Archive: Yes
Archive Date: September 25, 2000
Category: PWP, BDSM (mild)
Disclaimer: Lucas owns it all, I merely peddle it - or should that be, paddle it?
Feedback: Good or bad? All welcome.
Notes: Layna Anderson's idea birthed this story, Rachael Sabotini's characterisation of Obi-Wan made it work, and Emu's beta took it to whatever heights it has achieved.
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Obi-Wan's untidiness leads to a new development in his relationship with his master.
Warnings: IF YOU DON'T LIKE UNDERAGE FICTION, YOU WILL NOT LIKE THIS.

Qui-Gon surveyed the bedroom with an increasingly grim expression. Printouts were strewn everywhere, covering the surface of the sleep couch and half the floor area. Obi-Wan's boots were flung into one corner; the towel from his shower lay in a soggy heap in the other. His lips thinned in displeasure. It might have been a long time since he'd reprimanded his padawan for untidiness, but obviously a stronger lesson was being asked for: Obi-Wan had finally worn down his self-restraint.

"Padawan." He had not raised his voice, but the tone of it was enough to bring Obi-Wan to the door in a moment, his breathing slightly fast.

"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan fixed a wide-eyed gaze on the taller Jedi, steadfastly ignoring the devastated room. "Was there something you wanted?" Qui-Gon picked up one of the printouts from the couch and frowned at it before letting it drop to the floor.

"Pretending innocence will get you nowhere, Padawan. You know exactly what I want with you. What is this mess you've left here?" Obi-Wan opened his mouth to explain, but Qui-Gon continued ruthlessly, "I have no more patience for feeble excuses. You should be old enough now not to need lecturing from me. Perhaps if I give you a more direct lesson this time, you will remember it better." Obi-Wan closed his mouth again, looking decidedly like a fish that had bitten off something too big to swallow. He obviously realised this was not the moment to argue his case.

Qui-Gon scrutinised him more carefully. His hair was still wet from his shower, gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the huge window. He was dressed, but his outer tunic was stained and his inner looked to be damp, as if slung onto a still-moist body. His feet were bare: the boots, of course, were elsewhere. "Is this how you dress to go out into the Temple, Obi-Wan?"

The boy hung his head at the critical gaze. "I don't have any classes this morning, Master." His reply was nearly a whisper. "I was going to tidy up later..."

"Good." Qui-Gon's voice was decisive. "That will also leave you some time to recover from the punishment I am about to give you."

"Master?" Obi-Wan almost squeaked.

Qui-Gon put his hands on his hips. "I am tired of trying reasoned arguments to improve your behaviour. If you act like an Initiate, then your punishment should match. I believe the small children in the creche are denied treats, or sent to meditate on their bad behaviour in a quiet corner, are they not?"

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan was flushed now, shamed perhaps by the comparison.

"And what happens when they have done something rather more serious?"

Obi-Wan guessed wildly. "Um, sometimes they aren't allowed to go to playtime?"

"None of which seems particularly painful for someone your age. So I think I shall have to spank you instead."

Obi-Wan's eyes grew huge in his face, the pupils dilated. "But, Master...I'm not a child! You can't just - hit me like that. Even the Initiates don't get slapped by the crechemasters."

"Oh, this will not be a slap, Obi-Wan." The grimness in Qui-Gon's tones was threat enough. "Take off your outer tunic."

Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder, as if about to flee, and then looked back at his master's forbidding countenance. He took a deep breath and shrugged off the soiled tunic, his jaw tightly closed, perhaps to keep it from trembling. As he stood there, dangling the tunic uncertainly from one hand, Qui-Gon let a moment's sympathy touch him. His padawan was brave, even if he was foolish with it. Did the boy really know what he had let himself in for?

The moment's softening fled: he was resolved to do this. It was time Obi-Wan learned he could not act with impunity. "Perhaps you would care to put that poor garment in the wash, Padawan."

