At eighteen, they gave him the key. An impersonal message waiting on his data reader gave him the passcode and the rules and told him how to get there. He was an adult in body and mind, and he was judged to be ready.
At twenty, he first used it.
"Are you coming, Obi-Wan?" Obi-Wan Kenobi's lover, a slim, dark-haired young Padawan nearing his Knighthood, was fairly dancing with impatience, but Obi-Wan still found himself hesitating before the mirror in his quarters, gazing doubtfully at the spectacle he presented. "Listen," the older Padawan hissed. "You're going to kill yourself if you miss this, do you understand me?"
Obi-Wan shrugged uncomfortably. He'd never had any trouble finding lovers, and had never thought of using his club membership as a way to get more, especially since he was usually involved with someone. He'd never considered going until tonight, when his newest lover had suddenly grown a stubborn streak a mile wide. He was quite well-satisfied in his new relationship with Endavi Vistaka. Besides, the idea of attending a Jedi-only sex club made him extremely uncomfortable.
When he'd first been granted membership, he'd dismissed it as ridiculous. How could he go there, engage in any sort of liaison with anyone at all, and then come home the next day and resume his normal duties, even interact with his previous night's lover, as though nothing had happened? He'd always rested secure in the notion that the older generation of Jedi were devotedly ascetic, almost ungendered ... with a few notable exceptions that he was far too uncomfortable to consider. The very idea of joining his elders in sex-play was ludicrous, and he'd set the notion aside, preferring to pursue more private, sensible amusements among his peers.
But now Endavi was insisting that Obi-Wan accompany him to the club, and the young Padawan was feeling distinctly rebellious about it.
He fidgeted with his clothes, making sure that his hood covered his face adequately. Hood? He'd feel better with a mask. What if the first person he ran into was Master Yoda? What if Yoda wanted ... Obi-Wan shuddered. Surely Master Yoda wouldn't patronize this particular club. As a matter of fact, Obi-Wan couldn't imagine any Jedi going there. Much less himself. Even though the club was only open to Jedi. He shuddered again, glancing in the mirror nervously. He had a bad feeling about this ....
"Bruck Chun left ten minutes ago!" Endavi snatched Obi-Wan's arm. "Get your ass in gear, Kenobi!"
Obi-Wan let himself be dragged from the room reluctantly.
They ascended past the midlevel skyscrapers in the transit shuttle, arrowing into the heart of the nearest entertainment district, and Obi-Wan's nervousness increased along with their altitude. He'd never been to an uplevel club before, and he was sure that he was not appropriately dressed. At Endavi's urging, he'd worn a pair of now-scandalously-tight brown leather pants that he'd bought for himself when he was sixteen. He had on matching brown leather boots and a snow-white loose linen shirt with an open drawstring collar and tight cuffs beneath his only black deep-cowled cloak, and he felt like a two-bit streetcorner catamite.
"Driver, if you hurry, I'll double your tip," Endavi urged, earning a dirty look from the man even as the shuttle lurched forward. "We can't let Bruck get a headstart tonight," he muttered. "He'll pick the best of the best. Damn it, Obi-Wan, if you've messed this up, you've got yourself to thank for it. Not me."
"What in the world are you so uptight about?" Obi-Wan drew into himself defensively. "I'd just as soon we turned around and went home."
"Exactly what's so damn good at home you can't wait to get back there?" Endavi gave Obi-wan a challenging look. "A few hours' reading? Meditation? A list of boring chores? An empty set of quarters, that's what you've got waiting for you. You already told me that your Master's gone off with Mace Windu. You won't even be able to sit there and moon after him!"
Obi-Wan buttoned his lip defensively, wishing Endavi were far less observant. However, it was a vain wish. His friend had a keen intuition for intrigue, and that translated to a knowledge of the sexual connections of well over half the population of the Temple. It had been less than a week ago that Endavi had chanced into the practice arena when Obi-Wan was there with his Master, watching Qui-Gon demonstrate a ceremonial 'saber routine. In spite of Obi-Wan's best efforts at indifferent serenity, Endavi had immediately realized that his lover had a serious crush on his own Master, and he hadn't let Obi-Wan have a moment's peace over it ever since.
Obi-Wan shrugged. He wouldn't mind catching up on his reading. It would be a lot more comfortable than ... this. And there wouldn't be anybody there to recognize him and tell his Master where he'd been the next day. Not that he didn't have a right to come to this club if he wanted. All Padawans over eighteen, Knights, and Masters could come whenever they wished. That fact hardly consoled Obi-Wan.
Their shuttle was landing, and Endavi dragged him impatiently out, tossing a handful of extra dataris at the driver. "You owe me, Kenobi, but we'll wait till the night is over to decide how much." They trotted from the debarkation platform to the door, where a stout pair of Gundark bouncers awaited, watching them with pig-eyed, feral suspicion as first Endavi, and then Obi-Wan, keyed their individualized entry codes.
The amber light turned green, and they were ushered forward through the door, Obi-Wan lagging behind Endavi nervously. An attendant met them obsequiously.
"Your preferences, sirs?"
Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his toes. He heard a soft laugh, recognized it as the voice of a female Knight who'd taught him in the creche. He glanced involuntarily, caught a glimpse of naked flesh, and gulped, shuddering. Force. A Jedi-only sex club. This was insane.
"Endavi, I'm getting out of here!" Obi-Wan tugged frantically at his friend's cloak.
"The hell you are. He's a dominant," Endavi snapped at him and then purred at the attendant. "I'm a freemartin."
She giggled a little bit. "As you wish, sirs. We'll send a submissive to him right away."
"Make it server twelve," Endavi instructed.
"An excellent choice, much requested when he is with us. I'm afraid his services are already booked tonight. Choose another?"
Endavi snatched Obi-Wan's wrist before the young man could make it two steps back down the plush carpeting of the hall through which they'd entered. "Damn you, Kenobi, get back here. Who's using Server Twelve tonight?"
"Padawan Chun, sir."
Endavi groaned. "I knew you should have hurried. Bruck is going to be impossible, and we can't just let him -- well. It could have been worse. I couldn't intimidate a Master." He sighed, fixing the attendant with a bright smile. "Assign Server Twelve to him anyway and I'll handle Padawan Chun." Obi-Wan jerked his head up, shocked, as he felt Endavi brush the attendant's mind with the Force. More dataris changed hands.
"Endavi, what are you doing!??"
"Shut up and thank me later," his friend hissed, and he dragged Obi-Wan forward.
Another attendant tried to take Obi-Wan's cloak, but he refused to relinquish it, preferring the safe shadows of the deep hood. He felt new air on his face, rich and heavy with perfumes and sweet-scented smoke, and risked a glance.
More bare flesh than he'd ever seen in a Temple locker-room. He flushed, recognizing a dozen Padawans, Knights, and Masters instantly. Gods, even two Councilors. Depa Billaba was wearing a dancing girl costume, sitting with Mace Windu. Or more precisely, on him. Mace? But Qui-Gon was supposed to be with ... Obi-Wan groaned. Qui-Gon was here? It should have been impossible, but it seemed likely. Obi-Wan was mortified. "I hate you, Endavi."
At least he was covered. And he wasn't the only one wearing a hooded cloak -- there were two or three figures similarly attired, all of them with their eyes on the floor, as his should be.
"Shut up and come sit down." Endavi dragged him into the room. "You stand out like a sore thumb. You look like an eighteen-year-old virgin in that getup."
"Good. Maybe nobody will know it's me."
Obi-Wan suddenly heard Bruck's voice raised indignantly nearby. "But I asked for --"
Endavi plunked Obi-Wan into a seat and hurried off. The young Jedi listened, interested in spite of himself.
"Bruck, you'll shut up if you know what's good for you," Endavi suggested firmly, an edge of sweet ice in his tone. "I know you were waiting first in line when the doors opened, and we both know why you made the choice you did, but your plans for the evening have changed. Now sit back and enjoy Server Seven and don't let me hear you complaining about it. No, don't let me hear you utter a word about it. To anyone. About anything, or anybody. Or I'll tell your Master about the time you put itching powder in her --"
Obi-Wan became aware of a stir in the air near him, and felt himself tense anew, forgetting Endavi's confrontation with Bruck. The presence was silent, with an air of waiting. Obi-Wan felt extremely nervous. The cloak protected his face, hiding his embarrassment, but it also rendered him extremely vulnerable. Of course, there was no real danger in having his field of vision so severely restricted. Everyone here was Jedi.
He tried to center himself. He would live through this. It couldn't be any more embarrassing than the time when he was fourteen, and Qui-Gon had caught him playing with himself in the middle of --
Endavi returned, grumbling with irritated self-satisfaction. "I put that little idiot in his place. He ought to know better than to take on more than he can handle. If he doesn't watch it, I'll do a lot more than just tell his Master about -- oh, you've come. Good." Endavi's voice warmed with approval. "My young friend here is shy. Bring him one of the silver masks, and I'm sure he'll find that he feels more comfortable."
The presence moved quietly away. "Comfortable my ass," Obi-Wan hissed. "I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I do. More than Bruck can handle? Just who the hell have you set me up with?" He was getting more upset by the moment. "Damn it, Endavi, I know we've played a few games in bed, but I can't just sit here and boss some Knight I don't know around, make him do what I say .... " Obi-Wan paused, and Endavi hesitated uncomfortably. "It is a Knight, isn't it?" Still no response, and Obi-Wan's heart sank into his toes. "A Master?!" Endavi nodded sheepishly. Oh, worse and worse. Obi-Wan lurched out of his chair to flee.
"Damn it!" Endavi was thoroughly exasperated as he yanked Obi-Wan back down. "Tonight you're the Master! Do you think anybody comes here and signs up for a role they don't want to play? ... well, other than you, of course." The older Padawan sighed deeply. "Trust me. You'll thank me for this in the morning. Now if you don't want to be recognized ...." Endavi reached into Obi-Wan's hood, laying his palm over the younger man's mouth. "Shut up. And put on the mask that your submissive is bringing for you. And don't ...." Endavi's voice lit up with wicked humor. "Don't panic."
I can't do this without trust. Obi-Wan wrung his hands in his lap miserably. He and Endavi had spent considerable time making rules before Obi-Wan had felt comfortable with letting his friend submit to him sexually. And though he'd enjoyed their games, and Endavi had said he had a natural talent for topping .... Force. He couldn't top a Master! This was mortifying. Maybe in a few minutes he could pretend he had to go to the 'fresher, and make a break for it then.
"There you are. That was quick. Yes, you may put it on him." Endavi's voice was mild, but commanding, and Obi-Wan tensed.
A hand obscured by a mask held on its open palm came into Obi-Wan's vision. The mask rippled like quicksilver, its interior fluid. Obi-Wan had worn such things on occasion, and knew that it would mold to his face quickly, providing openings for him to see or speak and breathe through, but remaining undefined outwardly, shielding his features from enquiring eyes.
The hand rose slowly, moving beneath his hood, and the mask touched his face, flowing and clasping onto him gently. He held his breath for a moment while it settled, then he felt his eyes and nostrils freed, felt the fine quicksilver material mold flexibly to his lips, and opened his eyes.
He did feel better with his face concealed, he realized. Endavi reached and caught his wrist, and gently brushed back Obi-Wan's hood with his free hand. Obi-Wan instinctively started to turn his head to glance at the server who had brought the mask, but Endavi's palm caught his masked cheek and stopped the motion, and his friend gazed into his eyes with stern, almost sympathetic, warning.
"Remember," Endavi cautioned him, "you're in control." He worked the cloak off Obi-Wan's shoulders one-handed, then the server moved behind him and took over, pulling it from the young man's arms gently, folding it, setting it away. Endavi held onto Obi-Wan's wrist anyway, too firmly for comfort. "And you have the most beautiful submissive in the entire Jedi Temple waiting for you, wanting you. Needing you to make him submit to your will for an evening. He likes it. It's what he came here for. If you decide to leave, he goes back to Bruck. Do you understand that?" Endavi's eyes were earnest.
Obi-Wan nodded hesitantly. The most beautiful submissive? Until he'd started taking the initiative in his bedroom games with Endavi, he'd heard that title applied to himself a time or two, jokingly. Who could this be? There were surely many Masters in the temple who deserved to be labelled beautiful. But the most beautiful? He'd already seen Depa with Mace ... and Endavi had said this was a man.
"Kneel for him," Endavi instructed the server quietly, and released Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan turned slowly, heavy with reluctant dread, feeling the butterflies that had been in his stomach earlier turn into cavorting rancors. And then explode. His eyes went wide.
This had to be a joke. A cruel trick. He shrank into himself, mortified, at any moment expecting the entire club to crowd around his shoulders, snickering and pointing at him, to see the man before him lift his head and join in the derisive laughter. He cast a wild, pleading, threatening glance at Endavi, but his friend still sat there soberly, eyes concerned, tilting his head forward urgently, pointing Obi-Wan's attention back toward the man who knelt before him. Obi-Wan's gaze vaguely drifted back around, drawn as though by a magnet.
"A lot of Masters need time off." Endavi whispered, laying his hands reassuringly on Obi-Wan's shoulders, his words echoing vaguely in his friend's shocked ears. "They like to stop being in control for a while and let somebody else take over. And here, it's safe for them to do that. Safe to let go and relax, and be something else for awhile. Come on. I know you like being on top, and I know you like him. So give it a try. Remember, anything that happens here during the evening is forgotten as soon as we get back to the Temple. It never happened. That's the most important of the rules."
Barely hearing Endavi, Obi-Wan reached forward with one hand, trembling, and shyly lifted the chin of the man who knelt before him. Long silver-touched brown hair poured over bare gleaming shoulders. Force, he was completely nude. His calm sapphire-blue eyes regarded Obi-Wan steadily. The short beard scratched lightly on his palm. Oh, this was impossible. Impossible and unbelievable and unimaginably arousing. Obi-Wan let his eyes drink in the light and shadow cascading over shifting muscle. A mild, gentle expression, unbelievably vulnerable. He had seen this mildness in the man before, and usually associated it with deep and tender caring.
Tonight, it was mind-crushingly erotic.
He felt his adam's apple bob once, then again, as he tried to work moisture into his mouth.
"Well, I can see the two of you will hit it off very well," Endavi remarked with smug satisfaction, patting Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Remember, you're supposed to enjoy dominating him. Or I'll hunt you down tomorrow and skin you." Obi-Wan could hear the grin in Endavi's voice and he half-nodded absently, shock still heavy in him.
He spared a moment of vague contemplation to be exceptionally glad that he had not revealed the relationship with Endavi to Qui-Gon; for all his Master knew, the other Padawan was barely a nodding acquaintance of Obi-Wan's. Nothing at all to link them together. He could still get out of here with his sanity and reputation intact, if he hurried.
But then his eye caught Bruck's sullen glare across the room. Jealousy flared in Obi-Wan. Had Qui-Gon served Bruck before? Had Obi-Wan really wasted two years on squeamishness, when he might have had Qui-Gon any time he wanted? Had courage really been all that was lacking? He turned back to his ... companion ... suddenly. No, he would not leave. Not while Bruck lingered.
"Would you like something to drink, young Master?" The rich, familiar voice was as mild as the look on that quiet face.
Obi-Wan felt his face flush crimson behind the silver mask. He quickly reached and brought his Padawan braid forward over his shoulder so that there could be no possible mistake.
"I have had Padawan Masters before," Qui-Gon responded gracefully, inclining his head. "It does not trouble me."
Well, that was certainly a good thing to hear. Obi-Wan tried to still the tremor in his hand as he lifted it and gestured toward the bar, responding to the earlier question.
"What would my young Master like?" Again that oh-so-soft voice, that tone that had once been reserved for soothing a child in the grip of night-terrors, but which now flayed Obi-Wan open with raw sensuality.
