The truth of this cannot be argued, Qui-Gon thinks. He's learned something from every Padawan he's taken under his protection. From Feemor he learned responsibility, from Xanatos he learned judgement. From Obi-Wan, he finds himself learning patience.
And so he practices.
He practices many things that morning - patience, serenity, and the ability to watch while not appearing to look.
Obi-Wan is admirably composed, in the circumstances, but now that Qui-Gon knows what to look for, the small missteps and hitches of breath are obvious, as is the slow, sensual flex of muscle when bending or leaning or...
He closes his eyes and breathes to find his centre.
A Master is not so much a teacher as he is a guide. That is also a truth that cannot be argued, though the distinction is somewhat hazy when faced with a Padawan who does something so ridiculously stupid.
Qui-Gon is four heartbeats away from grabbing Obi-Wan by the shoulders and shaking him till his eyes rattle. The boy has less sense than a rampaging bantha on an ice floe.
Sex is transitory, sexual pleasure is transitory, and the energy he is putting into indulging his desires has been stolen from his training. Qui-Gon will not tolerate that.
"Master?"
He opens his eyes and smiles. "I have reached a decision, Padawan," he says, "I believe it is time to test your endurance."
Obi-Wan freezes.
"A lightsaber drill, I think," Qui-Gon continues, voice level and warm, "We have had some time to rest so you should be at optimum fitness."
"Of- of course," Obi-Wan says, and once again, Qui-Gon is impressed. His Padawan is only barely holding his panic inside but he is holding it. "I... will meet you there, Master."
"No," Qui-Gon says, "I wish you give you some instructions before you begin. I think you will do better to pay attention to your hips, Obi-Wan. You do not turn into your strokes and your balance could be better. Come. Walk with me."
Obi-Wan does. And Qui-Gon quickens his pace almost thoughtlessly. Cruelly.
But his Padawan keeps up.
Qui-Gon elects to use the public training grounds. And he places him in the central ring. And he stands aside and says, "Begin."
And Obi-Wan does.
There is no mistaking the tremors, or the compensation.
Qui-Gon folds his arms within his sleeves and puts him through his paces four more times. Each time more disastrous than the last.
Obi-Wan is flushed, breathing deeply, and by the end of the fourth time, Qui-Gon can see his Padawan dart a frantic gaze around the room.
"Master," Obi-Wan says, and his voice quivers, "If I may be excused for a moment..."
"Are you ill?" Qui-Gon asks, and he walks over.
He tilts Obi-Wan's chin up, and examines his dilated pupils and red, bitten lips. He touches the pulse at his throat and Obi-Wan actually bites back a moan.
"No," Obi-Wan starts to say.
"Then continue," Qui-Gon interrupts, and walks away, "Your opponents will not wait for your convenience."
He quite thinks that Obi-Wan is going to cry, even at fifteen, but the boy is dutiful and in any case, he has given him no easy way out. For Obi-Wan to bolt now will mean admitting everything.
Which he will do, Qui-Gon promises himself, but only after he has been punished enough.
By the time he takes his Padawan back to their quarters, Obi-Wan is glassy-eyed and almost shaking where he stands. Four times he stopped halfway through a kata to let his body ride out his overstimulation. At one point, Qui-Gon was genuinely concerned his apprentice would simply stop right there to remove the treacherous plug lodged so deep in his ass.
Right in front of everyone, in the middle of the training room.
Qui-Gon locks the door without Obi-Wan even noticing.
Obi-Wan is single-mindedly making for his room and when Qui-Gon calls him to a halt, he actually whimpers.
It's a tiny sound, but infinitely wounded and pleading, and Qui-Gon softens.
"Return to your room and lie down," he says, voice gentle but implacable, "Lay on your stomach. I will attend to you in a moment."
Which he does.
He brings a soothing aloe gel and a cold compress, and tugs Obi-Wan's boots and belt and trousers off without a word more to deepen his apprentice's shame and conflicted emotions.
The plug is still firmly lodged inside, but the poor rim clinging to it is badly swollen and red. The lubricant has clearly begun to dry or drain.