Obi-Wan flinched at the sarcasm. Turning, he closed the door quietly and walked over to the laundry chute, skirting round his master's looming bulk. The tunic was placed in the chute with great care, Obi-Wan's every movement designed to draw out the moment as long as possible.

"And now your leggings."

His face was turned away from Qui-Gon, so the older man could not see his reaction to the command, but there was only a moment's hesitation before Obi-Wan reached up to fumble with the ties at his waist. He turned his back to Qui-Gon as he slipped the leggings down, leaning over to tug them out from under his feet before placing them in the chute, too. The smooth round curves of his buttocks tautened with the motion, pale cream flesh exposed as the shorter undertunic rode up the long curves of his back.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and settled himself down on the edge of the sleep couch, legs splayed. A small adjustment of the controls and the couch rode higher off the floor, just at the right level for his long thighs to form a flat platform. The surface of the bed was already firm: Obi-Wan had obviously been using it as a study couch.

"Come here, Padawan." Obi-Wan turned slowly to face his master. He had covered his penis with his hands, but Qui-Gon chose not to comment on that. The boy was obviously embarrassed enough: his cheeks were flushing deep red now, and his eyes were fixed on the rug beneath his feet. He took the few steps needed to place himself in front of Qui-Gon, casting a shadow over the seated man as he stood surrounded by sunshine.

This close, Qui-Gon could smell the herbal scent of the soap Obi-Wan had used, along with the more subtle aroma of Obi-Wan's own skin. The undertunic clung to the damp flesh in front of him, a pink nipple clearly visible through the thin cotton. He considered asking the boy to remove the garment, but decided against it. Perhaps it would help Obi-Wan to keep one last piece of clothing on. Instead, he reached up to undo the clasps holding the flimsy cloth together, pushing the folds to either side to bare Obi-Wan's chest.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon reached up to tilt Obi-Wan's chin a bit higher, letting his fingers run over the smooth skin to the small cleft where stubble defiantly lingered. Against his hand he could feel the short, fast puffs of Obi-Wan's breath. "Do you accept your punishment?"

"Yes, Master." The boy still refused to meet Qui-Gon's gaze, but his voice did not tremble, though it was so quiet his master could only just hear it. He bit his lip after uttering the words, white teeth worrying at the soft flesh.

Qui-Gon leaned back, bracing his arms against the couch as he spread his thighs wide. "Lie down across my lap."

Now Obi-Wan finally raised his eyes, staring into Qui-Gon's with mute pleading. Qui-Gon ignored the entreaty, his voice sterner than before: "Before I lose my patience altogether, Padawan."

Obi-Wan visibly tensed, then slowly stretched his body over Qui-Gon's thighs, unconsciously graceful in his reluctance. Qui-Gon had a brief glimpse of the column of white flesh Obi-Wan had been hiding behind his hands, before the weight of the boy settled on his lap. Obi-Wan used the floor to brace himself on his palms, his braid curling round one wrist. Qui-Gon could see from the tense muscles down his legs that he was on tiptoe, stretching to take some of the pressure off his stomach.

Almost without volition, Qui-Gon reached out to stroke the taut curve of buttock displayed before him, feeling Obi-Wan start with surprise at the gentle touch. He was master here: he did not have to explain his actions. Let Obi-Wan make of them what he would. Qui-Gon continued the soft caress, brushing his calloused hand over the plump rise of Obi-Wan's rear, watching the pale skin flush delicately pink as Obi-Wan blushed all over. It was too tempting, to run his finger along the tiny crease between bottom and thigh where droplets of water were still secreted from Obi-Wan's shower - so he did. His breath caught as Obi-Wan squirmed against him in ticklish response, nearly tipping off his knees.

Qui-Gon would need to hold him in place for this. "Put your hands behind your back, Obi-Wan."

"No, Master! Please!" the desperate protest was muffled against Qui-Gon's leggings. "I'll keep still - I promise!"

"I doubt it, Padawan, but we shall see. You may stay as you are for the present."

"Master, wait one moment!" Qui-Gon paused, idly stroking the top of Obi-Wan's thigh with one thumb. "Hmm?"

