WARNINGS: m/m sex (why would we be here, else...), mild
bondage. Don't try this at home, children.
NOTES: I was supposed to write up a sweet G-rated idea to fit
in the Christmas mood. But then I woke up at 4.30 with this
little baby in my head. Sorry.
DISCLAIMER: George takes much better care of his characters
than to ever let them appear in scenarios like this, and he
gets all the money for it too.
SPOILERS: none
FEEDBACK: Over Christmas?!! You're all supposed to be gathered
round the turkey, not reading smut like this! But if you feel
you must, send it to Gloriana.Reginata@virgin.net
SUMMARY: Obi-Wan bemoans his stature, and is taught a 'short'
lesson.
The quotation from which the title is derived comes from
William Blake's 'Songs of Innocence':
'To see a World in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.'
Obi-Wan did not have his mind on the matter in hand, or rather
mouth. Instead, he was brooding on the source of his
discontent, a most un-Jedi-like activity. But it was just too
much.
He had put up with a lot. Having to dodge around the Zamodans
on every corridor, because they never looked down to his level
to check where they were going. Being forced to do the
high-jump to get into his chair at mealtimes, then finding the
table nearly at chin level. The way they all addressed him as
'small Jedi', as if he were some miniature toy rather than a
competent adult. And the constant surprise they evinced at his
size, since Zamodan young hatched fully-grown from pupae. You'd
think they had none of them ever been off-world, he grumbled,
if they thought every being came hatched at eight foot high,
and skinny as beanpoles to boot.
All that was bad enough, but the beds were the worst. Long and
narrow, just shelves cut into rock alcoves, they afforded
little comfort with their hard mattresses.
"We are lucky to get mattresses at all," Qui-Gon noted from a
point above his head. "If Jorman had not specially imported
them, we would be sleeping on bare rock."
Obi-Wan ignored the strain in his master's voice. While he was
grateful to the previous representative on this backwater
planet for obtaining that concession from the Jedi council, he
still lamented Jorman's failure to procure sleeping alcoves
more than a few feet wide. Obi-Wan had missed sleeping with his
master, and even with a bed to himself had come close to
falling out a few times. But it wasn't the hardness or the
width of the beds that was currently annoying him, as he craned
his neck to flick his tongue over the head of Qui-Gon's cock.
It was the damned height of the things!
If it was the high-jump to get up to table, it was a pole-vault
to get into bed. Qui-Gon's gentle amusement at his straits had
not helped his temper. Now Qui-Gon was getting a taste of his
own medicine: from his perch on the edge of the bed, he could
not support himself with feet flat on the ground, but had to
balance on his toes. All of which made Obi-Wan's own position,
kneeling with arms on those powerful thighs for support, more
unstable than it should have been. As he licked his way up the
long penis, his nipples grazed against the cold stone shelf
once more, the chill distracting him from his task.
He was supposed to be driving Qui-Gon crazy with lust. They had
played this little game many times before, but the lessons were
always there to be learnt by them both. Qui-Gon honed his
control over the Force, sitting bolt upright as Obi-Wan
assailed him with his tongue. His hands could curl into the
sheets, he could groan and sweat as much as he liked, but the
moment he thrust into Obi-Wan's mouth, or tilted his pelvis in
entreaty, he would lose. Obi-Wan for his part learnt patience
and tactics: how gentle licks all over his master's scrotum
could have the same effect as water dripping on stone, how to
wait until Qui-Gon was lulled into a moment's relaxation before
running his curled tongue over the leaking slit at the tip of
his cock. And Obi-Wan usually won.
But all his favourite tricks were being badly impaired by the
change in height of the bed. He couldn't easily wrap his mouth
around Qui-Gon's upright penis, which was now at eye-level
rather than neatly near his chin. And he was getting a crick in
his neck, licking anything higher than the man's perineum. This
was not one of his better days.
"Use your hands." Obi-Wan took note of the strengthening
brogue, the distinctive upward lilt on the last word of the
command. Qui-Gon was getting worked up about something.
He huffed his own impatience in a sharp breath. "I'll need the
oil."
"Go and get it, then." His master's tone was very terse now.
