Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was
written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same
universe, but they are not in any sort of order. The snapshots
will run the gamut from G to NC17. Some may be several pages
long, some only a couple of paragraphs; some will contain smut,
many will not; they will be different styles with different
voices.
Disclaimers: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm
August 01, 2000
"Please," said the Prime Tershek, holding a silver tray laden
with dark brown squares out to the two Jedi, "take one. It is
b'set -a delicacy that you will not find anywhere else in the
galaxy."
Obi-Wan tried not to be too eager, taking a large chunk of the
b'set from the tray, telling himself he was being polite by
taking one of the pieces near the edge. A quick glance at his
master's face showed that Qui-Gon, at least, had not been
fooled and, as Obi-Wan watched, his master took the small piece
that had been sitting next to the one Obi-Wan now held.
The Prime Tershek nodded at them eagerly and Obi-Wan bit into
his piece with relish. As an initiate, he had heard padawans
talking about the various delicacies the galaxy had to offer:
fruits covered in sugar and cooked in wines, sweetbreads with
gooey fillings, and dark, rich delights that made one swoon. It
had taken him five missions with his master before he was
offered his first delicacy and now that he had been, he refused
to feel guilty about enjoying it, refused in fact to do
anything other than enjoy it.
He had chewed several times before it registered that the b'set
was not at all sweet. And it certainly wasn't going to make him
swoon, at least not with delight.
Obi-Wan's smile didn't falter, he even managed to continue
chewing enthusiastically and nod at the Tershek's beaming look
of anticipation. Twelve years of training as an initiate and
the last few months at his master's side were the only things
that allowed Obi-Wan to swallow the piece of b'set in his mouth
and take another bite.
He looked over at his master, noticing the twinkle in Qui-Gon's
eyes as he swallowed what was left of his own considerably
smaller piece of b'set. Obi-Wan choked down the last of his
own, his stomach roiling in protest at the bitter food.
He accepted the Tershek's offer of a drink, cautiously sipping
at the pale green liquid. As soon as he ascertained that the
drink was safe, he drank deeply, letting it wash through his
mouth. However, the bitter taste of the b'set lingered and the
awful bile that rose on a burp he discreetly hid behind his
hand promised that it would be a long afternoon.
August 02, 2000
"What is *this*, Padawan?"
"Our new pet, Master."
"New pet?"
"Yes. Now we don't have to collect any on our missions."
"I would hardly say that we collect pets."
"Whatever you want to call them, however you want to put it, I
thought perhaps if you had a pet at home you wouldn't feel the
need to rescue quite so many...things."
"What's this supposed to be then?"
"It's a baby spelt. I've been told they are rather cute."
"This one doesn't appear to be breathing."
"It isn't. And we don't need to feed or water it. And it won't
grow into a great, big, smelly, adult spelt, which, I
understand, is most definitely not cute."
"In other words, our new 'pet' isn't actually alive."
"The best kind of pet, wouldn't you say, Master?"
"I do believe you are rather missing the point of a pet."
"Cute? Cuddly? Always there? Sits on your lap? Snowball does
all that."
[choking] "Snowball?"
"I had originally chosen Furball, but Bant vetoed that."
"*Furball*?"
"If you prefer it, I am more than happy to change it back. I
thought it was rather more accurate myself."
"No, no, Snowball will do." [muttering] "Until I can get rid of
the abomination."
"What was that, Master?"
"I was just wondering where you came up with this...pet idea."
"It was something I came up with while I was explaining to
Master Yoda why my boots had holes in them."
August 03, 2000
Red and sticky, the dark liquid covered his hands and stained
his tunic. The cream material looked white like bones, bones
splattered with blood. Obi-Wan looked at the body in front of
him, watching as the dark stain spread along the ground. He
knelt, unmoving, like a supplicant. Maybe he was. Don't let him
be dead.
Only the stain moved. It was like a living thing, coming to
him, inexorably closer with each passing moment that Obi-Wan
knelt in prayer. His white leggings grew red, the knees first
but the blood climbed higher, still alive, alive and looking
for vengeance -I am dead because of you.
He shook his head, blood didn't talk, it wasn't alive. But
still it came to him. He had to check, had to know. His hand
trembled, a flash, a glint of silver caught by the flickering
light. Opening his hand was hard, it was clenched tightly
closed. He used his other hand to pry open his fingers, the
blood making everything slippery, the blood fighting him. At
last his hand was open and a clang reverberated around the
room, but he hardly heard it. He was reaching again for the
body, reaching for the neck. Nothing. Nothing but cold flesh.
He dipped his fingers in the pool of blood that still moved
toward him. It was warm. Red and sticky and staining him for
all to see.
Branded.
Marked.
Murderer.
