Obi-Wan stared and gulped, reminding himself that he was a senior Padawan, who should be more accustomed to all sorts of spectacles, and shouldn't be ogling a Knight anyway. Despite these facts, his eyes were fixed on Fel Rashal, and he was afraid he might be drooling a bit.
"She is our greatest Master of the ancient Jedi discipline," Qui-Gon said in his ear. "Her strength and ability are unmatched."
"She is quite amazing, Master."
"I've considered taking up the discipline myself."
"You sound as if you find that difficult to imagine."
"You do have a very different body type, Master." Fel was pure muscle, but slim, graceful, and very feminine. His Master was so very masculine, it was hard to picture how he would look, straddling and swinging around a pole, twisting his body in exotic positions.
"I'm told that tall people appear to the best advantage, in a purely aesthetic sense," Qui-Gon said gravely. "The discipline is about far more than the visual pleasure for the audience, of course. It was originally created by a special caste of warriors of the Osie people. They would infiltrate enemy castles and strongholds by climbing up vines."
"I can see why it was adapted by the early Jedi as its own discipline. I would imagine it takes a great deal of skill, strength and mental focus. Developing those attributes is much more important than the fact that it is pleasing to watch."
"But you do find it pleasing to the eye?"
"How would one not?" Obi-Wan asked, deliberately lightly, trying not to groan as his treacherous mind substituted an image of his Master over Fel's body.
"Hmm," was Qui-Gon's only response, and Obi-Wan assumed that was the end of the discussion. They finished watching Fel's practice, and Obi-Wan ventured to the library to study for the next mission.
He was surprised to return to their rooms that night and find the furniture rearranged. Some of it was missing, and the rest had been pushed to their walls, creating more space in the middle of the living area. "Master?" he asked Qui-Gon, who was dressed only in thin shorts that came to his knees, and was busily engaged in stretching. The sweat on his golden skin indicated that he had been exercising for some time.
"Oh, hello Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon was sitting in a split, his legs stretched to each side, his torso to the ground. He sat up straight. His long hair was unbound, framing his strong features, and lightly brushing his shoulders. "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of rearranging our furniture."
"Yes, I can see that, Master. Is there some reason you're not working out in the Temple gymnasium?"
"An old man's pride, I must admit, padawan. I've talked to Fel, and she's agreed to mentor me in learning the pole discipline."
Force, Obi-Wan thought faintly, once again picturing Qui-Gon upside down on a pole, held up by only the strength of his thighs clenching the steel rod, his arms elegantly stretched toward the ground, but he made his voice mildly curious as he asked, "And how does that lead to the lack of furniture?"
"I need to work on my strength conditioning and flexibility before I start learning the pole techniques. I prefer do it in private, since I am so very out of shape compared to Fel."
"You don't seem out of shape to me, Master. You are the Jedi's greatest swordsman." Indeed, Qui-Gon was distractingly in shape, all lean, hard muscle covered by soft skin and fluffy body hair, the epitome of masculine perfection in Obi-Wan's eyes.
"I thank you for your vote of confidence, Obi-Wan, but believe me, I have a long way to go. If you don't mind?"
"No, not at all. Please continue your exercise."
"Thank you." Qui-Gon leaned forward, placing his palms on the ground, and shifted his weight forward, straightening his head and torso over his hands, until his body came up into a modified handstand, his straddled feet still touching the ground. He paused in that position, then brought his feet up into the air, his legs spread wide. Obi-Wan stared at his Master's buttocks, encased only in thin linen, and hastily muttered, "I'll leave you to your practice," before fleeing.
Qui-Gon's passion and commitment were widely recognized as his greatest attributes.
Unfortunately, Obi-Wan found himself yearning for a less devoted Master.
Qui-Gon was dedicated to practicing the pole discipline, stripping down to his thin, long shorts at every opportunity, challenging his body with stretching and flexibility exercises, frequently incorporating new moves into his work-outs. Obi-Wan was constantly tormented by the sight of his Master's mostly bare limbs on display in sensual positions. Qui-Gon's body changed, seeming to lengthen as his muscles became more lean and defined. He even lost a few pounds, so the shorts began riding dangerously low on his hips, exposing the jut of his flat hip bones.