Obi-Wan rose slowly from his knees and wandered into the tiny
room next door. Yes, Qui-Gon had left the oil up above
the shower again, a few foot out of reach. How he wished the
man would not do that! Or that he himself hadn't stopped
growing when he reached sixteen. Well, at least they were
leaving this haven for the over-tall the next day, all
negotiations successfully complete. Obi-Wan used the Force to
topple the bottle off the shelf, checking first that the lid
was on securely - his experience with the liquid soap this
morning had been less than pleasant. He hated tapping into the
Force for such trivial purposes, but he had an impatient master
in the room behind him.
Kneeling back down between Qui-Gon's spread legs, he was aware
of the older man's gaze rivetted to his body, gleaming naked in
the light from the shower room. He knew that from his master's
superior height, the curve of his own buttocks was
tantalisingly clear, so he made as much play as he could of
shifting on his knees to find the right position. Then his
oiled hands were running over Qui-Gon's cock, and the man's
eyes shut tightly.
Obi-Wan took his time, oiling the length between his palms in
slow upward strokes. He was not surprised to see the muscles
cording in Qui-Gon's shoulders at each pass of his hands, nor
the jaw clenched tight to prevent betraying moans escaping. But
it was awkward work, keeping to the gentle rhythm with his
shoulders forced up by the height of Qui-Gon's legs. Not nearly
as bad as yesterday, though, when his arms had ached from
hauling down the heavy ledgers off the shelves of the Guild
library. And his poor calves were complaining at the pressure
of kneeling, after days of climbing stairs cut too high for his
natural stride. Force, how he did wish he had grown that
extra foot during his teens, to at least meet his master's
height! It would have made trips like this so much easier, to
just be able to...
"Padawan!" The explosion of sound made him jump so hard he
knocked over the bottle of oil. "How many times have I told you
to keep your mind focussed on what you are doing! What are you
daydreaming about now?"
Obi-Wan looked up guiltily. "I was just wishing I was a bit
taller, master," he admitted, realising belatedly that his
hands had slowly slackened their pace in his distraction.
"Taller, hmmm?"
Too late he recognised the implacable note in Qui-Gon's voice.
His master's hands had settled on his shoulders and he was
hauled to his feet, Qui-Gon following him up in one swift
movement.
"Master, you're not supposed to move - you're breaking the
rules - hey, what are you doing?!"
His protest was abruptly cut short as he was tossed onto his
stomach, the hard surface of the bed winding him for a moment.
As soon as he had gasped in a breath, he pushed himself back up
on his elbows and started to complain bitterly, "Not fair! You
used the Force to do that! You're not supposed to -"
Again his breath was violently expelled, this time by Qui-Gon's
bulk landing squarely on him, forcing him flat once more.
"Haven't you yet learned, small Jedi?" His master's voice
hissed menacingly in his ear. "Your enemies will pay you no
mind when you cry foul - and a Jedi Master plays by no rules at
all."
He struggled to get free, at first physically and then with the
Force, but Qui-Gon held him down easily, deflecting the few
objects Obi-Wan could find to hurl across the room at him. He
reared up behind his apprentice, straightening his arms till
only his large hands dug into Obi-Wan's back, pushing the
padawan down into the mattress. Finally Obi-Wan lay still in
grudging surrender, arms pinned by his side, only his chest
moving as he struggled to breathe. Against his hips he could
feel the hair-roughened skin of Qui-Gon's thighs, and there was
something hard and cold just at the cleft between his buttocks.
Remembering the impressive organ he had neglected so badly,
Obi-Wan could not help the shiver of apprehension that ran
through him.
"So, you are too short." Qui-Gon's statement seemed rhetorical,
but when Obi-Wan failed to respond he leaned back down and
nipped hard at the soft skin of the young man's neck. "Answer!"
"Yes, Master," the reply was barely whispered: Obi-Wan had
little breath to spare for more.
"And your concerns with your own appearance occupy your mind
more than pleasuring your lover."
"Master, it's not appear-"
Another sharp bite interrupted his excuses. The soft feathering
of Qui-Gon's hair brushed the abused flesh a moment later,
tickling away the pain.
"On certain planets, small Jedi, humans have devised
ways of making people taller. Do you know what they are?"
"Master, I can't bre..."
"Do you?" The sharp tone cut him short again.
"No, Master." His voice was thready now.
"They take them, and tie them to a rack. And then, small Jedi,
they stretch them, very slowly. Till they have attained the
requisite height. I think that solution might work very well
for you. Perhaps you would care to concentrate on this, since
you cannot keep your mind on other things."
