Summary: It's Obi-Wan's turn to pick where to go on vacation.
Disclaimer: They belong to George, but they hang out with me.
Don't sue me--get to work on Episode II.
Comments: It's all my Obi-muse's fault! Sort of a companion
piece to "Sex on the Beach".
Feedback: Do I want feedback? Does Ewan drop trou in films?
Tell it to Darth Finch at lonchura@mailcity.com
"So this is your idea of a vacation, Obi-Wan?"
The younger man turned from the sliding glass doors which gave
onto a large balcony. Beyond the balcony was a spectacular view
of mountain gorges painted blue and gree with vegetation and
dotted with waterfalls, some narrow as a strip of lace, some
wide as a royal bride's wedding cloak. He gave Qui-Gon Jinn a
face-splitting grin. "Yes, master!"
He sauntered over to his master, gesturing expansively to
encompass the large, high-ceilinged, lavishly appointed chamber
which they occupied. "A breathtaking view conducive to
meditation. A balcony with plenty of room for lightsaber
practice and exercise--as well as sunbathing. A bathtub the two
of us can just about swim in. A bed the size of a small colony.
And room service." He took hold of the taller man's
shoulders and met his eyes solemnly. "This is my idea of a
vacation."
Qui-Gon put his arms around his padawan--student, friend, now
lover. "I never knew you had such extravagant tastes, Obi-Wan.
And what do you suggest we do in this overdecorated pleasure
palace of a hotel room?"
Obi-Wan rose on the balls of his feet and tugged the taller man
down by the hair so that he could whisper in his master's ear:
"Fuck like jimithril in heat and see if we can bring down the
roof on this place like we did to that beach hut our first
time."
With the mental control attainable only by a Jedi master,
Qui-Gon simultaneously kissed the breath out of his sexy,
teasing lover and contemplated the sexual life of the
jimithril, which mates only once in its thousand-year life-span
but remains coupled in intercourse for approximately five
standard years. Well, it had been almost four weeks
since he and Obi-Wan had had an opportunity to make love;
perhaps, despite his age, he could manage a trick or two that
would make a jimithril jealous.
Obi-Wan broke the kiss and clung limply to his master's
arms--limp with pleasure in every place but one. "You're going
to make me come just from kissing one of these days, Qui."
"A worthy goal, I think." Qui-Gon brushed his lips tenderly
over the younger man's cheek and smiled smugly at the resultant
full-body shudder.
"I feel sweaty all of a sudden," Obi-Wan panted. "Let's take a
hot bath."
The tub was indeed larger than some lakes Qui-Gon had seen,
quite roomy enough for a long-limbed Jedi master and a compact
but unusually squirmy padawan. Obi-Wan kept disappearing under
the water to do things that demonstrated his superb mastery of
breath control in highly unusual ways. Soft string music played
from hidden speakers, and the air was filled with the spicy
scent of bath salts, scattered by Obi-Wan with a lavish hand.
It was, the elder Jedi decided, decadent--but he liked it.
Presently Qui-Gon grabbed his apprentice and pulled the man
back against his chest, bidding him sit still. Obi-Wan's round
buttocks nestled against his lover's groin; his legs were
framed by the older man's longer ones, and Qui-Gon's arms
wrapped firmly around him. Sighing, the younger man gave up his
games and relaxed into the embrace, dropping his head back on
Qui-Gon's shoulder and reaching up to lightly stroke the other
man's steamy face and wet, slick hair.
"How do you put up with me?" Obi-Wan murmured.
Qui-Gon gave his padawan a squeeze. "You're good in bed. And
you're pretty handy with a lightsaber, too."
Obi-Wan snorted, then moaned as Qui-Gon nibbled on his ear. "I
love you, master."
"I love you, too, my Obi-Wan." He pressed a kiss to the side of
the young man's throat.
They lay in the tub together, not talking, rarely kissing,
simply being, until their fingers and toes were deeply
shriveled and Qui-Gon's long hair was saturated with water
clear up to his scalp. He permitted Obi-Wan to shampoo and
rinse the heavy mane, knowing it would be tangled if he simply
let it dry, but compensated for his padawan's body service by
drying the younger man off with a towel and rubbing
moisturizing oil into the dry places.
