Wait. Wait, wait, wait. How does this not have a fill yet!!! I know it's been ages, but I really hope you still find this, OP. Thanks for the great prompt!
Obi-Wan had often fantasized about being overwhelmed. Just taken without much consideration for his comfort, maybe bitten or slapped. Not a rape fantasy, as such, more some sort of... impersonal arrangement? Ritual of submission? He hadn't usually bothered with the circumstances beyond 'hold still, boy, take it' when masturbating. Vaguely, he had imagined somebody older, more powerful, capable of making him submit and no compunctions about doing so.
Obi-Wan had not had fantasies about this, specifically. Having his older, future self travel back in time, actually meeting himself had never crossed his mind. But now, since it had happened, since the bearded older version of himself with the tightly controlled presence and the confidence of a master had stood beside Master Qui-Gon and himself in front of the High Council and had with unshakable calm implied that they all were short-sighted crechelings...
The imaginings, deeply buried under multiple shields, had gained a face. What had been a unidentifiable big male sentient, usually human but not always, holding him down with big, sometimes claw-tipped hands and a sharp smile that turned to sharp bites had changed.
Now, the body pinning him was not that much bigger than him but augmented by the force, the smile slid from suave politeness to wicked amusement and...
… and maybe he should save the fantasies for the fresher instead of risking them while walking with his master and himself? He was in the process of missing a potentially important conversation.
“...trust your own teachings that much, my old master? But even for the Jedi hindsight offers new wisdom, and while I would not presume to alter the course of a masters teachings of the force, I should like to share some … character development. Certain concepts of self are better examined in the peace of home rather than on a fraught mission.”
And with just a couple more sentences the Jedi Master redirected Master Qui-Gon into the gardens onto the kind of project that Obi-Wan knew from experience would keep him occupied for several days.
Obi-Wan found himself steered into the Master's new quarters and settled onto a couch, whereupon the other busied himself with a pot of tea.
“Your shields need work. But I suppose I have some advantage at feeling what is beneath them.”
Obi-Wan could feel himself blushing at the thought of what must have prompted this comment, grateful that his older counterpart still had his back turned to him.
“I apologize for the...”
Embarassment? Inconvenience? Lack of control? He looked down. Force, how could he apologize for his fantasizing to the object of those thoughts? The older man had become a Jedi Master, and Obi-Wan keenly felt his inadequacies in the face of proof that he could do better.
“The only apology you should be making is to undress.”
The tone was so flat that Obi-Wan took a moment to parse the meaning.
“M- master, what?”
A cup of tea was set before him, and then a finger lifted his chin with gentle force, unhindered by his efforts to resist.
“Padawan, I am very much both the most qualified and the most discreet option for indulging those fantasies.” Obi-Wan froze under the regard of those calm eyes, torn between enthusiastic agreement and deep shame. He had never... well, he'd had sex, had experimented with Padawans of different races and genders, though of his own age, but he had never considered trusting anyone with this deep part of himself, had never considered actually being this vulnerable, permitting it, never mind seeking it out.
His fantasies had no actually consensual scenario because he could not fathom baring himself like this, talking about it, even asking for it. He wasn't certain that he could articulate even to himself what, exactly, he wanted. Now, faced with the very real possibility of somebody making his vague fantasies reality, he found himself struggling for an answer.
If he had to talk, he thought he might squeak and run away.
But he did want this. Desperately.
A flash of inspiration came to him and he started to open his utility belt with dizzying gratefulness that his older self had given him a way to avoid talking.
Demandingly, the Jedi Master kept his finger under Obi-Wan's chin, leaving him mesmerized, unblinkingly scrabbling with shaking hands to throw off his robes, then open the fastenings of his tunics.
Only when Obi-Wan could not take off any more of his clothing without getting up did the Master permit it, settling down into his own chair and taking a sip of tea. Throughout this, the heavy gaze did not release the Padawan who gracelessly fumbled through motions that were suddenly not half as well-practised as they should be.
Desperate for instruction Obi-Wan nevertheless raised an incredulous eyebrow when the older man motioned him to sit back down on the couch.
“Drink your tea.”
It felt strange to sit down the cool, smooth fabric. He had never in his life sat naked on a couch, certainly not with an erection, and definitely not with anybody watching. Obediently, he took a sip of his cup.
“When we are both done with our tea, you will get up and bend over the side of the couch. Legs spread, wrists crossed behind your back.”
Obi-Wan raised his cup again, wondering if he should drink faster. Should he try to match the Master's speed? Thinking wasn't usually this difficult. His raging hard-on and the urge to touch himself warred with the very specific instruction he had received, and thoughts knotted together like a particularly troublesome bunch of wiring.
“I do need some form of explicit agreement, Obi-Wan,” the Master interrupted his uncontrolled thought processes, far more gentle than before. “I will not touch you without your consent.”
Obi-Wan panicked as the prospect of loosing this, of being told to get dressed and get out, opened up like a horrible abyss in front of him. He couldn't force down the fear, couldn't manage words, and the thought of being rejected at this point had him nearly in tears.
He only hoped that the Jedi Master, the man who was so much more than he himself and yet incorporated everything that Obi-Wan was, would understand this, too. This was ridiculous, he realized, because until twenty-seven hours ago he had not had a single thought that this man did not know. Know and accept and had himself thought years ago.
And so, giving up on the troublesome matter of words, Obi-Wan did what he had long known better than to do. He completely released his hold on his shields and showed his agreement and consent as best as he could.