At least Obi-Wan was spared the formal pole exercises, as those were done on Coruscant in a private practice room. Still, Qui-Gon did what he could on missions. Obi-Wan became accustomed to finding his Master hanging by one leg from bits of masonry in castles, the other stretched so that Qui-Gon's foot touched his forehead.
Obi-Wan also became accustomed to finding places other than their quarters to rest or study in the evenings.
Another torturous result of his Master's discipline was the many bruises he suffered for his art, and the need for a helpful bystander, namely Obi-Wan, to assist with massaging healing cream into the black, blue and yellow patches of skin.
"You would have done well as a healer, padawan. You have a very soothing touch."
"Thank you, Master, but I always preferred diplomacy to healing," Obi-Wan responded, wondering why so many of Qui-Gon's bruises were on his extremely toned buttocks.
"And you are an excellent diplomat," Qui-Gon said sleepily into his pillow. Obi-Wan could see his profile, his craggy features softened by the bliss on his expression, his eyes fluttering shut as he drifted off to sleep. Obi-Wan finished the distracting, maddening chore, took a last, shameful opportunity to stare at the perfection of his Master's naked body on the white sheets, and fled.
The big advantage of a well-earned sabbatical at the Temple was that Qui-Gon had decided he was at the stage to focus on training with Fel in the private practice room, allowing Obi-Wan to relax in their quarters in the evening. However, he didn't successfully avoid all distractions, as Qui-Gon spent one evening holding up scraps of material next to his face, asking for Obi-Wan's opinion on the best color for him.
"Are you sure? Not the gold? Or does the silver match my hair better?" Qui-Gon waved the scraps for emphasis.
"Blue, Master. It emphasizes your eyes."
"If you're sure, Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Obi-Wan said firmly, hoping that a decision would encourage Qui-Gon to leave him alone.
"It's interesting that the warriors wore so little clothing. Most warrior castes are more concerned with appearing less vulnerable. I understand that for the Osie, it was believed that clothing would be a detriment, likely to catch on…" Qui-Gon twirled the scraps of fabric laughingly considered a warrior's outfit around one finger, "brambles or vines or even decorative stone elements on their enemies' castle as they climbed."
"That's very interesting, Master." Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his datapadd, since he no longer had to study colors.
"I have to wonder if they were commonly covered by scratches and bruises by the time they reached their objective."
"Yes, Master. One has to wonder."
"My last official practice is tomorrow. The final demonstration before Fel is the next night, and then I'll be considered a Master."
"Congratulations, Master." Please go away, Master.
"I hope you will come watch the practice and give me your valuable opinion on any flaws or weaknesses I might still have."
Was there any viable excuse to escape watching a full performance? Any at all? "Of course, Master. It would be my pleasure."
"Thank you, Obi-Wan. You are a most excellent padawan."
Two more days. Two more days. Qui-Gon would have achieved his goal, and Obi-Wan would hopefully have relief from the visions caused by the constant exercising.
"I don't think I have all the material I need, Master. I need to finish studying in the library tonight." For the umpteenth time, Obi-Wan fled.
Obi-Wan was surprised that Qui-Gon's last official practice was quite so late at night. Most of the Jedi would be tucking themselves into bed, with only the more nocturnal races still awake. He stepped into the room, even more surprised to find no one else present. Obi-Wan had deliberately timed his arrival to be on the verge of lateness, hoping to be stuck at the back of whatever crowd would fit into the small practice room. Hadn't Qui-Gon even asked Yoda or Mace to watch? "Qui-Gon?"
"Obi-Wan, I'm glad you arrived. Please sit down."
Obi-Wan sat in the only chair, regretting the inability to hide behind others. The room had two poles, one on each side. Dark curtains covered the walls.
Qui-Gon stepped out from the curtains, wearing his long Jedi robe. He paused. "Thank you for attending this demonstration. I hope you will approve my petition to mastership."
"I'm sure Fel will," Obi-Wan said encouragingly.