Dimly he could hear whimpering and a high-pitched keening, but
they were faint beneath the roar of blood in his ears. He
couldn't tell if it was his own or if it belonged to the body
on the floor. But the thumping heart was his -the other's no
longer could.
"Master," he called out, but the word got lost somewhere inside
him. "Master..."
August 04, 2000
Qui-Gon's skin tastes like sunshine and earth.
I lean forward and press my lips to his neck to taste again. I
suck, eager to savour the flavours beneath the surface. Still
sunshine and earth, but also salt and copper.
I keep sucking, looking for a hint of something more. An
elusive flavour that I cannot name, that I cannot even be sure
is there.
It is my master but more. It is heat and sex and love. It moves
across my tongue straight to my brain, to my heart, to my
shaft.
My orgasm turns me inside out.
I lie at his feet and offer him his soul in return for my own.
August 05, 2000
I finish the last movement of the Sun's kata and hold the final
position, oblivious of everything but myself and the Force,
until I hear my master's voice.
"Well done, Padawan." His words flow over me, rippling against
nerves and muscles strung tight by my efforts.
He has often said that, if properly done, a kata can be better
than sex. Since becoming lovers, I have been much more
interested in laying the baseline of how sex feels than testing
his theory, but today, as my limbs begin to shake with the
effort of standing, as the adrenaline and endorphins rush
through my body, lighting me up, I think I might understand
what he means.
I feel good -no, I feel great, in an about-to-collapse kind of
way. My connection to the Force is strong, my body is
fulfilled, the only thing missing is my master's essence. But
that is the prime ingredient and without it the katas will
always fall short of the sex.
"Would you like to try the Twin Moons Kata? You're performance
of the Sun Kata tonight suggests that you are ready."
I look at my master, really look at him, for it is as if he has
read my mind. The Twin Moons Kata is a kata performed by two
that only succeeds if the two work in perfect harmony, working
together in body and in the Force.
I hope this doesn't mean we won't be having sex anymore.
August 07, 2000
Walking through the Garden of Hills, I am drawn to the sound of
laughter. I turn the bend and stop, delighted by the joy that
travels to me through the Force. A group of children from the
crèche are spinning, turning round and round in place
until they fall.
I can remember how I used to do the same thing when I was
little. While I was spinning I was free, gravity's hold no
longer clinging. It has been a long time since I have
participated in such childish pursuits, but a sudden urge
overcomes me and I hold out my arms and begin to turn in place.
Faster and faster I spin, growing dizzy and light-headed. I can
feel the laughter bubbling up as it becomes harder to keep my
balance, my centre thrown off.
Finally I fall.
Lying on the ground I continue to laugh, watching the tops of
the trees and the domed ceiling of the garden continue to spin
above me. I feel like I am flying.
My padawan's concerned face suddenly insinuates itself between
me and my flight of fancy. "Master? Are you all right?"
My laughter begins anew and I take the hand he has offered,
pulling myself up. "I am fine, Obi-Wan," I tell him as I help
him out of his cloak. "There is something I wish to show you."
August 08, 2000
I stand by the galleria windows scanning the crowd. Hiding my
yawn behind a lace-covered hand, I tune out the Third
Minister's incessant babble. These affairs are so tiresome,
were it nor for my hunger I would not be here. My companion
clears his throat and murmurs and I follow his line of sight. I
feel my satisfaction leak from my smile; I cannot help it -my
prey of this evening has arrived.
The Jedi. They wear their neutrality like a second cloak, their
calm like twin masks. Despite the layers and drabness of the
clothing, I can see that they are quite...fit. There is also
their reputation. All in all they are both worthy targets of my
attentions for the evening.
I have however set my sights on the younger. The elder is finer
by far, inasmuch as two male humanoids can be fine, but the
innocence of the other rolls from him in waves, enticing me,
calling me. So, despite that ridiculous haircut and his bare
face, it is he I shall have.
They greet our First Minister with polite bows, little more
than an inclination of their heads. You shall show *me* more
respect than that little one when I have you trussed up, tied
across my couch and laid bare to my every whim. Your innocence
will not be so apparent when I have finished with you, though
if what I have heard of the Jedi is true you shall at least be
alive.
They move away from the First Minister's group and the young
pup looks straight at me, as if he felt my focus. I manage not
to gasp, but I do take a step back and tear my gaze from his,
pretending renewed interest in the Third Minister's banalities.
His eyes belied that calm, neutral mask they have worn in the
days they have been here. Innocent he might look, but his eyes
have seen much and much of it not in the great halls of the
elite. He appears far too young to own such eyes.
I feel suddenly provincial.
I take the Third Minster's arm and interrupt him with a hungry
purr before sweeping him from the room as if he were my
intended morsel all along.
