Master Apprentice Archive Theme and Timbre - Zitternd Quick search:

Characters-Rating: Q/O - NC-17

Category: Romance, Angst, Kink, PWP

Summary: There is no trying, only doing.

Spoilers: No

Warnings: Kink

Series: Theme and Timbre Series

Ambiance: Oysterband, Here I Stand, "Jump Through the Fire"

Archive: M_A, RavenD's page - anybody else just ask.

Feedback: Yes please! It keeps my plot bunnies fat & happy.

Disclaimer: The Boyz belong to George, the poem to me.

Notes & Acknowledgements: Thank you to RavenD for giving this a once-over and letting me play in her sandbox. Thank you to Mark for friendship & reality-checks, Layna and Ruth for enthusiasm and encouragement, and the San Francisco Symphony for aural inspiration.

This one is for Emu and Ruth.

Zitternd: Trembling, tremulous.
 

He trembles before me, waiting. Waiting for me. Trembling for me.

I made him wait, bowed and stretched, filled and held open for me. Mine. Mine to take, mine to please and be pleasured in. His body mine to fill and be filled by.

Oh, it was hard, difficult for us both, knowing he wanted, what he wanted -- what he wanted of me. Knowing he would have to ask in order to get. Put words and sound around desire. Not knowing - only hoping - that I wanted too. The tremble in his voice - the vulnerability of strength, of passion, of need so exposed before me - when he did ask shook me to my foundations; remembering shakes me all over again.

Oh my Master, this is indeed a need we share. A trust we share. His need-desire is my pleasure; his pleasure is my need.

My hand rests lightly on his body. His feelings are tangled with apprehension and love, fear and desire. He wants me. I want him. He trembles beneath me, breathing; deeply aroused, deeply moved, wanting me deep within.

We breathe together, letting the connection between us sing. This time and this place and this love are ours. We have been lovers for a year. What we do this night will be new to both of us.

I pared my nails short and filed them smooth while he made his own preparations - bathed and cleansed himself without and within. As he wished, I watched while he oiled and stretched himself. The plug I bade him use is thick and heavy, larger than any we have used before. We will both be grateful for it before we are done. His body liked it: he shuddered, speechless, hard and panting in my arms for long moments after he pressed it home.

I bound his shaft and balls before I bound his feet, bent him over and bound his hands, all with soft, unyielding cords, lest he come before we both desire.

Perhaps I should bind my own sex. I do. He watches, taut and trembling. We feed on the force in each others eyes. The Master, bound, free to desire mastery, desiring to be mastered. The student, also bound, studying to please, mastering himself. A terrifying trust.

I stretched the moment, let him find himself confined, safe held, as I lit the glows and lowered the lights, turned up the heat, readied the oil. Incense from our meditation earlier hung delicately in the air, combining richly with oil and arousal, the scent intoxicating.

There will be no interruptions. This place and time is reserved for us alone, made sacred and secure. Here we are two bodies, hearts, spirits. We join in love to breach the wall dividing self from self.

"Please," a low whisper, a groan, a moan. His voice vibrates in my ear, my groin. I am glad I have bound myself. I kiss him - we kiss, soft and hot and long. His tongue in my mouth, mine in his, we feed on each other.

He remembers to breathe, and apprehension recedes, leaving only the glittering edges of anticipation. He has found his center, his self, grounding himself in our love. He has given his shields to the Force and lies open to me. Such a gift.

"Yes, my love." I touch him now, long smooth strokes down his back. So beautiful and strong, gleaming with oil, sheened with desire. One more thing, one more assurance. "What are the words, Qui-Gon." I can feel myself fitting into the Force around him, sealing away the world, invoking the keys that free and bind us both to this endeavor. "Give me the words, my love."

I can feel the breath trembling in his lungs, but his words are steady, low and distinct.

"Slow. Stop. More. Jinn."

"Very good. Say my name now, and I shall begin."

It is a benediction and a plea at once, his voice caressing the syllables. "Obi-Wan."

He is deep within himself, enwrapt in my love, my desire and attention. I am shaken by his trust, his love, his strength. I will not fail him. I settle myself between his legs and breathe. Through the Force I can feel our hearts beating together.

I begin.

The touch he craves is forceful, gentle, strong. I cup his balls and press against the plug, shifting it within him. He groans and presses back, the long, fine muscles of his thighs quivering. He has adjusted to the bulk of it, revels in the hard stretch. I draw it out of him with slow and steady force, letting him feel the shape and taper. Sweat springs up in beads at the base of his spine, and his breath shatters at the sudden emptiness.

I kiss and suck and bite at that sweet triangle of flesh as I thrust two fingers into him, twisting and testing. He is loose and slick and I open him further, pressing more oil in. He pants with enjoyment at this vigorous penetration. I enjoy it too. He likes to take my shaft without preparation, only oil, likes to feel me stretching and filling him with myself, my desire, my heat. But this is something different, something more, while being more -- more of the same, more of me, more of our mutual desire. Speed will not serve us in this, where steady slowness will. This wants thorough preparation, and to have him waiting for me, to see him thus stretched around my fingers excites me beyond measure. So unspeakably beautiful.

Three fingers now, curling and moving, spiraling in, deeply buried. He writhes within the limits of his bonds, their strength freeing him from constraint. The very air trembles with his building need.

"More, beloved. Please. More." His voice is harsh, an ache I can answer. My hands shake as I spill yet more oil in them, but I still them with breath and effort.

