Master Apprentice Archive That Feeling Inside Quick search:

Rating: R

Archive: MA please, everyone else just drop me a line

Summary: Obi-Wan experiences assorted "funny feelings inside" at the hands of his Master ... in answer to Master Ruth's first-line challenge!

"It's a little bit funny ... that ... feeling inside," is all I can manage through clenched teeth, unwilling to let go of the concentration that's keeping my stomach in its proper place. Oh I know there's no hiding it from my Master, sitting wrapped in his robe at the aft of the small boat, staring serenely out to sea. But the least I can do is maintain a semblance of Jedi dignity in the face of the little old ferryman who is right now smiling at me with an unmistakable air of pity shining through his almost translucent skin. How he manages to stay put in this storm is anyone's guess -- he looks light and withered as a leaf and yet remains stoically at the rudder of the little ship. Hells, even Qui-Gon's wrapped his robe around himself against the harsh winds, and the way the storm lashes his hair about his face seems to unsettle me more than it does him. Well, at least I am holding on. To the side of the boat, and to my centre, both white-knuckled and roiling ...

Where is this Force-forsaken boat taking us anyway? And why didn't I get a mission briefing this time? All I managed to get out of him is how this is going to be one important rite and that it would feel right and in place once it was being performed, and that I was not to worry unduly in advance. Great. That is one of the top ten ways of making a Padawan really insecure. I mean, it can't be ... part of the Trials? Sith hells, I'm only nineteen, and Force knows he's been pushing me hard over the past months, but no way would I start the Trials as early as this ... please, don't let it be the Trials, Master. Master? Damn, his shields are higher and tighter than ever, not a crack to be sensed, much less in my current state with my calm centre bobbing up and down on a foaming sea of seasickness and ... no, let's not go there.

Let's just not go there. Let's get to that damn island and on dry land and ... oh. Oh. That feels good. Gratefully, I loosen my cramped grip on the wood a little and turn round to face Qui-Gon, smiling faintly at my pale cold-sweat-sheened face. He has placed one of his hands in the centre of my back, and I can feel the soothing Force emanating from it, calming my roiling stomach. And I can feel the warmth, even through the layers of robes, an insistent heat that seeps into me and does me no end of good.

"Thank you, Master. How long till we get to this place?"

"About an hour, I should think."

"Can you ... " With a wordless smile, Qui-Gon settles down behind me and wraps one arm around my waist, placing a warm hand over my stomach. Good.

"It's a little bit funny. Inside. This ... fffeeling." Sith, I'm running out of consonants fast, and my tongue feels velvety and hot and numb and bigger than I'm used to. I stick it out to let it catch some of the cool evening air, and Qui-Gon grins at me from the other side of the campfire with the empty flask of Corellian brandy. "Feel good, Padawan?" I consider for a moment. The burning trail down my innards is not something I would usually call pleasant, but that warm glow at the bottom end ... like I've swallowed liquid gold and it's eating away at my stomach walls, intent on filling me with metallic sheen. Heavy metal too. It coats my tongue, my heavy golden tongue wants to get out and dance with the flames and lick the night sky and feed the warm ... summthing ... in there. And lick that face, Quiface, dancin' with the flames, on fffire. Smile. Sweet hot smilefire. 'Mheavy. Pulsethrob like fire. Heavy. Downdowndown flowslikeliquidgold. Hot. Tongue like fiiiire. Lips dry. Lick. Lick please Quiiiiiii. Quiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Quiiii- nomorewords. Umgh. Tongue, tongue, your tongue like firewater. No air. Qui eating breath eating tongue eating me warm hot firebellyflare up flame envelop meeee and and and Quiiiiii-

//You will sleep.//

Oaaaah.

It's a little bit funny. This ... feeling. Inside. I draw a slow cooling breath, half afraid my head might burst if I get too much air into me. Ow. That brandy must have been laced with something ... not that I usually drink much, but this was far stronger than I could ever have anticipated. Burned clear through my shields. Oh Force.

The realisation hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I sit up straight, rigid with shock. What has he seen? What of the feelings I've done my best to keep under wraps, for both our sake ... my head throbs like crazy, a slow pounding ache. How appropriate. I wince as I extricate myself from the folds of my robe which has doubled as a blanket yet again. Shit. He's ... gone.

