Lap Dance

by Nix
(crimsonquills AT gmail DOT com)


Author's Notes: I don't use betas, so all mistakes are mine. Plus, I wrote this in around two hours, late at night. Please be forgiving. This fic is for Keelywolfe, who expressed the desire for smut. I hope this fits the bill.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to the #tpm crew, and especially Mercutio, kaly and Iro.


Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath and hurried back to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon. He wondered yet again how he'd let Bant talk him into this. In the planning, it had seemed like a bold move, maybe even a good idea. She'd pointed out that he'd been trying to work himself up to talking to Qui-Gon for months and that every time he tried, he ended up diverting the conversation at the last moment. Obi-Wan, being relatively sure that Qui-Gon returned his feelings, had allowed himself to be talked into a less...verbal form of expression.

But now, hurrying down the halls with his cloak wrapped tight about his body and silk sliding smoothly against his skin, the padawan was having some serious doubts. The only thing preventing Obi-Wan from opting out of the plan entirely was something Bant had said. Not a threat precisely. Just an offhand comment about speaking to his Master the next morning.

Reaching their quarters, Obi-Wan took another deep breath and slipped inside, half-hoping Qui-Gon had gone out for the evening. He found his master sitting on the couch, sipping a mug of tea and reading a datapad. "Good evening, Obi-Wan," he said. "Where have you been?"

"With Bant. She was...ah...helping me get your birthday present ready," Obi-Wan answered, horrified to find that he was blushing slightly.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon asked, plainly curious. Obi-Wan watched his master's eyes flicker over him, noting the cloak he was holding shut far too tightly and the lack of parcels of any kind.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said firmly, more for himself than Qui-Gon. He moved to a panel on the wall and then hesitated and turned to his master. "Just...watch. Don't say anything until I'm done." Qui-Gon nodded and set the datapad aside.

Obi-Wan turned back to the panel, dimmed the lights a little, and brought up the song he and Bant had selected. Turning his back on his master, Obi-Wan let his head hang a little and closed his eyes, concentrating on the rhythm of the music. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, the formless Jedi cloak slid to the floor. What he wore beneath was certainly not the layered Jedi tunics. A sapphire blue silk shirt clung to Obi- Wan's shoulders and caressed his back as it rippled in response to his movements. His legs were clothed in black, the material drawing the eyes even as it teasingly concealed the limbs within.

Obi-Wan was committed now, so he let the music take him, let it move through him and guide him much as the Force did. He turned to face Qui-Gon, and the older Jedi had to bite back a gasp. The silk shirt was open to the waist, revealing a smooth, strong chest sprinkled lightly with hair. Obi-Wan's eyes were still closed as he trailed his hands up his own body, hips twisting to the slow beat of the music.

Qui-Gon realized suddenly that Obi-Wan was moving closer to him, the dance carrying him forward until the younger man stood practically straddling his master's legs. Qui-Gon found that he was holding his breath, looking up at his Padawan writhing so sensually, so close...close enough to touch.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes then, catching Qui-Gon's heated gaze, and relaxed a little. His tongue flickered out and wet his lips unconsciously. Sliding one hand inside his shirt and across a pebbled nipple, he pushed the silk off one shoulder and slipped his arm out of the sleeve. Pulling the shirt off his other arm, Obi-Wan stretched it between his hands and hooked it behind Qui-Gon's neck. The padawan leaned down close enough to kiss...and then pulled away without brushing lips. The silk shirt was drawn across Qui-Gon's skin and fluttered, abandoned, to the floor.

Obi-Wan turned away, but before it could even occur to Qui- Gon that he was leaving the younger man slid into his lap. Back to chest, Obi-Wan let his head rest on Qui-Gon's shoulder, his body still moving to the music. Qui-Gon couldn't restrain a slight moan, his erection teased to further hardness by the pressure of Obi-Wan grinding against him.

Then the extra stimulation disappeared as Obi-Wan surged up out of the cradle of his Master's hips. He didn't go far, merely turned to face Qui-Gon, his hands sliding into the waistband of the black pants... Qui-Gon held his breath in anticipation, and then the garment slithered to the floor, exposing more skin to the touch of Qui-Gon's eyes. The older man gasped a little and reached out. Obi-Wan stepped into the touch, allowing his Master's hand to slide across his hip and settle against his lower back. The music drew to a close with the Padawan kneeling naked astride Qui-Gon's lap, hands resting on his shoulders.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth and found himself momentarily unable to speak. Obi-Wan smiled. "Did you enjoy your present, Master?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Padawan," Qui-Gon finally managed.

Obi-Wan nodded a little and climbed out of his master's lap, turning as if to retrieve his clothing. Qui-Gon stood quickly and seized the younger man's arm, spinning him into his arms. Qui-Gon captured Obi-Wan's lips with his own and found the Padawan ready, his mouth eager and demanding.

They lost themselves in the taste of the other, Qui-Gon's hands exploring familiar skin made new and exciting by the flush of desire. Obi-Wan tugged at the layers of clothing that frustrated his need to feel warm skin beneath his palms. Parting briefly, the two men disposed of Qui-Gon's tunics and came together again, moans of delight spilling from their lips at the first of meeting of eager flesh.

Qui-Gon reluctantly left Obi-Wan's mouth to taste the skin of his shoulder and throat. Large hands moved from cupping a naked hip to the curve of Obi-Wan's buttocks. The padawan drew Qui-Gon to the bedroom, impatient to feel the weight of his lover atop him. Qui-Gon went and was drawn down onto the bed, Obi-Wan beneath him, arching into the press of his body.

Qui-Gon used his lips to map his new lover's body, exploiting each sensitive spot until Obi-Wan was writhing more intensely to his master's touch than he had to the music. Obi-Wan was helpless to do anything more than grip Qui-Gon's shoulders and undulate against him, any thought of reciprocating lost in waves of pleasure. Qui-Gon didn't mind, his body drawn taut with arousal just from the taste of Obi-Wan, the texture of the skin beneath his lips.

Finally, Qui-Gon could bear to tease no longer. He bent his head and licked a bead of liquid from the tip of Obi-Wan's erection. The brief touch of Qui-Gon's tongue pulled Obi-Wan from the haze of pleasure and he sat up slowly, pushing his master into a kneeling position. Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon, silencing the older man's objection with a kiss. The master's protests died away as he felt himself sinking into a slick passage already prepared for him.

After a long moment, Obi-Wan carefully began to move, sliding up and down the sleek hardness that filled him. Leg muscles tight with effort, Obi-Wan lifted himself one last time and came as he sank down and Qui-Gon brushed his prostate lightly. The older man followed a moment later, the grip of Obi-Wan's muscles overwhelming his control.

The lovers collapsed onto the bed as the tension left them. Qui-Gon lay on his back, Obi-Wan in his arms, and they smiled. Talk could wait until morning.

--End--