“I can’t believe he’s going to make you work more tonight,” Bant said to his friend Obi-Wan as the two padawans strolled toward the rooms they shared with their Masters at the Jedi Temple. “He was at the exercises today. He saw how much you worked out.”
Obi-Wan grimaced and shrugged. “Qui-Gon is a dedicated teacher. Sometimes too dedicated,” he said ruefully, stretching back muscles exhausted from a full day of practicing ritual combat with the other padawans.
They stopped in front of Bant’s door. “If you need me for a massage in the morning, let me know,” she said, giving Obi-Wan an affectionate cuff on the shoulder before opening the door. “I will,” Obi-Wan promised as Bant went into her rooms. Continuing down the corridor, Obi-Wan wondered what his Master had planned for tonight. Qui-Gon was indeed a dedicated teacher. Even after the two had become lovers on Obi-Wan’s 18th birthday, Qui-Gon never let their relationship interfere with his apprentice’s learning. He rarely gave precise instructions and explanations, requiring Obi-Wan to develop his own powers of logic and reasoning to decipher the meaning of the lessons. Qui-Gon had only briefly watched the exercises today, but had contacted him quickly during dinner to warn him to eat a light meal and be prepared for more work.
Entering their rooms, Obi-Wan was surprised to find most of the lamps darkened. The center lamp was still lit, casting a glow over the middle of the room. Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the light circle and waited. His Master rose from a chair in one corner, and walked to stand in front of the young Jedi. He clasped a drinking glass in one hand, and Obi-Wan caught the faint aroma of baranan juice. While Jedi did not usually indulge in alcoholic spirits, Qui-Gon drank the very best liqueurs on those infrequent occasions when he desired to relax. Obi-Wan’s hopes rose that this ‘lesson’ may be more interesting than he originally thought.
“I watched you in the exercises today, Obi-Wan. Your form still needs more work. You are an excellent athlete, but you tend to rely on showmanship and flashy maneuvers when pressed too hard. You need practice on precise postures.” Qui-Gon’s voice was more detached than condemnatory.
“Hang up your cloak. I wish you to run through the postures.” Obi-Wan took off his cloak and hung it up, wondering if he should feel insulted. The postures were a series of meditative poses, held for long moments while concentrating on the flow of the Force. There were among the most basic of exercises taught to young students at the Jedi Academy. Though seemingly simple, the postures developed flexibility and muscular control.
“And take off your boots. You need to feel grounded.”
“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan pulled off his boots and dropped them in the closet. Qui-Gon had returned to the chair, sipping casually on the baranan juice. The shadows concealed most of his body. His feet were bare, and he crossed his legs as he waited for his apprentice to prepare.
“And your shirt. I want to see if your chest muscles are properly expanding.” Qui-Gon’s voice was losing its detached air and developing a husky drawl.
Things were definitely looking up, Obi-Wan decided, taking off his tunic and dropping it into the laundry bin. “Master, should I remove my breeches? It would help you see that my knees are properly aligned.”
“An excellent suggestion, Obi-Wan. Please do so.”
Dressed only in his undergarment, Obi-Wan returned to the center of the room. The light cast down on his pale skin, illuminating his form for his Master’s gaze. Obi-Wan cherished the thought that his Master was studying his form. Obi-Wan knew that his shape was almost perfect by most humanoid standards. Tall, well muscled, with strong features, his Master had complimented him often on his beauty once their relationship had passed the traditional Master/padawan boundaries. Obi-Wan was not a vain man, but he deeply loved his Master and appreciated that Qui-Gon derived pleasure from his body. He certainly enjoyed studying his Master’s even taller figure, admiring his long brown hair and well proportioned physique.
“Warm-up,” came the command.
Obi-Wan moved through basic warming exercises, deep breathing contrasting with gentle stretches. He kept his movements light, supple, rolling his head, then rotating his arms, hips, stretching his calves. He heard his Master’s breathing deepen, then level out, as if his Master had to fight to rein in a passionate response. Obi-Wan raised his right arm over his head, fingers extended, feeling energy course through his body, stretching one side. He repeated the gesture with the left side.
“Warrior poses,” Qui-Gon’s voice had definitely deepened. Obi-Wan stifled a brief grin as he moved obediently into the first warrior pose, sliding his legs apart and bending over his left leg.
“Right foot should be perpendicular to the left foot.”
“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan shifted the position of his feet slightly, his head touching below his left knee, allowing his Master to study the stretched muscles of his back. He held the pose for twenty breaths, enjoying the relaxation and energy of his body as well as the intense feel of his Master’s blue eyes. Silently, he shifted into the second warrior pose, lunging forward on the left foot, hands raised to shoulder width, left hand pointed forward while right hand pointed directly back.