August 10, 2000
He moves over me like a sleek beast; corded muscles covered by
glistening skin. His hand hold mine above my head, gentle yet
firm. He takes me deeply - his thrusts pushing us closer and
closer to our mutual goal.
Despite his youth and his sleek, muscled body, there is no
question that I am stronger, faster, more adept within the
Force. And yet, his mastery of me is complete. I lie here and I
am his in body, mind and soul.
As I look up at him his eyes open and I see within their
changeable depths my own possession. And his.
August 12, 2000
Obi-Wan lay on his stomach, chin resting on his folded arms.
The far away suns of Cilkor shone down brightly, warm in this
season that found them closest to the planet. He focussed on a
single blade of common grass in the sea of blades he lay among.
The slender stalk moved with the light breeze that blew,
bending to its will and straightening again when it grew calm.
The blade was so fragile and yet it survived against rain and
wind, heat and darkness. It even survived being cut down and
being trampled upon. A single small blade that nonetheless made
a contribution among its brethren.
Obi-Wan felt himself slip into a light meditation, the Force
trying to tell him something, but when he reached out for it,
it was gone.
Clearing his mind and drawing deep breaths to begin anew, he
was interrupted by his master's presence in the garden. Qui-Gon
came and sat beside him, one hand playing idly with his
cropped.
"We have a mission. A trade dispute. Our transport arrives from
Coruscant in an hour. I'll meet you at the Regent's landing pad
in 50 minutes."
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon stood; the piece of
grass he'd been contemplating disappearing beneath one large
boot. Qui-Gon strode away, releasing the slender blade which
slowly unfolded and stood once more.
"Master," he called out. At the edge of the garden Qui-Gon
turned, meeting his eyes across the sea of grass. "I love you,
Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon smiled and Obi-Wan could feel the wave of his master's
love flow over him, warmer than the heat of the sun. He watched
until his master's long body disappeared from sight.
August 13, 2000
We'd been told the Star Jumper had been stripped of her weapons
and was virtually defenceless. Boarding her would be easy and
then we could kill the Dagan brats -four children, the last of
their line. Purity would be restored to our people once more.
The boarding had not been as easy as we had been led to
believe, but only one of us was killed, gone to Dursa a hero. I
now search the broken ship eagerly, feeling the rush of my
mission thrill through me. My Drogarnil is heavy in my hand, as
eager as I to spill the blood of my enemy -the last of them in
the entire universe.
I follow the halls, taking the turns instinctively -Dursa is
leading me to my destiny. I find myself in what looks like the
galley -they are here, I can feel it in my bones, in the way my
Drogarnil vibrates. There are lot of places to hide here, but I
go to the short door of the pantry, my blood singing eagerly in
my ears, it's song growing stronger as I near their hiding
place.
I open the door and step in, my nose flaring at the smell of
the Dragan scum. Yes, they are here, cowering in the dim light
behind a pup barely older than they are. I lick my lips in
anticipation, already tasting the exultation of my kill. This
is going to be an easy victory.
August 14, 2000
"What is it, Master?" Obi-Wan eyed the electric blue and
screaming orange bundle with a great deal of suspicion.
"I'm not entirely sure," replied Qui-Gon, contemplating the
same bundle from a safer distance across the room.
Unclipping his lightsaber from his belt, Obi-Wan used the
silver and obsidian handle to poke delicately at the pile
of...colours in the middle of Qui-Gon's bed. It gave way
beneath his touch, the colours settling into a new pattern. "It
doesn't appear to be alive," he said.
"Or so it would have us believe," answered his master, the
corner of his mouth quirking for an instant before settling
back into calm facade.
"I'm glad you're finding this amusing, Master, because there's
another one on my bed that I'm going to let *you* deal with."
"I'm not worried, Padawan, it cannot possibly be worse than
this one."
Obi-Wan felt the smile trying to break out and kept it from his
face by morphing it into a stern frown. "Do you remember the
day the temple dining hall served the traditional dish of every
species in the temple and the Hoth sleeots were off?"
He couldn't be sure, but had his master's face paled slightly
at that? Obi-Wan lost his battle with the smile. "That's what
the other one looks like."
"Perhaps," suggested Qui-Gon, "there might be a small accident
with your lightsaber. There isn't really enough room in here
for katas, but you were restless and performed one anyway. It's
a shame that Antusian Snakeskin is so flammable and that the
only thing I had at hand to throw on your traditional costume
in an attempt to put it out was my own."
Obi-Wan's smile turned into a grin. "Do you think they'll
believe it?"
Qui-Gon drew himself up, radiating quiet dignity. "I am a Jedi
Master, Padawan. Of course they will believe me."
Obi-Wan lit his lightsaber, the bright blade hissing as it
touched the blue and orange bundle on the bed, igniting it
immediately.