Qui-Gon silently works a slow application of the aloe gel between plug and abused anus, wiggling the silicon to slick as much as he can over as wide an area as he can. Then he begins to ease the plug out.
He is unsure whether he is impressed or even more angry. The plug is thick and hard, and it seems to go on forever as he draws it out. Even with the added lube, the swollen flesh clings stickily to it and almost doesn't let go.
The plug pops free with an obscene sound and Obi-Wan shoves his hips back and up with a hoarse cry.
Qui-Gon slips a finger in just to ease the sudden shock of emptiness.
When a few moments have passed, he removes it and doesn't linger as he applies one more scoop of the aloe gel before pushing the cold compress down between Obi-Wan's legs.
The yelp he gets is, he feels, allowable in the circumstances. No doubt the boy's erection and balls are also badly overstimulated. Better to ease them for now and give him the space later to work the residual sexual tension out of himself.
It is quite some time later before Obi-Wan appears, wearing clean trousers and a particularly sheepish look.
"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan says, and cannot quite meet his eyes.
Qui-Gon has learned infinite patience from Obi-Wan, but somehow or other, he finds himself also learning indulgence. This is a trait that troubles him given his history with Xanatos.
But as he eyes Obi-Wan's truly repentant expression and bow-legged stance, he sighs and gives in. Again.
"I will make you a deal," he says, "You will not wear the plug during missions, mornings, or scheduled training sessions at any time of the day or night. At all other times, you may do as you like. If I require your complete focus when it is not one of the specified times, you may ask me for a moment's privacy to... attend to matters. Yes?"
Obi-Wan nods, blushing from the roots of his hair to the backs of his hands.
"And now, Padawan," Qui-Gon says, "I think you should meditate on this matter."
Obi-Wan looks helplessly at the meditation platform but he obeys. He bites his lip as he gets stiffly to his knees.
"Lotus position will be best," Qui-Gon says, watching him.
Obi-Wan winces as he crosses his legs, his tender asshole no doubt adjusting to the stretch and pressure.
Qui-Gon is reasonably sure the lesson has been learned.
FILL: Obi Wan / Qui Gon : "Teaching lesson" (Warning: Sort of underage touching)
The truth of this cannot be argued, Qui-Gon thinks. He's learned something from every Padawan he's taken under his protection. From Feemor he learned responsibility, from Xanatos he learned judgement. From Obi-Wan, he finds himself learning patience.
And so he practices.
He practices many things that morning - patience, serenity, and the ability to watch while not appearing to look.
Obi-Wan is admirably composed, in the circumstances, but now that Qui-Gon knows what to look for, the small missteps and hitches of breath are obvious, as is the slow, sensual flex of muscle when bending or leaning or...
He closes his eyes and breathes to find his centre.
A Master is not so much a teacher as he is a guide. That is also a truth that cannot be argued, though the distinction is somewhat hazy when faced with a Padawan who does something so ridiculously stupid.
Qui-Gon is four heartbeats away from grabbing Obi-Wan by the shoulders and shaking him till his eyes rattle. The boy has less sense than a rampaging bantha on an ice floe.
Sex is transitory, sexual pleasure is transitory, and the energy he is putting into indulging his desires has been stolen from his training. Qui-Gon will not tolerate that.
"Master?"
He opens his eyes and smiles. "I have reached a decision, Padawan," he says, "I believe it is time to test your endurance."
Obi-Wan freezes.
"A lightsaber drill, I think," Qui-Gon continues, voice level and warm, "We have had some time to rest so you should be at optimum fitness."
"Of- of course," Obi-Wan says, and once again, Qui-Gon is impressed. His Padawan is only barely holding his panic inside but he is holding it. "I... will meet you there, Master."
"No," Qui-Gon says, "I wish you give you some instructions before you begin. I think you will do better to pay attention to your hips, Obi-Wan. You do not turn into your strokes and your balance could be better. Come. Walk with me."
Obi-Wan does. And Qui-Gon quickens his pace almost thoughtlessly. Cruelly.
But his Padawan keeps up.
Qui-Gon elects to use the public training grounds. And he places him in the central ring. And he stands aside and says, "Begin."
And Obi-Wan does.