Something with enough alcohol in it to slay a Hutt. He couldn't say that, though. He couldn't say anything. His voice would betray him. Obi-Wan shrugged lightly, and tipped his chin up, urging Qui-Gon to go.
Fluidly graceful, the big man rose to his feet, turned, and moved away quickly.
Obi-Wan watched the powerful swing of those hips until he was distracted and startled by catching a glimpse of himself in one mirrored wall. The mask looked nothing like him; he actually looked quite composed and serene, though the effect was initially alien and shocking. It made him look small and frail, too, as did the tight pants and the very loose white shirt. Very delicate, rather exotic. Hardly what one would expect of a dominant.
Maybe Qui-Gon was disappointed. Maybe he'd rather have Bruck. Force knew, Bruck would get great pleasure out of making Obi-Wan's Master toe his line, and toe it sharp. Was Bruck one of the Padawan Masters Qui-Gon had referred to? Surely not. And yet that was exactly what had been ready to transpire when Obi-Wan and Endavi arrived!
Qui-Gon was returning now, threading his way through the lazy sprawl of people. Obi-Wan watched with only half an eye, amazed and distracted as Mace patted Depa's bottom and sent her toward the stage. She took her place center-stage calmly, and music played as she began to dance. Obi-Wan blinked a little, startled but appreciative. He wished Endavi were still here so that he could ask his friend to pinch him and wake him up, but Endavi had joined a small knot of Padawans in the far corner and seemed intent on the mass orgy that was unfolding between them.
Qui-Gon arrived, holding out the glass he had brought for Obi-Wan. The Padawan reached out and accepted it, tilting it to his lips. A smooth burst of sweet icy flavor exploded on his tongue, almonds and a sharp bite of something that fizzed. He drank with pleasure, surprised. Qui-Gon tended to prefer water and fruit juices, and Obi-Wan had rarely taken more than a sip of anything stronger in his presence.
The alcohol hit his head quickly, a very faint, pleasant buzz. Obi-Wan sighed, satisfied, and set the glass aside. Pausing for a moment, he dared to lift his hand. His face flushed crimson again under the mask as he snapped his fingers for attention, and gestured sharply to the floor before him.
He was obeyed with alacrity. Gods, he might eventually begin to believe this. Qui-Gon was kneeling before him now, head bowed, light shining in his loose hair, broad capable hands settled peacefully on his thighs. Obi-Wan shivered, a bone-deep sensation of sheer, half-terrified delight.
"If my young Master wishes to command me, the mask he wears will alter his voice," Qui-Gon suggested softly.
Obi-Wan started slightly. "That is well." The mask rendered his voice in a tenor not too unlike his own, higher and accentless, less throaty. A pleasant voice. It would do. "I have not frequented this place. It is unfamiliar to me."
Qui-Gon simply nodded. Of course. That would be obvious.
"What services are you prepared to provide?" Obi-Wan requested softly.
"Anything my young Master desires." Qui-Gon raised his rich blue eyes to Obi-Wan's face, their slow heat burning the young man as they traveled over his body, lingering at the opened neck of his shirt and the glimpse of muscled chest that lay beneath. "I am yours to command."
Force, if only Qui-Gon were saying that knowingly to Obi-Wan ... and to Obi-Wan alone. A sudden sharp pang of anguish stabbed him. That Qui-Gon should come here, degrade himself like this for anyone who asked for him, when Obi-Wan had foolishly spent the last five years hopelessly craving his Master in aching, martyred silence!
"My first command is that you never serve others when I am present," Obi-Wan heard himself say sharply. "I want to reserve you entirely for myself." He had no idea if that was a reasonable request, and at the moment he couldn't care less. It had to be outside the club rules, but he could not bear that his will in the matter be denied. He would have Qui-Gon to himself. And he would be present. Oh, yes. He would be even if he had to come here every night that he and Qui-Gon were quartered on Coruscant for the rest of his life. He would, even if he had to be waiting on the steps when the place opened, like Bruck!
Qui-Gon tilted his head, seeming a little startled. "If you wish it," he breathed.
"I do." Obi-Wan heard his false voice harshen. "Will I be obeyed?"
"Kiss me." Obi-Wan nearly choked as he heard his own words emerge in a sharp demand.
Qui-Gon lifted his face, leaning forward to brush his mouth across Obi-Wan's silvered lips.
A sweet travesty. Obi-Wan's hands dove into Qui-Gon's hair, dragging his mouth closer. Bliss and bitterness, to be kissed so openly, so willingly, without being known for himself. It sharpened Obi-Wan's passion with anger, made him crush the larger man's lips, his teeth sharp, his tongue possessive as he tried to evoke the longed-for knowledge with the force of his anguished desire.
And Qui-Gon was melting for it, taking all of it, bruising and growing sweeter, giving fully. Obi-Wan clasped him so hard it hurt, dragging the larger man fiercely against him, feeling himself slide from his chair and go to one knee, bending the huge, pliant body backward till his arms trembled from the strain of the big man's passive weight.
Obi-Wan gasped a breath and drove back in for another kiss, letting Qui-Gon settle atop his raised knee. Drew back again for a glimpse of the man's reaction, saw kiss-swollen, parted lips and long lashes lying against his cheek, a frosted highlight in the silky locks that trailed over Obi-Wan's thigh, very nearly touching the floor. Qui-Gon's legs, one bent under him, one outstretched, and at his center, the eager beginnings of an impressive erection.
And then he was drowning again in Qui-Gon's mouth, sucking hard at his lips, his tongue, claiming him, not caring that he could feel the pressure of Endavi's eyes, and of Bruck's, and possibly even Mace Windu's; running his hand down Qui-Gon's body to stroke the rapidly firming organ with a hungry, adoring hand.
At last Obi-Wan forced himself to draw back, gasping. Breathlessly he eased Qui-Gon the rest of the way to the floor. "Get up," he rasped, and was obeyed. He used his hands to guide Qui-Gon to kneel before him again, gazing down between the older man's legs, eyes longingly caressing the thick, heavy erection he had caused. "That's for me, isn't it," he breathed.
"Yes, young Master." Qui-Gon's voice was sensual, with a husk of its own.
"I want everyone to know that," Obi-Wan leaned so that his mouth brushed Qui-Gon's ear. "How may I mark you mine?"
"You may bind me or collar me, young Master, as you wish."
Obi-Wan felt his penis twitch desperately in its confinement inside the constrictive leather pants. "Oh, yes, I want to do that," he whispered, and nipped Qui-Gon's ear. Yes. Bind him and collar him and lead him through the room on a leash, where Bruck could see -- the only pity was that Obi-Wan could not take his mask off to do it.
He caught Endavi's eyes and ignored the amused thumbs-up, burying his face in Qui-Gon's hair and wishing he could feel its silken texture against his masked cheeks. "Bring me a collar and wrist restraints that fit you, and the key that opens them," Obi-Wan ordered hoarsely.
"Yes, young Master."
He released Qui-Gon so that he could move away obediently, and spared a moment to glance around the room. Not so many people were visible as before, and several were occupied as he was, others openly necking or barely concealed by privacy screens. Mace Windu was indeed watching him, with open amusement. On the stage, Depa still undulated gently, and many people were watching her, drinking, talking, and kissing their partners. One hooded Padawan still stood stupefied in the corner, staring at the assembly's varied activities with disbelief, the tail of the long braid trickling out from beneath the hood. Obi-Wan smiled a little, understanding.
Qui-Gon was returning to him already, laden with the things Obi-Wan had asked for. Obi-Wan was aware that Endavi had separated himself from the group of Padawans he was lackadaisically necking with, sitting up to watch, fascinated. Qui-Gon knelt again and held out the collar, open, his large hands dwarfing it.
Obi-Wan accepted it, hefting its weight, and leaned forward. He darted a quick glance at Bruck, who watched sullenly as Obi-Wan lifted Qui-Gon's hair. "Hold up your hair," he commanded, and Qui-Gon did so as Obi-Wan settled the collar around his throat. He pushed it closed with a keen sense of half-shameful triumph and delight, listening to the click of the latch. He swallowed thickly, stroking Qui-Gon's neck. "Let your hair go."
He sat back to survey what he had done. The older man's chin was lifted, his hair now cascading down his back. Obi-Wan shivered. Qui-Gon's knees were parted slightly, his hands back on his thighs. "For the rest of the night, you will touch me at all times unless I say you may stop," Obi-Wan murmured.
Immediately a warm hand moved to his thigh, touching delicately inside and above the knee. Obi-Wan shivered with pleasure as the heat of it seeped through the too-tight leather, burning into his skin. Qui-Gon shifted his weight, turning, and nestled himself between Obi-Wan's knees. The broad back was too wide to settle easily against him, but Qui-Gon's arms and hands clasped around his thighs softly. For a long while, Obi-Wan was merely content to sit, stroking Qui-Gon's biceps gently with his fingertips, and together they watched Depa dance.
Finally Obi-Wan gave into the temptation to lean down and kiss the top of the silky head, filling his hands with the silver-touched mane. Depa was finishing, and a scattering of polite applause followed her as she hurried back to meet Mace's gentle embrace.
He let his hands slide down over Qui-Gon's neck, savoring the sensation of the cool metal collar under his palms, and then moved them over the man's shoulders and down his chest. Seeking attention, Qui-Gon nuzzled his cheek against Obi-Wan's arm softly, kissing very lightly at the inside of his elbow. Obi-Wan felt a helpless shudder wrack him. Immediately Qui-Gon stopped.
"Don't stop," Obi-Wan breathed, offering his forearm. Qui-Gon trailed soft kisses down to the inside of his wrist and paused there, licking and breathing against him between gentle touches of his lips.
Now one of the Knights was singing, a soft mellow baritone accompanied by keyboards, and the gentle, haunting melody twined around them. Obi-Wan brought his free arm around Qui-Gon's chest, curling his body gently around the older man's as the soft kisses continued. They sat there like that for a long time, Obi-Wan slowly stroking Qui-Gon's chest and shoulder, feeling the older man kissing his arm. He would continue all night, unless ordered to cease. Obi-Wan knew that, suddenly believing it with his whole heart and soul, and his hand opened possessively on Qui-Gon's chest, palm centered over a warm nipple.
"Stop when you want," he murmured after a moment. "You're so beautiful."
"Thank you, young Master." Qui-Gon pressed a final gentle kiss to the inside of Obi-Wan's wrist before ceasing.
Obi-Wan let himself hear the word, let it caress him ... let it mean him, for the first time. "What shall I call you?" he breathed.
"Whatever you wish, young Master."
Obi-Wan smiled a little. "I'll call you my Lion, then," he murmured, still feeling shy. But the word was right for Qui-Gon, and he'd privately used it as an analogy for the man for some time. His Master's lazy feline grace was enhanced by his sturdy, unashamed nudity, and the flowing silken mane of his hair was almost unbelievably beautiful, contrasting with his glowing golden skin. Qui-Gon was even dangerous in the way of a big cat, seeming lazy and quiet, even heavy, but with a tight-leashed energy that could break free at any moment into a rushing torrent of power, a smooth fast lope, a crushing strength, powerful jaw and broad hands like velveted paws. And he had a voice that could purr, growl, and even roar, deep mellow breath in its every measured cadence.
Obi-Wan's partial erection stirred again, painfully, and he straightened slowly, easing away from Qui-Gon's body. Before contact broke, the tall man reached, laying his fingers lightly against Obi-Wan's side, rising and following him, keeping one hand on Obi-Wan at all times. The sweetness of it brought a lump to the young man's throat, and he caught that hand, bringing it gently to his lips.
"You're very good at remembering." Obi-Wan kissed the palm lightly. "Perhaps I will reward you."
"Thank you, young Master." Qui-Gon's voice was warm, sending a shiver up Obi-Wan's spine.
Obi-Wan got Qui-Gon a drink, letting him choose what he liked. He balanced the indulgence by manacling Qui-Gon's wrists together behind his back. Qui-Gon quietly twined his leg with Obi-Wan's, maintaining the contact between them. Obi-Wan took the glass and held it up to his mouth, tilting it slightly, letting the amber fluid touch the older man's lips. Qui-Gon's long pink tongue darted out, lapping at the small trickle of liquid, and Obi-Wan's throat closed with desire, watching that delicate, agile motion through the glass. He withdrew it, staring openly as Qui-Gon licked his lips. The long pink tongue darted out as he groomed himself, taking a faint touch of foam from the bristles above his lips, beginning at the center and moving outward. Like a cat.
"Slowly, my Lion," Obi-Wan murmured, and reached up to kiss those newly wetted lips. Qui-Gon's thigh slid higher between his knees and the taller man opened softly into the kiss, perfectly willing, acquiescent, a flare of heat building between them. Obi-Wan drew back and lifted the glass again. He permitted a longer swallow, watching the muscles in Qui-Gon's throat. Then he took a second kiss, tasting the bitter burn of the liquor in the sweetness of the man's mouth. He pressed his palms on the tall shoulders, pushing them down, making the big man's knees bend until Obi-Wan's lips were on top, his tongue plunging frantically deep into Qui-Gon's mouth, tasting alcohol and desire.
Obi-Wan set the drink aside and fumbled his shirttail out of the waist of his breeches. "You may stop touching me for a time," he instructed, and stepping back, he rapidly tore a narrow strip from the bottom of his shirt.
Qui-Gon slowly straightened his legs, then leaned forward, lifting his chin, understanding as Obi-Wan reached for him, white cloth strip in hand. Obi-Wan tied it into the collar deftly and then tugged, drawing Qui-Gon after him. He remembered to pick up the unfinished drink, and tugged on the leash, starting across the room again. Passing Endavi, Obi-Wan spared his friend a dignified, measured nod that sent the other Padawan into a fit of self-satisfied smirking. He spared another level look for Bruck, who tossed back his own drink and stomped out. If Bruck guessed who he was, that could be bad, and it was likely that he would, since most of the senior Padawans knew that Obi-Wan and Endavi were currently involved. He'd have to talk to his friend about seeing if they could forestall Bruck's desire for vengeance.
Obi-Wan led Qui-Gon to a small alcove set into the far wall, seating them there. He leaned in and kissed Qui-Gon again, savoring his ability to devour the lush, willing lips with his own, enjoying the wondrous sensation of them opening for him. He'd wanted to indulge his craving for Qui-Gon for so long ... having it fulfilled at last was almost too much to bear. After many long moments, he sighed his satisfaction, drew back, and unfastened the wrist restraints. "Finish your drink, then resume touching me."
Qui-Gon tossed back the contents of the glass with a single swallow and set it aside, then extended his hand. Yes. That gentle pressure, this time on either side of his waist, and Qui-Gon paused, waiting to be commanded.
Obi-Wan drew a deep, shuddering breath and took the plunge.
"Draw the screen," he spoke softly, and Qui-Gon hooked his ankle behind Obi-Wan's, standing and reaching to do as he was bidden.
Then Qui-Gon turned back to him and assumed a kneeling posture, this time with his hands on Obi-Wan's thighs. Obi-Wan shivered at the soft touch. Oh, Force. The pose filled his mind with irrepressible images, irresistible cravings. Qui-Gon's back inclining, his head moving forward, those soft, sensual lips opening, then enclosing him .... He was going to go through with it. He really was. He couldn't help himself. "I want you to please me with your mouth, my Lion," he whispered faintly.
"With pleasure, young Master." Qui-Gon fairly purred.
Obi-Wan gulped as large, deft hands worked the fastenings of his trousers, separating the front, sliding them down just enough. He felt himself hyperventilating, and struggled for calm as those wide, blunt fingers probed gently down the clinging left leg of his pants and teased his cramped, straining erection free.
Obi-Wan sagged back into the soft pillows, moaning as a slick, hot tongue settled against the head of his aching shaft, then curled, running quickly down the length of it. True to his orders, Qui-Gon used only his mouth, holding his hands behind his back as though they were still restrained, leaning forward to strum his tongue over the ridge at the head, steadying Obi-Wan delicately with his teeth.