Music began, a rhythmic sound with a strong beat, not the kind of music that Obi-Wan would have expected Qui-Gon to like. Merely by rolling his shoulders back, Qui-Gon made the robe drop from his body, leaving him dressed in a short blue jacket and a skimpy blue undergarment that barely restrained his genitals. Obi-Wan gulped, hoping the music covered the sound.
Qui-Gon sauntered toward the pole farthest from him, his walk slinky, his hips moving in ways that would get him arrested as a sex worker on a number of worlds. He did a full twirls and hip thrusts, revealing that the undergarment was a thong that left Qui-Gon's buttocks bare and exposed. He rolled his head a few times to the beat, his unbound hair drifting around his shoulders. Obi-Wan wanted to gather it up and bury his hands in it.
Obi-Wan tried desperately to remember that he was supposed to be critiquing the choreography and not drooling over the magnificent expanse of Qui-Gon flesh, but it was a severe test of his mental concentration and focus.
Grabbing onto the pole, Qui-Gon twirled and gyrated up the shiny metal, his hip thrusting and the arching of his back covering the very practical need to climb. Gripping the pole with both hands, he held himself sideways to it, doing the splits on the pole, proving how very significantly his flexibility had increased. He'd always been graceful for such a big man, but now he was incredibly elegant, the smooth precision of his movements making even the positioning of his fingers and toes a delight to watch.
Pausing at the top, using the strength of his powerful leg muscles to hold him in place, he leaned his torso away from the pole, allowing him to unbutton the jacket. Obi-Wan watched, mesmerized, as Qui-Gon twirled the jacket before throwing it toward him. His aim was unerring, the jacket falling to the floor right at Obi-Wan's boots. As if Qui-Gon was undressing for Obi-Wan.
Force, he was hard. He was fully hard, watching his Master perform an ancient Jedi discipline meant to improve the mind and body. He was in purgatory, but at least he could nonchalantly twitch his robe to cover his inappropriate erection.
There was more, much more, the performance lasting as long as it took to walk the Grand Hallway. The intricacy of the choreography was fascinating, and the sheer variety of ways Qui-Gon could flex his supple muscles and the number of positions for spreading his legs wide were astonishing. Obi-Wan couldn't decide which he preferred; when Qui-Gon was facing toward from him, so he could admire how the blue thong strained to contain his large penis, or away from him, displaying the curve of his buttocks. Qui-Gon twirled almost constantly around the pole, allowing Obi-Wan to admire both views.
Qui-Gon had been right about the advantage of his height. Whether swinging upright, his body straight, with the pole caught between his upper thighs, calves hooked together, or swinging upside down with only one bent knee holding him to the pole, arching his back to grab the other leg, pulling it over his head, the excessive length of his body made the positions more notable and eye-catching. And ridiculously, excitingly attractive.
The music drew to a close with Qui-Gon upside down, placing his hands on the ground, and dismounting with one of those wicked handstands. He walked to the center of the room, bowing elegantly to Obi-Wan.
"Well, Obi-Wan? Do you have any critiques for me?"
"I – That was superb, Master. I'm sure Fel will designate you a Master of the discipline."
Qui-Gon took another step, until his bare toes were almost touching the tips of Obi-Wan's boots. "Are you going to flee again, Obi-Wan?"
"I asked if you were going to flee again. Or if I could persuade you to remain this time." He undid a clip on the side of the thong and pulled, standing fully naked in front of Obi-Wan.
"You want me to stay?"
"That has been the point of the exercise."
"You – you've been taunting me? This entire time?"
"Encouraging you, Obi-Wan. Only encouraging you. I confess; you are made of much sterner stuff than I anticipated. I admire your resolve, even if I haven't always appreciated it."
"You – " Obi-Wan lunged out of the chair, anchoring his hands in Qui-Gon's glorious mane, and dragged his head down, kissing him desperately. Qui-Gon's lips were as soft as Obi-Wan had imagined, his tongue fully as talented as the rest of his body. "Tell me you're prepared for this, Qui-Gon. Please."
"The door was set to lock behind you, I am prepared, and there is lube in my robe pocket."