Suddenly the great pressure on Obi-Wan's chest was released,
and he gratefully sucked in a lungful of air. It took him a
moment to realise he could still feel Qui-Gon's weight on him:
in fact, the larger man had lowered himself all the way back
down onto Obi-Wan, and they were pressed together, the hot skin
of his master caressing the contours of his back. A moment
longer, and he worked out what had changed. He was levitating,
a few inches above the coarse woollen blankets.
"Are you paying attention?" A voice like liquid honey dripping
off a knife blade whispered in his ear again.
"Yes, my Master." Freed of the urgent fight for oxygen, Obi-Wan
was quicker to respond this time.
"Good. Now, feet flat against the wall, small man."
He felt the rough stone cold against the soles of his feet,
sought to bend his knees and found he could not. Qui-Gon was
holding him rigid, like a spar projecting from the wall, while
he balanced his own body on his padawan's. Only when the Jedi
Master pushed his feet between Obi-Wan's and separated them
ruthlessly could the younger man move his legs at all.
Obi-Wan was stunned at this display of power. The Force
thrummed around them as Qui-Gon held them both effortlessly
aloft, crackling along the older man's pale skin with radiating
threads of gold which glowed in the dim light. Obi-Wan's
padawan braid, hanging to the bed, began to twitch with its own
life, as if surrounded by static electricity. Where was Qui-Gon
finding the strength to summon so much energy to himself? His
padawan had bemoaned being treated like a toy doll by the
Zamodans, but in the face of such control over the Living Force
he felt as helpless as a child's plaything. Except it was no
child riding his body so.
"Distracted again? Never your mind on where you are - or where
you should be. Focus, boy, feel what I am doing to you!"
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt.
Wedged between his feet, spread awkwardly on the wall, were his
master's larger ones, ankle bones hard against his tendons.
Those muscled thighs were pushed between his, but because
Qui-Gon's body was so much longer the hard pressure of his cock
had moved up to the base of Obi-Wan's spine. The soft flesh of
Qui-Gon's belly touched his ribs, his head tilted back against
the curve of Qui-Gon's collarbone. And his master's arms were
sliding along his, elbows crooked, till long fingers were
wrapped around his wrists.
Then Qui-Gon slowly started to straighten his arms.
Obi-Wan's eyes flew open as a startled cry left his lips.
Suddenly an immense pressure was building up along his body,
but not the vertical pressure he had felt when Qui-Gon lay on
top of him on the bed. No, this was horizontal, every muscle
stretching as Qui-Gon's inexorable hold on his wrists pulled
his body out, while the immovable Force pinned his feet to the
wall.
"M-Master," he wanted to stammer a protest, but Qui-Gon
immediately sushed him.
"Relax, Padawan. Let your body loosen. Release yourself."
Obi-Wan bit his lip in concentration, trying hard to obey.
Under the steady tugging, muscles which had been knotted for
days were slowly stretching back to their correct positions.
Bunched calves released their tension; vertebrae realigned
themselves down his spine. The tendons running from shoulder to
wrist straightened in imitation of the powerful forearms
pushing themselves parallel to his own.
Once again Obi-Wan could barely breathe, now because his torso
was being stretched so hard. He vividly remembered watching a
craftsman spinning glass in the market the day before, pulling
the long fibres of molten sand into delicate hollow tubes. He
was like the gleaming strands of glass, and Qui-Gon could
shatter him with a single puff of air.
"Not too much more, please my Master. I can't..."
"No?" The answer was quick and brutal. "But you can. You just
do not make the effort. Perhaps I can provide a - prod - to
help you along."
Obi-Wan sighed in relief as Qui-Gon's hold on his wrists
slackened slightly, his master curving his body up away from
the padawan's, taking off a bit of the pressure. But his body
went rigid again as the next sensation jangled across his nerve
endings: a blunt cock was slowly pushing between the cheeks of
his buttocks.
"Gods, Qui-Gon, please!" The inarticulate request was all he
could manage.
"Too much, small Jedi?" His master's mouth was once again at
his ear, and he tried to twist away as the older man seized his
earlobe and sucked it between his lips. Hopeless attempt. The
beard scratched at his neck, while the thick head of Qui-Gon's
cock was slowly forced into the puckered opening. Despite the
copious quantities of oil Obi-Wan had laved over it, it still
felt huge, distending the tight ring of muscle sliding
gradually over it. Obi-Wan wanted desperately to bend his knees
or spread his legs further, anything to make the passage
easier, but his feet were still firmly anchored in place.