The boy's breath caught with a tiny sound that could have been a sob. "How many must I have?"

"As many as I feel the need for, Obi-Wan. I would suggest you concentrate your mind on bearing them quietly, rather than counting them. Now," he laid one large hand flat in the hollow of Obi-Wan's back, "no more delaying tactics. Let us begin."

The hand that a moment ago had been stroking Obi-Wan's skin so gently was lifted and brought down with a stinging slap on the centre of his left buttock cheek. The boy had hardly time to buck against Qui-Gon's legs before he hit him again on the right. The crack of sound echoed round the room, Obi-Wan's whimper following close after. Qui-Gon paused to watch with fascination as the outline of his hand came clear on Obi-Wan's cheeks, a bright red against the blushing pink. Then he began a steady rhythm of strokes, each blow hard and sure. He aimed them carefully, patterned to hit a new spot each time until he covered the whole of Obi-Wan's bottom, letting the tunic form a natural boundary.

At first the boy bore it well, catching his breath after every strike but stopping himself from twitching too much on Qui-Gon's lap. Soon, though, he had his fists curled into the cloth of Qui-Gon's leggings, his legs flexing against Qui-Gon's thighs with each smack. Qui-Gon had to increase the pressure on the middle of Obi-Wan's back to keep him in place, but he continued the relentless pace, covering every inch of the boy's backside with the flat of his hand. Then he landed his first blow on the tender skin at the top of Obi-Wan's thigh, and with a cry the boy's hand flew up to tangle with his, vainly trying to cover himself.

Qui-Gon let his fingers intertwine with his padawan's as he sought to calm his own heavy breathing. His palm was hot and tingling in Obi-Wan's desperate clutch, almost itching as sensation raced back to the numb flesh. From Obi-Wan's low moan, he supposed the boy must be suffering the same thing, but in more tender areas. Still, he was not inclined to leave the matter there - especially seeing that the boy had now broken his word into the bargain.

Still holding onto Obi-Wan's fingers with his right hand, he began to stroke the long curve of the boy's spine in a soothing gesture with his left. The tunic clung to his back, damp with sweat now as well as water. When the boy had quieted somewhat, Qui-Gon settled his palm around the tense column of Obi-Wan's neck, massaging the tight muscles there. He did not intend to draw this out much longer, but he wanted the boy ready to cope: the second half would be short, but much harder.

"Give me your other hand, padawan." The sternness had gone from his voice, replaced by sympathy, but Obi-Wan recognised its implaccable nature too. With a small sob he surrendered his grip on Qui-Gon's leggings and reached up awkwardly behind him. Qui-Gon hissed as the boy's hand inadvertently brushed his groin. He caught the wandering wrist in a firm grasp, pulled the other to it in the small of Obi-Wan's back and held them both together with his long fingers. Obi-Wan didn't struggle then, but he strained involuntarily against the hold when Qui-Gon brought his legs together, tipping Obi-Wan further forward and bringing his buttocks higher up in the air.

"Shh," Qui-Gon sought to calm him. "I won't let you drop. Can you breathe freely, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master." Qui-Gon couldn't see his padawan's face, but he imagined it must be bright red by now, heated as much by Obi-Wan's struggle to keep himself under control as by the awkwardness of his position. "Please, Master, must I still stay quiet? I - I'm not sure I can."

"No," Qui-Gon's voice was gentle. "Make what noise you need to, Obi-Wan. You have been very brave so far."

"Thank you, Master." Qui-Gon almost chuckled at the commonplace response: it seemed so out of keeping in this unlikely setting, with his padawan's naked behind thrust up before him, flaunting its rosy hue to his eyes. Qui-Gon had never thought to see his apprentice this way.

Again he stroked his hand slowly down Obi-Wan's flank, curious to see if the texture of it had changed. The flesh was hot beneath his palm, slightly swollen with the blood rushing under the surface, but the skin was still like smooth silk to touch. Obi-Wan shivered at the gentle touch, perhaps remembering what it had presaged earlier. Or perhaps he was so sensitive now that even the most delicate brush against his skin was painful. Qui-Gon's mouth firmed. He had no intention of treating his padawan with delicacy.

