torch, September 1999
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Disclaimer: oh, no. For my darling ari, who challenged me and will now have to live with the very silly results. Fueled by vague thoughts about power (im)balances, role assignation, and role reversal, and sparked by a request for body modifications and corporal punishment. Do not archive this story without permission.
Compliance
"No, Obi-Wan. Absolutely not. I forbid it."
"Forbid it?" Obi-Wan twisted around on the couch and set his cup of arithi aside. He looked narrowly at Qui-Gon, who was the very picture of Jedi serenity, and decided he just hadn't made himself clear. "I didn't ask you for permission, master. This is a personal decision—"
"You are not to get a Zeilak piercing, padawan."
"It's my body."
"I claim squatters' rights." Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, turned his head, looked stern. "You will not."
"I will if I want to."
"No, you won't. I won't let you." Qui-Gon set his own cup down with an air of great finality. "Now that that's settled—"
"This is not the end of the argument," Obi-Wan said, putting a slight edge into his voice.
"Oh, you can do better than that," Qui-Gon said, turning towards Obi-Wan and licking his lower lip. "Come on. Hit me. Hurt me. Show me you care."
Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, then let it out again, and started to laugh helplessly. "You're not supposed to tempt your padawan to surrender to the dark side, master."
"Call it part of your training. I want to see if you're strong enough to resist."
"Actually..." Obi-Wan coiled himself up and leaned forward. "No." He pounced, landing on Qui-Gon, pressing his master against the back of the couch. "I'm not." The first kiss was tender, the second turned into a wrestling match — an uneven one, until Obi-Wan resolutely used the force to flip them around and put Qui-Gon where he wanted him, sprawled over Obi-Wan's lap. "But then, I believe you were counting on that."
He ran his hand down Qui-Gon's back, feeling muscles relax under his touch through the thin shirt, and hooked his fingers into the waist of the loose pants, pushing them down to mid-thigh while Qui-Gon squirmed helpfully. Obi-Wan walked his fingers up the crack of his master's ass, teasing, and then delivered a hard slap that made Qui-Gon suck in his breath, tense up, and then relax with a moan. Smiling, Obi-Wan did as Qui-Gon had said and hit him, again, and again, firm blows that made his palm sting. He loved the way Qui-Gon's ass felt under his hand, flexing, growing hot and sensitive; loved the way Qui-Gon was working his hard cock against Obi-Wan's legs, rubbing wantonly like an animal in heat.
And the sounds were so perfect, the smack of blows and the quick matching rhythm of Qui-Gon's breaths, Qui-Gon's abandoned moans and gasps coming faster and faster, rising to a crescendo of delight. Obi-Wan put his free hand on the back of Qui-Gon's neck, gripped hard and pressed Qui-Gon's head down, holding him pinned like that, caught, and one more blow, two, and Qui-Gon wailed and came in hot gushes over Obi-Wan's thigh.
Then he was heavy, relaxed, satisfied. Obi-Wan bent forward, straining his neck uncomfortably, to kiss the small of Qui-Gon's back. "My beautiful master," he whispered.
After a few moments, Qui-Gon shifted, moving off Obi-Wan's lap to kneel on the floor. He ran his hands up Obi-Wan's thighs, thumbs stroking the inside, the left one tracing the wet spot, and undid the fastenings of Obi-Wan's pants, freeing his cock, stroking it, leaning in to kiss it over and over. Obi-Wan sighed. Those kisses. Light at first, lips barely brushing skin, and then opening up, wet, sucking. It felt—
Qui-Gon paused and looked up. "No Zeilak piercing." He licked tenderly around the head of Obi-Wan's cock. "You taste wonderful," another swipe of tongue. "I don't want you to taste of metal and bone."
"But think how interesting it would feel," Obi-Wan gasped, flexing his hips, trying to push deeper into that warm, generous mouth, "when I'm fucking you."
Then words melted into moans as Qui-Gon deep-throated him, hard and fast, fucking his mouth on Obi-Wan's cock, purring, growling, the vibrations traveling up Obi-Wan's spine to bounce off the inside of his head. He arched into the pleasure, he was already so close, sometimes he thought he could come from just spanking Qui-Gon and hearing his master's moans and that thought, the sense-memory going through his mind as Qui-Gon sucked him so perfectly wickedly deeply was enough to set him off, a little hitch of breath and he was coming in long racking shudders, eyes rolling up in his head.
Sliding down to lie on the couch, he felt Qui-Gon come up to lie with him, on him, holding him close. Warm and perfect and beautiful. Obi-Wan smiled.
"I like you as nature made you," Qui-Gon breathed softly in his ear. "No need to improve on perfection."
"Mmmmm," Obi-Wan said drowsily, managing to lift one hand and wind it into Qui-Gon's hair, tucking his master's face securely against his neck. "How about a nipple, then?"
Qui-Gon, draped over him like a blanket, wriggled a little, then subsided again. "I'm still sore," he said. "We'll discuss that... tomorrow."