"Do you feel me, Obi-Wan? I will stretch you, push into you
till you are full of me. Are you paying attention to me now,
Padawan?"
"Yes, oh yes, Master," Obi-Wan whimpered, as the crown of
Qui-Gon's cock finally breached the ring of muscle that
clenched over it. He cried out again when it was stretched once
more by the flaring column of Qui-Gon's erection, as the bigger
man slowly pushed all the way home into his lover.
He was completely filled: how could he hold such girth and
length within him? He wanted to sob, to shift any part of his
body that would bring him relief from the awful pressure. So
why were waves of pleasure running through his body, all
centred on that hot spike impaling him? It stung and burned as
it stretched him, but with a slow liquid fire, as if he were
being filled with velvet wrapped round molten gold. He could
not bear this.
"Focus." The whisper was gentle, warm. Love and caring laced
the two small syllables together. "Feel only me."
Swallowing a sob, Obi-Wan shut his eyes again, closing out all
sensations except that incredible pressure at the core of his
being. The warmth of Qui-Gon's skin against his, the fine
trembling in the long legs spreading his own open, the brush of
lips against the soft hairs at the base of his neck: he let
them all fall away. There was only one reality: his master
buried in his body. Concentrating, ignoring the cold sweat
pooling in the base of his spine, he opened himself completely
to receive his lover, loosening all the tightness with which he
had surrounded the older man. Qui-Gon gave a great sigh, and
pushed in to take the proferred advantage.
"Well done, my love." That deep voice was shaking now, face
buried in the nape of his neck. "I need you to do another
thing, sweet Obi-Wan. Tighten round me again. Please, my
Padawan."
Obi-Wan drew in a great breath, and as he filled his lungs with
air he flexed his muscles round the cock within him, as if
there were not space for both inside him. Qui-Gon's muffled
groan rumbled through his own chest, but all he could care
about was the intensified awareness of his master's presence in
his own body.
Without being asked, he began to repeat this mystical pattern,
relax and tighten, on and off, zero and one. It was as if the
the universe was encompassed within the simple movements of his
body. Dimly he was aware of Qui-Gon's fingers once again
clasping his wrists. The powerful legs were straightening as
the arms had done earlier, driving Qui-Gon ever deeper when
Obi-Wan opened to him. No movement back out: Obi-Wan could not
conceive of a time when Qui-Gon might not have been rooted like
this in him. To let him retreat would have been anathema. This
was reality, and it was glorious.
Slowly he became aware of the quiet voice whispering to him
again. "Come back, love, come out now. Extend. Expand. The
world is around you. Come back."
No, he didn't want to, surely he could stay in this moment
forever. He had never come as close to understanding the truth
of the Living Force, the truth his master knew so intimately.
But impinging on his consciousness now were new sensations.
There was a gnawing ache in his stomach, where fingers trailed
across the twitching flesh. There was another hand buried in
his crotch, spreading the semen leaking from the slit at the
top around the tender skin of his cock. He gave an involuntary
cry as a calloused palm enveloped his erection.
"Yes, my Obi-Wan. Feel this too, this is good too."
As his senses slowly came alive again, he shifted the rhythm of
his own body to match that of Qui-Gon's hand caressing his
engorged penis. Hunger was building in him now: urges too
strong to be denied. He wanted to move, to rub his body against
his master's, to have that magnificent cock plunge in and out
of him with the rasp of friction on his prostate that he knew
could madden him into ecstacy.
Whether Qui-Gon sensed the sea-change in him, or whether his
own movements were wearing down his master's control he did not
know, but suddenly he could bend his knees again, till they
touched the surface of the bed below him. Collapsing down onto
hands and knees, he took the weight of his master onto his
bowed back once more, pushing up his hips in desperate query.
Qui-Gon responded immediately, reaching for Obi-Wan's braid
with his free hand and wrapping it round his fist as he pulled
almost out of his padawan, then plunged back in. With his other
hand he pumped Obi-Wan's cock mercilessly, till the younger man
was howling his need and want with an abandon he had never
shown before. Qui-Gon's voice goaded him now, pleading with him
to come, come hard, come now, oh my love, faster, faster...till
Obi-Wan surged back on him and came with a wild wail of sound.
They slept then, even though the bed was too narrow for two.
For had they not seen the whole universe fit into one moment?
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