Archive: Yes, please on M_A, provided you deem it worthy.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to George Lucas and LucasFilm,
sigh, Ill clean them up and put them back when Im done, honest!
Categories: PWP
WARNINGS: This is a little silly, and inspired by one to many
watchings of "The Pillow Book"
Also- please see authors note after story.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Master and Apprentice engage in an ancient ritual, and
get distracted.
Feedback: Oh Please send it please! Thank you!
Obi-Wan stood in the center of the room, the golden light
bathing him from above. His head was slightly bent forward, his
face hidden in shadow. His feet were slightly apart, his hands
behind his back. And he was nude.
Qui-Gon drew in his breath slowly. His student stood before
him, tranquil, relaxed, and expectant. It was indeed time for
his trials. He was ready. Qui- Gon crossed to a small table
next to his student and arranged the instruments there. Are you
ready? Are you at peace?
Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, his eyes closed. "I am ready
master." He had gone into meditation that afternoon, as soon as
his master had told him, that since he was ready for his
trials, there was a ritual that needed to be performed before
they left to escort the Queen back to Naboo.
Strength over fear.
Obi-Wan felt something cold and wet tracing down his back.
"Master?"
Peace over anger.
More wet touches down his back. Concentrating, he could make
out the pattern, but concentration was becoming difficult. He
was being painted with the words of the Jedi creed. The cooling
ink almost burned on his skin as it dried. He could feel Qui-
Gon forming the letters, hear his breath, and feel the heat
radiating from his hand, brushing close to his bare skin. He
was becoming painfully aroused at this. The closeness of his
master fully dressed made him feel naked to his very soul. The
intensity of Qui-Gons attention as he carefully crafted each
letter each word, slowly and perfectly on his skin, was
unbearable. A formidable lesson in discipline, as well. He
could feel his face beginning to flush, and he tried to
regulate his breathing and his heartbeat, to return to the
meditative trance he was in, and to stay perfectly still.
Honor over hate.
Qui-Gon was becoming short of breath. He almost had to fight to
keep his hands steady. No mistakes here- each stroke of the
brush had to be perfect, to reinforce the memory, to imprint
the words on the skin, the heart, the soul of the Jedi. He
could do this, suppress his arousal until the task was done The
creed could be taught, learned and memorized, but part of this
ancient ritual was to help each Jedi take the word into
themselves, passed directly and physically from teacher to
student as though each word and idea they were a tangible
thing. He could sense his students agitation. He remembered his
own experience, and how the brush had tickled, and how the cold
ink had felt to him. It had seemed a motionless eternity of
torture for him, although for him it had lacked the intensely
intimate air this particular ritual was generating.
Each brush stroke was the lightest, briefest, maddening,
caress, lingering as it dried. Just as he thought he would go
mad, his Master broke the silence.
"My knight did this for me before my trials. It is an ancient
ritual, older than memory. Its is to serve as a reminder during
the trials, and as an exercise in discipline. It is tradition
for a Padawan to receive this honor when the date of his trial
is set. You will wear these marks to remind you until your
trials are over. I wanted to do this here, while we have a
little time. And privacy." He continued with his painting,
outlining the tenets that defined the Jedi order, the special
reminders of their duty, and the bits and pieces of philosophy
that each knight was supposed to consider in their mediations.
Slowly the pale skin was covered in words and symbols. The
languages of ancient knightly orders of a dozen worlds, and the
formal Jedi script curled and danced over the muscles of the
young man as he struggled to remain still. As he began each
piece, Qui-Gon read it aloud, his voice, and the combined
breathing of Master and Apprentice the only sounds in the room.
Qui-Gon used his last bit of ink on a meditation on the paradox
of the peaceful warrior on his apprentices left foot.
"Are you going to sign your work now?" Qui-Gon looked up. He
was on his knees and level with an erect cock, scarlet and
damp. He pinched the paintbrush between his fingers, and placed
his thumbprint on Obi-Wans hip. His own penis was being
strangled, hard and constrained inside his trousers.
He moved slowly and deliberately, almost afraid to breathe. He
blew softly on smeared thumbprint, a contrast to the elegant
black lettering. A moment frozen in time, he leaned forward and
pressed a kiss next to the thumbprint, and another- soft
brushing his lips against the skin, inhaling the warm scent. He
kissed again, harder, and opened his lips to taste. He placed
his forehead against the painted thigh, his breath ragged. From
far above him a moan floated down, and he felt Obi-Wans hand
rest on top of his head. He buried his nose into wiry curls,
and licked at the base of the cock. He licked and sucked,
taking the whole of his student, his lover, deep into his
mouth, and back out again, teasing. Obi-Wan cried out, his body
wracked in orgasm, his fists wrapped in Qui-Gons hair, and as
his knees buckled he collapsed , and Qui-Gon barely kept him
from hitting the floor.
"Are you done the with painting, now?" Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a
lazy grin. He leaned against Qui- Gon, wrapped his arms around
him, and began to devour his master with kisses and bites. He
tore open his robes and feasted on the chest, leaving livid
marks. He worked his way down his masters body, tearing fabric,
throwing the belt across the room, then the boots. His Master
lay before him, sweating, flushed, aroused, scattered with
small bites and bruises. He dove upon him, covering skin with
skin. Qui-Gon growled, and rolled them until he was on top.
"The Apprentice is not supposed to leave his mark in the
Master, not the other way around." He rolled back on his elbow,
and traced the words on his students chest.
Strength.
Honor.
Peace.
His hand moved lower to the thigh, and up to cup Obi-Wans
testicles, gently rolling them. Obi-Wan was already hard again,
sticking straight up in the air, as flushed as his face.
Qui-Gons fingers pressed behind the testicles, and caressed at
the entrance they found there. Obi-Wan moaned, spread his knees
wider, and arched his back. Qui-Gon reached behind him,
knocking over the tray full of paintbrushes looking for
something to ease his way inside the other body. His hand hit
on a small pot of thick golden body paint.
"Anxious, Master? You are getting clumsy, maybe the Gungan is a
bad influence." Qui-Gon silenced him with another kiss, and a
stern look.
"Roll over" Obi-Wan took a moment to register the order, and
complied, pillowing his head on his arms- raising his ass in
the air. Qui-Gon dipped his fingers into the paint, and traced
his students crevice, before sliding a single finger inside the
whimpering form before him. Obi-Wan pressed back against his
hand protesting the slow and gentle preparations. Qui-Gon
smeared himself with the paint, and pressed deep, shaking in an
effort to control himself.
"More." A single whispered desperate word was all it took to
break the dam. Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around Obi-Wans waist,
pounded his passion deep into his student, and with a roar,
they came together, and lay together on the floor, curled
around each other.
"Was that part of the ritual, too?" Obi-Wan asked, as he
regained his breath. "If Id realized that, Id have set the date
for my trials months ago!"
Authors note-
Ok, I am waiting for the deluge of mail citing me for
irresponsible fiction writing. They were using special,
non-toxic, "Slippery Jedi Golden Body Paint" (tm), really its
ok to use for lube, unlike the real stuff, which would likely
make both people ill, and be a real problem to clean up. Ok
reality check over. Back to your regularly scheduled smut
reading!
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