Obi-Wan moaned again, his hands clenching into the cushions, watching Qui-Gon. Bright blue eyes rose and locked to his, holding his gaze as the older man worked up and down his thick shaft, slicking it fully. Then he took Obi-Wan gently between his teeth and slid all the way down.
Force. He wasn't going to last long like this. "Ohhhh, m... my Lion," Obi-Wan caught himself just in time, and threw his arm over his own mouth, setting his teeth against the muscle to stifle further thoughtless outbursts. He bit down lightly, sucking a wild breath through his nostrils as the muscles in Qui-Gon's throat contracted around him, milking him, coaxing him to come.
Qui-Gon suddenly drew back and sank down three times in rapid succession, teeth scraping Obi-Wan's oversensitized flesh lightly, and the young man felt himself surge and scream against his arm, thrusting up once more into that skilled, willing cavern, orgasm bursting behind his eyelids and flooding forth to fill Qui-Gon's mouth.
Too fast. Too soon. He wanted more, but it was over; Qui-Gon was swallowing, licking him, suckling lightly as his erection shrank.
Those blue eyes were amused now, and they remained fastened on his as Obi-Wan shakily drew his bitten arm away from his mouth. "You've left me wanting more," Obi-Wan spoke shakily, reaching to cradle the large, beard-rough jaw in his palm.
"I offer myself for discipline," Qui-Gon spoke as calmly as though he were ordering tea.
Obi-Wan leaned back, considering. By the rules of this little game, he would be well within his rights to punish Qui-Gon, though he was surprised that the older man had suggested it. Very well, then. He would discipline him by leaving him unsatisfied.
"Come here," Obi-Wan made his voice a bit sterner, beckoning Qui-Gon to his side. "Lie next to me."
The man pushed himself to his feet and joined Obi-Wan on the soft couch, trailing his hand up the young man's ankle, calf, and thigh. He lay down with casual ease, resting his head in Obi-Wan's lap, the fluttering cascade of hair gliding over his thighs.
Obi-Wan reached and laid his palm in the center of the broad chest, feeling its steady rise and fall. How could he bring himself to be harsh with this man, when Qui-Gon had just given him one of the things he'd craved most for the last four years of his life? He couldn't, but he had to. Very well. He would choose his punishment carefully, then.
Obi-Wan moved his hand down the rippled belly, sliding his fingers through the nest of curls, wrapping his hand gently around the heavy, thick hardness that waited there for him. He stroked up once, twice, watching Qui-Gon fairly purr at the sensation. He ran his thumb over the crown meditatively, felt the hips arch very slightly into his grasp.
"Be still," he admonished, stroking a fingertip around the head, dipping inside the foreskin. Qui-Gon, in his hands. Force. He felt a shiver shoot down his spine at the renewed realization, felt it echoed in Qui-Gon's big, powerful body as Obi-Wan's thumb teased the slit gently, enjoying the silky texture of the salty moisture that welled there. "Discipline ... " he mused thoughtfully. "I do not enjoy causing pain, my Lion. I prefer subtler and more effective means of enforcing my will. Tonight I think that it will suffice for you to know that I would have repaid you in kind, had you satisfied me fully. But since you did not, I will leave you as you are." He pulled his hand away. "When you satisfy me completely, then I will satisfy you."
Qui-Gon gazed up at him quietly, unmoving. "Yes, young Master," he acquiesced, voice husky, eyes flickering with longing.
Obi-Wan gathered his courage. After tasting the pleasures Qui-Gon could offer, he knew he could not resist sampling more of them. "I ...." he hesitated. "Perhaps you will find yourself motivated to improve your performance tomorrow night, if I choose to return for you then." This was too much; he needed some time to himself, needed to regain his composure and begin to believe what had just happened. He overrode pleasure-hazed, limp muscles and forced himself to sit up. He leaned forward, his other hand sliding behind Qui-Gon's head, and pulled the big man up for a kiss, tasting himself in his mouth.
"I shall wait for you to return to me, then." Qui-Gon whispered against his lips.
"Yes," Obi-Wan breathed, knowing it was a promise but not caring, leaning in to steal one final kiss, stroking his fingers through the tousled length of the older man's hair. He made himself stand, pulling up his breeches and fastening them. Qui-Gon heeled him out into the main room, where most of the couples were already gone. Endavi sat at Obi-Wan's table next to his cloak, patiently waiting, looking insufferably self-satisfied.
Obi-Wan remembered belatedly to turn to Qui-Gon, fishing in his pocket for the key, unlocking the collar he'd placed on him. He eased it from Qui-Gon's neck and laid it in his hands. Hesitantly, he set his fingertip in the center of one of Qui-Gon's broad palms, caressing for a brief instant, then hastily turned away, jerking his head for Endavi to follow him as he hastened to the exit.
"Endavi, I've got to stay with you tonight." Obi-Wan was desperate, shucking off his mask as the near-empty cab jetted away from the club. "I can't go home. And Bruck is going to kill us both."
"That's the best way to make Qui-Gon suspect," Endavi laughed. "And I'll take care of young Master Chun." He laughed with amused contempt. "Qui-Gon would eat him alive. I'm surprised he didn't eat you alive, you were such a frightened rabbit with him. He took it easy on you tonight, Obi-Wan. I've got to warn you, he has a reputation for being hard to Master. He usually sends Padawans flying with their tails tucked between their legs within the first half-hour. Maybe we should have let him do that to Bruck ..."
"Do you think he suspects? Do you think he knows already? Do you honestly think I can face him?" Obi-Wan wasn't listening; he was shaking, his fingers clammy, on the verge of shock. "I may never be able to face him again. I've got to get a grip on myself."
Endavi looked at him gently, half-remorseful, half-amused. "I should have warned you," he sighed. "But tell me true. Everything worked out fine, and you owe me, don't you."
Obi-Wan glared at him, torn between gratitude and a desire to murder. "I suppose I do. And when I find a way to pay you back ...." abruptly he broke into a wide grin. "It's gonna be the best night of your life."
They finally compromised when they arrived back at the temple, and Endavi dug up their mutual friends Bair and Acen to hold down the fort with a reluctant Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan stowed his dirty clothes in Endavi's closet and borrowed a robe to sneak back in, and when they arrived, Obi-Wan quickly dressed, and they settled into the common room with a deck of sabacc cards and a three-quarters-filled scoring pad. Obi-Wan fished a variety of drink bottles and an empty snack wrapper or three out of his trash and scattered them about, kicking cushions everywhere. When he'd finished, the room looked like a marathon gambling session had hit it, and they divided the chips, placing a heavy stack next to Bair and only a few next to Acen and Obi-Wan. Then they settled down to wait.
Obi-Wan thought he might jump out of his skin. He'd arranged to sit as far as possible from the entry door and Qui-Gon's rooms, but he was still nervous; the scent of the club seemed to hang around him like --
"Shit, I've got to shower!" he yelped suddenly, bounding up.
"Hush!" Bair flapped a hand at Obi-Wan. His sharp ears swiveled and pointed. "I can hear someone ...."
Obi-Wan flung himself desperately back into his seat, scrabbling for his cards. He pulled his two hole cards out of their stasis and compared them to his hand, examining them thoughtfully as the door slid open. Swapping the cards for two new ones, he then selected three others to discard.
"I'll take three." Obi-Wan tossed in his cards and yawned widely, covering his mouth with his hand. And then, as he stared down along his arm, he spotted the reddened bite mark that still had not faded from his skin.
Quickly he squared his cards and tucked his hands in his lap, bringing his arm underneath the line of the table. "Good evening, Master." He stretched his legs lazily, his voice pleasant, then turned his attention to his friends. "We'd better pack it in, boys. It's getting pretty late."
"Yes, it is." Qui-Gon surveyed the room coolly. "You need your sleep, Obi-Wan. You look flushed. Are you feeling well?"
"I just drank a little too much, I guess," Obi-Wan hedged. In a way it was true -- he had drunk more than usual. He struggled not to fidget, feeling highly uncomfortable under that judging gaze.
"Settle your losses and get to bed, then." Qui-Gon frowned a little. "Clean up first. I don't want to find a mess waiting in the morning." He strode into his rooms, closing the door with a firm click.
The three boys hurriedly did as he'd said, not bothering to tally the faked game. Bair paused to give Obi-Wan a grin and a wink as they slipped out. "Good luck," he whispered. "I don't know what you and Endavi have been up to, but I think you're going to need it."
Obi-Wan closed the door and turned to beat a hasty retreat to his own room, interrupted as Qui-Gon's door opened behind him. He took another step and then turned, praying his expression was nonchalant, holding his bitten arm casually under his palm as he yawned again, rolling his shoulders.
Qui-Gon stepped toward the kitchen with a brief nod for Obi-Wan. Perversely, the Padawan found that he couldn't resist following, mesmerized by the memory of the lean haunches that lay beneath the loose-fitting nightclothes Qui-Gon had changed into. He paused in the dining area, watching Qui-Gon fix himself a late snack.
"Did you enjoy your outing with Master Windu?" The phrase felt amazingly easy emerging from his lips, and sounded quite comfortable. Obi-Wan settled into a chair and hooked his bare feet over the rungs of another, folding his arms to hide the bite. This time his yawn wasn't faked. He was tired, strung-out on adrenaline, reaching the dregs of it. Qui-Gon poured a glass of milk, and Obi-Wan was faintly amazed at the normality of the action.
"Very much." Qui-Gon stuck his head into a cabinet, rummaging for bread. "Have you eaten all the -- here it is." He pulled out the heel of a loaf that Obi-Wan had saved for him, knowing that the ends were his Master's favorite. Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon quickly made a sandwich and took a bite, chewing leisurely, chasing it with a drink of the milk.
"I told you to go to bed." Qui-Gon turned to him sternly. "We have a long day before us tomorrow. You'll be working on the akari."
Obi-Wan almost grinned at the ease of the quick command, managing to make himself grimace instead. The akari was a difficult mental workout, involving levitations and koans, all performed while doing handstands and other acrobatic maneuvers. He was good at it, particularly at reading the future, but it would definitely be a challenge holding his concentration in the wake of the evening's events.
But he had a point to make, though Qui-Gon didn't know it. He quickly rose to his feet. "Yes, Master," he acquiesced with humble grace, bowing slightly, proud that the words came out without even the faintest hint of mischief. Perhaps he had learned a valuable lesson in the importance of perfect obedience. Turning on his heel to hide his grin, he quickly went to his room and lay down, using a meditation to send himself to sleep.
The akari was as hard as ever, and it left Obi-Wan in aching knots, but he succeeded in pleasing his Master, grimly excluding all outside considerations from his concentration. When Qui-Gon released him, Obi-Wan bowed reverently and excused himself, hurrying off at a trot to find Endavi.
"I've a free night. Let's go!"
"Now look who's in a hurry." Endavi grinned. "Of course you have a free night. It's not like there'll be anyone staying here to supervise you ...." Endavi reached for his boots slowly, tugging them on in a fine imitation of the sulky reluctance Obi-Wan had displayed the previous evening. "I think you'd better go back to your quarters, though, and settle in with a book or something. Watch him leave." Endavi grinned again, teasing Obi-Wan. "Or take Acen, and make it look like the two of you have a really wild night planned."
"That would be a good idea, except I think Qui-Gon wasn't planning to go back to our quarters himself."
"Eager, was he?" Endavi's smirk nearly split his face, and Obi-Wan blushed brilliant crimson.
"I wouldn't know, but he headed in the wrong direction for our rooms. Would you hurry up?" Obi-Wan began rummaging in Endavi's closet.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
"Well, I can hardly wear my own clothes, they might give me away. Besides, that outfit I wore last night is the only thing no-one would recognise. Besides, it's all I have that's really right for going there. You said so yourself. Now, this looks good ...." Obi-Wan drew out an outfit in a rich, forest-green silk.
"Hey, that's my favorite ...." Endavi threw up his hands helplessly. "Oh, whatever. But if you tell him to rip it off you, then you're going to buy me a new one. Just like it. And it cost a fortune," he warned, shaking his finger at Obi-Wan.
"I'll take good care of it," Obi-Wan promised, scrambling out of his tunics and nipping into the 'fresher. "Be ready in five," he admonished. "You got a gold chain belt?" His voice was muffled by the torrent of hot water.
"Let me see."
"And some boots that match!"
"Sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth," Endavi laughed, digging into his closet. "But your expression last night was priceless, so I'll put up with this a little while longer. Until you get enough balls to tell him who you are."
Obi-Wan was hurrying out of the 'fresher, scrubbing his hair with a towel, and his face sobered instantly. "I can't do that, Endavi."
Endavi tossed a pair of low, folded-top brown leather boots over his shoulder. "Try those. They're probably a little loose on you, but they're the best I have. Let me see about that belt. And yes you can. You could go in there tonight without that mask and he would be exactly the same."
"But I couldn't be." Obi-Wan stepped into the loose harem trousers he'd chosen and pulled them over his hips. "I couldn't look him in the face and tell him to ...." Obi-Wan swallowed. "Tell him to do those things."
"What things?" Endavi laughed. "Ohhh, you made him order a drink. Big deal!"
"That wasn't all I did," Obi-Wan admitted in a small voice. "I told him to ..." Obi-Wan shrugged uncomfortably. "Pleasure me. With his mouth. And ... he did."
"Was he good?" Endavi's eyes sparkled wickedly at him.
Obi-Wan sighed, slipping the tight silk shirt over his chest. "I liked it, of course. But ..." he hesitated, buttoning it slowly. "I didn't really have him do that much. I'm not sure ...." he hesitated.
"You can do anything you like with him," Endavi pointed out. "That's the point of the exercise. He's submitting to you."
"I don't think I'm a very good dominant," Obi-Wan admitted. "He'd probably be happier with someone else ...."
"He seemed happy last night," Endavi retorted. "He was smiling when you came out of there together. Smiling, watching you walk in front of him."
Obi-Wan felt his stomach flutter and his knees weaken. "Smiling?" he faltered. Qui-Gon smiled so rarely .... "You're pulling my leg."
"Fondly," Endavi affirmed, and came up with a belt of gold rings. "Will this do? I think I can adjust it to fit you." Endavi started fiddling with the links. "He was amused. He probably thinks he's got you wrapped around his little finger. You definitely looked wet behind the ears, Kenobi."
Obi-Wan tilted his head, the significance of a half-heard memory hitting him for the first time. "You said he had a reputation for being ... difficult," he remembered. "When you mentioned Bruck. You said Bruck couldn't handle him, but he didn't give me much trouble at all. Wrapped around his little finger?" Obi-Wan frowned. He didn't really like the sound of that. Come to think of it, he hadn't particularly been flattered by the amusement in Qui-Gon's eyes after his orgasm. Even the smile that Endavi had just described to him, while hearing of it had made Obi-Wan's heart race, was not at all the reaction a dominant hoped to inspire. Perhaps he had been too mild in his disciplining.
Endavi flipped the end of the belt around Obi-Wan's waist and clasped it. "Oh, that looks good on you," he commented. "If you weren't so hot for Qui-Gon, I'd keep you here tonight for myself. Yes, wrapped around his little finger, or as near to it as makes no difference. You were so shy with him, he hardly had to work at all. And he got a drink, into the bargain. Two drinks." Endavi winked slyly at Obi-Wan, who blushed again, redder than before.
"Endavi, I can't do this again," Obi-Wan blurted abruptly, hands going to the buttons of the borrowed shirt, suddenly not at all certain that he had the guts to go through with this.
"The hell you can't. What did you tell me about five minutes?" Endavi hooked the silver mask off of the floor of the closet. "Don't forget this. Wrap up tight in your cloak and let's go."