"Indeed," remarked Obi-Wan, "you do tell the truth -Antusian
Snakeskin is extremely flammable."
August 15, 2000
Obi-Wan slid the night-shirt over his head, a quiet murmur of
pleasure passing through his lips as the soft material slid
along his skin and settled against him. He grinned at his
master as his penis began to firm, the brush of the silky shirt
over his quiescent genitals bringing them quickly to life.
"It feels wonderful, Master. Thank you for the wonderful gift."
"I have to admit that I feel a bit selfish giving it to you."
"How can giving me a gift make you selfish?" asked Obi-Wan as
he ran his hands along his arms, eyes closing to half mast as
the material slid beneath his hand with sensuous ease.
"Because I knew the effect it would have on you."
Following his master's line of sight, Obi-Wan grinned as he
looked down at his own groin. His shaft strained away from his
body, tenting the night-shirt at his middle, leaving a dark,
wet spot where the tip rubbed against the silky softness.
It was almost as soft as his master's passage, though it lacked
the heat and the tightness that caressed him so thoroughly when
he was buried deep within Qui-Gon's body.
Looking up, Obi-Wan found an answering hardness tenting
Qui-Gon's clothing. He wondered what it would feel like to sink
into his master while wearing the shirt. Silk all around him,
around his chest and his back and his arms and around his
penis.
"You are right, as usual, my Master," he said quietly as he
backed slowly toward the bed, Qui-Gon matching him, step for
step.
"How so?" asked Qui-Gon, hands pulling at his belt, sliding the
sensible, plain tunic over his shoulders and letting it drop to
the floor.
"It was a very selfish gift," Obi-Wan replied as he climbed
onto the bed and lay back amongst the pillows. "And I hope
you're even more selfish next time you get me a gift."
Anything more he might have said was smothered under the weight
of his master's kiss.
August 16, 2000
"I don't see why we can't experiment while we are at the
temple. Perhaps we should continue this conversation later this
evening?" suggested Qui-Gon.
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."
"Now why don't we eat."
He watched as Obi-Wan nodded and dug into his food. His padawan
was clearly feeling more at ease now that he had broached the
subject. Qui-Gon chose the first plate he had been served and
took a mouthful. "This is very good," he complimented. Obi-Wan
beamed and continued eating.
He wondered how exactly the conversation between Obi-Wan and
RiNi had gone and he was going to have to talk to Master t'ffal
about this latest mission -he was sure there was a story there.
He glanced back at Obi-Wan. The lad was concentrating on eating
and Qui-Gon took a moment to study him. His eyes ran over the
familiar form -the boy had grown into a man, had been a man for
awhile now and there wasn't an inch of his body that Qui-Gon
had not touched, smelled and tasted. But there were obviously
corners of Obi-Wan's mind that he had yet to explore.
His padawan wanted to tie *him* up.
A frisson of excitement went through him, warring with his
initial negative reaction. A master had a certain dignity to
maintain and the very Jedi part of himself insisted that to let
his padawan tie him up for the purpose of making love to him
was wrong.
But as a man...as a man he was intrigued, and, if he were
honest with himself, somewhat delighted that Obi-Wan wanted to
take a more dominant role in their love-making. Not that
Obi-Wan was ever reticent, but there was a certain amount of
overlap between their roles as master and apprentice and their
roles as lovers.
When Obi-Wan had mentioned bondage, the picture that had
flashed through his head had been of his padawan bent over a
chair, hands and feet tied to the legs, totally at his mercy.
It had definitely been arousing. But now, a new picture was
forming. One where he was the one left helpless, at the mercy
of his lover, unable to move, forced to accept whatever his
lover chose to do.
He would have to promise not to call on the Force. It would be
the first time in a very long time that he was not in control
of a situation.
Scary.
Intriguing.
August 17, 2000
"Ready?" asked Master Bosil from the observation deck.
"Yes, Master," replied Obi-Wan, forcing the air from his lungs.
'Breathe' he told himself sternly. Passing out from lack of
oxygen would ruin everything and he'd been looking forward to
this for months.
There was a soft thud and, for a moment, it felt as though a
giant was pushing down on Obi-Wan's shoulders, forcing him into
the floor. Abruptly the pressure disappeared and Obi-Wan felt
light, his arms rising gently of their own accord. It felt as
if his body were trying to rise, tugging at the restraints that
held his feet firmly to the floor.
He bent over carefully, body responding easily, and undid the
clasps that held him in place. Slipping his feet from the
moorings, he pushed against the floor with his toes and rose
like magic into the air. Laughing, he swung forward,
somersaulting mid-air. He did it twice more before his gentle
momentum brought him to the ceiling.