"Force." Obi-Wan reached behind Qui-Gon to give him a smart smack on one buttock. "Go stand at the pole. Face it."
"Such mastery, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said lightly, but did as commanded, his hips rolling as he walked toward the pole.
Obi-Wan dug through Qui-Gon's abandoned robe, finding the lube in his pocket. He flipped up his tunics, shoving his breeches down as he crossed the room to his Master. "This isn't very romantic," he said, slicking up his cock. "I had pictured something… far more sedate for our first-time, Master."
Qui-Gon wrapped his hands around the pole, stepping his feet apart, bringing his buttocks down to Obi-Wan's height. He twisted his head to look at his padawan. "I have loved you for years, Obi-Wan, and I hope to show you how much in many ways for years to come. But for now, I would like to feel how much you want your battered old Master."
"Hardly battered, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan's eyes devoured the perfection of Qui-Gon's back and legs, the supple definition of his muscles, his gorgeous skin. Artists could spend their lives trying to duplicate such masculine beauty and never succeed, and it was being offered to him. Reaching out, he cupped Qui-Gon's buttocks, pulling them apart to see the dark opening, a hint of shininess visible. "Gorgeous, my Master. Gorgeous." He positioned his cock and shoved in, first the flared head, and then another thrust, and yet one more before he was fully buried in Qui-Gon's opening.
Obi-Wan cupped Qui-Gon's hips in his hands, the better to control the pace and force of his thrusts.
"Hold firmly, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon instructed, clenching his muscles around Obi-Wan's penis, and lifting his feet off the ground. Obi-Wan gasped, but strengthened his grip and tightened his arm muscles as Qui-Gon brought his feet behind Obi-Wan's hips, clasping his ankles together.
"Master," Obi-Wan said, amazed. Qui-Gon's body was completely suspended in air, held only by the strength of his grip on the pole, Obi-Wan's hands on his hips, and his feet locked around Obi-Wan's hips. Obi-Wan feel compelled to thrust hard, as if the force helped maintain Qui-Gon's vulnerable position.
All the years of yearning, the last few months of torment, and Obi-Wan enjoyed every second of this first claiming, discovering that Qui-Gon's body was even more tight and warm than he had fantasized. He wished he could see Qui-Gon's eyes, but his gasps were sweet music as Obi-Wan took him, steady and long. Obi-Wan lost himself in watching the flex and definition of Qui-Gon's sweat-covered back muscles. The intensity of the performance must have exhausted Qui-Gon, but though his arm muscles bulged with effort, his grip never wavered. Obi-Wan's greatest craving was fulfilled, and he shuddered, coming with a hoarse moan.
Qui-Gon gave a whimper, but released his legs from Obi-Wan's hips, bringing his feet back to the ground. Standing, he turned to face Obi-Wan, his cock rampant, bobbing in its need for attention.
"Please, Obi-Wan. Make me come."
"Not here. Climb up, Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon looked confused, but facing Obi-Wan the entire time, went hand over hand up the pole, his feet on the smooth metal helping to keep him in place.
When Qui-Gon's mammoth shaft was level with Obi-Wan's mouth, Obi-Wan ordered, "Stop here." He licked the head, teasingly. "I'm going to hold my mouth open and my head steady, Qui-Gon. That's all."
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, but he understood the meaning, undulating his hips against the pole and into the air, each sensual thrust pushing his shaft between Obi-Wan's lips and into his mouth. It didn't take long before Obi-Wan was happily swallowing and licking Qui-Gon clean.
"One last move, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon lifted his legs out to the sides, and for a second, Obi-Wan could see his come dripping out of Qui-Gon's ass, before he slid abruptly down the pole, landing on the ground. No wonder he was so often bruised. He leaned forward, cushioning his head against Obi-Wan's breech-covered leg, curling his arms around Obi-Wan's boots.
"My Master," Obi-Wan murmured. "Fel will surely accord you Master status of this discipline tomorrow."
"My objective was achieved tonight."
"If you have Master status, then you will be able to teach. I hope you will take me as your first pupil."
"I would be delighted, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan stroked Qui-Gon's hair, contemplating all the ways in which they would dance together.
~ the end ~