The corridors were nearly deserted as they made their way to the main lift to the shuttle stop, and Endavi seemed thoughtful. "You know, Obi-Wan, you have a point, what you asked me about before. He was awfully mild. I really think he liked you, enough to give you a chance to find your feet. Maybe you reminded him of a certain someone." Endavi grinned and elbowed the blushing Obi-Wan amiably.
"I hope not," Obi-Wan muttered fervently. "If I thought he knew ...." he shivered, worry wrinkling his forehead.
Endavi quickly distracted him before his thoughts could pursue that avenue further. "What did he do when you got him alone?"
"I already told you," Obi-Wan muttered, a little defensively.
"No, that's not what I meant. How did he do it?"
Obi-Wan wondered if it were possible for skin to spontaneously combust in flames of embarrassment.
"Was he good? Bad? Fast? Slow? Did he do exactly what you asked?" Endavi eyed Obi-Wan speculatively. "You said you liked it, you didn't say he was incredible. You didn't even say he was good. What did he do?"
"Well ... it was pretty fast. He was very good, he never disobeyed, but ... I'd have liked him to take a little more time, maybe ...." Obi-Wan squirmed. "Do you really need to know this, Endavi?" he pleaded.
"If I have to do your thinking for you, yes!" Endavi pondered. "I'd say he might be trying to prompt you to be more aggressive about letting him know what you like, what you want. Did he say anything that might support that?"
"Well ...." Obi-Wan suddenly found himself very interested in examining his fingers. "He ... sorta, yeah."
"Well, give! What was it?" Endavi bustled Obi-Wan into a shuttle.
"I said ... he'd left me wanting more," Obi-Wan flushed. "And he offered himself for discipline. So I ... um ... I refused to satisfy him."
"Really?" Endavi sat back with a low whistle. "That's ... fascinating. I've never seen him go that far with it for a Padawan, Obi-Wan. I think you may just have your hands full tonight," he mused. "You'd better be ready."
"This can't be happening," Obi-Wan moaned miserably. "We'd better just --"
The lift doors slid open.
"Hello, Oafy-Wan!" Bruck stood on the windswept platform, waiting for a shuttle.
"Bruck," Obi-Wan murmured distantly, withdrawing into himself.
Chun glowered at him unpleasantly. "I'm surprised you feel a need to come ruin things for the rest of us when all you'd have to do is crawl into his bed some night and spread your --"
"Bruck, would you like for me to tell Yoda who put laundry soap in the ch'ala root last se'ennight?" Endavi crooned.
"I didn't have anything to do with that!"
"Really?" Endavi smiled nastily. "Isn't it an interesting coincidence that a quarter of the Temple got sick the very night Yoda reprimanded you for shirking your classroom duties and had you put on kitchen duty instead? And ch'ala is one of his favorites, too. Or didn't you know that?"
Bruck subsided sulkily as two more Padawans and a Knight emerged from the lift. Obi-Wan pulled his hood over his face quickly, stepping near the edge of the platform. Maybe if he threw himself over ... he could levitate before he reached the sublevels ... it would take most of the night for them to locate him, if he hid really well ....
"Oh, no you don't. You're not taking the easy way out." Endavi caught his wrist and tugged him back. "Get over here and put your mask on before somebody else clues in."
Obi-Wan did, but he didn't feel the same relaxation he had felt the previous night, knowing that Bruck's angry eyes were on him. Sure enough, the other boy came sidling up the moment Endavi's attention was distracted.
"Scared of your own Master?" Bruck whispered. "Why? He not want you without that mask? Won't he let you crawl into his bed, Oafy-Wan?"
Obi-Wan shivered faintly, turning his head. "Give up, Bruck. You can tell Master Qui-Gon what's going on, if you want. I won't even let Endavi turn you in to Master Yoda. Do whatever you want, and when it's over, do one more thing. Ask yourself how it feels to be you, Bruck Chun." Obi-Wan stepped away from him, trying not to shake with anger and despair.
Bruck didn't follow, and when Obi-Wan finally boarded the shuttle and looked around, he realized the other Padawan hadn't boarded. Maybe he was finally growing a sense of shame.
Obi-Wan swallowed. "Endavi, I need to stop and get a drink before we go into the club."
"Yeah, I think you deserve it." Endavi smiled a little. "He'll be back for more, but not tonight. You did a good job."
They stayed in the empty shuttle after it had dropped its load of passengers at the club, and Obi-Wan had a momentary flicker of panic as he wondered what he might have done if Qui-Gon had been aboard the same shuttle.
"Definitely a good strong drink." Obi-Wan nudged Endavi.
"Driver, divert to sublevel 72A, corner of Senate and Argan," Endavi directed. "My friend needs some liquid courage."
Obi-Wan peeled his mask off, laughing.
They got a quick drink that burned in Obi-Wan's stomach most satisfactorily, and caught a non-Jedi taxi back to the club. Obi-Wan reattached the mask, watching soberly as they threaded through the spires. He'd meant to be there when the club opened, but he was late again. Would Qui-Gon have obeyed his request? He couldn't help but feel eagerness growing in him as he and Endavi disembarked together.
They entered the club quickly, and this time Obi-Wan left his cloak with the attendant in the lobby.
"Twelve is reserved and waiting for you," she purred, smiling, and Obi-Wan paused, disconcerted, wondering how he'd been recognized so easily. Probably because he'd come with Endavi both times, or perhaps there was a datapad that notified the hostess when he entered his access code. He shrugged it off uneasily and followed his friend into the main room.
Qui-Gon wasn't visible anywhere, and Obi-Wan frowned a little, following Endavi to the bar and ordering another drink. It would help him relax, and he could certainly use it.
"I told you things were going to be interesting," Endavi murmured, laying a companionable arm over Obi-Wan's shoulder. "What do you suppose he might be up to?" He tilted his head. "I've never reserved a submissive before. I don't know the procedure."
Obi-Wan scanned the alcoves in the wall. All were open and empty at this hour. "Damned if I know," he muttered. "I should've stayed --"
The bartender coughed discreetly. "Your submissive is waiting for you in room twelve, sir. Here are the keys to his restraints. They also fit the door."
"Well, I guess that answers that," Endavi smirked.
Obi-Wan accepted the keys hesitantly. "Give me another one of these, and make it a double." He pushed his glass toward the bartender.
"Need some moral support?" Endavi flexed his shoulders. "Remember that you have a serious responsibility here, Obi-Wan. If you keep pussy-footing around it, you're going to lose control of him," he warned. "He'll soon get tired of playing easy. He'll decide to test you, so you'd better be ready. If you really want me to come hold your hand ...." he trailed off.
"No!" Obi-Wan took his drink, glaring at his friend. "I can handle this on my own." He pushed away from the bar, knocking the drink back quickly and leaving the glass.
He followed the bartender's directional gesture and finally paused in front of the door numbered twelve. Obi-Wan reached out slowly and laid his palm against the door, shivering a little. Qui-Gon lay behind this door. Waiting for him. Perhaps nude, perhaps bound. Perhaps longing to be taken. Perhaps ready to test him. Perhaps clothed and angry, fresh from a conversation with Bruck, with a lecture prepared for his apprentice. If that last were the case, failing to open the door now would only postpone the inevitable. And if the former were the case ....
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned the key.
The large room was warm, dimly lit with a flickering illumination that turned out to be a wood fire -- ridiculously expensive, a luxury on the city world of Coruscant. The decor was predominantly composed of a rich antique gold, from the furniture to the textured pattern on the papered walls. The floor was intricately inlaid in a herringbone pattern of lustrous dark wood. The furniture was made of more polished wood and was upholstered in crumpled golden velvet.
Scattered rugs were of soft, thick golden plush trimmed with burgundy, and overstuffed velvet burgundy pillows were lavished on the rich sofa and the few plush chairs. A set of three carpeted steps led up to a set of drawn burgundy velvet draperies on the wall nearest the fireplace. The effect was unimaginably sensual and luxuriant, the rich highlights of color mellow and deep in the soft firelight.
Obi-Wan felt his breath catch as he gazed at the drawn draperies. His inner directional orientation told him they were not on an exterior wall; they would not cover a window. He stepped forward, soft boots silent on the plush carpet, whispering on the polished wood, and mounted the stair.
He pulled aside one panel of the drape with trembling fingers, gazing into the recessed bed that lay beyond, feeling his stomach whirl with delicious dizziness.
Pulled taut over the golden coverlet, his back arched over burgundy pillows, Qui-Gon lay there, bound to twin clasps set in the head and foot of the long bed, his muscles stretched in long, luxuriant lines. The firelight shone dimly into the alcove, burnishing his skin with rich deep color, gleaming in the eyes that opened slowly and gazed up at Obi-Wan, filled with expectant, fiery want.
Obi-Wan let his hand close the gap between them, sliding his palm over the stretch of golden belly and lightly furred chest. "Such beauty," he whispered, almost choked with emotion, and bent to kiss one dark rose nipple. Qui-Gon arched, practically purring. Obi-Wan drew back his hand and then slapped the flat belly sharply.
"I didn't tell you to do any of this." He lifted his head. "I don't believe you learned your lesson last night. I think you are trying to control me, my Lion."
Qui-Gon flinched very slightly, surprise flickering in the deep blue eyes, and gently undulated the muscles of his belly under Obi-Wan's palm. "I'm glad you've come, young Master," he murmured, deep voice sultry with desire.
"Are you?" Obi-Wan trailed his fingertips slowly up to the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat, then over his biceps. "Shall unchain you? I wonder. I like seeing you at my mercy ... but I wonder if you truly are." Obi-Wan eased himself onto the mattress at Qui-Gon's side and leaned in slowly, as though to kiss. "Last night you offered to submit to my punishment, and I have decided to accept that offer on a more permanent basis." Oh Force, he couldn't believe himself, but it felt so good to see the look of shock and rising desire on Qui-Gon's face ... perhaps he could continue, after all.
He slid his other hand down Qui-Gon's belly, lightly skirting the rising erection, resting his palm instead on a quivering thigh. "I'm still not pleased that you finished me so quickly last night," Obi-Wan heard himself purr, though a corner of his mind was still appalled and astonished by his audacity. "And you take too much initiative in your own disposal here. I will have your submission, and that is more than mere obedience," Obi-Wan promised, suddenly remembering the detached judgement of Qui-Gon's eyes that had so inspired him to struggle to complete and perfect the akari that very afternoon. "You will defer to me. Your submission will be perfect and total." He gave the look of cool judging he remembered so well right back to Qui-Gon, drawing away with perfect Jedi serenity.
"I have not disobeyed you, young Master." The voice held the faintest challenge. The blue eyes burned up at him, soft lips half-parted.
"Master," Obi-Wan corrected sharply. "Just Master." He liked hearing the title Qui-Gon had willingly given him, but that slight mockery, that timely reminder of inferiority ... it had to be answered.
The resonant purr shivered straight through Obi-Wan, curling tight in his groin, and he leaned in and tasted Qui-Gon's lips slowly, sliding his arm behind Qui-Gon's neck and lifting his body in its bonds, stretching him tighter. His free hand made slow circles on Qui-Gon's belly, still avoiding the growing erection. Qui-Gon would have to please him, to be pleased. Oh, yes.
He drew back finally, breathing hard. "I think I will release you after all, so that you may serve me," he decided. "I want to see you move at my command. I want to feel your touch on my body, as I direct it. And if you are adequate," Obi-Wan met the hot challenge of those eyes, feeling his head swim dizzily with the flush of power and lust, "in other words, if you are absolutely perfect, then perhaps I will satisfy you before I go. And beware, I will judge you strictly." Obi-Wan let a wicked smile touch his lips. "Your first order is that your body is mine, my Lion. Do not touch yourself or give yourself pleasure unless I say you may."
He withdrew the key from his pocket, sliding it into the lock tab, turning and hearing the gentle click. Slowly, he pulled the manacles from Qui-Gon's wrists. "Sit up," he commanded, leaning to undo the similarly locked bindings at the man's ankles, keenly conscious of the power at his back, restrained only by will -- his will, and Qui-Gon's decision to obey it.
"Leave the bed and walk to the rug before the fire," Obi-Wan instructed softly, sliding his hips back against the far wall of the alcove and drawing his knees to his chin. "Then turn. Face me. Lift your hair."
Qui-Gon did so gracefully, strong muscles gleaming in the firelight, a golden aura silhouetting his body. Obi-Wan smiled a little, his groin tightening. "Flex your leg. Point the toe. More." It was like lightsaber katas, when Qui-Gon would adjust the angle of Obi-Wan's body or limbs to suit his ideal of perfection. And Qui-Gon was perfection embodied, his form a smooth flow of muscle and sinew, every motion exquisite. Obi-Wan slid forward, bracing his palms on the bed, his toes dangling. "Repeat, with more grace. Now faster." He could hardly repress a satisfied smile as he was obeyed.
"Now stop." Obi-Wan took his time as he removed his boots, aware that Qui-Gon was frozen in place, waiting for him. He set them aside and dropped to the floor, toes sinking into the lush rug that lay before the alcove. He stepped forward, moving near to Qui-Gon, standing so close that only a whisper of space separated their bodies. "I may be just a Padawan," Obi-Wan whispered, "but my Master has taught me a great deal about control."
He lifted his chin and touched his lips to Qui-Gon's for the space of a breath, then held there, close enough to feel the quickening breaths on his face. The dark eyes seemed impossibly wide and deep this close; still mild, but Obi-Wan could feel them weighing him, anticipating his next move. No. He could not allow himself to be second-guessed.
"Don't move." They stood so close that any movement was a caress, every word a kiss. "If you move, I will stop anything that brings you pleasure. If you move, you will be punished. Do you understand me?"
"Yes ... Master." Qui-Gon's deep, breathy voice caressed the words earnestly, and he did not stir.
Obi-Wan felt another flicker of fire shooting through him, plunging into his groin. He reached, tracing a nipple with his thumb. "That's better. I could almost believe you mean it this time," he chuckled. He stepped back slowly, letting his eyes caress Qui-Gon's taut form with a keenly pleasurable sense of ownership. "Don't move," he warned again, stepping away. He glanced around for a likely target and stepped over to a tall chest that lay on a pedestal across the room.
"What have we here, my Lion?" Obi-Wan murmured, running a single finger over the smooth wood, eyes never leaving Qui-Gon. "Your box of toys? You needn't answer." Obi-Wan chuckled low in his throat. "I'm going to open it anyway."
He lifted the lid of the chest and fairly purred, surveying the items that lay within. "You are well-prepared, aren't you? Very good." He selected one and turned. Qui-Gon's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the wide silk scarf, and Obi-Wan snapped it sharply between his wrists.
"What could I possibly do with this?" He held it aloft, teasing. "Will I tie it on you to mark you mine? Bind you with it? Or will I use it for something else?" He prowled closer, stalking Qui-Gon like a predator, circling him, keeping up a steady stream of teasing words.
"Perhaps this!" He snapped the cloth out quickly, and it cracked less than a finger's breadth from Qui-Gon's hip. He watched the quick inhalation with amusement. Not quite a flinch. "Or this." Obi-Wan stepped close behind Qui-Gon and with a twist of his wrist, the scarf curled around the larger man slowly and floated down to fall as gently as a feather over his erection, then slide back up softly at Obi-Wan's slow tug.
"I might find a more practical application," Obi-Wan speculated, sliding against Qui-Gon, letting the man feel the silk of the shirt molded tightly to his chest, and the heat of his body underneath it. He ended the slow glide of bodies by putting the length of a step between them, pulling the scarf tight so quickly it rolled; then he darted in, laying the tight roll against Qui-Gon's lips.
"Ah!" Obi-Wan's sharp exclamation stopped the flicker of motion in Qui-Gon's jaw, and the older man froze in the act of opening his mouth to accept the gag. "I said I might, my Lion," he admonished, eyes dancing with wicked amusement.
