Den of Chaos Fiction
Star Wars: the Phantom Menace
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money being made, except by Lucas due to my insane spending habits when it comes to two particular Jedi. So don't sue me, I guarantee all you'll get is a bunch of TPM merchandise and one seriously distraught fan.
His Master moved through the katas with controlled grace, a burnt, sharp dignity that Obi-Wan hungered for. He wanted to feel it surround him, fill him, bend him to its will. As the feelings, the need, poured through him his own movements took on a sleek sinuousness. Limbs flowing with a looseness that spoke of ripeness, of a desire to be taken, claimed.
He turned, swept, parried, unconsciously echoing his Master's movements. He had never performed at this level before, never attained this degree of concert with his Master's steps as they moved through the stances of the Ja Ke-Sha. The murmurs of the practice class leaving for the day, the sudden silence as the door to the practice salle closed, all were filtered out. His focus was complete; his Master its center.
Thoughts shuddered through him, visions of that body moving over him, in him, of that power and grace filling him, thrusting into his heat over and again. The connection between them pulsed violently then smoothed to a solid bond weaving them together more tightly than before. Obi-Wan accepted the new tightness, the rush and surge of power that flowed between them.
As his Master advanced into the motions of the Ja Sa-Lah instead of stopping as he had always done, he followed. No longer content or even capable of simply watching his Master perform this most intricate of Jedi exercises. He had no conscious thought now, he was simply an extension of his Master's form. Although they had always moved in concert, this was new. His steps were beyond the usual Force-echo motions. Now, he was as the vibrations emanating from a single note of perfect pitch, no space between his Master's thrusts and turns and his own.
The desire pounded into him, erasing all substance beyond it. The bond between them tightened further, till there was nothing but the fluid give and take of the Ja Sa-Lah. They moved through the final stages, imbuing the positions with an eroticism, a lushness not inherent in the exercise. Ending, bent on one knee, perfect mirror images of one another.
"Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was harsh, strained from the cost of the Ja Sa-Lah and the emotions that pulled them closer. Obi-Wan's eyes were glazed, his breath catching as his body hummed with barely leashed desire.
"Master." He echoed back in a voice coated with dark, liquid honey.
"Padawan," his Master repeated. "Padawan."
Obi-Wan had no memory of the journey from the practice salle to their rooms. His mind was hazed, fogged with a hunger to submit, to be subjected to the force of his Master. The need clawed through him, tearing away any vestiges of rationality left. He wanted nothing more than to be burned by his Master, to be possessed. Qui-Gon grabbed him roughly. The harshness of the hands on his shoulders surpassed only by the fire in the touch. "Please," he gasped. "Please..." It was a broken plea, spoken through lips gone dry with desire.
"Oh, I will," his Master answered. The voice was silken heat pouring over Obi-Wan's soul, a liquid fire that bespoke dark, sensual promises. The room steamed with the smell of lust as hands slick with perspiration tore at clothes. There was nothing of finesse or skill in their movements now. Frantic to touch, to taste, they moved with clumsied haste, ripping coverings off when ties and fastenings failed to yield.
The bond between them turned ragged, pulsing with a desperate hunger that screamed to be satiated. Heat flared as bare skin was finally revealed. The warmth of his Master's hands had burned through his tunic, yet that fire was but a small spark compared to the flames that spun within him as those hands roamed over him now. They were everywhere, touching, probing, seeking new places to make him burn hotter.
And then, oh glory, then his Master's lips were on him. His tongue running down the curve of Obi-Wan's neck, suckling on pulse points, laving a trail of fire along his skin. Acid flames ran through his veins and his Master's tongue followed. Tracing wet heat along the curve of shoulder, down to the crease of his elbow, the hollow of his wrist. His Master moved suddenly, biting him violently at the juncture of neck and collarbone. Branding him.
The thought spun the flames ever hotter. He wanted nothing more than to be his Master's possession, to be filled, claimed fully, speared with the girth of his Master's rod. The heat and power owning him, controlling him. He turned on his Master, hands that had rested in clenched fists at his side now grabbing violently. "Now." The word was ground out, the fire within him demanding. "Now."
A rich chuckle was his answer, as his Master used the Force to restrain him. "You are mine, Padawan." The whisper was harsh. "Mine to take, mine to torment, mine to do with as I will." His mouth returned to Obi-Wan's body, once again trailing fiery paths along skin already flayed by unrelenting desire and need.
His Master's hands clenched his hips strongly, straining to pull him closer. A growl sounded low in his ear, "And I will take you, Padawan." The voice was a throaty purr as fingers slipped around and slid down to caress his entrance. Flashes of red and yellow flickered across Obi-Wan's vision as his Master slipped one finger inside him, smoothing its journey with the Force.
Obi-Wan wished it was rougher. He wanted to feel the pull of skin and tissue stretched tautly. He wanted the abrasion of callused skin against the slick walls of his channel. His Master slid another finger inside him, stretching him. He was panting, broken words falling from his lips as he begged to be taken.
"Padawan." It was a prayer, a curse, a claim, as his Master answered his pleadings. Fingers were removed, and then his Master's cock pushed at his entrance and thrust inside. And now, finally, was the burn, the pain, Obi-Wan had hungered for. The feel of his Master within him, taking him, marking him forever as his possession.
The thrusts grew harder, his Master driving deeper into his body, fighting the pull of the lush tightness. But this joining had been too long denied and the flames burst upon them both. An inferno of pleasure coursing between them, spinning through their bond as they came, bodies and souls finally one.
"Padawan." Ownership resounded in the word, unmistakable and complete.