Title: Lay Me to Sleep in the Sheltering Flame
Author: Elocin Oco (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Pairing: Obi-Wan/Qui Gon (memories), Obi/Ani(implied), Ani/OFC
Archive: MA, Obi-Ani, my lj
WARNING: angst, brief bondage
Notes: Written for the Inspirations II book quote challenge. A quote was issued to each author. The story is a result of the inspiration it provided. The quote follows story, if you're interested. Oh, the title! It's the first line of the poem "The Mystic Prayer" by William Sharp. Special thanks to my betas, Clara Swift and Laura McEwan. Kisses to you both!
Feedback: Certainly! Any way you so desire. Email, phone call, pigeon...
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns all rights to Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker and Qui-Gon Jinn. I made no money from the writing of this fiction.
He was caught, trapped in a moment that was distilled to its finest essence. Oh, it had been so long since his body stirred, since he felt the blood rush. Anakin. Oh sweet Force. Anakin was beauty, glowing, filled with Force and light. The play of his muscles across taut shoulders as he whipped through the kata, one he had done a thousand times before and yet Obi-Wan had never noticed him, not like this. There were was no noting his technique, no fault to find with the perfection of his sleek, sweat-covered abdomen, ripple of arms, the tight flexing of his buttocks beneath the clinging material of his exercise shorts.
Obi-Wan tore his gaze away, forcing air back into his lungs. No. He would not do this to himself. He wouldn't give into darker emotions, as his Master had all those years before. He closed his eyes, and tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. Qui-Gon. Gods, it was still so fresh. The weight of a gaze resting on him in desire, the day he realized it *was* going to happen. The anticipation because *finally* Qui-Gon understood what he had been trying to convey for so long. The feel of his Master's hands sliding over his own sweaty flesh, here in this very room, to coax his cock into hardness, and assure him with whispers that it would be all right.
It had been more than all right when Qui-Gon slipped his hands inside the leggings and tugged at Obi-Wan's cock. Obi-Wan's lips parted as he imagined the large hand grasping him, stroking him, the voice in his ear urging him to come…
Obi-Wan was jolted into the present. "Yes, Padawan?" He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
"You weren't watching!" Anakin accused. "Do I need to do it again?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. Again please. Half speed. And I shall mirror you." He stripped off his workout tunic and moved to stand in front of Anakin. "Ready?"
Anakin's eyes moved over Obi-Wan's chest, and down to the softening lump of his arousal. "Ready," he agreed, his brow creased with confusion.
It was easier this way, easier to force himself to move through the positions, to feel the snap of his muscles, and not focus on Anakin's body. His breath deepened and he locked gazes with his apprentice. The overwhelming pull of the Force, the battering of a mind that simply didn't know serenity, all of it was there. Obi-Wan knew this was what the Council had feared, what he himself had feared when they first met. But now, now it was a delicious thing, the power, the simple lack of regard for propriety, the need to just be himself. It was something Obi-Wan had never had, would likely never achieve. If it was darkness, it was indeed tempting. No. Not darkness. Dark yes, like Qui-Gon had been dark. Not truly evil. More the fine edge of control when you're flying too far, too fast.
Anakin flowed like a shadow along the edge of sunset, long and liquid. How could an evil creature make him feel so alive? Obi-Wan sank into the kata, feeling his limbs burn as he finished the final move and held the pose. The scent of Anakin's exertions and his own arousal hung thick between them. There was no letting this go, he realized suddenly. No going back. He dropped his arms to his sides. He shivered as Anakin smiled at him. A smile that oddly felt like understanding, a smile that made him ache with memories.
It was always interesting to watch the play of shadow on the ceiling. The mind constructed all manner of demons out of the grey, twisting masses. He turned his head to check the time and sighed. Midnight. The soft snick of the door of the quarters opening and closing caused Obi-Wan to sit up in surprise, the sheet falling away to a loose puddle around his hips. Anakin was home. The past two evenings he hadn't returned until just before sunrise. Obi-Wan hadn't said anything, couldn't really *do* anything about that. It didn't seem to affect Anakin's training, though it did make Obi-Wan curious as to where he was staying these nights. He knew Anakin was sexually active, that he had been for some years now. He hadn't waited as Obi-Wan had, hadn't felt the need to have *permission* to go out and discover his sexuality. Yet another freedom that Anakin had taken as his right.
He lay back down, curling on his side, staring at the blobs of darkness. The comm terminal on the desk, the chair he hadn't pushed in. Qui-Gon would have scolded him about that. Qui-Gon would have punished him. He closed his eyes, his hand ghosting over his bare chest, feeling the nipple harden under his fingertips. Yes, Qui-Gon would have tasted his flesh, biting his nipples until they ached, until his cock was flushed and leaking against his stomach. Would have tied his hands above his head and left him whimpering, alone.