Qui-Gon gave no outward response, nothing to indicate even a hint of defiance. But when Obi-Wan looked into his eyes, searching for expression, for some sign, he saw a flash there that made his breath catch in his chest. Qui-Gon would comply, oh yes. Perfectly obedient to every wish Obi-Wan might articulate. He would even enjoy his complicity. But Obi-Wan did not really dominate him.
Momentarily shaken, Obi-Wan stepped quickly behind Qui-Gon to hide his discomfort. He let his gaze travel along the strong back and slim hips. So Qui-Gon thought a Padawan unworthy of his submission? Well, he would learn otherwise. Obi-Wan would have this man and have him completely. Not just his body, but his mind and heart in total submission, in this room if nowhere else. Total submission to him, and no one else.
If only he could be sure of how to do it.
He ran the length of silk between his hands again, watching Qui-Gon carefully, then glanced down at the scarf. A smile twitched at his lips as he considered, then decided. A single step brought him against Qui-Gon again, and he lifted himself up on his toes to bring the scarf over Qui-Gon's head.
He pressed close, letting his body rub with a teasing thrust against Qui-Gon's backside, and letting the older man see the scarf before he pulled it firmly against his eyes. Qui-Gon stiffened almost imperceptibly, and Obi-Wan smiled fully, confidence trickling into him as he tied the scarf tight. "You feel vulnerable when you cannot see, don't you? That's good. You should."
Swiftly Obi-Wan brought his palm up between Qui-Gon's thighs, his thumb stroking over the entrance to the larger man's body, pressing, threatening entry. "Don't forget I'm in control here," Obi-Wan gave the words a razor edge. "Do you think I can't read what's in your eyes?"
Every muscle in Qui-Gon tensed, harnessing and readying violent power. Obi-Wan froze, terrified that he'd pushed his luck too far, too fast.
"No." The word was muffled, escaping between clenched teeth.
"No, what?" Obi-Wan dropped his voice to a low growl, thumb pressing harder at the resistant opening. Qui-Gon was simply going to turn and kill him, he thought distantly, and then be shocked to find himself short one Padawan in the morning.
"No ... Master."
Oh, it was obvious the word hurt this time; the growl was still dangerous, reluctant, and ... aroused.
"That's better," Obi-Wan whispered, his own tone deadly, and plunged his thumb deeply into Qui-Gon's body without warning. He raked it ungently across the older man's prostate, feeling the muscles clench furiously around him.
Qui-Gon jerked with a muffled grunt, taking a stumbled half-step, and then caught himself, subsiding, returning quickly to the posture Obi-Wan had set him in. Obi-Wan felt a cold sweat begin to creep out on his body. He was riding the ragged edge of disaster here, and he knew it. But he couldn't relent, or all his effort and risk would be wasted.
"You'll be punished for that," he promised, allowing no alteration in his cold tones. Removing his thumb with a final rough twist, Obi-Wan returned to the chest, searching for inspiration. He paused over several objects, discarding each as inappropriate. Opening a smaller box, he frowned for a moment before realizing the purpose of the object within; he'd heard them discussed, but never seen one before, as they were prohibitively expensive for a Padawan's meager resources.
He ran his fingers over the organic metal, similar in substance to the mask he wore, and his eyes drifted briefly closed as he contemplated it.
He hefted the heavy egg-shaped object in his hand, and turned to survey Qui-Gon. Long silver-brown hair, slightly confined by the blindfold, cascaded over his shoulders, and the fire glowed on long, toned muscles. He maintained the position he'd been left in now, almost defiant in his obedience, the only movement his sweat-slicked chest as it rose and fell shallowly, and his taut shaft, which twitched and bobbed with his pulse. He was unbelievably beautiful, and Obi-Wan's heart swelled with love, lust, and overwhelming desire.
Obi-Wan stalked back to where Qui-Gon waited, standing before him a moment, savoring the aura of tense expectancy before trailing his free hand from Qui-Gon's chest to his hip, stepping behind him. Slowly, he stroked down the beautifully curved spine with the chill metal in his hand, watching the muscles around it twitch at the cold, which held its own and would not warm with the contact. Still, Qui-Gon held the position.
Letting a touch of the fire he felt coat the chill of his voice, Obi-Wan commanded him, "Bend over." The older man complied, though Obi-Wan could all but hear his heart speed up at putting himself in this vulnerable position while still unable to see. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed with pleasure, and he let Qui-Gon wait like that for several seconds, simply feeling his own mastery.
"Spread your legs." Qui-Gon did, and Obi-Wan toed the lean legs even further apart with his boots, his own pulse racing at the sight before him. "Now hold yourself open for me." The large hands -- hands he'd looked on for so long in lust -- reached back hesitantly and spread the rigid cheeks, and Obi-Wan spent a fleetingly hysterical instant in thanks for Jedi training in physical balance.
The fire played a dancing pattern of light and shadow over the curves of Qui-Gon's body as they were presented to him, and Obi-Wan spent a moment of pleasant awe in running his eyes over the unfamiliar landscape of the older man's most intimate area before running an appreciative hand over one globe. He stifled an instinctive compliment, however; this was meant to be a punishment, after all.
"Have you ever used one of these, my Lion? I understand the feeling is quite -- interesting." He ran the cold quicksilver down the exposed cleft, lightly brushing over the opening, watching as it contracted in reaction. He forced his voice to become icier. "This will stay in you until I am ready to remove it. Consider the punishment a light one."
Lifting the egg-shaped object to the clenching opening once more, he thumbed the control spot, and watched avidly as the shape flowed and shifted, oozing coldly inside Qui-Gon's body. The hands holding his cheeks apart clenched convulsively and his knees shook, but he stayed as he was, although the effort was apparent. It took the device some time to work its way in, molding itself to every surface as it went, but Obi-Wan could tell when it reached Qui-Gon's prostate, for his breath caught in a choked-off cry and then resumed much more rapidly.
Obi-Wan ran a finger teasingly over the point at which the metal met flesh, waiting for the device to finish its penetration, then molding the remaining outside portion flat against the crevice, soaking up the quivering of Qui-Gon's muscles with relish. He stepped back for a moment to survey his handiwork and briefly considered yanking the device out and taking the older man immediately. But if he didn't control his desires, this night would not last long. And if he didn't control himself, how could he ever control Qui-Gon?
He reached to pull his shirt off, then reconsidered. "Stand up." It took a moment for Qui-Gon to make his muscles obey, but at last he straightened gingerly, gasping as the changing angle forced the device to shift within him. Obi-Wan stepped away, sinking into the welcoming softness of the chair nearest the fire. "Come here."
Using his voice as a beacon, Qui-Gon approached, stopping a few feet from him, his head bowed slightly. Obi-Wan reached out and grabbed his hands, guiding them to the top button of the green silk shirt. "Undress me."
With the silk scarf blinding him, Qui-Gon felt his way through the execution of that command, and Obi-Wan found himself leaning into each caress of those palms. All too soon and not soon enough, he was down to bare skin, fully erect despite the fact that Qui-Gon had not yet touched his body there.
Qui-Gon carefully set aside his loose pants and shifted as if to stand, but the sight of him kneeling there enflamed Obi-Wan past endurance. Quickly, he shot a hand to one broad shoulder, holding him in place. "No. Stay where you are." Qui-Gon settled back on his heels, mimicking the posture that he'd shown the night before, his hands on his thighs and head bent, his legs wider apart tonight, accommodating the icy probe within him. Obi-Wan noted the change with a predatory eye, wondering at the quality of the sensations Qui-Gon must be enduring. Given the rigidity of the older man's body, they must be intense.
Almost savage with desire, he grabbed a handful of the silken hair, pulling Qui-Gon's head forward. "I want you to pleasure me with your mouth once more. And make it last, this time! If you displease me, you will suffer. The less willingly you submit, the more I'll torment you. I will not scruple to take what I want for the rest of the night and leave you unsatisfied again. Do you understand?"
The greying head attempted a nod, but his hard grip prevented it, and Qui-Gon's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes." The word was almost whispered. "Yes, Master." One broad hand groped for a moment, finding Obi-Wan's hardness and steadying it, and then the warm wet slickness of his tongue pressed lightly at the base. Obi-Wan groaned and let his lids slide shut as that liquid, living velvet stroked upward.
The slow, wet glide continued up his shaft, teasing the vein along the bottom and fluttering lightly at the tip, the barest of brushes licking away the moisture that had gathered there. Lips fastened briefly over the head as the tongue swirled beneath his foreskin, and Obi-Wan gave a mewling gasp, his hands clutching fiercely in Qui-Gon's hair.
The slow strokes of lip and tongue continued, varied by pauses and reversals, and he lay back and luxuriated in what was being done to him, arms spilling over the sides of the chair, cheek resting on the crushed burgundy velvet of a soft pillow. Heat built in him gradually, maddeningly, his skin pulsing with increasing sensitivity. No suction, no scrape of tooth, just the measured flow of wet pressure. And then it stopped. His testicles ached with the force of his desire, and he held his breath, waiting for the slow motion to resume, but it did not. His lashes fluttered open and he saw Qui-Gon's bent head, the feathers of silky silver-touched hair spreading over Obi-Wan's pelvis and thighs. Qui-Gon was breathing quietly, but was otherwise motionless, simply waiting.
The moment stretched, then stretched again. Obi-Wan's nails scraped impatiently at the upholstered chair; he longed to snatch Qui-Gon's head and force him to move again, but he sensed that this was a battle to be fought and won. He must do the unexpected.
A verbal order would make Qui-Gon start again, but would grant that Obi-Wan had partly lost control, if only for a moment. Perversely, the frustration Obi-Wan was feeling made him more determined than ever not to let that happen. Qui-Gon thought he could win by denying him release? Two could play at that game -- and Obi-Wan had the advantage.
Reaching out with the Force, he focused his intent on the device within Qui-Gon, determined to shake the man out of complacency. One touch to the controls set it in motion, luxuriant ripples swirling over its surface, caressing Qui-Gon from deep within. Qui-Gon gasped around the hardness in his mouth, but maintained his stillness. Another touch set the temperature fluctuating, heating quickly to a warmth just at the threshold of discomfort, causing the man to squirm and thrust, but his mouth remained stubbornly unmoving. Obi-Wan sent the temperature plummeting again, chilling the newly-warmed tissues, then set it on an erratic cycle between the two extremes.
Qui-Gon moaned, a bone-deep shudder wracking his body, and swallowed involuntarily, teeth tightening uncomfortably on Obi-Wan for a moment before he regained his control.
"Are you sure you want to play power-games with me?" Obi-Wan raised himself on his elbows. He reached and drew the corner of a convenient duvet over his chest and belly for concealment, pulling it up under his chin. He had to see Qui-Gon's eyes for this, to judge the levels of his resentment and desire.
"Keep in mind that I've only begun to show you what I'm capable of, my Lion." Obi-Wan reached with both hands, brushing the hair out of Qui-Gon's face, and tugged the blindfold up onto the plane of his forehead. He pushed Qui-Gon's chin up until the man looked at him sullenly, pupils dilated, the wide mouth still enclosing the crown of Obi-Wan's erection.
"Outside these walls, I am just a Padawan." Obi-Wan leveled his gaze at Qui-Gon. "But in this room, I am a Master. Your Master. I will tame you. And rest assured, I can." Obi-Wan paused, eyes unwavering.
"Think about that. Think about it very carefully." He locked his cool, confident gaze on Qui-Gon's half-glazed defiant one, channeling a trickle of the Force to untie the blindfold and pull it away entirely.
Qui-Gon met his gaze for a long moment of aching, wire-taut tension, and then surged down over him, taking him in to the root.
"Wait!" Obi-Wan snarled, catching the crown of his hair in his fists, yanking him upward. He held him there, retying the blindfold tightly with hands of Force. "Now, my Lion. You may please me. Slowly."
Qui-Gon's mouth sought and found his aching hardness, engulfing it gradually, working down and back up until he had taken the whole length in. This time he varied his technique, nipping and suckling lightly. Obi-Wan dropped his head back once more, keeping his hands entwined in the satiny hair as he reveled in the sensations. The beautiful mouth he so admired was hot and soft around him, while Qui-Gon's beard tickled and teased at his balls maddeningly. Those large, capable hands were braced in the armchair to either side of Obi-Wan's hips, and he could feel them twitching and clenching, matching the erratic hitches in Qui-Gon's breathing, no doubt inspired by the device still working its magic within him.
For some time, Obi-Wan was content to remain like that, soaking up the experience and approaching his climax as leisurely as possible. Qui-Gon made no further move to defy him, though he continued to writhe and thrust under the stimulus of the quicksilver device, craving stimulation for his increasingly rigid length.
Obi-Wan disentangled one hand from the hair clinging to it, and grabbed one of Qui-Gon's, guiding it down to rub and press at his balls, rolling them in the palm and squeezing delicately. Obi-Wan shuddered and groaned with the added stimulation, and slitting his eyes, looked down on the incredibly erotic sight of Qui-Gon Jinn, naked and undulating, servicing him avidly.
That view brought him to the point of no return, and he held the greying head in place as he thrust up rapidly, shoving his way repeatedly deep beyond the mouth that surrounded him. Caught off-guard, Qui-Gon attempted to jerk back; Obi-Wan could feel the gag reflex massaging the length of him, and he pushed forward one last time, freezing as he came, shooting his seed down the other man's throat.
Breathing heavily, he relaxed his grip just enough for comfort, allowing Qui-Gon to pull back slightly while keeping his fading length in that warm, liquid mouth. "Lick me clean. And don't miss any." Satisfied by his orgasm, Obi-Wan realized his voice was not as harsh as it should have been, but was momentarily too enervated to care. He ran his hands through the long hair lovingly, waiting for his breath and pulse to calm, enjoying the now-soothing attentions of that velvet tongue.
Soon, though, he became aware of the almost angry tension pouring off of Qui-Gon; if he failed to step in quickly and reassert authority, he would lose it. Pushing the sweat-sheened chest until Qui-Gon was once more kneeling back, Obi-Wan stood and stretched, using this brief respite to decide upon a further course of action. A memory sparked, and he spoke.
"You're very good at that, my Lion. You've got quite a talented mouth." He leaned down to lick a trickle of his own semen from Qui-Gon's lips, retreating after no more than a tease. "And such lovely hands, as well. Very nice. I'll bet you use them on yourself quite often. Stroking that fine, big cock of yours." He ran one finger lightly down the trembling length, bringing out a choked-off whimper as Qui-Gon's hands clenched and unclenched on his thighs. "I think I'd like to see that." He pushed roughly at the bowed shoulders. "Lie back. All the way." He waited until his order had been obeyed. "Now. You may begin to touch yourself."
The words were barely out of his mouth before Qui-Gon's hands had flown to his aching erection, pulling and rubbing frantically. Obi-Wan frowned, and he barked out a sharp command. "Stop! Begin again. Not so quickly. Slower. Slower. Yes." With a sound near a sob, Qui-Gon obeyed, arm muscles trembling with the effort of control.
Obi-Wan chuckled wickedly. "Eager, my Lion?" He stalked around the supine man, greedily surveying him from every side, carefully staying close enough for his presence to be felt without the benefit of sight, letting his legs and feet brush lightly against Qui-Gon every few steps.
"Does it feel good?" He stood at Qui-Gon's feet, watching the slow, steady glide of his hands as they pumped the rampant erection, all but oblivious to the one who had mastered him. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed.
"That was not a rhetorical question! I asked you, does it feel good, my Lion?"
The stubborn lips parted slightly, teeth clenched as a hiss escaped them. "Yesss ...."
"Yes, what?" His voice snapped like a whip. "Say it properly, or you can stop right now."
Qui-Gon gasped. "Yes ... Yes, master!"
Obi-Wan relaxed once more, control re-established. "Good. That's better. Maybe I should give you something in return. Would you like to move faster, my Lion? Would that feel better?"
"Yes, master!" Obi-Wan grinned at the promptness of that response, and nodded, though he knew he could not be seen.