If only you had listened to your Master and paid attention to his teachings and not to the way his long silky hair falls over his broad shoulders or the way those huge hands grip his 'sabre and wishing it was you he was gripping ... if you'd been listening, Kenobi, you'd have become as good at shielding as he is. Now look at the mess. Oh man, he must have seen it all ... three-and-a-bit years of slowly building desire, of foolish bloody Padawan crush. Yeah, that's what he saw. A foolish Padawan crush. Aw dammit. And now ... now he's gone. I can just picture him. Disappointed, lips a thin line. Meditating. His second failed Padawan. All his energy in a stupid crush and the young shoot believes it's love. That's what he must be thinking now ... and what would he be doing with someone like that, some stupid kid who can't control his own emotions?! Oh Sithspit. Was that what he took me here for? Some sort of trial? And now he's out there comming the Council about how his suspicions have come true and that Padawan of his is a dismal failure and would they consider a different, stricter Master, or the Agricorps, or the Tailoring Workshop? Force, I don't want to end up making tunics all day and making idle conversation with Vaurt's girls! I want ... well, that's what got you into this, Kenobi. Want.

It's a no-win situation. You might as well go in search of him and hear it from his own lips. Lips ... ? Was there something ... a memory? Must have been hallucinating. That stuff was potent. Better clear some of that hangover out of my system too before I face my Master. And what's that funny feeling inside ... inside my nose?

I feel my nostrils up with my fingertips, unsteadily. There is ... hardly any pain left, as if it's been expertly healed while I was out cold. It is slightly warm where it went in, not unpleasant, a bit heavy, and ... metallic. A ring. A ring through my nose, ornate by the feel of it, but giving no great discomfort. What in all the Sith hells is going on?? What on earth is a Jedi Padawan supposed to do with a ring through his nose? I look like a friggin' pleasure boy with that ...

Oh no. Please. Even the Agricorps is better than that.

I need to get that ring out, but my fingers are too numb with the shock to feel the little catch that must be there somewhere, opening the ring. A mirror ... is there anything I could see myself in? I rummage around our sparse camp. Nothing, not even a smooth metal surface. Not even a bloody tin can. Hold on, Kenobi. Calm yourself. You might as well face the end with dignity. If it's the last chance at dignity you'll get in your life. Where did Qui get that water for the meals from? The sea is salty, Obi-Wan. So there must be a pond somewhere. Clear smooth water.

A mere four standard minutes into the verdant mess that is the island's centre my foot stumbles across something soft. That's odd. Usually it would be a root the size of a grown man's leg, or bleached animal bones that speak of long-dead and pretty freakish-looking creatures. This is ... soft. Dry. Brown and tan. My Master's clothes!

I take a shocked minute to realise they're intact, and look to all the world like he's taken them off and piled them up here. Oh no. The last thing I could do in the state I'm in is face my Master, raging or bitter with disappointed hope and pride, and stark naked. I had better retreat fast. And await him at camp, contrite and serene ... and get there quietly too.

I'm pressed against the rifted bark of the nearest tree before I even consciously notice the sound. Force bless Jedi reflexes -- he can't have seen me. Cautiously, I peer around the mighty trunk, and the sight nearly stops my heart.

It is my Master. Naked. Emerging from a tiny green pond almost hidden under thick ferns, standing waist deep in the glistening water wiping his hair out of his eyes, then diving back in, only to appear at the near shore. It's his back that arches out of the water first, followed by his shoulders, and then the head, whipping his long soaking wet hair back, painting the air with a spray of water droplets. His mouth open, drawing deep breaths. Eyes closed, every inch of his gorgeous body gleaming with the clear water. He wades towards the edge of the pond ... oh Sith where am I supposed to go??

Phew. Just picking some of the broad fern leaves. I watch, mesmerised, as he bunches them up into a kind of sponge and rubs himself down with it, long firm strokes, bare left hand soothing the skin rubbed pink by the rough bunch of ferns. The sensation is strong enough to travel all the way here, and no amount of conscience or consciousness can keep my own hands from trailing all over my own heated prickly skin ... oh, if only they were his. These huge warm callused hands stroking me possessively, rubbing me red and hot until I beg for release, beg for his cock inside me, ram me, Master, hard ... ack. What am I doing? I find my own hand wrapped around my pulsing cock almost apologetically ... and yet. What of it. I'm a failure anyway. Not much to lose, and the sight of Qui-Gon naked ... ohmygods. He's turned around. That ... that ass is beyond even my wildest dreams. Two perfect firm mounds at the base of his long elegant back. Smooth and pale and just ready to eat ... little rivulets of water trickling down the delicious flesh from his soaked hair. What would I give to lick that cool water off his hot skin ... and be allowed to lick further, lick him all over until I've tasted all of him, even the massive cock I know he has ... even the little rosy opening I am sure he has, and oh how I would delight in teasing his most sensitive spots, this mighty man squirming under my caresses, surrendering to me and giving all his strength into my hands and I grip it hard and stuff it inside me where it will explode and spatter my insides with the most delicious liquid heat imaginable ... so full, so warm, so ... wet.