[Fill 1/2] Obi-Wan/Obi-Wan - Master Kenobi and Padawan Kenobi - Selfcest
Obi-Wan had often fantasized about being overwhelmed. Just taken without much consideration for his comfort, maybe bitten or slapped. Not a rape fantasy, as such, more some sort of... impersonal arrangement? Ritual of submission? He hadn't usually bothered with the circumstances beyond 'hold still, boy, take it' when masturbating. Vaguely, he had imagined somebody older, more powerful, capable of making him submit and no compunctions about doing so.
Obi-Wan had not had fantasies about this, specifically. Having his older, future self travel back in time, actually meeting himself had never crossed his mind. But now, since it had happened, since the bearded older version of himself with the tightly controlled presence and the confidence of a master had stood beside Master Qui-Gon and himself in front of the High Council and had with unshakable calm implied that they all were short-sighted crechelings...
The imaginings, deeply buried under multiple shields, had gained a face. What had been a unidentifiable big male sentient, usually human but not always, holding him down with big, sometimes claw-tipped hands and a sharp smile that turned to sharp bites had changed.
Now, the body pinning him was not that much bigger than him but augmented by the force, the smile slid from suave politeness to wicked amusement and...
… and maybe he should save the fantasies for the fresher instead of risking them while walking with his master and himself? He was in the process of missing a potentially important conversation.
“...trust your own teachings that much, my old master? But even for the Jedi hindsight offers new wisdom, and while I would not presume to alter the course of a masters teachings of the force, I should like to share some … character development. Certain concepts of self are better examined in the peace of home rather than on a fraught mission.”
And with just a couple more sentences the Jedi Master redirected Master Qui-Gon into the gardens onto the kind of project that Obi-Wan knew from experience would keep him occupied for several days.
Obi-Wan found himself steered into the Master's new quarters and settled onto a couch, whereupon the other busied himself with a pot of tea.
“Your shields need work. But I suppose I have some advantage at feeling what is beneath them.”
Obi-Wan could feel himself blushing at the thought of what must have prompted this comment, grateful that his older counterpart still had his back turned to him.
“I apologize for the...”
Embarassment? Inconvenience? Lack of control? He looked down. Force, how could he apologize for his fantasizing to the object of those thoughts? The older man had become a Jedi Master, and Obi-Wan keenly felt his inadequacies in the face of proof that he could do better.
“The only apology you should be making is to undress.”
The tone was so flat that Obi-Wan took a moment to parse the meaning.
“M- master, what?”
A cup of tea was set before him, and then a finger lifted his chin with gentle force, unhindered by his efforts to resist.
“Padawan, I am very much both the most qualified and the most discreet option for indulging those fantasies.”
Obi-Wan froze under the regard of those calm eyes, torn between enthusiastic agreement and deep shame. He had never... well, he'd had sex, had experimented with Padawans of different races and genders, though of his own age, but he had never considered trusting anyone with this deep part of himself, had never considered actually being this vulnerable, permitting it, never mind seeking it out.
His fantasies had no actually consensual scenario because he could not fathom baring himself like this, talking about it, even asking for it. He wasn't certain that he could articulate even to himself what, exactly, he wanted.
Now, faced with the very real possibility of somebody making his vague fantasies reality, he found himself struggling for an answer.
If he had to talk, he thought he might squeak and run away.
But he did want this. Desperately.
A flash of inspiration came to him and he started to open his utility belt with dizzying gratefulness that his older self had given him a way to avoid talking.
Demandingly, the Jedi Master kept his finger under Obi-Wan's chin, leaving him mesmerized, unblinkingly scrabbling with shaking hands to throw off his robes, then open the fastenings of his tunics.
Only when Obi-Wan could not take off any more of his clothing without getting up did the Master permit it, settling down into his own chair and taking a sip of tea. Throughout this, the heavy gaze did not release the Padawan who gracelessly fumbled through motions that were suddenly not half as well-practised as they should be.
Desperate for instruction Obi-Wan nevertheless raised an incredulous eyebrow when the older man motioned him to sit back down on the couch.
“Drink your tea.”
It felt strange to sit down the cool, smooth fabric. He had never in his life sat naked on a couch, certainly not with an erection, and definitely not with anybody watching. Obediently, he took a sip of his cup.
“When we are both done with our tea, you will get up and bend over the side of the couch. Legs spread, wrists crossed behind your back.”
Obi-Wan raised his cup again, wondering if he should drink faster. Should he try to match the Master's speed? Thinking wasn't usually this difficult. His raging hard-on and the urge to touch himself warred with the very specific instruction he had received, and thoughts knotted together like a particularly troublesome bunch of wiring.
“I do need some form of explicit agreement, Obi-Wan,” the Master interrupted his uncontrolled thought processes, far more gentle than before. “I will not touch you without your consent.”
Obi-Wan panicked as the prospect of loosing this, of being told to get dressed and get out, opened up like a horrible abyss in front of him. He couldn't force down the fear, couldn't manage words, and the thought of being rejected at this point had him nearly in tears.
He only hoped that the Jedi Master, the man who was so much more than he himself and yet incorporated everything that Obi-Wan was, would understand this, too. This was ridiculous, he realized, because until twenty-seven hours ago he had not had a single thought that this man did not know. Know and accept and had himself thought years ago.
And so, giving up on the troublesome matter of words, Obi-Wan did what he had long known better than to do. He completely released his hold on his shields and showed his agreement and consent as best as he could.
He shouldn't have.