Obi-Wan grabbed at the ring embedded into the stone and used it
to push himself back into the open expanse of the room. Holding
his arms out to the sides, it felt as though he were flying. He
continued to spin and leap and roll in the air, feeling light
and joyful. All too soon, Master Bosil was speaking again,
interrupting him in the midst of a spiral.
"I'll be turning the gravity back on in a moment, Initiate."
Sighing, Obi-Wan looked around, trying to decide which of the
six walls was the floor. They each held mooring rings -the real
training was not how to manoeuvre without gravity, though that
was important too, but in being able to orient oneself and
function once gravity returned. Closing his eyes, he let the
Force guide him to the correct moorings and locked his feet
within them.
"I'm ready, Master." Obi-Wan braced himself, knowing that if
he'd chosen incorrectly he'd be pulled strongly toward the real
floor.
Gravity's return almost crumpled him. It seemed that he'd
chosen the right wall and instead of being pulled strongly away
from the fastenings around his feet, he was pushed toward them.
He flowed with the downward momentum, undoing the clasps and
freeing his feet. He continued down, rolling over in an
ungainly summersault, missing the easy mobility of the
gravity-free environment.
Up on his feet once again, Obi-Wan slowly walked around the
room until his body felt fluid and free once again, shaking the
feeling of being slowly crushed under the sudden weight of the
air.
"Well done, Obi-Wan. We won't need to see you again until you
become a padawan."
"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan hid his disappointment, focussing
instead on the possibility of returning in a year or two with a
master of his own in tow. He could imagine how much fun it
might be to spin and roll and fly with someone else instead of
on his own.
August 18, 2000
"How are you doing, Obi-Wan?"
"I'm *hungry*, Master."
Qui-Gon managed to hold back his chuckle -it wouldn't do for
his new apprentice to think that his master was laughing at
him, even if said apprentice made it sound like he'd been
starving for a week rather than fasting for the 24 hours
required by the Quazten ritual they were observing.
"It won't be much longer, Padawan."
"I know, Master. I just can't seem to stop thinking of food. At
first it was just stuff like sweet breads and sugarpies, but
now even the thought of a bowl of plain grains sounds wonderful
and it's as if I can see it in front of me, steaming
slightly..."
"Meditation often-"
"I've tried that, Master, but every time I begin my stomach
interrupts in order to complain. Why do we have to fast anyway?
It's not our sacred day or our god."
"No, but we are here as peacekeepers. If we wish to be taken
seriously, we must first demonstrate that we take them
seriously, that we honour their ways. Do you understand?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond but his stomach chose that
moment to growl loudly, the sound making him giggle.
"I'm sorry, Master, but you must admit -my stomach's got
timing."
"It does indeed," replied Qui-Gon, permitting himself a warm
smile but keeping the laughter inside. "Perhaps if I sit with
you, you will have more success in your meditations. I think we
should focus on the nature of hunger."
"Yes, Master."
August 19, 2000
Hungry. I'm so hungry, the feeling like a blow to my stomach,
leaving me aching.
I prowl, restless, around our rooms, opening and closing
cupboards, looking again and again into the cooler, though I
know what I want and that I won't find it there.
Qui-Gon has gone out, left the Temple for some reason and
though I can still feel him with me, he isn't *with* me and I
ache. Only his touch can soothe my pain, only his kisses can
slake my thirst. Nothing less than the flavour of his skin will
assuage my hunger.
It is not a state for a Jedi to be in -where is my control?
I go to my room and kneel in front of the window; using the
horizon of the endless cityscape as my focus I slip into
meditation, determined to conquer this overwhelming need before
my master or, worse, another sees it and assigns correction.
I come back to myself in time to hear the door to our quarters
slide open -my master returned. My solution is clear
-abstinence will not for even one moment be easy, but ten
rotations with my master so close yet unable to touch him will
either send me to the Dark Side or teach me what I need to
control the hunger that even now rushes through me, eager to
make a banquet of the man in the other room.
August 20, 2000
A self-imposed ban to control his appetites.
Really, I should be proud of my padawan; he recognised the
problem and did not shirk when he formed his solution. But it
has been eight rotations since I returned to our quarters,
eager and ready for my lover of only a few weeks, only to have
him announce a period of abstinence so that he could learn to
control his needs, so that he could learn to rule them rather
than be ruled by them.
Did he realise then that he condemned me to the same period of
chastity? Or that I had need myself of this exercise in
control? If he did not then, he does now -I am afraid I have
taken this enforced celibacy far harder than he, having spent
more than my share of time grumbling with discontent.
It grows no easier to be unable to touch him, but control is no
longer something I must seek, but there at my command. The body
still wants but the mind and spirit rule over it.
And so we are vouchsafed, our passions will not rule us.
My smart padawan. My insightful padawan. My beautiful padawan.