Uuuungh. I bite my own forearm to stop the moan as I come, fast and violent, in a shower of stars, spilling my seed on the forest floor and over my hand, still holding on frantically to a pleasure that will most likely never come again ... normally the good clean boy that Obi-Wan Kenobi was brought up to be would wash his hands now, but how am I supposed to pull that off when the only sweet water available on this island is infested with the most gorgeous Jedi Master in the whole universe. And the man I love more than anyone who has ever lived and will ever live.

Who is about to deny me. Does it matter any more where I go now? Without him, I could do anything. I would be capable of going anywhere and doing anything, knowing that it would not matter a whit. I might as well go and join the Force. Or the Agricorps. Or do justice to the gold ring ... but let's not go there.

The salt of my tears mingles with the salt of my seed as I lick my fingers clean. I might as well go home.

"It's a little bit funny. The feeling inside, I mean." I give an apologetic little smile and he smiles back as if nothing had ever happened. His shields are still solid as tiranium, but his body language does not show any signs of discomfort. He seems at ease with himself, damn it. If this is how good I was supposed to become at shielding, then I am really one hell of a failure, mad with love or not.

The funny feeling is due to the loincloth he's handed me, urging me to put it on. It is the only item of clothing I'm wearing, and I'm having a hard time keeping my shields up at the same time as concentrating on not getting horny. Of course he is fully dressed, but with the recent memory of him naked and glistening in that pond even his terminally decent Jedi tunics hold a promise that's hard to ignore ... and the material of that thing he's asked me to wear does not exactly help. It is a kind of leather, very smooth yet dull on the outside and a little rougher on the inside where it lies against my skin, hugging my sex tightly and passing between my legs and tucked into a thin leather thong circling my waist, leaving the ends hanging down as flaps in the front and back. It looks decent enough, and appropriately ritualistic in its brown smoothness, reminiscent of Jedi browns ... but every time I move even the slightest bit, the coarse grainy inside rubs against my cock and balls and the tender skin behind them and sends ripples of pure sensation through me. No amount of control helps -- every step, every slightest cant of hips feels like a rough and wildly erotic touch to my most sensitive parts. Feels like his hands cupping my balls, his beard scraping up and down my ... let's not go there, okay Kenobi? You're in enough trouble as it is, and he's still mild enough to actually perform the silly rite, whatever it is, at least if this attire is anything to go by. It's the least you can do to remain serene, seeing as this may well be your last day as a Jedi, dammit.

Fortunately, he hasn't been watching my growing discomfort with being thus dressed. Brow furrowed in a concentrated little frown that makes him even more adorable, he is busy pounding a soft white stone against a hard black one, predictably enough reducing the white one to powder, an untidy pile of snowy whiteness on the flat black slab. Without looking up or so much as glancing at me, he repeats the process with a yellow and a red mineral, then reaches up into his hair, still soaking wet from this morning's wash ceremony (during which I wisely stayed behind, pretending to be asleep), and wrings some water on to each of the little piles.

Oh he looks gorgeous like this, hair all wet and loose and slightly messy, the pounding rhythm taking all of his concentration, and I am almost sure I am in a dream when he motions me over to a large flat rock and bids me lie down on my back. I do, and when I see him scrambling up to kneel astride my hips I close my eyes in rapture, unwilling to let anything destroy this perfect image ...

