Category: I'm not sure exactly how to categorise this -if
anyone has any suggestions...
Rating: NC17
Summary: Sex and contemplation
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Feedback: Yes, please -any and all feedback is always
appreciated Disclaimers: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm
Notes: Thank you very much to Destina for the wonderful
beta.
The dark night was relieved by the light of dozens of torches
placed at short intervals around the plateau. Unseen, drummers
beat out a slow, intoxicating rhythm, giving the flickering
darkness a pulse. The young man climbed up and knelt on a
large, round stone. Around the stone, around him, were people,
naked men and women decorated with dark swirls of paint. They
reached toward him, pulling at his robe and tugging on his
padawan braid, chanting in a language he couldn't understand.
The drums pulsed around him, making him feel slow to react,
like thick honey.
The robe slipped easily from his shoulders and off his arms,
leaving him feeling exposed, naked, though he was not. Hands
moved over his body, caressing him through the soft linen
fabric of his tunic and leggings. His face was lightly touched
and fingers stroked through his short, tawny hair. His boots
were already missing, the stone cold and smooth against his
bare feet. He was pulled to one side of the stone and a mouth
covered his own, a hot, insistent tongue pressing in. He let it
in with a gasp as his tunic was torn from his back and warm
hands pressed along his skin.
He was shoved roughly a few feet to his right and new hands,
new mouths touched him, caressed him. Moaning joined the drums
and chanting as his nipples were pinched, bit, licked, sucked
and he trembled as he felt his cock begin to stir, growing with
each anonymous touch. He closed his eyes against the faces
distorted by paint and the moving torchlight, but opened them
again as he was passed along, feeling vulnerable.
These new hands tore at his leggings, exposing him to the cool
night air. The pace of the drumming increased slightly, still
slow it crawled along his spine, throbbing at the base of his
neck. Breasts were rubbed against his chest, nipples teasing
his own. His face was pulled down and a cock rubbed along his
cheeks and pressed against but not into his lips.
Passed again to the next set of hands, more mouths and breasts
and cocks pressed against him. Fingers fondled his testicles,
gripping his cock and pumping with the same irresistible rhythm
as the drums, which seemed now to throb within his skin. He
came, the noise he made swallowed by a mouth, the chanting and
beating unbroken by his shout. Sticky and wet, his own
ejaculate was spread over his chest.
On to the next group, his knees growing numb from the cold
stone, new mouths and hands reached out to him. Another cock
rubbed along his arms and hands again gripped his penis,
pulling it to hardness to the pulsing rhythm that surrounded
them all. Twice more he was made to come, the cooling liquid
spread over his body as he was passed around the stone. The
painted faces of the men and women who touched him were all the
same in the flickering half-light, their eyes dark and
unfocussed. Even their hands felt all the same -smooth, warm,
equally arousing and invasive.
Another cry was swallowed as fingers pushed his semen into his
body. His virgin opening was stretched and lubricated, the
blunt fingers felt impossibly large as they breached him. He
was shoved into the centre of the stone, their willing
sacrifice, still on his knees and he shivered as a breeze blew
over his wet skin, coldly caressing him. The chanting changed
then as the drumming beat pulsed faster. All heads turned to
look toward the edge of the plateau.
A flare of light revealed a robed figure. With little ceremony
the robe was dropped to expose the form of a man. The chanting
changed again as he stalked slowly to the stone, long hair
blown back from a bearded face. Tall, muscular, he moved with
easy grace. Reaching the edge of the table he stopped, eyes
locked onto the young man's. He threw his head back and roared,
the sound primitive, possessive above the pulse of drums and
moan of chants.
A single leap brought him up onto the stone slab and the young
man reared back slightly, moving awkwardly backward on his
knees as the man stalked forward. Reaching him easily the man
pushed, shoving the youth's shoulders and he fell, sprawling
onto his back. The stone was colder than the air had been,
shocking him.
The people around the table began to bang on it in time with
the drum, lending an urgency to the beat and the youth
shuddered as the man went to his hands and knees and lowered
his head, sniffing. His hair trailed along the young man's skin
as he scented, starting at the youth's feet and working his way
up, but no other part of him touched the youth. Crouched over
the young man, he threw his head back and howled before
lowering his face and licking from the youth's left hip up over
the planes of his flat stomach, along his chest to his right
shoulder, tongue hot and barely textured, soft. The man licked
his lips, which glistened with come.