Obi-Wan continued the slow, gentle movements, lunging deeply in some, stretching upwards and back in others, keeping his motion graceful and fluid. Never before had the postures struck him as sexual until tonight. Several times he heard the jerk and harsh expiration of Qui-Gon’s breath as he stilled his instinctive responses to Obi-Wan’s supple rhythm. Obi-Wan deliberately exaggerated several poses, arching his back and thrusting his hips. Each time, his Master noticed the lack of precision and corrected him in a voice that became increasingly deeper and darker.
The tension in the room built slowly until Obi-Wan could hardly bear not to scream for release from the imprisonment of his Master’s eyes. He craved more than gazes and words but ruthlessly restrained his desires, desperately concentrating on the Force to keep his body calm. As if hearing his unspoken scream, Qui-Gon finally raised himself from the chair, circling around behind his apprentice.
“Very good, Obi-Wan,” he said. “You have excellent form.” Obi-Wan had dropped into table posture, legs spread wide, back straight and parallel to the floor, arms spread on each side. He started to rise but was stopped by one strong hand holding him in place. Qui-Gon brushed one palm up and down the firm back muscles. “You have the most perfect body I have ever seen. Have I told you that?”
“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan heard soft rustling movements, and realized his Master was disrobing. Hands dropped to his undergarment and Obi-Wan felt it falling off and onto the floor. The excitement of being naked and trapped in front of an equally exposed Qui-Gon was unbearable. He become suddenly, shockingly erect as he realized that the voyeuristic play time was finally ending. “Have I told you that you have the most perfect body I have ever seen?”
“No, padawan. I don’t believe you have.” Qui-Gon’s fingers were drawing patterns on his apprentice’s back, rubbing back and forth along the shoulder blades and down the spine before his hands slid to Obi-Wan’s firm buttocks, shaping and massaging them.
“Allow me to rectify that omission. You have the most perfect body I have ever seen. And I would really like to see it right now.” Obi-Wan gasped, almost driven beyond breaking point.
“Head forward, looking straight, in table top pose, padawan. You wouldn’t want incorrect posture.” With a brush of the Force, a bottle of massage oil flew through the room and landed in Qui-Gon’s hand. Obi-Wan couldn’t see the oil, but realized what it must have been when the warm liquid was smoothed over his buttocks. Qui-Gon inserted one finger into the entrance of his body, stretching the tight muscle. With the other hand, he massaged oil onto his own erect penis. Clasping Obi-Wan’s hips, feeling the prominent hip bones and smooth muscles, Qui-Gon stroked into his body. One hand slipped around to grip Obi-Wan’s erection, pumping up and down the long length.
Qui-Gon thrust deeply and steadily, maintaining an even rhythm. Obi-Wan tried to thrust back, to force him to move faster and harder. Digging his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hips, Qui-Gon held his apprentice in place, forcing him to accept the elder’s slow speed. Obi-Wan whimpered with excitement and despair. The postures had lasted too long and the tension had affected him too much. He craved release but feared that disobedience was likely to bring a complete stop to their activity. Satisfied that Obi-Wan was accepting his dictates, Qui-Gon moved one hand back to Obi-Wan’s penis, teasing the soft skin underneath, circling the head, pumping and caressing.
Qui-Gon drew out the excitement as long as possible, but ultimately even his solid control broke. He thrust as hard and as quickly as his apprentice desired. Obi-Wan locked his knees, using the strength of his legs to keep him bending over and not collapsing to the ground with the power of his Master’s forceful drive. Qui-Gon’s hand pumped vigorously, both men gasping loudly. With a wild cry, Qui-Gon erupted into Obi-Wan’s warm body. Seconds later, Obi-Wan exploded over Qui-Gon’s hand, allowing his knees to unlock. He dropped forward, still breathing harshly. Qui-Gon followed him down to the ground, wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders and cuddling him, brushing his check across the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. He smoothed his palms down the front of his apprentice, but gentling and relaxing rather than teasing.
“Very good, Obi-Wan. To keep such excellent posture even in the midst of such distraction…. I was wrong to think you needed additional instruction.”
“I’m not sure, Master. I think I slipped on a few occasions.” Finally able to breathe, Obi-Wan teased, a small retaliation for his Master’s dominance. “But since you have such excellent posture, maybe I should watch you instead of just practicing. To study the perfect example.”
Qui-Gon released a shuddering sigh at the thought. “Yet another good suggestion. Tomorrow, padawan. Tomorrow.”