There is no mistaking the tremors, or the compensation.
Qui-Gon folds his arms within his sleeves and puts him through his paces four more times. Each time more disastrous than the last.
Obi-Wan is flushed, breathing deeply, and by the end of the fourth time, Qui-Gon can see his Padawan dart a frantic gaze around the room.
"Master," Obi-Wan says, and his voice quivers, "If I may be excused for a moment..."
"Are you ill?" Qui-Gon asks, and he walks over.
He tilts Obi-Wan's chin up, and examines his dilated pupils and red, bitten lips. He touches the pulse at his throat and Obi-Wan actually bites back a moan.
"No," Obi-Wan starts to say.
"Then continue," Qui-Gon interrupts, and walks away, "Your opponents will not wait for your convenience."
He quite thinks that Obi-Wan is going to cry, even at fifteen, but the boy is dutiful and in any case, he has given him no easy way out. For Obi-Wan to bolt now will mean admitting everything.
Which he will do, Qui-Gon promises himself, but only after he has been punished enough.
By the time he takes his Padawan back to their quarters, Obi-Wan is glassy-eyed and almost shaking where he stands. Four times he stopped halfway through a kata to let his body ride out his overstimulation. At one point, Qui-Gon was genuinely concerned his apprentice would simply stop right there to remove the treacherous plug lodged so deep in his ass.
Right in front of everyone, in the middle of the training room.
Qui-Gon locks the door without Obi-Wan even noticing.
Obi-Wan is single-mindedly making for his room and when Qui-Gon calls him to a halt, he actually whimpers.
It's a tiny sound, but infinitely wounded and pleading, and Qui-Gon softens.
"Return to your room and lie down," he says, voice gentle but implacable, "Lay on your stomach. I will attend to you in a moment."
Which he does.
He brings a soothing aloe gel and a cold compress, and tugs Obi-Wan's boots and belt and trousers off without a word more to deepen his apprentice's shame and conflicted emotions.
The plug is still firmly lodged inside, but the poor rim clinging to it is badly swollen and red. The lubricant has clearly begun to dry or drain.
Qui-Gon silently works a slow application of the aloe gel between plug and abused anus, wiggling the silicon to slick as much as he can over as wide an area as he can. Then he begins to ease the plug out.
He is unsure whether he is impressed or even more angry. The plug is thick and hard, and it seems to go on forever as he draws it out. Even with the added lube, the swollen flesh clings stickily to it and almost doesn't let go.
The plug pops free with an obscene sound and Obi-Wan shoves his hips back and up with a hoarse cry.
Qui-Gon slips a finger in just to ease the sudden shock of emptiness.
When a few moments have passed, he removes it and doesn't linger as he applies one more scoop of the aloe gel before pushing the cold compress down between Obi-Wan's legs.
The yelp he gets is, he feels, allowable in the circumstances. No doubt the boy's erection and balls are also badly overstimulated. Better to ease them for now and give him the space later to work the residual sexual tension out of himself.
It is quite some time later before Obi-Wan appears, wearing clean trousers and a particularly sheepish look.
"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan says, and cannot quite meet his eyes.
Qui-Gon has learned infinite patience from Obi-Wan, but somehow or other, he finds himself also learning indulgence. This is a trait that troubles him given his history with Xanatos.
But as he eyes Obi-Wan's truly repentant expression and bow-legged stance, he sighs and gives in. Again.
"I will make you a deal," he says, "You will not wear the plug during missions, mornings, or scheduled training sessions at any time of the day or night. At all other times, you may do as you like. If I require your complete focus when it is not one of the specified times, you may ask me for a moment's privacy to... attend to matters. Yes?"
Obi-Wan nods, blushing from the roots of his hair to the backs of his hands.
"And now, Padawan," Qui-Gon says, "I think you should meditate on this matter."
Obi-Wan looks helplessly at the meditation platform but he obeys. He bites his lip as he gets stiffly to his knees.
"Lotus position will be best," Qui-Gon says, watching him.
Obi-Wan winces as he crosses his legs, his tender asshole no doubt adjusting to the stretch and pressure.
Qui-Gon is reasonably sure the lesson has been learned.