My sexy padawan. And in only two rotations more, my extremely
well-loved padawan.
Though part of his strict abstinence includes keeping such
feelings from our bond, it is as if he hears my thoughts
regardless and the smile he gives me tells me that I will only
succeed in taking him if he doesn't manage to take me first.
It would seem there are more advantages to this ban than I had
first divined.
August 21, 2000
I run my hand slowly down his back, watching his muscles ripple
in the wake of my touch. I observe the way his flesh seems so
pale in contrast to my own weathered skin. As my fingers dance
over his flanks I realise that they seem longer when they are
moving into his body, penetrating him.
I bring my hands down to his buttocks and grasp them, holding
them apart to observe the point where our bodies join, where my
phallus disappears into him. I touch where we are joined,
rubbing both the base of my own penis and the stretched ring of
his muscle. His whimpers grow louder, his voice finding words.
"Please...please, Master."
"Sh." I say it softly, gently and the sound hisses along my own
nerves. "Easy, Padawan." Softly, gently, as if my own body
isn't screaming at me, insisting that I move, that I begin the
dance that will take us beyond our bodies.
I continue to finger the place we are made one, while I let my
other hand drift over his hip. I have to bend forward slightly
to reach his sack and the movement pushes me deeper and my hips
rest tightly against the rounded flesh of his bottom. His
testicles are heavy, drawn tightly against his body, ready for
the signal from his brain to release their flood. The signal I
am withholding in my refusal to move.
I touch his erection, barely allowing my fingertips to brush
over it, feeling the heat and silk and steel of it nonetheless.
He sobs once and begins to move, pulling away and moving back
-impaling himself. I take his penis in a firm grip and let him
slide into the tight tunnel of my hand as he moves forward. I
surround the base of my own penis with my thumb and forefinger,
allowing the rest of my fingers to brush his sack.
I watch as his skin grows wet with sweat, as the muscles of his
back ripple and those in his arms clench and bunch . I watch as
his sides heave with each breath, telling myself my watching is
a lesson in control. Telling myself that I am *in* control.
His movements speed and my body is jarred with each backward
lunge, though it hardly registers as his shaft moves within my
hand. If I am in control, how come my awareness has dimmed to
encompass no more than the channels of my hand and his body and
the two shafts that glide within them?
In and out and out and in until in is out and out in and there
is heat, heat within and heat without and he is coming and I am
coming and I am collapsing over him, my weight carrying us both
down and there is floating.
Control...I was thinking...there was something about control.
August 22, 2000
"What happened to you, Padawan?"
"Nothing, Master."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"But you're wet."
"Yes, Master."
"And muddy."
"Yes, Master."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing, Master."
"Then why, may I ask, are you both wet and muddy?"
"Master Yoda's council chair has gone missing."
[silence]
"I beg, your pardon, Padawan?"
"I said -Master Yoda's council chair has gone missing."
"I afraid I fail to see what this could have to do with your
being wet and muddy."
"Master Yoda didn't believe me when I said I'd done nothing
either."
August 23, 2000
Obi-Wan had never had any trouble sleeping. Certainly there
were times when the Jedi could not sleep, when they dared not
for even a moment drop their guard, but sleep, once courted,
was an eager lover. He would slip, tired and heavy-lidded into
its grasp and when he left the comforting embrace he could find
himself refreshed and ready to face whatever the Force wished
to send his way.
August 24, 2000
I can hardly walk, I certainly have no concept of exactly where
we are or how to get back to our rooms. If Qui-Gon were not
holding my hand, surely I would be walking into the walls.
Tonight is the night I give him my body -only fitting as he
already holds my heart and has done so for a long time now. I
have long anticipated this moment, more so in the last few
weeks since I knew it would become a reality.
I know the things human males can do to pleasure one another
and I want to try them all, but most of all I want to hold him
and be held in return.
And to share another kiss like the one that turned my world
into a universe.
August 25, 2000
As we walk hurriedly through the familiar hallways, I can't
help but anticipate the evening. "Live in the moment" I have
often admonished my padawan, but seem unable to take my own
advice. This moment is fraught with anticipation that has grown
in the weeks since we declared our love and fuelled by the kiss
we have just shared.
Perhaps we have waited too long, perhaps not long enough.
Tonight I make my padawan's body my own. His heart and his
spirit he gave to me all those weeks ago and the joy I have
felt since is incomparable. Still, though I wear the guise of a
Jedi Master, I am only human, with a human's needs. For the
first time I shall indulge those needs without regret, without
hesitation.
I guess a part of me has always waited for Obi-Wan.
August 26, 2000
Obi-Wan's breathing slowly returned to normal in the aftermath
of his orgasm. The small of Qui-Gon's back was warm beneath his
cheek, moving almost imperceptibly with each breath his master
took.