Returning minutes or hours later, who could ever tell, to berate him for lacking control, for his inability to find a peace for himself in the midst of passion. Oh, there had been passion then. He wanted to please his Master, but needed the release from himself even more. His hand slid down inside his sleep pants and he grasped his cock. He clenched his teeth to hold back the moan that fought to escape his throat. Qui-Gon would complain about his padawan's lack of propriety while he oiled his cock, and stretched him, his thick fingers twisting within the tight ring of muscle. Obi-Wan squeezed himself, stroking and squeezing as he remembered the feel of Qui-Gon forcing him open, the delicious, tearing burn of tissue. He was wicked to want like this, wicked to need this so much.
There was no passion, except the passion of being owned by the Force, and that ownership brought only serenity. Oh, he had chanted that code while Qui-Gon had fucked him. Chanted and intoned until there was no breath in his body, until he lost it all in a mindless haze. And still Qui-Gon rode him, harder, thrusting harder, finding his own pleasure with a grunt, with a jarring thrust that hurt just as much as the first had. He came then, erupting in his hand, remembering the face etched with lust, remembering his Master giving in to a darkness that Obi-Wan had created in them both. And it was only after Qui-Gon owned him, not the Force, that serenity came. He felt wicked indeed.
He lay there panting, his wet fingers rubbing the semen into his own skin. And how would he find his serenity now? Now that all his hard earned training was leaving him at the thought of Anakin? He was doing it again. This desire was a disease in him. A disease that had tainted Qui-Gon Jinn. And it tainted Anakin Skywalker. He would not allow it to happen again. Yes, Anakin was a free spirit, much like Qui-Gon. He had his lovers. But he needed to balance it with other things. He didn't need the taint of a Master's lust. Oh, and it was lust. But he would control it, as he had for so long. There was no one to own him anymore.
Obi-Wan stood, kicking his underwear off his foot where it had slid down his legs as he touched himself. He palmed the door open and stopped abruptly, caught in the glow of light from his Padawan's room. Anakin had returned, but he wasn't alone. A girl with long auburn curls was on her knees, her face pressed against his apprentice's groin. Anakin smiled wickedly at Obi-Wan, his hand fisting in the girls hair as he thrust forward into her mouth. He tossed his head back, moaning softly as the girl's mouth pistoned smoothly over his hard length.
Obi-Wan didn't look away, couldn't look away, from the tableau before him. Without thinking, he opened his mind to his Padawan and felt the flood of desire, the thrill of taking what he wanted. It was so dark, so mind-numbingly delicious, that Obi-Wan gasped.
Anakin raised his head, his eyes heated. "Master," he murmured, so low that Obi-Wan wasn't sure he even heard it. But he felt it, down to his core.
Anakin's eyes dropped to Obi-Wan's burgeoning erection, and he moaned. Obi-Wan blushed at the lascivious sound, and the room swung wide as he took in the wet, sucking noises, Anakin's panting breath, and the moan, that lewd, lustful sound that Anakin was making now.
"Padawan," he gasped, his hand going again to his cock.
Obi-Wan noticed how Anakin's hands tightened on the girls head, noted the rapid jerk of his hips, and knew he was close. Oh, gods, he couldn't come that quickly, not after…and he shouldn't do this. Force, help him. There is no passion, there is serenity, there is no passion there is serenity, there is no passion there is serenity, there is no passion there is serenity…
Anakin grunted harshly, flooding the girl's mouth. She tried to pull away and Anakin held her there, never taking his eyes from Obi-Wan. "Do you want her Master? We could share." He released the girl and cupped her chin, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You wouldn't mind fucking my Master."
She nodded obediently. "I wouldn't mind fucking your Master."
Anakin smiled back at Obi-Wan. "She's very accommodating."
Obi-Wan's stomach roiled, and he clenched his teeth. Darkness. Oh gods, it was darkness. This lust that filled him. He tried to answer but the words wouldn't leave his throat. He shook his head, vehemently, and stepped into the fresher, locking the door behind him. He sank to his knees, fighting for some semblance of normalcy. His thoughts scattered when he tried to shape them into cohesion.
Anakin had just manipulated that girl, all for the sake of his lust. The desire to please his Master, who was so out of control that he had stood there watching, watching his padawan be serviced. He had to drive this from his soul, this temptation that was tormenting him. He arose and turned the shower spray on cold and stepped under the stream. His cock wilted and he winced at the sensation. It had been years since he felt this way, this out of control. He had controlled his desires with meditation, since Qui-Gon had been taken from him. He would again. He was a Jedi, who walked in the light. He wasn't one who could tread in the shadows and still be contained.
This night would be one of meditation, of ridding himself of the guilt of his actions, the filth of need. Tomorrow, he would deal with Anakin's actions, and they would begin a new path. Tomorrow he could hide from it all in the light.
"She understood then that something was stirring within her, as it had so many years ago. Watching him, watching his body move, made her feel it. And as her eyes lingered for a second, she felt the heat in her neck and breasts, and she flushed, turning away before he noticed." (Nicholas Sparks - The Notebook)
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