Crouching, feet to either side of the youth's hips, the man
began to fist his own erection, drawing all eyes to the length
of it. The youth swallowed, unable to take his eyes from the
slow push and pull of the man's hand. The beat of the drum sped
slightly, the man matching the rhythm. The young man felt the
beat pulse inside him, his body throbbing with it where it had
been breached. The man watched him, even as his face became
tight with his own pleasure. He growled as he came, the streams
of fluid hot against the young man's body, hitting him in the
face.
The man reached out a finger and smeared his come over the
youth's lips. The young man couldn't help but flick out his
tongue to taste. The crowd around them shouted and the man
moved back, kneeling at the youth's feet, his knees spread
wide, his cock still full and hard.
The people surged forward, grabbing hold of the young man,
easily lifting him. He swallowed as the beating drum increased,
the chanting become louder, more urgent. Ass raised, legs
pulled apart by the hands holding him, the people holding him
moved him forward until he could feel the hot, hard head of the
man's cock press against his opening. The chanting increased in
volume, the drumming sped, the noise rising around them until
it climaxed and the abrupt silence seemed loud. The youth was
moved forward and he screamed as the man's cock was plunged
into his willing body. Everything froze for a moment. The drums
and voices silenced while the youth was held suspended above
the stone, his body impaled by the man's large phallus. He
could feel it pulsing within him. He watched as the man slowly
reached out a hand and touched the tips of his own and then the
youth's nipples and then pressed against the top of the young
man's cock. The youth jerked, body spasming as he came. He
could feel the pulsing throb of the man's cock as he came as
well.
The drumming began again, a quick, throbbing beat and the
youth gasped as the people moved him until the man's cock
almost slipped from his body and then forward until he was
fully filled again. Back and forth, faster and faster as the
beat of the drum led them. The youth could feel their arousal,
could feel the way it fed into his own, into the man he was
being fucked on. It grew and grew, building within and without,
the drums speeding, the beat coming faster and faster until
with a united scream they all came, the climax passing through
and around each one of them.
Qui-Gon woke, his own scream ringing in his ears. He lay
there, watching the shadows move along the wall as his
breathing calmed, his heartbeat slowing. He shifted, grimacing
as he became aware of the sticky mess on his belly and groin.
Pushing aside the soft cotton of his sheets, Qui-Gon left his
bed.
The 'fresher light seemed unusually bright after the dark and
shadows of his room. Though his skin shrank from contact with
the cold square of terrycloth, he cleaned himself thoroughly,
wiping the ejaculate from his body.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the basin. The
stark light offered his face no kindness. The small lines
around his eyes had become more pronounced, joined by lines in
his forehead and around his mouth. His grimace deepened them.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it,
releasing his worries as he released the air from his lungs.
When he opened his eyes again, the man who stared back still
looked far older than Qui-Gon remembered seeing himself, but a
mask of calmness had settled over his features. Just as he
turned away he caught a brief flash as the light found a grey
hair. That too was new, but he didn't turn back to examine the
new evidence of his age.
Bypassing his bed, he strode with purpose toward the kitchen.
The light there was warmer and Qui-Gon moved easily around the
small room, preparing his tea with precise, even movements.
Water in the kettle, kettle on the warmer, warmer turned on
full. Open the tea tin, measure out the tea, dump it into the
pot.
The water bubbled noisily in the kettle and Qui-Gon turned off
the heat before pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves.
Leaning into the steam rising from the pot, he breathed deeply,
enjoying the scent of the tinak and soft ming that drifted
warmly up to him. He took his cup from its place by the water
basin, turning it twice before placing it on the counter before
him, the handle pointed toward the centre of the temple.
Qui-Gon counted out the minutes, using his exhalations to
track the passing seconds. When the tea was ready he poured a
small measure into his cup and swirled it twice to the right
and then twice more to the left before emptying the cup into
the sink. Ritual complete, he poured himself a full cup of the
steaming tea and, cup in hand, he sat in the high-back chair by
the window.
The sky was the total black of pre-dawn. He sat, slowly
drinking his tea, watching as the inky darkness gave way to the
coming light, changing first to grey and then to a
yellow-tinged rose.
Putting down his empty cup, he at last turned his thoughts to
the dream that had disturbed his sleep. He supposed that he
should, at least, be grateful that it hadn't been another
nightmare about Xanatos. But those had developed a certain
comforting familiarity and he knew that they were merely the
manifestations of his guilt and regret over losing his
apprentice.
This...he didn't know where this new dream had come from, what
it was. And the closer he tried examine the dream, the more
illusory it became. The harder he tried to grab on to them, the
more the images faded, twisting as though he were looking at
them through water. Resolving to meditate on it and release the
last of his disquiet, Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder about
the young man from his dream. Who was the beautiful padawan who
had so willingly offered himself? What did he represent?
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