Obi-Wan cried out at the first blow, trying to squirm away off Qui-Gon's thighs. Qui-Gon merely tightened his grip on the boy's wrists and swung again, connecting flat across Obi-Wan's buttocks. Before, he had peppered his smacks all over those tempting cheeks, but now he concentrated on the soft curve just above Obi-Wan's thighs, cupping the flesh in his hand with every upward slash. It only took a few swats before Obi-Wan was twisting desperately on his lap, his legs straining against Qui-Gon's as he sought to evade the stinging slaps.

"Please, Master, not so hard - ahh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Oh, it hurts," Obi-Wan moaned, writhing on Qui-Gon's knees. Qui-Gon ignored the gasps that punctuated his blows, but he could not help but notice the erection Obi-Wan now sported, as it thrust between his thighs with every wriggle of that luscious backside. Dimly he was aware that Obi-Wan was brushing against his own penis in his contortions, the erratic contact leaving Qui-Gon almost as hard as his apprentice. Even without it, just the sight of Obi-Wan's beautiful muscled body, rising and falling in that sinuous movement, would have been enough to make him erect.

Qui-Gon's own breathing was becoming laboured; he grunted slightly with the effort of every swinging stroke. The pleas from his padawan were increasing in intensity, getting louder as Obi-Wan thrashed frantically about on his lap. "Not there again - no! Oh, Master, stop, stop, I can't take any more!" The genuine pain in Obi-Wan's voice brought Qui-Gon up short for a moment.

"Three more, Obi-Wan. You can suffer three more. Just ride it through, my Padawan."

"No, Master, I - ah!"

"Two, now." Qui-Gon raised his hand once more, brought it down on the burning flesh, watched Obi-Wan arch his back, kick his legs in a futile attempt to escape.

"One." Qui-Gon fetched the last slap sharply between the flushed bottom cheeks, grazing the delicate opening there. Obi-Wan gave a final wail, then collapsed to the floor as Qui-Gon tipped him off his knees. He lay there, half-sobbing, half-panting, while Qui-Gon lurched to his feet and began to strip off his clothing.

"Aie, it's stinging! Please, Qui-Gon," and Obi-Wan writhed on the mat as he had on Qui-Gon's lap, clutching at his abused rear. "Hurry!"

Qui-Gon was on his knees beside the youth in a moment, smoothing his hands over the throbbing flesh. "Obi-Wan, are you sure -"

"Just do it!" Qui-Gon bit his lip in indecision, then gently parted the two burning cheeks with his hands. He probed with the tip of one finger at the puckered opening, eliciting a deep groan from his padawan. Pushing in carefully, he drew in a breath as the flesh closed around his finger. He was mildly shocked to find the tight passage oiled in readiness for him.

"Godsdammit, Qui-Gon, I don't need any prep for this. Please - I'm so hot, I want you there!"

Qui-Gon shuddered at the undisguised lust in Obi-Wan's voice. It was hard to withdraw slowly, as Obi-Wan sighed and pleaded for him to rush, but he did so. Putting the head of his cock against the dilated entrance, he pushed in slowly and surely, holding Obi-Wan's hips flat against the rug as the boy would have surged up to meet him.

Gods, what heat! The narrow channel tightened around him, swollen with a pressure he had never felt in Obi-Wan before. He pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in to the very root, feeling Obi-Wan constrict around him again. The boy was trying to impale himself on his master and grind against the rug, all at the same time. One long thrust more, rubbing his face against the soft pelt of his padawan's hair, and then Qui-Gon took mercy on the boy, reaching down to cover the eager cock with his large, blunt hand.