"You may speed up, then. Just a little!" he warned. "There. Keep that speed." He wandered around Qui-Gon once again, watching him in satisfaction. "Speed is important. Eventually, you know, I will take you. What do you think, my Lion? I am open to suggestions. Shall I take you quickly, or slowly? Which would you prefer?"
To another, the signs would have been invisible, but Obi-Wan could tell that Qui-Gon grew more nervous, and he did not answer immediately. Obi-Wan waited, and after a moment, used the Force to key the anal device again, causing it to expand slightly within him. Qui-Gon's head flew back and his legs fell open as he cried out in shock and momentary half-pain.
Obi-Wan's voice, in contrast, was exceedingly mild. "I asked you a question, my Lion."
"I ... ah! ... Fast! Quickly, my master!"
Obi-Wan started pleasantly at the form of address, but kept that pleasure from his voice. "You will answer as soon as I ask you from now on; I will accept no more disobedience from you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, master." He groaned again, rocking against the dual pleasure of his moving hands and the new pressure within him.
"Good. Mmm. I could watch you like this all night, my Lion. You're very beautiful." He caressed one taut thigh with his foot, and Qui-Gon's legs fell further apart in reaction. His toes brushed the quivering balls, and Qui-Gon's hands sped up a fraction unconsciously.
Obi-Wan immediately kicked both hands away from Qui-Gon's straining erection, his voice low and dangerous. "Did I give you permission to speed up? Did I?"
Qui-Gon's hands fisted at his sides, and his face flushed with frustration and anger. "No. Master."
"No, I didn't," Obi-Wan affirmed. "If you wish to, you will ask me first. Is that understood? I did not think you would be such a slow study!"
"Yes, master." His hands twitched abortively towards himself, then he stopped, licking his lips uncertainly.
"Is there something you wish, my Lion?" Obi-Wan all but purred.
"I ... do you wish me to continue, my master?"
"Continue with what, my Lion? What is it you want?"
Qui-Gon hesitated, and the words when they came were all but spit out. "I want to touch myself. To bring myself pleasure. Please, master."
Obi-Wan ignored the defiant tone; he would change it soon enough. "Continue. Slowly."
Qui-Gon resumed stroking himself, holding with some effort to the pace that he was ordered. Obi-Wan admired the play of firelight on his muscles for a short time, then wandered over to the chest once more. Reaching inside, he withdrew one slender feather as long as his arm.
Returning to the man at his feet, Obi-Wan gently brushed his forehead with the delicate plume, tracing down one cheekbone to rest briefly against the parted lips. He pulled back, and Qui-Gon's head briefly followed, searching for the contact. Obi-Wan smiled and brushed once more at his lips before continuing over his chin and down the long neck, every tendon stretched tight.
Qui-Gon's adam's apple bobbed as it was teased at in turn, and Obi-Wan continued down the golden chest, observing carefully and making mental note of those places that provoked the most reaction, returning to them time and again or refusing to, making Qui-Gon writhe to meet his tormentor, playing with the finely-honed body as with a well-tuned instrument.
Despite his need, though, Qui-Gon now seemed determined to ask nothing more from him, and Obi-Wan wondered just how long he could hold out. He ran the feather's spines around one nipple, toying with the rock-hard nub until Qui-Gon was pushing up into the stimulation consistently, then abandoned it for the other. When both peaks were hard, he left them, tickling at Qui-Gon's navel and along his sides, making him jump and gasp, aborted whimpers leaking out from his tightly held silence.
Stepping closer, Obi-Wan curled the plume abruptly around Qui-Gon's testicles, and the long legs thrust as far apart as they could, heels digging in in an effort to increase the pressure. Mercilessly, Obi-Wan varied the placement and motion of the feather, waiting.
At last, Qui-Gon cried out pleadingly. "Faster! Let me go faster; please, Master!"
One last tickle of the long barbs and Obi-Wan acceded. "You may speed up. Double that speed, but no faster."
Qui-Gon's moan seemed equal parts gratitude and frustration; this new speed was easier to maintain, but was still not enough that it would bring him off just yet, Obi-Wan judged. He watched avidly the movement of flesh on flesh as Qui-Gon's talented hands squeezed and pulled on his length, slipping the foreskin over the end and back down, rubbing and pressing at his balls, muscles tightening in the attempt to increase the pleasure he was feeling. And all this is mine, he thought possessively. This strength, this sensuality; mine to command. It was an intoxicating thought, and he reached down to rub at his own renewing erection.
"Mine," he voiced his thought out loud. "You are mine, aren't you, my Lion. Your body is mine, your pleasure mine; mine to do with as I wish. Isn't that so?"
"Yes ... yes, master," came the moaned answer. As if the response freed his voice, the words spilled out. "Master, let me move faster, please."
"Why?" Obi-Wan asked mildly, a hint of devilment added to his feelings of mastery. "Why should I let you?"
A brief hysterical sound that could have been laughter answered him. "I need to! I want to come--"
Obi-Wan scowled at him. "You have no right to what you want, but what I am willing to grant you! I thought we had dealt with this insolence. Or do you 'need' yet another lesson?" With a wave of his hand, he changed the mode on the device within Qui-Gon, and the man screamed and writhed as a series of hard pulses vibrated against his prostate. He groaned as they stopped, then nearly leapt up as they started again in an irregular sequence.
Obi-Wan waited for a pause in the pulses, and asked coldly, "Who am I, my Lion?"
"You --" He broke off suddenly as the vibrations started up again, then one word was torn from his throat. "Master! Master --" His hands left his pulsing erection and flew to his balls, squeezing and pulling at them, pressing behind them as if to constrain the device. "Ah! Master, please...."
"Would you like to beg for something, my Lion?" He made his voice soothing and deceptively gentle, determined this time to get the reaction he wanted.
"I need.... Please, master, let me come!" Qui-Gon was writhing desperately, at the mercy of the inner stimulus, maddened by it, driven past rational thought by the unbearable tension in his body. "I want to come, please, master, please!"
Another wave of Obi-Wan's hand, and the device was stilled. "Stop!" This time, however, Qui-Gon was too far gone to register his words, and continued as he had been.
Obi-Wan growled angrily, and with a wave of the Force, pinned Qui-Gon flat to the floor, completely still. He strode over to stand by his head, then knelt down to speak directly into the ear of the man, whose breathing and pulse-rate showed just how close he had been to taking his release without permission. That would not do. "When I give you an order, you will obey me. Or you will suffer the consequences."
"These consequences." Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's hair and dragged him up, walking him bent over, stumbling to the bed. Pushing him down on his back, he locked the dazed man's hands back where they'd been when he'd first seen him. Stepping back to the foot of the bed, he shackled his ankles to opposite corners, stretching him wide. Turning back to the chest, he removed one last restraint, keying the neural inhibitor to just the setting that he wanted. Moving lightly to avoid touching Qui-Gon's shaft directly, he snapped the metal ring around the base, eliciting a startled jump and gasp. He stood back and ran an appreciative eye over the straining muscles and sex-greedy movements, but refused to touch him.
Instead, he fetched the duvet from the chair he'd used earlier, and wrapped it around himself, leaving his cock free. Carefully, he climbed onto the mattress, settling himself in the vee of Qui-Gon's legs facing him, and used a tendril of the Force to whip away the blindfold. The stormy blue eyes flickered wildly, seeming to have trouble focusing on him. "Look at me, my Lion." His own eyes burned into Qui-Gon's. "You will watch me. You will not close your eyes or look away from me." He did not ask for acknowledgement this time, trusting that his order would be obeyed. It was.
Smiling in satisfaction, Obi-Wan reached for his own erection, greedily soaking up every reaction the other man showed. Slowly he stroked himself, groaning in pleasure, squeezing and pulling and rubbing his length, cradling his balls in the other hand. Qui-Gon's eyes widened in pained disbelief, and fixated on what Obi-Wan was doing to himself; Obi-Wan doubted he could look away now if he tried.
The long legs to either side of him jerked and pulled as Qui-Gon strained, desperately craving the release which still was denied him. Obi-Wan paid close attention to those moves that brought the greatest reaction, and concentrated on those, speeding up slowly, crying out and moaning, adding as much noise to the stimulation as he could. Qui-Gon's erection now was angry red, moisture leaking from it copiously, his testicles pulled up tightly against the shaft. Obi-Wan had stopped him just in time. Were it not for the inhibitor, there was little doubt he'd have come already, despite the lack of stimulation; but the ring allowed only a limited number of neural impulses through. He had no intention of letting this end just yet.
Obi-Wan chuckled. "Still eager, my Lion? You would like this, wouldn't you? Next time, perhaps you will heed my instructions. Ohh, this does feel good. It really is a shame you're missing out on it, isn't it? A shame you haven't got nice, strong hands wrapped around you, moving up and down, pleasuring you this way ...."
Qui-Gon moaned loudly and writhed against his bonds, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's hands, which moved ever more rapidly. Feeling himself near to completion, Obi-Wan moved forward and increased the stimulation, leaning back as he came, spurting his seed over Qui-Gon's aching penis and testicles, dripping the last of it onto the wide-spread thighs.
Chest heaving, he sat back on his heels for a time, bringing his pulse back to a more normal rate. Lying beneath him, Qui-Gon whimpered, his breath catching in an occasional sob, his eyes still wide open, though Obi-Wan doubted he saw much anymore.
Nevertheless, he reached out and replaced the blindfold, tossing away the concealing duvet. Then, at long last, Obi-Wan gave in to the impulse to touch Qui-Gon as he had long wanted to, not just for the last two evenings, but long before he'd thought it possible. He ran soothing hands down the older man's flanks and over his belly, circling and caressing. Lovingly, he carded his fingers through the lush hair on each leg, massaging the straining muscles, encouraging them to relax. He climbed over to lie next to the bound man, paying thorough attention to each arm, rubbing and pressing along their length, indulging his need to touch this man in love at the same time he soothed him down from the unfulfilled peak of passion.
Reaching the bound hands, he pressed each palm, spreading the clenched fingers and massaging outwards along each. Then he carefully closed his mouth on each one in turn, sucking gently and teasing under the nails with his tongue. He followed in reverse the path his hands had taken, kissing, licking, and sucking along his arms, back down his chest, and up each leg in turn, cleaning his semen from where it lay on Qui-Gon's thighs, lovingly covering each bit of flesh save one.
It was so tempting, to love him like this. Simply rip off the blindfold, undo the bindings, and have Qui-Gon's unadulterated passion directed at him. But, Obi-Wan reminded himself almost bitterly, that was not what Qui-Gon wanted. Had he, then all he would have needed to do was ask. No, he preferred to come here, to the club; to let himself be dominated and humiliated in the evenings by a stranger, and forget it in the morning. And if that was what he wanted ... it was what he would have.
Qui-Gon lay still now, panting heavily, still close to release after his long denial, but no longer painfully so. Bowing his head, Obi-Wan flicked his tongue out, catching the drop of Qui-Gon's own moisture where it gathered at the head of his erection. He was greeted by a gratifying gasp, and brought his mouth lower, to clean his own seed from where it had fallen. He ran his tongue up the juncture of hip and thigh slowly, then took one testicle into his mouth, sucking it gently. Another gasp, close to a whimper, and he sucked more strongly, Qui-Gon bucking in reaction, trying to receive more stimulation.
Obi-Wan released the sphere and repeated his actions on the other before bypassing the still-rampant penis to clean the curling hairs above it. Pausing, he relished the sight before him, wishing for another moment that this could simply be between the two of them, back in their own quarters. Then he dove upon Qui-Gon's erection at last, taking it in as deeply as he was able, working it with every bit of skill he'd longed to lavish on it for so long. Qui-Gon moaned and thrashed beneath him, incoherent in his need.
He sucked and licked for a long time, conscious of the inhibitor ring below his chin, knowing that Qui-Gon could not come and taking advantage of that to try every skill he knew to drive the man insane with need for yet another time this evening. He'd managed to take the submission he required, but it hadn't been given gracefully; he would have to make good his threats.
Drawing back with a final few swipes of his tongue along the impressive length, Obi-Wan regretfully went back to gather his clothes -- he'd need as much of a head-start after this as he could get to try to get a cab before Qui-Gon could, and didn't want to waste his time getting dressed. Pulling on the tunic, pants, and boots, he walked back over to where Qui-Gon lay stretched out on the bed, and caressed his chest once more, fondling one hard nipple, then reaching up to undo the blindfold once more, casting the scarf to the floor and focusing on those so-blue eyes. He steeled himself and his voice before speaking.
"I have enjoyed this night, my Lion. You are lovely, and you submit well, when forced. But I fear your obedience yet leaves somewhat to be desired." Reaching down, Obi-Wan slid a gentle finger beneath his testicles, pressing into a pressure-point that would direct Qui-Gon's internal energies away from sex.
"You refused to continue when you were pleasuring me with your mouth." Reaching to Qui-Gon's foot, he found the next point and pressed strongly. "You tried to draw away when I held you." The next point at the join of neck and body; already Qui-Gon's erection was flagging, though his eyes still pleaded. "You sped up when I did not tell you to." One last strong push, at the base of the spine, using the Force to help defuse the last of the energy. "You failed to stop when I ordered you to."
Obi-Wan's hand left the last point, and Qui-Gon's erection had disappeared. With the energy-dispersal pattern he'd used, it was unlikely Qui-Gon would be able to satisfy himself quickly enough before they were due back at the Temple. A part of Obi-Wan's mind couldn't believe that he would get away with this, but no anger was yet visible in the eyes that looked on him with shocked disbelief, only now realizing that he would get no release again this evening.
Threading his hands through the luxuriant hair, Obi-Wan savaged Qui-Gon's mouth with one last kiss, savoring the bewildered heat under him, then stood to go. "Good night, my Lion." As quickly as he could with dignity, he turned and let himself out.
The hall was dim, and the main room empty -- even Endavi had given him up, it seemed. Obi-Wan trotted through the main entry to wait for a shuttle-cab, praying that one was waiting. It wasn't. He pushed the call button and bounced on his heels, agonized by the wait. He had to beat Qui-Gon back to the Temple, had to be in his bed giving a very passable imitation of deep sleep by the time his Master arrived at their rooms.
Two cabs passed, full of early morning commuters, leaving Obi-Wan flatfooted, and then he heard footsteps behind him, the quiet fall of boots. Obi-Wan trembled, nervous anguish assaulting him.
Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn stepped to his side, the picture of aloof dignity. Every hair was in place, every line and fold of his robes perfectly aligned and draped, arms folded serenely. Except for a faint aura of tension, eloquent to Obi-Wan of sexual frustration, he might have been leaving the main Academy Library lecture hall, fresh from one of Yoda's seminars on the dogmatic heresies of early Jedi founders.
Obi-Wan stepped aside with polite deference, glad to put another few inches between himself and the grave, graceful majesty at his side. Qui-Gon's dignity was absolute.
Obi-Wan turned his face forward as a shuttle-cab sailed in to meet them, and let Qui-Gon board it, taking a seat of his own three paces down and on the opposite side of the shuttle from the Jedi Master. The soft buzz of conversation surrounded them, mercifully making speech unnecessary. Obi-Wan's mind raced.
If he could catch a lift before Qui-Gon, he might make it up to their level a maximum of thirty seconds before his Master. But that wasn't nearly enough. Qui-Gon's legs were longer, and Obi-Wan could hardly sprint to build his lead-time, it would draw too much attention. No, he was just going to have to make up an excuse, one that would explain his absence from his bed at an hour he had frequently and loudly claimed was obscenely inappropriate for waking.
At the Temple stop, he was caught behind the shuffle of a pair exchanging seats, and when he made it out, Qui-Gon was already at the lifts, holding the door for him. Obi-Wan ducked hesitantly beneath the older man's arm, accepting the courtesy, and pressed the button for Endavi's level, the level for older Padawans who chose not to live with their Masters. The slow rise of the lift was almost intolerable, and when the door opened, Obi-Wan had to restrain himself from darting out with unseemly haste -- he still had not fully resumed his own identity, and any display of nerves would count against him, he was sure of that.