I am shocked out of my reverie by something cold and moist trailing a line along my chest, and my eyes fly open to see ... Qui-Gon's hands filling my field of vision. One finger coated in thick white paint, tracing an asymmetrical swirl along my ribcage. I smile uncertainly, and Qui-Gon smiles back, but keeps a closely-guarded face otherwise. No luck along the training bond either. I am left totally afloat as to what on earth is going on. Punishment? Ridicule? Sacrifice? Oh no, that is too melodramatic. Even for Qui-Gon's tastes. What on earth ... I sigh in exasperation. Might as well enjoy it. Isn't it what you've always wanted, Obi-Wan? Qui-Gon's fingers tracing patterns all over your chest ... I close my eyes again and imagine him kneeling astride me like he is now, the warmth of his bare thighs seeping into my skin and setting my groin on fire, his hair falling freely and loosely over his shoulders, so long that he has to brush it away to keep it from messing up the elaborate abstract patterns he is painting on me. Ancient symbols of love, of attraction that is irresistible and binding, white and yellow lines encircling my waist and hips like belts, and ... a red spiral where my heart is, throbbing under his fingertips, and then he would lean down and ...

My eyes fly open. This is a spiral being painted, just to the left of the middle, and ... I stare incredulously as I watch Qui-Gon's red-stained finger slowly completing the last round to the centre of the spiral, the centre of my throbbing love. Here is what you need to tear out to make me a responsible Jedi, Master, here is what is causing all the trouble. Can you hear it? Can you feel it throbbing away, pumping its red-hot rhythm all through my body? Can you sense the unspeakable desire mounting under that strange loincloth? Can you still those hips beginning to thrust up in reflex, from the sheer sweet friction of the leather? Will you stop and put an end to this red spiral? What are you doing ... you're coming closer, ever closer, ever more slowly until my skin tingles all over in anticipation ... and then your heavy heat is upon me, skin pressed to skin, your mouth seeking mine in a flash of fire and I am almost too surprised to feel the sheer goodness of it all. This is so real it's hard to believe. Your lips on mine, moist and sucking gently, tasting so good I could swallow them whole, never enough of those lips, never enough of the soft wet warmth of you my Qui-Gon all over me ...

He pulls away just in time for me to catch my breath. Ah, wouldn't I have loved to pass out from this kiss ... this alone makes any bleak future worthwhile. Although to be fair, if I had passed out I would have missed the gorgeous sight of Qui-Gon rearing up off me, the faint impression of a red spiral on his tunic, a mirror image of the symbol over my heart. His hips grind disconcertingly into mine, and I am way past my bare Padwawanly limits of body control. Force yes, I am raging hard now. How can you not be when you're being pressed into a hard rock by an even harder Qui-Gon Jinn? I am just about ready to lose myself in the sensation when he lifts one hand up to my face, softly trails a finger along my lips and then traces the spiral on my chest. Slowly. And then I feel it.

With every inch his finger passes along the circles of the spiral, his shields grow thinner, and clarity and light begin to seep along our training bond, awakening an answering light in me. There is so much light in me I am amazed at myself, and even more so at the totally untainted state Qui-Gon's mind and soul appear to be in. Feelings are beginning to form as his finger traces smaller and smaller circles: relief, pride, joy, admiration, all for me, and returned without questioning. How this man can still like me so much is beyond me, but I lap it up gratefully and open my own floodgates a tiny little bit, letting a few drops of the love and desire I feel for him trickle along the bond ...

The spiral slows down for a second, and the surprised look on Qui-Gon's face leaves me scared for an instant before his features open up into the brightest sapphire smile I have ever even dreamed of, and the spiral completes itself in a shimmering wave of love and lust and sheer joy that clean breaks down my paltry defences. The wave rolls into me, fills me overfull with gleaming gold-and-white joy, and rolls out again until I am merely filled with immense relief and love, and I watch as the wave hits Qui-Gon's end of the bond and his face lights up in the most incredible radiant expression and it is absolutely impossible to resist and who wants resistance anyway when there's smiles to be eaten off hungry lush lips open in invitation, wanting, needing to be consumed, devoured, worshipped.

Hot, wet, warm, delicious. Mouth greedily devouring mine. Qui-Gon. Mine. Hands reverently stroking. Fingers tickling, probing, entering trembling heat. Little explosions, urgent thick red warm need filling me up as he strokes my sweet spot and feeds on my blissed-out moans. I am so full of liquid joy I never noticed the tears running down the sides of my face ... until Qui-Gon's voice, husky, deep, ragged, breaks through the red veil of lust, almost concerned. "How are you feeling, Obi-Wan ... my Obi-Wan?"

"It's a ... litle ... aaah! Yes, yes, yes, Quiiiiiiii ... aaaah. More please please more oh Force more yes yes, Quiiiiiiiiiiii ... !!"

---The End---