By the time they had finished tending to one another, both were
thoroughly aroused. Combing of the hair and drying of the back
led to embracing, kissing, and closer embracing that threatened
to make them require further ablutions.
"To bed, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon commanded, and neatly lifted his
padawan with the Force and tossed him onto the broad mattress.
"Show-off," the younger man complained, bouncing on the crimson
coverlet. "Oh, I love a firm bed."
"I love a firm body on the bed." Qui-Gon climbed onto the bed
and spread himself out on top of Obi-Wan, biting into a
muscular shoulder. "My delectable Obi-Wan...."
Obi-Wan moaned, groaned, sighed, and occasionally thrashed
about as his master trailed kisses down his chest, along his
arms, over his knuckles, across his ribs to his belly, from his
belly to his thighs, back to his belly....
"Oh, for Light's sake, suck it already, Qui-Gon!"
"I believe I just set a record," the older man remarked about
five seconds later.
"Sith-be-damned...." Obi-Wan apparently passed out, then woke
up with a gleam of frightening vigor in his eye. "All right,
now you're going to get it."
"I certainly hope so," was the last coherent thing Qui-Gon said
for a while.
Obi-Wan wasted no time on subtlety; he searched the drawer of
the nightstand, took out the bottle of Pleasure Liquid he'd
been hoping to find, and went to work on his master with the
same fierce dedication with which he'd always approached his
Jedi training. Deep-throating Qui-Gon was one of his
long-standing goals, and he found that he came very close to
achieving it by keeping two fingers inside the other man while
he sucked on him voraciously.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in an oddly quavering voice, "I shall
have to discipline you if you don't fuck me. That is to say,
now."
"Discipline?" Obi-Wan smiled--a rather terrifying smile. "We
haven't talked about that yet." He slathered Pleasure Liquid on
various parts of himself and of his lover, who was now kneeling
with his knees quite far apart. "I suppose if you behaved
yourself properly, I could let you be the top eventually...."
"Wicked, wicked padawan." Qui-Gon gasped as his lover slid all
the way in and slammed to a halt. "Wicked, teasing,
disobedient, adorable Obi-Wan...."
"Were you thinking of spanking me, master? Or perhaps swatting
me with your hairbrush?" Obi-Wan's body undulated against his
master's. "How about using some sort of a whip? I think I saw a
whip in the drawer there, a very soft suede one with lots of
little strands."
Qui-Gon gasped as something like an orgasm rushed through him
without causing ejaculation. Obi-Wan's hands caressed his back
in swirling patterns.
"Or you could tie me up and force me to watch while you made
love with someone else. That would be a terrible punishment."
The younger man's voice was beginning to show signs of strain,
although his rhythm continued unabated. "Or order me to
pleasure myself while someone else watched. That would be
challenging. Or--or even command me to submit to someone else's
touch--oh, that would be the worse punishment of all...."
"Obi-Wan!" It was a command, it was an entreaty, it was a
threat, and it was so raw and needy and desperate that Obi-Wan
left off spinning words and took a firm grasp of flesh instead.
The next few minutes were spent in a wild race toward pleasure
which Qui-Gon won by just a few accelerated breaths.
"Obi-Wan, where do you get your ideas?"
The younger man opened his eyes. " I can't read textbooks all
the time, can I, master? There's quite a large archive of
erotica on the Temple network, including a section written by
padawans about their masters. Quite inspiring, some of it...."
He toyed with the older man's hair, smiling.
His lover did not answer immediately. Then, "I wonder how far
back those records go...."
Obi-Wan was still laughing delightedly at the implications when
the doorbell rang. "Who could that be?" Qui-Gon muttered.
"I told you, master, they have room service. We have to keep
our strength up." He leaped off the bed and went to the door,
putting on a robe as he went.
"Force help me," Qui-Gon muttered, and smiled into the pillow.
He was beginning to appreciate his padawan's choice of
vacations.
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