The door slid shut behind him, and Obi-Wan fairly leaped around the nearest corner. He flattened himself against the wall, snatching off the silver mask, fairly gasping for breath. He had to get with Endavi immediately, cobble up a story. Qui-Gon would be on that commlink in minutes, demanding to know where he was.
Obi-Wan lengthened his strides as much as he dared, and punched his code for Endavi's door.
The room was empty and silent. He brought up the lights, and a datapad lying on the pillow of the neatly made bed caught his attention. He dove for it.
"Thought you might need somebody to cover for you. Sit tight till I come for you. He doesn't check in on you in the mornings, does he? I hope not. You never mentioned it. Why didn't you mention it? I'll get you for this. Endavi."
Obi-Wan sank onto the bed, weariness overwhelming him. Force. Endavi had gone to play possum in Obi-Wan's bed. And yes, sometimes Qui-Gon did come in to wake Obi-Wan. Gods only grant that he wouldn't this morning. If he did, Endavi would probably feed him some cock-and-bull story about being Obi-Wan's lover, and Obi-Wan never showing up last night. That would be just about as transparent as a story could get. Not to mention that Qui-Gon would probably be in a justifiably foul temper.
Obi-Wan quickly skinned out of the borrowed clothes and helped himself to a set of Endavi's Padawan tunics, hoping that Qui-Gon wouldn't notice his trousers weren't perfectly fresh. He showered and dressed swiftly, setting the borrowed green silk clothes and his own evening outfit from the night before in the basket to be laundered. Force, by the time this was over he was going to owe Endavi his soul. Examining his face in the mirror, he wrinkled his nose at the dark hollows under his eyes. Commlink in his lap, he sat down to meditate them away.
He was brought back to himself some time later by Endavi's entrance.
"Give me a heart attack. I don't know how you put up with him. Don't know what you see in him. What did you do to him, anyway? You're going to owe me about six months of sex for this, Obi-Wan."
"What happened?" Obi-Wan's eyes were wide.
"Well, I was lying there burrowed all the way under your covers, trying to catch some sleep on that lumpy mattress of yours, with that flat rock of a pillow, when I heard him come in," Endavi stretched the story with great glee. "And do you know what he did? He came storming straight into your room. You heard me. Straight in, never even hesitated. Came walking right in and I knew I was dead. And then he slowed down and got quiet. He came walking right up to the edge of the bed. I could feel him staring at me so hard I was about to roll over and confess." Endavi flopped dramatically onto his own bed. "And ...."
"And ...?" Obi-Wan unfolded his legs, hoisting himself to the side of Endavi's bed.
"And he just stood there. For a long time. Staring at me. I could feel the Force gathering in him, and I just knew he'd sensed I wasn't you. It started to reach out to me ... but then he stopped, and then he turned and slid out, silent as a ghost." Endavi paused, shaking his head, his arm thrown over his eyes. "The next word I hear is half an hour later. He comes out through the common room right to your door and snaps at me: "'I expect to see you in the practice arena after breakfast, Padawan.' I tell you, I waited five minutes for him to get clear and then I was out of there like a ship with a hopped-up hyperdrive."
Obi-Wan stared at him, eyes round. "That was a close one," he agreed. He paused for a long moment, appreciating the narrowness of the escape, and what Endavi had risked in service to their charade. At last he remembered himself with a start. "Well, I'd better get my ass down to the practice arena, or there's going to be hell to pay. I think he's going to need to work out on me in a big way."
"Oh?" Endavi opened one interested grey eye. "What did you do to him?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and did not have the faintest idea where to begin. "I ... I'll have to tell you later. But if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of his way. I don't think anybody in this Temple who wears a braid is safe."
"You going to be all right?"
"Sure." Obi-Wan's face split in a wicked grin. "Thanks to you, he thinks I was tucked up in my bed all night. I may be the only Padawan in the Temple he's not ready to kill."
Two hours later, Obi-Wan wasn't so sure. Sifting through grains of sand was easier with Force than with fingers, but seven times? Each time Qui-Gon had spent a moment meditating and then assigned him to find the single grain he had selected from all the billions that lay in the wide, deep basin. It required Obi-Wan to touch each one individually with his mind until he found the faint flicker of marking provided by his Master.
This most recent time, he'd begun to suspect Qui-Gon hadn't marked one at all. Sweat beaded on his face and dampened his hair as he struggled to complete the task before Qui-Gon could become more impatient than he already was, but it was another hour before he had gone through the entire bowl.
"My Master, there is none." Obi-Wan opened his eyes blearily, feeling as though half the sand in the bowl had worked itself under his eyelids. He hadn't had enough time to meditate and refresh his weariness, that was certain. He hoped nervously that he was right; if he'd missed that tiny marking in a moment of inattention ....
Qui-Gon's eyes bored into him for a long minute. "Good." The Master praised him flatly. He rose to his feet in a rustle of robes. "Share noonmeal with me."
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan rose with quick obedience, grimacing against the stiffness in his body. As they made their way to the dining hall, he noticed that the other Padawans were largely staying out of their way, at least the male ones -- apparently Endavi had spread the word that Qui-Gon wasn't to be trifled with today.
Obi-Wan swallowed a yawn, feeling his jaw crack with the effort. "Let me get your tray, Master," he offered, slipping in front of Qui-Gon as they entered the hall.
"That won't be necessary." Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's shoulder with a firm hand. "You sit, and I'll bring yours."
Obi-Wan nodded obediently, half-bowing, and made his way to a table, ignoring Endavi's curious eyes. Qui-Gon couldn't possibly suspect, or he wouldn't be playing fetch-and-carry. Would he? Obi-Wan scanned the hall desperately, with a critical eye, searching clinically for hair-color, eye-color, and build. Two ... three ... four other Padawans that closely matched his own description, and maybe a dozen more that he could think of off-hand who weren't here.
He forced himself to relax, wishing that Endavi had warned him beforehand so he could have worn colored lenses on his eyes, or dyed his hair. Or something.
A tray was slid before him, with a double portion of salad and no dessert. Obi-Wan resisted the impulse to make a wry face. Qui-Gon's generosity was double-edged, it seemed. Nevertheless, he began to eat with good grace, casting about for a topic of conversation.
"Have you heard any information on when we'll be sent out again from the Temple?"
It was apparently a bad question. Qui-Gon's face went sour before it regained its usual calm. "Not yet." The Jedi Master took a bite of his salad. "Mace says we need leave. His exact words were 'a nice long vacation, so you can unwind.'" Qui-Gon stabbed his salad greens a little sharply with his fork.
Obi-Wan swallowed a smirk, understanding all too well what Master Windu was bound to be thinking. "That will be a welcome change," he smiled. "I've been enjoying our time at the Temple. Better training facilities, and I can take classes. Plus I miss my own bed when we're in the field." He stretched a little, keenly aware of Qui-Gon's eyes measuring him.
"Don't forget what being a Jedi is all about, Padawan." Qui-Gon admonished him. "We live to serve others, not ourselves."
Obi-Wan nodded, taking another forkful of greens. "I won't, my Master. I merely meant that it's nice having some quiet time at home for a change."
"I suppose it is, at that." Qui-Gon's words were calm and thoughtful, but his posture told another story, the tension in him cranking up a notch.
Obi-Wan lifted smiling eyes to his Master, amazed at his own audacity. "Perhaps you find fieldwork more restful, though. You've certainly been burning the candle at both ends since you returned. When did you get in this morning?"
Qui-Gon stilled, casting a cautious glance at his Padawan. "Late." He speared more salad and chewed it. "You were long abed."
Obi-Wan raised a brow. "That was late indeed," he teased. Force. I must be mad. But somehow, he knew that his tone of light teasing was exactly what was needed. His ease was convincing Qui-Gon, not incriminating himself at all.
Qui-Gon didn't quite look him in the eye. "Did you win back any of your losings at sabacc?"
"No." Obi-Wan laughed softly. "Do I ever?"
Qui-Gon lifted an elegant brow and fell silent for the rest of the meal.
Finishing, he dismissed Obi-Wan for the afternoon and excused himself. Obi-Wan instantly touched eyes with Endavi, across the room, and rose to take his own tray to the disposer, sauntering out.
They met at Endavi's room ten minutes later, and Obi-Wan embarked on an edited version of his tale.
After considerable debate about the upcoming evening, Endavi convinced Obi-Wan to wear a pair of black shiny Toreador pants and a tight-fitting sleeveless T-shirt that showed off muscle and sinew. Obi-Wan was in the outfit, letting Endavi inspect him critically to see if any distinguishing marks showed, when the door chimed.
Varil Nekarne burst through it when Endavi answered the chime, melodramatically glaring at Obi-Wan. "Your Master," he said accusingly, "is crazy. Did you know that?"
Endavi snickered. "I told you to stay out of his way, Varil. What did you do?"
"I was just walking down the hall!" Varil shook his head with indignant frustration. "Minding my own business, and he comes up and stops me. He starts grilling me on logical principles -- I had him for that class last year -- all the while staring at me like I'm some kind of infectious fungus that he's got more than half a mind to exterminate!" He huffed, annoyed. "Then he saw Rikk Avrian and took off after him without so much as a fare-thee-well!"
Obi-Wan's eyes riveted to Varil's red-gold hair. Varil, whose Padawan braid, falling over his slender but muscular shoulder, was almost exactly the length of Obi-Wan's own. Varil, whose five feet ten inches were balanced on strong but lean legs and a narrow waist with firm lean hips and compact muscles. Varil, whose eyes were a blazing, irritated crystal blue. Varil, who walked with a confident, almost cocky swagger that spoke of loose-limbed fighting excellence.
If Obi-Wan Kenobi had a twin in the Academy, Varil was him. Except for the face. Varil's features were narrower, almost foxy, his jaw longer and lacking the cleft in Obi-Wan's chin. And Rikk ... Rikk was blond too, a paler shade than Obi-Wan, and a little shorter, a little wider through the shoulders.
Obi-Wan darted a nervous look at Endavi, who returned it, clearly thinking the same thing.
"Oh, no. I won't hear another word of it." Endavi backhanded Obi-Wan's bare chest sternly but lightly, dismissing his protest. "Varil, it's your own fault. I told you he was on a tear today. Why do you think Obi-Wan's hiding out here, huh? When are you gonna learn to listen to me?" Endavi threw a companionable arm over Varil's shoulders. "I think you're just having a bad day. And I know the best way on Coruscant to get over one of those. You game?"
"Endavi!" Obi-Wan yelped.
"You hush." Endavi gave him a wicked grin. "How about a night at the Club? We'll all get wasted and watch the Masters get it on. How much more fun can a guy have? Hell, get Rikk, too. And Joir, and ...." Endavi was off, and Obi-Wan covered his eyes with a groan.
It would have been impossible to gather all the blond human Padawans in the Jedi Temple, but Endavi made a creditable effort, including both males and females in the fun. A creditable number of non-blond Padawans showed up on the platform too, but fair hair and blue eyes were definitely the trendy style for the evening.
A few Knights and Masters were there as well, some looking puzzled, others knowing, others oblivious. Obi-Wan, cowled and masked at Endavi's insistence, stood sullenly amidst the knot of people. Endavi had dispatched Varil to the Club before opening hours and Varil had fetched back as many masks as they had on hand, and Endavi was moving through the crowd, distributing them to whoever he thought most resembled Obi-Wan, coaxing and teasing them into putting on the silvery faces. It didn't take much to get most of them into the masks -- especially the young men who most resembled Obi-Wan, more than one of whom had been treated to experiences similar to Varil's during the course of the afternoon.
Obi-Wan shuddered inwardly. One young man nearby was wearing the brown leather trousers and drawstring shirt Obi-Wan had worn the first evening at the club; another one very similar to Obi-Wan wore the same outfit Obi-Wan had worn the previous evening, fresh back from the laundry. Both had silver masks. And Varil ... Varil wore clothing taken from Obi-Wan's own closet, a soft shiny blue shirt and tan leggings with low boots -- an outfit that Obi-Wan frequently wore and Qui-Gon had to be at least moderately familiar with. And another damned silver mask. Qui-Gon had even been there when Obi-Wan had come in to get his clothing, politely excusing himself for the evening, feeling Qui-Gon's eyes boring into his back as he left.
Endavi was full of himself when he returned to Obi-Wan's side. "I almost couldn't pick you out myself," he chuckled. "Did you make the comm call?"
"I did, as I shouldn't!" Obi-Wan snapped. "Number twelve has been required to dance for the company by his reserved Master."
"That's perfect." Endavi urged Obi-Wan onto the shuttle gleefully.
They arrived about midway through the influx of patrons, and Obi-Wan seated himself across the room from Endavi, as he'd been ordered.
The lights lowered slightly, and Obi-Wan fidgeted as the remaining patrons hurried to their seats, and the curtain parted, revealing Qui-Gon. He stood proud, perfectly bare, exquisitely sensual, hair flowing down his shining back, motion caught in one poised instant, ready to break free.
A single gasp was audible above all others from the audience, and Obi-Wan's eyes automatically sought it. Varil, resplendent in Obi-Wan's own clothing, the very image of a mortified Padawan. Obi-Wan felt his fists clench as Varil quickly turned to his companion -- his own friend Acen, Obi-Wan noted with growing inevitability, this convenient scene had Endavi's thumbprints all over it -- exchanged a hasty word, and the two young men slipped out of the audience almost apologetically and moved away to a screened private cubicle. The hush grew, if anything, and Obi-Wan's gaze darted to Qui-Gon. The man's eyes were narrowed in consideration, following Varil, then sweeping the audience ferally.
Endavi. Obi-Wan found his friend's smirk waiting for him across the crowd. Obi-Wan was off the hook, but good. Heaving a sigh that combined relief and regret, Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the performance.
Qui-Gon ran through two katas at top speed, fluid grace and feline agility blending into a blinding blur of power and beauty. Obi-Wan could see the tension of unfulfilled desire and anger in him, rendering him breathtakingly beautiful in his intensity. When he was finished, he knelt before the audience, and the lights came up. Obi-Wan blinked as the first rank of the audience stood and filed past him, admiring him, several young men and women reaching to touch an arm, flank, or shoulder. Qui-Gon's quickened breathing was growing more regular; he sat and submitted to the soft caresses and gentle examinations passively, even to those who ran fingers through his hair or dared to kiss his lips lightly. The hands on Qui-Gon infuriated Obi-Wan even as they aroused him. Qui-Gon catalogued his admirers rapidly and visibly as they passed before him, rank upon rank filing down to show their appreciation of his perfect form.
Obi-Wan rose too, in his turn, and managed to wind his way down and parade past the stage. Qui-Gon's eyes fairly crackled as they lit on him at last, and Obi-Wan felt himself recognized, felt barely-leashed hostility. He lifted his chin and gazed down at Qui-Gon briefly, not deigning to touch him, then turned his back and strode calmly away, resuming his seat.
When the last of the crowd passed, Qui-Gon rose gracefully and threaded his way into the audience. Obi-Wan saw his anger, watched his shoulders tighten each time he passed a silver mask or a blond braid. He was furious, no doubt about it, his efforts to identify having been discovered and thwarted.
He would not be easily handled this night.
Obi-Wan sat passively and let himself be approached, waiting patiently for Qui-Gon to come to him. Finally the huge man towered before him, and Obi-Wan raised his hand, snapping his fingers and gesturing curtly to the floor.
A long pause, furious blue eyes burning at him. Obi-Wan met that ungovernable glare with a perfect, serene calm that he didn't feel. What was he going to do if Qui-Gon refused?
Walk out, he supposed. Walk out and never come back, knowing he'd failed.