Obi-Wan wailed again, almost as loudly as he had at Qui-Gon's final slap. "Oh, yes, yes, harder!" he demanded harshly, thrusting into the sheath of his master's hand, each lunge completed by a surge back onto Qui-Gon's rigid member buried deep inside him. "Gods, I can feel you, Qui-Gon! So big. Do me harder - faster, faster, gods I'm coming..." and the thick white liquid spurted out over Qui-Gon's hand as Obi-Wan shuddered beneath him.

Qui-Gon almost cried out himself at the spasms of Obi-Wan's body around him. He held his padawan tight as the boy crooned wordless sounds of ecstacy, the hot pulses slowing and ceasing. An endless moment later, and Obi-Wan's body gradually relaxed again, the boy slumping forward against the iron ring of Qui-Gon's arms.

As soon as he thought Obi-Wan could understand him, he leaned forward to whisper in the boy's ear. "Obi-Wan. Do you want me to stop now? I can, if it will be too much."

Obi-Wan gave a choked laugh. In answer he sat up, pressing Qui-Gon back into a kneeling position, balanced on his heels. Then he sunk himself all the way down on Qui-Gon's turgid penis, squirming in a circular movement that had Qui-Gon seeing stars. Oh, his padawan was just too decadent!

Another wriggle, and Obi-Wan had gone too far. Qui-Gon roared his protest, then surged to his feet in one flowing motion, Obi-Wan still held firmly rammed on his cock. The boy gasped as he was flung onto the edge of the bed, but Qui-Gon crushed the sound out of him when he plunged back into that blessed heat. Obi-Wan sprawled against the coverlet, the prints crumpled beneath him, his legs splayed wide to let Qui-Gon drive into him. "Yes, Qui-Gon! Love you like this!" he spurred his master on.

Qui-Gon cried out at each thrust, pounding into Obi-Wan with the same unrelenting rhythm he'd beaten the boy with earlier, unable to hold himself back whether or not he bruised the sore flesh beneath him. The world had shrunk to contain only Obi-Wan, only this furnace in which he sheathed his aching cock, tempering his flesh in the white hot flames.

The boy reached up to clutch at his master's hands where they were knotted into the bedsheet, allowing Qui-Gon the extra purchase he needed. One final desperate plunge and he was coming, his balls contracting where they lay pressed against the hot skin of Obi-Wan's buttocks. He gave a long, low cry, then collapsed against the body of his padawan, utterly spent.

Slowly he became aware of Obi-Wan slipping out from under him, shoving printouts off the bed, tugging the coverlet over them both, but he was too boneless to consider helping. Finally the boy settled back against him, pulling down a pillow for them to share. They must have dozed for an hour or two before Qui-Gon woke again, to find Obi-Wan stroking his hair loose from the confining tie.

"You shouldn't sleep with this in," his young lover scolded. "You know it always gives you a headache."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "As if I could have done anything about it." He was not surprised to hear his voice raspy with sleep. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Obi-Wan's ministrations before attempting speech again. "Aren't you tired after all that?"

"I didn't spend all last night in council meetings. Anyway, it's a bit uncomfortable lying on my back at the moment."

"Poor child."

Obi-Wan snorted in disgust. "Anything happened at the meeting worth mentioning?"

"I had an interesting conversation with Master Elay-Gan." Obi-Wan made a questioning noise in his throat, continuing to weave strands of Qui-Gon's hair through his fingers. "She asked how an old man like me was coping with a twenty year-old bedmate."

"Cheeky woman!"

Qui-Gon smiled at Obi-Wan's indignation. "Apparently it was not just idle curiosity on her part. That friend of yours - Garon, is it? Master Vren's padawan - has been trying to seduce her for the last cycle."

"That sounds like Garon." Obi-Wan's tone was dry. "He's been lusting after her since we were in creche together."

"Well, she's finally noticed." He ignored the muttered 'faster than some' from his apprentice. "She's concerned about the difference in their ages, though. She worries that she can't satisfy a boy nineteen years younger than she is."

"Going by your example, I cannot see what she is fretting about. But Garon is hardly a boy, Master. He's a full year older than I am."