Running the fingers of one hand over Qui-Gon's buttocks,
tracing each cheek down to the crease where it met thigh and
sliding along the shadowed cleft with light pressure, Obi-Wan
let his mind drift on the easy languor of satiation. His limbs
were heavy with that pleasing lassitude that spoke of physical
gratification. He contemplated settling in for the night,
curled around Qui-Gon's lower body.
A deep, rumbling sound drifted to his ears from his master's
chest and Obi-Wan reluctantly left his warm pillow. Qui-Gon
turned and large hands encouraged Obi-Wan to slide up into a
strong embrace.
Their mouths met in a long kiss, Qui-Gon's tongue stroking over
Obi-Wan's, pulling it into his mouth and sucking until Obi-Wan
moaned, hips stirring restlessly against his master's body. It
was Qui-Gon who broke the kiss, pulling back to run his tongue
over Obi-Wan's lips.
Obi-Wan let his head fall back as Qui-Gon began to nuzzle his
neck, placing soft kisses on the warm skin.
"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan could
feel his face grow warm at the gentle inquiry.
"Did you like it?" he asked softly, shyness stabbing through
him.
His master chuckled and then pulled him closer, purring his
answer into Obi-Wan's ear. "Oh yes, very much."
Obi-Wan's face grew warmer, this time pleasure colouring his
cheeks. "It was something I saw on a mission and when we
returned I looked it up in the temple database."
His master laughed again, the sound full and rich, like a
caress of its own. "Well I'm glad to see that our becoming
lovers has not hindered your thirst for knowledge."
August 27, 2000
Obi-Wan knelt behind his master, running the occasional caress
along his lover's back or over the rigid member that hung
beneath the kneeling body, straining toward Qui-Gon's abdomen.
He was hard himself, his breathing loud in their chamber, his
shaft aching with the need to slide into Qui-Gon's body.
Obi-Wan slid a single finger along the dark crevace between
Qui-Gon's buttocks, watching as his master's body shuddered.
Cupping each cheek in one hand, he spread them, exposing the
tight bud of his master's opening. He blew softly, the muscle
clenching in reaction and then slowly relaxing again. He wet
his own lips with his tongue, contemplating the small entrance
to his lover's body.
He remembered a mission they'd been on some time before he and
his master were lovers. A small planet, Rimee was one of the
oldest Republic members, and when they had required negotiators
in order to quell and anarchic uprising, the Jedi had responded
with one of their best teams. What Obi-Wan remembered the most
about the mission was his near constant state of surprised
embarrassment. The Rimee people were an affectionate race for
whom a long, deep kiss was as acceptable as a handshake and
very little sexual activity was hidden behind closed doors.
Obi-Wan had spent a good deal of the mission alternating
between averting his eyes and staring. It wasn't so much that
he was a prude, but rather his upbringing had not included
spontaneous public acts of affection and to see passions
celebrated and acted upon rather than controlled, and in such a
public manner, was shocking.
One of the acts he'd witnessed had involved one partner licking
the other's anus. It had both fascinated and horrified Obi-Wan
and when they had returned to the temple he had furtively
searched through the database and discovered all there was to
know about rimming.
Since he and Qui-Gon had become lovers he found himself
thinking more and more about the rimming he had witnessed. The
receiver has been writhing and shouting with passion, but the
giver had also seemed to be quite enjoying performing the act.
So he had re-read the data available and decided that tonight
was the night. He would surprise his master with this gift.
Qui-Gon shifted restlessly, a soft moan reaching Obi-Wan's ears
and he realised he had stopped moving altogether while he
contemplated rimming his master.
"Obi-Wan?" The way Qui-Gon said the name made it sound part
plea, part question, all needy and Obi-Wan ran his hands up and
down the long back before him. He leaned over to kiss Qui-Gon's
shoulder blade.
"I love you, Master."
Qui-Gon rumbled, his words indecipherable and he cleared his
throat and tried again. "Love, b-wan." Soft and husky, aural
velvet, and Obi-Wan purred in response before slowly moving
down Qui-Gon's body until he was once again faced with the
small pucker of Qui-Gon's anus.
Touching Qui-Gon's skin lightly with his tongue, Obi-Wan
circled the little opening. His master's reacted immediately,
surging away from the touch with a startled shout, his entire
body tightening.
"I'm sorry," whispered Obi-Wan, backing away, wondering how it
could have gone so wrong so quickly.
"You liked it?" Obi-Wan asked, somewhat shyly. Qui-Gon turned
to look at him, eyes almost black and slightly wild. "Oh, yes."