And then one knee bent, very slowly, and the big body folded. Not because of anything Obi-Wan had done, oh no. Because Qui-Gon had decided to go along with him. For now. Why?
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, and he let Qui-Gon know that he understood the falseness of the seeming acquiescence. "We'll discuss your reluctance later," he snapped, rising. If this was going to fall apart, it wouldn't happen here, not in front of half the Padawans in the Temple. He reached in his pocket and drew out the leather leash and collar he'd requested at the door, buckling them to Qui-Gon's neck.
Towing the rebellious man behind him, he stalked down the corridor, growing angrier by the moment in his own right. Angry at himself, at Endavi, and mostly at Qui-Gon. If he wasn't prepared to play this role, he should never have put himself in it. Like hell he didn't mind having a Padawan Master -- he'd just never had one that could govern him before. And Obi-Wan knew he'd done just that, last night, in the room where they were now headed. Mastered him, conquered his rebellion, had Qui-Gon Jinn submitted at his feet.
The door shut behind them and Obi-Wan was prepared, turning on the balls of his feet, half-ready to fight.
"Who are you?" Qui-Gon's huge hands worked compulsively, his blue eyes snapping.
"You overstep yourself." Obi-Wan's voice was sharp ice. "I know you harassed half the Padawans in the Temple today, looking for me."
"So you brought every blond Padawan you could find to watch me tonight, including my own!" Qui-Gon crossed the floor in a lithe, furious glide, snatching Obi-Wan's braid and flinging it aside contemptuously.
"Do the rules of the club mean so little to you?" Obi-Wan ignored the outburst deliberately, goading Qui-Gon with truths. "I'd have thought your Master taught you better. Mine did. I could have you barred from here," he declared softly.
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "I will not submit myself to a man who is afraid to show his face to me."
"I'm not afraid of you, and you already have." Obi-Wan turned away, pretending indifference. "I choose not to show you my features. Get in bed if you want me to fuck you. Or I'm leaving."
Rage behind him, rage and shock and disbelief. Obi-Wan turned his head casually. "You have a count of five." It would take five steps, more or less, to reach the door. He took the first one. The second. The third. The fourth. The fifth. His hand on the latch.
And behind him, the bedclothes rustled.
Qui-Gon sat on the bed, heavy erection arrogant between the spread thighs. Pulled his legs up, tucked them under the soft gold coverlet. Turned his back to the door, to Obi-Wan. Huddled into himself.
Obi-Wan hesitated. Agreement, or rejection? He suspected Qui-Gon himself wasn't sure. Perhaps it was merely the need for contact that had subdued him -- after being teased to the point of madness and forbidden release the previous evening, it was little wonder Qui-Gon wanted him to stay and finish what he'd begun. Slowly he approached the bed, pausing at the chest. Restraints would probably be a good idea, given Qui-Gon's ragged control. He climbed onto the bed, lifting the coverlet, admiring the sleek lines of Qui-Gon's body in the dim light.
"Wrists," he spoke very softly, and nearly gasped his relief when they were grudgingly offered. Qui-Gon was tamed, then. Obi-Wan bound them tightly. It was very dark, hard to see; one of the drapes had fallen.
"I find I'd rather have you on the floor, my Lion," he murmured gently. "It's dark in here, and I want to see you."
He slipped away from Qui-Gon's back, catching the leash in his hand, tugging him to follow. Was obeyed reluctantly. Qui-Gon's head was down, the blue eyes hidden. Obi-Wan felt his erection twitch desperately. He'd waited too long to be sheathed in this man. Qui-Gon stopped in the center of the rug. "Kneel," Obi-Wan commanded. "Close your eyes. Don't open them." Qui-Gon obeyed silently, and Obi-Wan shouldered out of his thin shirt, taking up the leash again. "Now lie back." Obi-Wan's voice very nearly trembled with eagerness as Qui-Gon did, not unfolding his knees.
Obi-Wan lowered himself next to Qui-Gon, running his hand slowly over the hot, wide chest. "Beautiful, my Lion," he purred. "Beautiful ... and mine ..."
He caught only the faintest flicker of warning just as a whip-crack trickle of Force struck for his face, catching under the edge of the mask, sending it flying, and the unblindfolded eyes snapped open to see what had been bared.
Shock of heat from the fireplace, heat from the furious rush of blood to fair skin, his hand instinctively risen halfway to a defensive posture. Obi-Wan knelt frozen for a long moment.
"You!" Qui-Gon recovered enough to speak, and his voice was thick with mingled shock and triumph. "I thought as much, until today. You --" his tongue flickered out and wet his lips, the furious torrent of words choking themselves in his throat as he tried to choose among them.
Obi-Wan took the moment to pull his feet under himself, straightening his legs smoothly, fist closed on the leather strap of the leash.
"I'm afraid you've made a grave error, my Lion." His own voice sounded strange to him; too rich, too coldly matter-of-fact, the soft lilt of his accent alien on the affectionate title that was now a chill warning.
Qui-Gon blinked at him in disbelief, and Obi-Wan snatched the leash furiously taut and lunged back a step, yanking his disobedient submissive to his knees with the sheer brute force of his strength.
He understood instinctively that their only hope was to play this out, to follow the rules, to finish this scene as it had been intended when it was begun, and to come together in the morning with it behind them, cleansed and purged. If Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon defeat him now ... his Master might never respect him again. And he might never again respect his Master.
He stepped over Qui-Gon's body, catching the leash closer, holding up the heavy head as he bent forward, whispering coldly. "If you want me to forgive you, want me to continue on with you, want me to have you ... you will placate me, please me, beg my favor. You will do all that is in your power to make me forget what you've done here, to forget the rules you've shattered and the trust you've betrayed tonight." Abruptly he released the leash, and Qui-Gon teetered for a moment, falling back to the carpet heavily. "I can't say it will be enough. I can't say anything will be enough. But you may try." Obi-Wan turned away and strode to the couch, flopping down, not looking at Qui-Gon.
Agonizing moments of silence, and then the sounds came to him. Qui-Gon struggling to work his bound arms from behind his body, bringing them under his ankles and legs with painful, laborious slowness. Qui-Gon's knees on carpet, his hands on wood. His trailing feet. He was creeping toward him slowly, arrogance crumbled, head bowed, long fall of tousled hair trailing on the polished wooden floor, slithering over the soft nap of the carpet. Obi-Wan gazed, heart wrenched to his throat, as his Master's hands slowly reached to caress his boot, and his lips followed them.
He wanted to lift Qui-Gon into his lap, into his arms, wanted to gather that big hard body next to him and croon love and forgiveness into the ears that lay beneath the tangled mane; he wanted to sit Qui-Gon on his lap and press up into him and feel the older man ride his stiffened shaft eagerly, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed, frozen, his voice an aching lump in his throat and chest, and all he could do was watch those lips move upward, listen to the broken voice murmuring against the smooth polished leather.
"Forgive me. Please." A touch of the thick blunt fingers, impossibly delicate on the inside of his thigh, followed by a humble, hopeful kiss. "I should not have. I will not disobey again. I only wanted ..." the voice hitched, a kiss pressed softly, desperately against his inner thigh. "... only wanted it to be you. Not Varil. Not Rikk. Not any of them. You. To be the one Padawan who could master me." Qui-Gon's voice was filled with hurt and more than a touch of anger as the names left his lips, but it softened as his thoughts turned to Obi-Wan, softened to match the delicate, pleading touches of hands and lips.
Obi-Wan uttered a low, choked moan, reaching to cover those lips with his fingers, feeling them continue to move against him.
"When I saw your bed was not empty this morning, I ..." Qui-Gon kissed softly at Obi-Wan's fingers, scraping his beard gently on the extended palm. "... I could not bear what had happened. Could not bear that some stranger had taken so much from me, so much that I had thought I was giving to you ...."
He'd known all along. Known, and wanted Obi-Wan. Known, and been distraught when he thought himself mistaken. Obi-Wan could not stir, feeling the soft, whispering kiss of sweet words against his fingertips, against his palm, trailing down his wrist to the tender flesh inside his elbow. Qui-Gon was sliding between his thighs, the warm narrow waist fitting against him gently, perfectly, and he could not bear it any more, could not bear to be harsh and unforgiving, could not bear the man's anguish.
"Stop." His voice quavered, very low. "Don't talk any more. Just kiss me."
Qui-Gon slid into his lap, a heavy, welcome weight, and twined his arms around Obi-Wan's neck, lifting his mouth, and Obi-Wan drew him in and kissed him, sliding back until they lay entwined on the couch. Gently, he reached out and freed Qui-Gon's wrists from the restraints.
"Undress me. Touch me," Obi-Wan murmured into Qui-Gon's mouth, following his own command, and soon their naked forms were pressed sweetly together, and they kissed for a long while, hands sliding slowly over one another, caressing warm velvety skin, discovering and adoring. Obi-Wan smiled against Qui-Gon's mouth, sliding his hands over the smooth roundness of his hips, gently spreading his legs, sliding his fingertips down the cleft, stroking the opening.
Oh, yes. He'd waited far too long to be sheathed in this man, and been a fool about it besides. They both had been.
Obi-Wan gently turned them, pressing Qui-Gon to his stomach.
"Knees and elbows," he murmured, and was obeyed beautifully, with distinct anticipation. He reached to lift and slide the long silky hair over the wide shoulders, letting it trail down one side of Qui-Gon's neck, his mind lifting the lid of the chest, summoning a vial of massage oil to a hand that opened and caught it without looking.
After the long, slow caresses he was trembling with readiness, and so was Qui-Gon; oil spilled on the rich brocade fabric as he slicked himself, but he was beyond caring, gathering the older man against him, thrusting his hips forward, finding the proper angle, and beginning the long slow glide in. Qui-Gon growled softly, pushing back against him.
"Yes, oh yes, my Lion!" Obi-Wan laughed suddenly, ecstatic. "That's it precisely. Most pleasing." He dropped a kiss on Qui-Gon's shoulder, then brought his hand around, clasping the waiting erection there, hearing the blissful hiss of breath.
They'd waited far too long for this, too, and he withdrew his hips and slid his palm upward simultaneously, settling quickly into a building rhythm, knowing Qui-Gon liked it fast and hard. Well, that was fine; at the moment that was how he wanted it, too. Fast and hard, and savoring the tight hot sweetness around him, the satiny hardness in his palm and his Qui-Gon's sweating skin under his chest.
Qui-Gon gasped, tensing and arching, and Obi-Wan stroked him faster, shoving deep, till he felt the wild clench of muscles and the throbbing spasm of orgasm around him and inside his fist. He surrendered to it, falling forward, hips jerking without control, pulsing his release into the older man, moaning.
When he could think coherently again he rose and gathered his clothing quietly. Qui-Gon lay face-down on the couch, trembling, his back rising and falling quickly with the wild suspiration of exhaustion.
Obi-Wan slid his pants over his hips, hesitating, then tucked his thin cotton shirt into the waistband and stepped into his boots.
Still no motion from the couch, no word.
Obi-Wan left slowly, closing the door behind him.
Endavi blinked with concern and started to rise as Obi-Wan passed him, maskless. Obi-Wan cut him off with a shake of his head, moving for the exit, collecting his cloak.
He stepped out into the blessed cool of the night air, eyes instinctively seeking the diamond dazzle of thousands of windows. A shuttle stopped, loud with revelry and merriment, and he stepped back, letting it glide away.
The door behind him keyed, and he didn't need to glance back to know who was approaching him. He drew into himself a little, suddenly feeling the chill of the night, the chill of nameless dread and fear that what had happened was too much, that they could not recover.
Gentle hands fell on his shoulders.
He turned, turned and met his Master's eyes, his Master's slow, wry smile, and his heart surged in him with hope.
"Master," he whispered, and felt himself seized, crushed to the broad chest, his head bent back, his mouth devoured. A wall cool against his shoulders and hips, the crush of weight against his chest, huge hands cradling his skull and dragging his hips close. He went limp in the strong arms, opening himself, giving all that he had in ecstasy and relief.
At last Qui-Gon drew back, tracing his lips with a gentle finger. "Yes." The rich voice smiled. "And don't think I'll let you forget it."
Obi-Wan laughed softly, breathlessly. "No, my Master," he murmured, and let himself be hugged close. "Never."
Obi-Wan waited patiently for Endavi to show up in the dining hall. While he waited, he dazedly relived key moments from the last forty-eight hours or so, since he and Qui-Gon had left the club and returned to their quarters to discuss the recent upset in their relationship. The discussions, while not completely peaceful, had definitely been worth the outcome, and some of the negotiations had been downright ecstatic.
And he had Endavi to thank for it all. If thanks was the word that could be used in this case. Obi-Wan had made a promise to Endavi, and he planned to keep it as best he could.
"Hey, you guys finally decided to come up for air, eh?" Obi-Wan was startled out of his reverie by his friend taking the seat next to him. "Glad to see it all worked out for the both of you. At least I think it all worked out -- didn't it?" The older Padawan looked over at Obi-Wan inquiringly, one eyebrow raised in question.
"Huh? Oh, yes, well ..." Obi-Wan smiled dreamily at his now-former lover. "I think you could safely say that everything is just fine. But I do have one small problem I have to solve."
"Oh, what's that?"
"I made a promise to you -- something about the 'night of your life'? 'Six months of sex?'"
"Oh! Yeah! Hey, are you sure that's OK? I mean, won't your Master ...."
"Well, that's the problem, Endavi. We've decided that in order to find out exactly what's happening between us, we need to keep things exclusive for a while ...." Quite possibly forever, Obi-Wan added silently. "So, in order to keep my promise to you, I've asked for a little help."
"Help? What kind of help?" Endavi looked at his friend and playmate suspiciously.
"Well, see in the corner of the dining room, over there?" Obi-Wan discreetly pointed over his shoulder, and Endavi focused behind him. There at a table for two sat Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Councillor Adi Gallia, having what for all the world looked like a quiet breakfast chat.
"As a submissive, Master Qui-Gon has, shall we say, a unique perspective of what might be to your liking, wouldn't you agree?" Obi-Wan laughed silently and patted Endavi on the hand. "He has volunteered to find you a new Dom, my delightful Endavi."
"What?!" Endavi looked panicked as he glanced back at Obi-Wan. "Hey, I don't need any help in that department! I found you, didn't I? I can ...." His voice trailed off, then resumed weakly. "Councillor Gallia?"
"Well, I'm not sure about that -- he does plan on speaking to several people. He did say he would be talking to his first choice this morning, though ...."
Endavi looked back over Obi-Wan's shoulder at the pair in the corner, and was embarrassed to find that he was being surveyed by the dark-skinned, violet-eyed Council member. He felt his face heat up, and he quickly looked down and addressed himself to his breakfast. "She's staring at me!" he hissed at Obi-Wan.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Endavi. After all, what's done at the club is never remembered here at the Temple, right?" Obi-Wan hurriedly stuffed the last few bites of his breakfast into his mouth. "I gotta go -- got a mock-Senate debate exercise this morning -- going to present the 'pro' side of the Malastairean economic rescue package. Don't worry, Endavi -- it will all work out. You'll see."
Jedi Council Member Adi Gallia went serenely down the hallway to Suite 19, key in hand, a slight smile on her face. She had a new sub to break in tonight, a process that was almost always enjoyable, especially with an experienced player. And according to Qui-Gon Jinn, the boy was quite exquisite, though he did have a tendency to be a bit pushy. This did not disturb her -- she rather enjoyed being challenged by subs who tried to test her limits. She had left instructions for her new toy, and if he had not managed to summon the gymnastic flexibility and dramatic talent to obey those instructions, well, then the breaking-in process could start just that much sooner.
Unlocking the door and entering, she found her new playmate in full costume, and arrayed just as she had instructed. Adi smiled and contemplated the young Padawan. As she descended the steps into the room, she reminded herself to send a thank-you note to Qui-Gon for the suggestion. Such an imaginative man ....