"There are times, Padawan, when I think of you as a boy. Especially after a stunt like this." Obi-Wan had the grace to blush, but he quickly turned the conversation back. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her it required infinite patience and infinite energy, but the rewards were limitless. Does that please you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled as he smiled down at Qui-Gon. "I suppose it will do."

"And who is being cheeky now, hmm?" Qui-Gon reached up to steal a kiss from willing lips, then enfolded Obi-Wan in his arms. "Love," he said slowly, playing with the end of Obi-Wan's braid, "was that what you wanted from me?"

Obi-Wan stretched langorously, skin sliding against Qui-Gon's in a lengthy caress. "Do you need to ask, my Master?"

"I was - concerned that it may have been rather more than you had bargained for."

"You surprised me a little. I didn't expect quite such enthusiasm."

"We didn't talk this through beforehand. I should have asked -"

"No." Obi-Wan laid a finger against Qui-Gon's lips. "I didn't want to discuss it with you. That was half the fun - the anticipation. Leaving all those pictures lying around, waiting to see whether you would take the hint. Giving you the choice to ignore it if you wanted. Thinking about what you might be thinking... Well, it was a quarter of the fun, anyway," he amended.

Qui-Gon rolled over, shifting Obi-Wan under him, ignoring the boy's grimace as tender flesh was pressed into the bedclothes. "It was not the most sensible way to leave a hint, Padawan. Mace nearly picked up that printout you left in the kitchen a few days ago - he disapproves of me enough as it is, without thinking I abuse you."

Obi-Wan grinned wickedly, reaching over his head for one of the printouts which had escaped the earlier tidying. "Oh, I don't know. Her outfit would suit him, don't you think?" He flipped the page so that Qui-Gon could see. This one was a copy of an old monochrome print, with a pretty girl draped over the lap of a well-built young man, her skirts around her waist and her breasts bared by the frilly lace costume. Qui-Gon shook his head in disapproval, but it was obvious that Obi-Wan would be hard to quell. He took the picture from Obi-Wan and put it to one side.

"Come, Padawan. Be serious now. Did I hurt you?"

"No more than I could cope with, Master. I admit I hadn't thought you would go so far." He reached up to trace the line of Qui-Gon's cheek with one finger, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet, earnest. "I should have guessed. You always take me beyond the limits I thought I had, no matter what we are doing - sparring, arguing, loving." Qui-Gon looked down at him, shaken. So often he had thought that very same thing about his young lover. Obi-Wan took him to places inside himself he had never gone before, even at his advanced age.

"And it was amazing." Obi-Wan was husky. "I don't think I've ever come so hard in my life."

Qui-Gon laughed, but shook his head in regret as he said, "It felt strange, to be using you for my own pleasure when I knew you wouldn't come again. I usually have better control than that."

Obi-Wan whispered, "I love it when you lose that control. I love it that I can do that to you."

"Only you, Obi-Wan." They stared at each other for a long moment, until Qui-Gon rolled away to lie on his back.

"Where did you get the idea, Padawan?" He could feel Obi-Wan's considering gaze on his face, but he schooled his features to remain still.

"Not from anyone else, Qui-Gon. I'd never let anyone but you do that to me." Gods, he hated the way Obi-Wan always saw through to the real question he was asking. He could never hide anything from the boy. That was why they had landed up in bed together to begin with: Obi-Wan had baldly asked him if he wanted them to be lovers, and had laughed at the lie Qui-Gon tried to give him in reply, pulling his mouth down for a kiss instead. Master Jinn, the great diplomat and seasoned bender of the truth, could fool all the world but not his own padawan.

Still, it was a good answer. He smiled against his will, pulling Obi-Wan to him.

"So you liked it all, even the pain."

"It was very intense, Master. Handing over control to you like that - it was good, but scary too. Not knowing how I would react once you started." He curled up in the crook of Qui-Gon's shoulder, his voice dreamy as he tried to describe what he'd felt. "You can't help yourself, you can't stay still when you know you're about to be hit, you push away - but you can't escape, no matter how hard you push, and afterwards it's such a mixture. There's that explosion of sensation, the pain and heat and the stinging, but also a huge relief because it's over, so your muscles all relax and you can slump back down. But only for a moment, because you know it's going to happen again, even harder."

