Archive: Yes, to M_A and my website, others please ask Website:
http://members.xoom.com/Telanu/homepage.htm
Category: PWP, Angst, First-Time (sort of)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: My word, now it's a series! Obi-Wan has a strange
dream; sequel to "Substitution."
Disclaimer: George Lucas, blah blah blah.
Thanks so much to all those who asked me for more! I wouldn't
be posting again nearly this soon without you guys.
Contrary to popular belief, you really don't dream about sex
that much. Not even when you're eighteen and supposedly at the
be-all and end-all state of horniness. Most dreams are
fleeting, surreal, insubstantial dreams, and often ridiculous,
though sometimes informative.
He knew all this, had learned it in one of his many classes and
through his own meditations on the subject. Therefore, it was a
surprise, if a pleasant one, to find himself spending an entire
night dreaming of nothing but lovemaking.
It started with the hands.
They were big hands, and very strong, and somehow familiar,
even if he couldn't place them immediately. Perhaps if he had
examined more closely he could have done so, but he wasn't all
that interested, not when large callous fingers were tenderly
stroking along his throat, then moving to pinch at his nipples,
slide over his stomach, rub his inner thighs. The clarity of
his vision astonished him as he vaguely remembered past sexual
dreams; they had been intensely pleasurable, but blurry and
lacking in real detail--due, he suspected, to his lack of
experience. But this. This felt as real as any precognition.
Warm, rough palms smoothing again and again over the muscles of
his abdomen as if they couldn't stop, then finally sliding
around him to cup his ass in a perfect fit of hand-to-cheek.
Being eighteen and eager, he was already erect and began to
lift his hips in supplication. The hands did not hesitate, but
went obediently to his penis, one rolling the balls between the
fingers, the other sliding the foreskin back and forth.
Good, so very good! These hands were certainly more competent
than his own, he felt like his entire groin was on fire. He
started thrusting his hips up impatiently to meet the movements
of the hands and was not stopped. This was right. This was
absolutely perfect.
Then he felt the mouth.
The tongue arrived first, tracing the shell of his ear, down to
the earlobe and then the side of his neck. He heard himself
give a dream-whimper and twisted his head around, seeking more
contact, finally bumping against the lips.
Which is when he felt the beard, and he knew who his lover was.
It could only have been one person, and as he expected (this
was a dream, after all), his Master's face suddenly appeared
before him, proud and noble, but oddly flushed. Normally placid
blue eyes glittered with fever. Slowly the rest of the body was
filled in, lean and strong and long and hard, and soon they
were lying completely twined together. He could feel everything
now, inches upon inches of flesh pressed together.
Well. This was a new development. By this time he couldn't
think very much, but spared one small part of his brain to
wonder why he was choosing to dream of his Master. True, the
man was very attractive, and he loved and trusted him more than
anyone else, alive or dead. He simply hadn't realized that his
feelings had taken a step in this direction. This, he reflected
dimly as he blindly turned his face, seeking more kisses and
touches, would merit meditation, but not now, by all the gods
that ever were, not now.
Then his subconscious truly surprised him. His Master leaned
down and kissed him so passionately that he lost track of
anything else that had ever happened to him-then pulled away
perhaps a millimeter from his mouth and said in a broken voice,
"I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry. Please forgive...I just, I
couldn't. I can't...please don't..."
Can't what, don't what? He echoed what came to his mind first
and wailed, "Don't stop!" His hips began to piston more rapidly
within the warm grip, desperate to gain release before his
Master changed his mind for some reason. "Don't stop, please!"
"I love you," the older man whispered, and bent to kiss him all
over his face, slowing his strokes just a little until his
lover sobbed in frustration. "I love you. I love you. Never
doubt I love you. I'm only doing this because I love you, so
much I can't stand it, you're all I care about. Only you. I
love you!"
With that last passionate declaration, the hand suddenly
speeded up, so suddenly that he found himself coming
immediately, as intensely as if he'd been on the edge of orgasm
for hours. He could do nothing but howl in joy.
He was going to wake up tomorrow in cum-splattered sheets, but
that didn't matter now. His dream-eyes closed, yet still able
to see, he reached out to touch his Master's face, only to be
blocked by some shield he couldn't understand. "No," the other
man said softly, "I...no. This is for you, sweet, I do this for
you."
He didn't have to make it sound like such a chore, the younger
man thought a bit crankily, and then stopped thinking
altogether as his penis and nipples were stroked and sucked
again, until he was being caressed to madness once more.
It went on like this all night. As a Jedi, he could monitor his
sleep cycles; he would spin slowly out of dreams, the details
growing more faint until they were gone, progress into the deep
sleep that has no dreams, and surface almost to wakefulness
until the dream state took him again. Dream delved into dream
delved into dream, and always his Master awaited him there,
seemingly impatient for him to return. He was petted and sucked
and penetrated and loved all over, but never allowed to
reciprocate. He did not understand this at all. The more they
loved, the more he realized how beautiful his Master was, how
much he wanted to touch him, but he--what could his
subconscious be thinking?
Finally, he felt himself drawing out of what would be the final
dream-state. His lover and Master pressed a final tender kiss
to his lips and vanished. Slowly he began the climb towards
consciousness, taking his time, wanting to savor the lingering
sensations as long as possible.
With an abruptness that almost hurt physically, Qui-Gon Jinn
pulled himself from his student's dream, shaking hand
continuing to pull at his still-erect cock. He had yet to allow
himself release this night and Obi-Wan's sheets were so stained
he'd never notice. Force, the lad was so beautiful in sleep,
face languorous with pleasure--he jerked quickly and hard, and
came with a low growl over the bedding, part of the warm semen
shooting onto Obi-Wan's own belly and making him murmur
slightly in his sleep.
As steadily as he could, Qui-Gon rose to his feet, knees aching
from kneeling all night beside his padawan's bed. He'd done it.
He'd actually done it. Invaded his student's dreams, made love
to him in all the ways he'd ever imagined doing, and now he was
going to steal away like a thief and let Obi-Wan wake, none the
wiser. This was insane. He could feel himself losing control,
as if he'd dropped a tangible thing.
First whores, now taking the boy in his own imaginings, he
reflected bitterly as he closed the opening of his trousers and
carefully erased all sense of his Force-presence from the room.
What was next--attacking Obi-Wan in some deserted hallway and
wrestling him to the ground? Controlling his mind so his
student could actually be forced to love him? At least he'd
kept some control, he hadn't made Obi-Wan touch him or even
permitted that to happen. No, tonight he'd just feasted on the
body like some kind of animal.
Jedi Master, his ass.
Just this once, he promised himself as he returned to
his own rooms, already feeling the exhaustion from the lack of
sleep. Just this once. It will be enough. It has to be.
Archive 