Four fingers scissor and thrust as I lave his cleft with my tongue, reach beneath and fondle his sex, his balls and shaft bound, swollen and stiff for me, the thick oil soothing and heating both. His ragged breath is interspersed with moans and soft, sharp cries. The curve of his neck begins to tense, and I see a flash of white as he bites down on a kiss-swollen lip.

We are past any bounds we have set before, past any place known previously. I can feel him stretching his limits even as I stretch his flesh. I feel my own heart beating hard, loud in my ears. But I must listen to him, for him, lest I take him too far, too fast. We have all the time we need. He is beginning to breathe too quickly, too shallowly. He is in my hands.

I slow, petting rather than thrusting, inhaling deeply, murmuring my love, my admiration, my intoxication in low, formless words. I am drunk on his beauty, his trust. The hint of distress fades from his aura and he sighs, flexing and relaxing the flesh that clings to my hand. I caress the tender places between his cheeks with my thumb and ease my fingers deeper. He moves against me with a long undulation that peaks with a shivering groan as I deliberately nudge his prostate. I do it again. We move together for long moments as heat builds once more, growing higher between us.

His body is well trained, muscles elastic and resilient. I curl my thumb into my palm and begin to press forward again, slow but steady, keeping to the rhythm we have established. This is testing us both. Trust. Control. Desire. Need. He is trembling and gasping against me as once again I still, all five fingers completely within, my knuckles resting lightly against the ring of muscle. I have never felt so aroused. He is hard, hard, hard, and so beautiful, so vulnerable, laid open before me. I am white-hot steel, eager and waiting to be quenched within him.

I take a deep and steadying breath. He moans my name, trembling, needing. Slowly now, slow and smooth and sure. This is surely the hardest part. I can feel the burn of ice becoming fire beginning to wash through his center, tendrils of lightning sparking across his nerves as I ease one knuckle after another past the first ridge of muscle. His breath keeps trying to stop in his throat, and his hands are locked tightly on the cords that bind him, the tendons in his wrists standing out like cables. He is letting the almost-agony, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of what I am doing to him flow through him and out through the force-points in the palms of his hands. The air is beginning to glow green. My palms are tingling, and we are not even quite arrived yet.

"Nearly there, my love, my Qui-Gon. Nearly there." I remember from lessons past, early days of my apprenticeship, and being introduced to places in myself that I never dreamed were there. Places this man had taken me and safely brought me back. My turn to apply and return the lesson, the favour. "Breathe, my love. Breathe for me as I press. Almost there."

He nods, hisses a yes, head thrashing against the pillows. He is with me, just; with shuddering gasps he sucks in air, lips parted, eyes closed. We are so close now. So close.

He cries out, a sharp, deep exhalation - exaltation - as I breach the final ring of muscle. The sound nearly shatters me. I have my cheek pressed against his back, my arm around his waist. His scent is sharp and rich in my nostrils, his sobbing breath shakes me to my bones. Only a tiny bit further, a last steady little slide and his body clamps and spasms around my wrist. His whole frame is twitching and jerking and I know I would have come from seeing him so undone had I not bound myself. The hard pulse in my groin beats in time with his. Our hearts are racing.

He is soft within. Soft and hot and slick-smooth and wonderfully tight around me. My hand wholly encompassed, I feel as though I hold his very heart in my fingers, his soul trembling in my grasp. Both of us stretched and filled and ecstatic.

He trembles violently in the grip of extreme sensation, but I have been careful enough, and I know it has never tipped quite over into pain; and now the endorphin rush has begun in earnest. His eyes are tightly closed, his lashes & cheeks shining and wet with emotion. His lips move without sound. I listen through the Force, my own force reaching to twine with his.

[*affirmation* ... *ecstasy* ... *held and holding* ... *love*]

It is time, it is enough. Much more will be too much. I ease the bindings on his shaft and balls, loosening them slowly. He bucks against me, crying out at new and exquisite sensation, his sex made so very sensitive in its confinement, swollen dark and hot. A treasure throbbing in my hand.

My own groin throbs with equal insistence. We are so close now that he shudders and sobs as I use a tendril of Force to free myself, and my eager organ paints wet patterns on his thigh.

[...finish. please. oh, please....]

"Yes, my love, my Qui" [My heart.] My voice is thick and low.

And I move within him, smooth and steady and slow, taking him to that high place, the culminating pinnacle of our desire. When we come it is as if it is in slow motion, each pulse and clench and spurt a gather and release of Force, of need, of love, of trust.

My hand slips from him, and I free him from the cords as he gasps and shudders. I gather him close and his eyes open on mine, deep and peaceful and shining with the intensity of our loving. His smile is a slow curve of delight and exhaustion. Our kiss is an affirmation of all we are to each other.

Our spirits sing together: our bond has deepened yet again.

   'Not owned, but known, and even more desired
   All touched with light and lust and mastered sense.
   You take our love within (our hands enfolding fire)
   And know your self full filled and held by me.

   Thus Mastery revealed: hard art, bright skill.
   And you in turn enfold my heart with song:
   Twine emerald with indigo, trembling trust with will
   Match love to love and light to light within.'
 

He lies safe in my arms now, safe in my keeping, still and sated and weary. The aftershocks have all subsided. He will be sore tomorrow, aware of a stretched ache, of muscles pushed to the brink of tolerance, of where my hand held him, took him.

I will be aware of where he took me, how he trembled under my touch. I lie, wrapped within his warmth, safe in his mastery.

I tremble at the force of his trust.

---Fin---