"You were so beautiful, Padawan, almost as if you were dancing some strange slow dance on my body."

Obi-Wan hid his face against Qui-Gon's chest. "I must have looked very silly, with my bum up in the air like that."

"If you could have seen yourself." Qui-Gon let an intimation of his desire leak from behind his shields. Obi-Wan rewarded him with a glowing smile.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, too," he whispered. "You didn't hurt your hand too much?"

Qui-Gon held his hand up for inspection. Obi-Wan stroked across the wide palm with one finger, probing the fleshy pads. His brows knitted. "It feels a bit swollen. Perhaps you should have used a belt."

"Then you would really have difficulty sleeping on your backside, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Good point. It's stinging enough as it is."

Qui-Gon reached down and traced the very tips of his fingers over the swell of Obi-Wan's buttocks in a gentle healing, barely ruffling the downy little hairs. The youth gave a blissful sigh. "Yes, that's very nice. Thank you."

They lay in quiet for awhile, Qui-Gon tenderly stroking his lover. Finally he broke the silence. "What about afterwards, Obi-Wan? Surely it was painful to have me fuck you like that?"

"I'd have gone mad with frustration if you hadn't! Oh, Qui-Gon, you felt so huge - you can't imagine. I almost thought you wouldn't fit: everything was so tight and hot, and I could feel the blood throbbing around you, the roughness of your hands when you spread me - even the hair on your balls was scratching against my skin." Qui-Gon took a shaky breath, aroused despite himself by his lover's description. His mind was painting images he could not push away, of himself under Obi-Wan's punishing belt, himself trying to twist away from his lover's knees, held still by a strict hand, himself open and full and flushed with heat. Himself handed over to Obi-Wan.

His love continued quietly, "Every time you pushed in I went crazy. You were so deep, but you kept going deeper still. I didn't care that it hurt. I was even thinking, you know, when you had me on the bed, I was wondering what it would be like to have you in me and hitting me at the same time."

"An interesting feat, Padawan, if requiring a more gymnastic approach than I care to attempt." Qui-Gon said drily, but he knew he had not managed to fool Obi-Wan.

The boy stirred, sat up and stretched. "I'd better change. I have to be at class in an hour. You're not needed in Council this afternoon, are you, Master?"

"No, thanks be. We were at it till four this morning, but at least it's done. I won't be needed again till tomorrow."

"Get some sleep, then. I'll be back by five." Obi-Wan folded the sheets over him, leaving Qui-Gon to drowse on their bed while he pottered around the room, running the shower and dressing again in somewhat more respectable clothing. Qui-Gon was almost asleep when Obi-Wan's weight depressed the couch beside him. A gentle hand stroked him under the sheets, pushing them aside in firm, slow movements. He made a small hum of appreciation, but was too somnolent to roll over onto his back.

He came more awake at the realisation that Obi-Wan was rubbing warm oil down his spine. He wanted to protest: surely even Obi-Wan couldn't expect anything more from him in bed today? But the boy's practiced fingers were slipping into the crease of his buttocks, spreading oil down the cleft to the closed ring of his anus. Slick and agile, one finger worked its way into the opening, stimulating all the nerves just inside till he groaned, pushing his hips up in entreaty.

The finger was withdrawn, but instead of the warm cock he half-expected, something cold and hard was inserted into the oiled channel, its flared base distending the ring of muscle trying to reject it. All the breath left Qui-Gon's lungs in a sudden exhalation.

"Remember that gymnastic approach, Master? Sometimes, all you need is an artificial aid." The soft whisper by his ear became cooler, harder. "Make sure that is still in there when I come back." Obi-Wan got up and walked to the door, turned to leave.

"And, Qui-Gon, if this room is not tidy by the time I return, I'll have to think of a suitable chastisement. Sleep well."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Qui-Gon stunned and shaking on the bed.

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