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Feign’d deaths to die
Category: POV, Sex, Qui/Obi, Slight Kink
Rating: R+
Warnings: sex, and grubbs
Spoilers: Not even close to canon. Nothing to spoil.
Summary: Masters make padawans do things they don't want to. Cause it's good for 'em. this is my remix of Fishgoat's 'Guess Again' for the Remix redux challenge. Title from John Donne.
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome.
This is from a few years ago when I was still writing TPM. I'm going to be finishing up and reposting some of those stories so I'm collecting them here.

Sway. Manipulate. Conduct. Command. Govern. Control.

So many layers of meaning. Each its own world of import. Yet one common thread runs through them; it's opposite. To state command creates also a state without command. A polarity so seldom reckoned by those among us. Those who wear the mantle and carry the trappings of Jedi but who've only seen half of what we are. Of what we can be.

Loss of control, loss of command, of center and focus, these as Jedi we fight against. Drill and learn and practice and all so that in that decisive moment, we retain it and survive and maybe even triumph.

We are so fond of walking into fear, of wrapping ourselves in the force and releasing our anxieties, our insecurities and yet our larger and more dangerous fear we hold so close, with tangled fingers, and hope we will not be found so horribly vulnerable.

So, instead of standing with my back to the chasm, denying its presence and danger, I've chosen to fall. And in my fall, I've taken Obi-wan with me. To suffer, in ecstasy and in pain, flying down into chaos.

To die and die and die until, in dying we lose our fear of loss and learn to be present to our physical reactions. And perhaps, perhaps, we will learn to fly with those sensations and turn them to our advantage.

With no other Jedi would I travel this path. I had, in fact, never counted myself able to go there, had not even discerned its possibility before the moment Obi-wan touched me for pleasure. And I him. A moment I treasure as I treasure the man Obi-wan has become. A remarkable Jedi, my Padawan is.

Now we will travel this path again and I will push him, beyond his comfort and perhaps, beyond my own. He's grown so much stronger since we began, voraciously taking in each lesson and doubling his ability. Pushing me to stretch and make him take more. Finding the chasm is more difficult but tonight I will take him there, and he will be the one to push us over the edge.

His is bound only by my command and his eyes are covered, so little to separate us and I must be mindful of our bond, to not let him become aware of what I'm doing. Nor how I'm feeling. He's alarmingly good at that.

The room is in all ways as I desire it. Dim, with water trickling over songreeds, the notes lone and eerie and, I hope, confounding to his ears. Incense burns to confuse his sense of smell. We are ready to begin.

He must feel each sensation and name its cause without hesitation or complaint. We have agreed on this and for the most part he does very well. But he is headstrong, my beautiful apprentice, and wants his pleasure before he's earned it. Two, three, four sensations, faultlessly named, some instantly, and yet some with hesitation.

He begins to arch and gasp, each sensation playing him like music. Several times I must use the force to keep his hands down and as he nears the precipice I can feel his frustration building. I stoke it with torturous, gentle touches where I know he likes it harder. His lips form words but he won't speak yet, I know this.

In turn, I am closer myself. Pushing him, pushes me. Another polarity. Yet tonight he seems somewhat distracted. His brow furrows above the kerchief over his eyes and I feel his trepidation through our bond. A brief dark moment. "Feel, don't think. Be here, Padawan."

He nods but I sense his foreboding and reinforce my will with my tongue, reminding him of his body. And of his place.

I ache to kiss him. His mouth, open slightly and he gasps as I lick him. His sex, arching and hard over his belly is the mirror of my own, shielded by my clothing but no less demanding. Even the incense cannot mask his scent. It intoxicates me.

I have made Obi-wan squirm. I have made him sigh, and shiver and call out to me in pleasure. And in pain. I have yet to make him truly angry. Tonight I attempt just that. Master Gallia has told me of the sensual virtues of a certain grub. I find them repulsive but I'm curious to see the reaction such a thing might cause in my Padawan.

Its softly undulating body squirms its way up Obi-wan's penis. His reaction is beyond my expectations. He's arched, taut with sensations, mouth wide open, head thrown back and I want nothing more than to let the creature finish him so I may see him in ecstasy. "What?" he gasps out the ragged question. He's lost, on the brink and spinning away from himself. I can feel his climax approaching and feel my own rise to match it. A swift tug on my balls disperses the sensation though Obi-wan still suffers. Suffers, so beautifully.

I draw the larvae from him, placing it on his belly and somehow he knows immediately what's been done to him. I can't help but smile at his angry indignation.

"Qui-gon!" He shakes the small creature at me. "It's a GRUB." He shouts. "A GRUB. Master." He's shaking now and it takes me a moment to rescue the pitiful lifeform from my raving Padawan and return it to it's home. My back is turned but a moment and thinking back upon it, I can see that was my weakness. Inciting Obi-wan to such heights of arousal and frustrated anger and then leaving myself open to attack. Well, even a Master must continue to learn. And learn I have.

He tosses me down but I am not so far gone that I'll let him win so easily. We roll, one over the other until he is atop me, very close to the edge of the abyss and yet he skirts it so skillfully. Traps me, working hard to keep himself balanced, while tearing clothing from me and I can feel my own balance slipping.

He is strong, is my Obi-wan. Strong and quick and sly. His breath rough on my cheek, his heat warming me as my back cools on the synthcrete. And this time he does take me, as I've taken him so many other times. His teeth closed on my flesh, the rhythm of his pounding hard and stabbing and right, oh, so right. And I've gone where he's led me, over the edge and flying.

Free and so terrified, so open without restraint or restriction. Not Master, but lover. Only he could free me so. And in our freedom, we garner our control. Practicing it. Making ourselves whole and wholly ready for what may come.

"Obi-wan. Beloved." His ear is tantalizingly close and my breath makes him shiver.

"My Master." His voice is muffled by the bedding and my arm.

"You did very well, Padawan. I'm pleased." Oh, yes, so pleased. You'll never know how much.
"But the grub, Master. Why?" His disgust brushes me through our bond. I had no idea he was so easy to disturb this way. I shall have to take pains to use it again.

I stroke my fingers down his back and think on what I wanted from that moment. I wanted him to take control by diving into the loss of his control. To ride the more powerful of the feelings and show me he could regroup and take victory. Yes, to take victory.

"Isn't it clear to you, Obi-wan?" I pause for effect. "Perhaps we should start again. I think there's another grub. One less traumatized..." He's up like lightening, holding my wrists, but he hesitates. Staring at me, mind working.

He's smart, is my Obi-wan.

"No, My Master. No more grubs." His grip becomes a caress. "I think I know. But you only had to ask for I dearly love taking you and it happens so seldom."

"I think I prefer you this way. It is most," I cover his mouth with mine, softly, wetly. "rewarding."

Who then is the Master and who the mastered?



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