thighs, as he relaxed, idly
fingering his softened cock.
Yawning, he stretched, quite happy and satiated. He swung off
my thighs and curled on the bed next to me, snuggling his back
to my side. With another lengthy yawn, he tugged one of the
pillows under his head and prepared to sleep.
Leaving me, still raised up on my elbows, staring down at my
rampant erection, which had not diminished an iota. For the
first time, I consciously absorbed the fact of my nakedness.
Obi-Wan must have been somewhat humanly conscious during the
night, to stealthily remove my sleep pants and discard his
leggings. I touched his mind, but received only basic animal
thoughts of warmth and comfort.
I was in a quandary. I could meditate, releasing my sexual
desire into the Force. I could simply masturbate in bed, or
retreat to the freshing chamber to avoid soiling the linens
more. Certainly, it wouldn't have been the first time Obi-Wan
had caused me to take any of these actions.
Or...
I rolled to my side, spooning to Obi-Wan. Nipping at his ear
and throat, I asked, "Obi-Kitty, do you know what a very wise
man once said to me?"
His "merr?" was almost a whisper, as if I was disturbing his
slumber.
"He said, when in doubt, fuck your apprentice." On those words,
I grabbed Obi-Wan's thigh, hooking it over my own. My cock
pressed against the opening between those firm cheeks of his
buttocks. I waited for a second as I continued to nuzzle his
throat, letting him feel the hardness that would soon claim
him.
I bit down on the solid muscle of his shoulder, while
stretching him with the Force and sliding into his welcoming
channel. He was wonderfully tight, clamping down on my cock. He
hissed at me and I growled, thrusting back and forth rapidly.
His exhibition had both captivated me and aroused me to the
point of desperation, my cock so hard it was almost painful. I
could only surrender to my desire, to the overwhelming demand
that I bury myself into his body, over and over again.
Despite my lack of gentleness, I tried to be considerate,
stroking his thick cock, hoping to give him pleasure. It
rapidly hardened in my hand, easing my concerns. His vocal
protestations didn't last long, the hisses replaced by throaty,
needy moans. His body was pliant and responsive in my arms,
meeting my fast pace, his muscles flexing as he thrust back
eagerly.
As I fucked him, I continued to growl like the lion he has
named me, licking at his neck and shoulders, biting hard enough
that I would leave marks. Something about Obi-Wan brings out
the dominant in me. For so many years, he has been mine...my
apprentice, my Padawan. Now my savage side asserts that he must
know that he is totally and completely mine, my lover, my
beloved. I am the Master and he is my mate.
Our duel was fiery and brief, our climaxes simultaneous as I
gratefully released my seed into his body and felt his cock
pulse in my hand. My growl was long and fierce, as he moaned
with delight, both our bodies quaking with aftershocks from our
pleasure. My arms wrapped around his torso, hugging him. His
arms closed on top of mine, pulling our bodies even more
tightly together. I mouthed his short hair as I regained my
breath.
His speech was clear and direct as he said, "I was wondering if
you were going to remember the maxim."
"Obi-Wan..." It was difficult to ask, after such a heavenly
experience. "Are you really very upset over my failure to make
recommendations during the Catarrian mission? Or threatening to
sue Sherla?" Maybe I had erred, allowing Obi-Wan to muddle
around, not suggesting the direct action of legal recourse,
then compounding the problem with my own inanity of allowing
myself to be drugged.
"Not really." The strands of his hair tickled my nose as he
shook his head. "But when you said you had hired an attorney,
you were a little..."
"What?" I asked, mystified.
"Smug."
"Smug!?"
He reiterated firmly, "Smug."
"Oh." I never pictured myself as smug. It was an unpalatable
image to accept, but Obi-Wan has known me better than almost
anyone else of my acquaintance. Not as long as some, but
certainly in closer daily contact than anyone other than my
Master Yoda or my earlier apprentices. I respected his opinions
of others; I had to at least consider his evaluation of myself.
"Am I often smug?"
"Not often." He rolled in my arms so we could face each other.
One hand toyed with my hair, winding a strand around his index
finger. "You can be a little smug when lecturing me. After all,
you have been known to defy the entire Jedi Council, convinced
that your judgment is better than their combined wisdom...I'm
only a mere apprentice."
I wanted to note that the Council were occasionally hidebound,
conservative idiots who had lost touch with the Living Force,
but judged it best not to get sidetracked. My relationship with
Obi-Wan was my paramount concern. I squeezed him as I
apologized, "I am sorry, Obi-Wan. I hope you realize that I
hold you in the highest regard. You are a superb apprentice,
who will be a great Jedi Knight." He frequently exhibited more
intelligence than all the Council members combined, but that
also seemed wise not to mention.
He smiled and gave me a soft kiss. "Much of tonight is my
fault. I may not always like your actions, but I was most angry
at myself. I want so much to be your equal, to be worthy of
your love. I dislike realizing that I failed."
"Obi-Wan, you are so beyond worthy..." Our conversation
deteriorated for quite some time, into murmured endearments and
romantic reassurances, our lips sharing little open mouth
kisses. I finally managed a coherent sentence. "So...what does
reducing us from master and apprentice to animalistic
lovers...accomplish?"
"It changes the boundaries of our relationship. You become so
caring and yet so dominant. It makes me feel more confident, to
see how desperately you desire me." He burrowed his head in the
sheets for a moment, as if hiding. "I suppose this means I have
self-esteem issues which need intense meditation to resolve,
that I receive such validation from being claimed."
"Perhaps. And perhaps when I am pompous and smug and then yield
to my impulses to dominate my Padawan, it means I have a few
personality defects which need intense meditation to resolve."
His grin was ample reward for the dry self-mockery. "I did
notice that you didn't drag me to the healers and have my blood
tested. It would have been a simple way to prove I was faking."
"Ah. Well, yes. You and I both seem to miss the obvious. Or
perhaps I was secretly enjoying having my handsome young lover
pawing my body."
"You thought that was pawing? I'll show you true pawing." His
hands were exploring, seeking those sensitive spots which make
me tremble and quiver. I swear he has catalogued every
erogenous zone on my body, and has experimented until he can
calculate the exact pressure so each touch makes me gasp. He
pushed me over to my back, his knees landing between my thighs,
coaxing my legs to rest on his shoulders. "I'll show you wild
animal passion," he promised.
What could I do, when the man of my dreams is determined to
make love to me? I softened my normal growl to a receptive purr
as I succumbed to his embrace. Because despite our flaws,
Obi-Wan and I are truly the purrfect pair.
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