Obi-Wan shivered at the way his master said the words, his own
arousal spiking sharply. He tried again, gently parting his
master's checks and pressing a little harder this time. Qui-Gon
pushed back toward him, a soft moan on his lips. Growing bolder
at this response, Obi-Wan continued to lave the small pucker.
His master's moans became louder, Qui-Gon's body pushing back
into the licks and Obi-Wan grew brave and pointed his tongue,
the slick organ penetrating his master's body.
Qui-Gon shouted again, body bucking back toward the stimuli.
Obi-Wan pressed his face tight against his master's flesh,
pushing his tongue in as deeply as he could, repeating the
caress again and again, thrusting into his master's body. His
own hips pumped air as his arousal continued to grow under the
twin onslaught of the noises Qui-Gon made and the feeling of
the softer-than-silk walls that clenched around his tongue.
They continued to move together, Qui-Gon rocking back into the
intimate touch. Obi-Wan moved faster, responding to his
master's voiceless commands. He could feel Qui-Gon's thighs
beginning to tremble and knew it wouldn't be long. Precariously
balanced, he reached his hand down to stroke his own member and
when Qui-Gon came, shouting loudly, the satin channel clenched
his tongue tightly. Obi-Wan convulsed, his own orgasm washing
through his body like an extension of his master's.
Qui-Gon collapsed onto the bed and Obi-Wan followed, his head
cushioned in the small of his master's back.
August 28, 2000
"I don't think it's going to fit, Master."
"Just push it in, Padawan."
"Are you sure?"
"What did I just say?"
"I don't want to force it. What if I tear it?"
"You won't."
[grunt]
"It's awfully tight, Master. I don't think it's supposed to go
in that hole."
"Then what hole would you suggest you put it in?"
"Well this one here is-
"Far too big. And none of the others is the right shape."
"I'm sorry, Master, I just don't think this is the right one.
Maybe we should just admit defeat -I heard they're serving
nalnym tonight."
"And what would our gracious hosts think if we let a child's
toy get the better of us? There is a key to this and once we
figure it out, all the pegs will fit into a hole of their own.
Concentrate, Padawan, we are not going to dinner until we've
figured it out."
"Yes, Master."
August 29, 2000
He kneels before me, waiting for me to take him.
Instead, I capture his braid, tugging on it until he turns his
head to the side. I lean down over his body, taking his lips
with my own. I slide my tongue slowly into the hot silk of his
mouth. Pulling my tongue away and pushing it forward again, I
begin to plunge it into him.
I take his mouth in the manner I plan to take him.
August 30, 2000
Obi-Wan walked into the circle of the stones, moving unerringly
toward the triumvirate of elders. He walked straight,
unbending, naked but for the tiny points of blood that covered
his skin.
Bowing low and deep in front of the eldest of the three he
spoke; his own voice sounded loud in the silence he had learned
to be a part of. "I was not accepted." Sorrow and apology
threaded through his words like steel through gold.
"You tried," replied the oldest one, his voice was sad,
resignation and bitterness making it sharp. His hand fell on
Obi-Wan's shoulder; it felt like a stone, cold and heavy. Then
it was gone, though the weight of it remained, bowing his
shoulders.
His master came; a cloak sliding around Obi-Wan's body,
bringing warmth and scent -both belonging to his master.
"We had hoped the Jedi would be strong enough..."
"She needs a mate or she will continue her rampage..."
"We cannot survive it..."
"He did his best." His master's voice cut across those of the
elders and his hand dropped to Obi-Wan's shoulder; it felt like
a river, refreshing, flowing with strength to spare.
"What is done is done," said the eldest. Obi-Wan waited, his
master waited, but nothing more was said, nothing more given,
and they turned to go.
"Thank you, Jedi." The words stopped them just before they left
the circle of the stones and Obi-Wan bowed his head in
acknowledgement.
As he left the circle he could feel their thoughts chase him
like a band of wolvines, howling in the wind.
Unchosen.
August 31, 2000
The wind cut across his skin like shards of glass, taking tiny
bites from his flesh. He could feel the others; their life
forces links in an unending chain. All laid bare to the
elements: protection, sacrifice, unlikely saviours weathering
whatever the planet chose to give them. Not all would survive.
It was an honour to be chosen.
The wind came again; rush of sound moving toward him like a
wave through leaves, over grass and wood and rock. He braced
himself for its razor touch and nearly cried out when instead
it whispered around his body like a new lover learning his
sweet spots. It lingered, capricious. His braid danced with it,
leaping over his shoulder and tapping along his neck. Sound
slid to silence and it was gone. He waited.
A third time he was touched. Wind, only wind, warm, soft
against him. He took a step back. And another, the touch of
others against his mind fading as he left the line. Turning he
walked back to the circle of the stones where the elders
waited. Where his master waited. The sun played over his skin,
the wind blew against him.
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