Title: Petulant
Author: Hilary (embere@netzero.com)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Ask, or Jacynthe Demorae's: http://jdemorae.slashcity.tv/lightsaberissues/index.html
Series: none
Categories: Q/O PWP, kink, first-time. Unapologetic smut.
Feedback: Dying for it, please. email above.
Summary: Bad Padawan. Bad.
Spoilers/Warnings: BDSM.
Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to
write for fame, fortune and glory.
Today is not that day. You know, I went quite schizophrenic over this piece.
First they wanted to be funny.
Then they wanted to be intense and serious. Then Obi-Wan wanted to be depressed
and moody. It damn near turned into a choose-your-own ending. Maybe it needs
to be, still. All you angstophiliacs, let me know if you want an alternate ending,
'cause I almost have one cooked up.
Credits: Bunnied, beta'ed and assisted along by Tem-ve H'syan, who empathizes
with my wayward Padawan
plight. /..../ denotes thoughts. *..* denotes emphasis * * * *
***************************************************************************************
"Padawan, I cannot believe you showed such little restraint in front of the
Council. Do you know what Master Yoda told me after you were asked to leave?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, not caring. He rubbed at his achy head and dry eyes;
the day had just been bad. This called-before-the-Council business was so terribly
old. They hadn't even had a shower after getting off the bloody transport from
their last assignment, and they'd spent two days draped in animal skins and
dancing to three harvest moons! He smelled like a ronto. To say that the past
several days hadn't gone at all the way he would have liked would be a galactic
understatement.
"...come over you? You've been completely unreasonable recently. Are you listening
to me?"
Obi-Wan looked up.
"What did Master Yoda say, again?"
He wouldn't have asked, but he had missed it entirely and was sure it would
find a way to bite him on the ass later. It always did, when he tuned out on
a lecture. He was too cross to care that his Master knew he hadn't been listening,
and definitely too cross to care that he was sulking. Qui-Gon leveled a glare
at his Padawan.
"He said that he wanted me to mete out some kind of discipline, and that if
your behavior didn't improve, and immediately, the Council would reprimand you
formally."
He paused, narrowing his eyes and turning his face so that he looked at Obi-Wan
sideways.
"You've never been so ill-restrained, Obi-Wan. What is going on?"
Obi-Wan shrugged, looking up at his Master with just his eyes, his head tipped
downward.
"Obi-Wan.."
Qui-Gon managed to sound compassionate and threatening at the same time. Obi-Wan
looked up at him, and launched.
"There has been no time for myself. Sith, there has been no time for a *bath.*
I haven't got laid in two weeks-though I doubt I could pay a *prostitute* to
do me right now-" He hesitated, some small part of him dimly surprised at his
bluntness, then plunged forward recklessly: "The food was awful, I have a headache,
and the Council always comes first. I'm *rather* tired of it."
He had started out trying to keep his voice level, measured, but gave up quickly,
ending on a note that was somewhere between irritated and whiny. He crossed
his arms over his chest and cast his eyes down grouchily, refusing to be embarrassed
about his uncharacteristic frankness. Qui-Gon kept his expression still, knowing
that to return anger in kind would only exacerbate things, but honestly, he
was stunned. Obi-Wan was so much more mature than this-- *child*-- in front
of him now.
"Obi-Wan, you chose this."
Obi-Wan waved his hand disrespectfully, brushing off the old difficult-life speech.
"Spare me, Master, please."
He rose and turned to head toward the 'fresher. Qui-Gon's eyes flashed angrily, the only indication that his restraint was completely worn through.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he rumbled, disbelief heavy in his voice, "you will *not* turn your back on me."
Obi-Wan was so far beyond caring that he glanced back over his shoulder, shot Qui-Gon a petulant look, and kept walking. He felt the thundering anger under Qui-Gon's thinning façade and experienced a second's nervousness. Perhaps he had gone too far? No. Refusing to admit the thought, he hardened his resolve. By the Sith, he *was* going to take a shower. He clenched his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw knot. He'd catch nine hells for this later, but damned if he wasn't going to get clean first. When he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist and braid dripping, Obi-Wan felt better. And worse. He really needed to apologize to his Master: he'd gone *quite* over the top. But Qui-Gon was heading for the 'fresher, practically ducking out of the common room in his irritation. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of embarrassment. This was going to be bad. It was an ugly feeling to know that his Master was so angry that he couldn't even stand to be in the same room. Obi-Wan tentatively sent a query down the bond, and felt it batted away impatiently. Oh, yes, no question: he was in trouble. Obi-Wan bit his lip anxiously and retreated to his room as nervousness shook through him.
He dressed in sleep clothes and paced a little, wondering when Qui-Gon was going to come for him and . and what? Lecture again? No, this was far, far beyond that. He winced when thought of the way he had *turned his back* on his Master. Formal disciplinary action was certainly on the horizon. He sat on his bed for a little while, but grew increasingly anxious as he realized his Master had shielded against the bond. He rose, and began to pace again. Finally, his nerves drove him to leave his room, and he went to find Qui-Gon. He was standing in soft, loose leggings and nothing more, gazing out his bedroom window and brushing his hair. The Coruscant sky was going pink in the sunset, and speeders and taxis rushed along traffic lanes. Obi-Wan wished he were on one of them. He found his eyes lingering inexplicably on the broad, muscular back. Oh, this was even worse than he thought. His Master always asked him to brush his hair. Obi-Wan couldn't remember the last time he hadn't, unless they had been separated.
"M-master?" he fairly squeaked.
Qui-Gon turned around, and the look he gave was flat, and told nothing. Not hot, not cold, just. expressionless. He said nothing, then turned back to the window and continued brushing his hair. Obi-Wan quivered inside. He had been expecting at least a little anger. Perhaps not a tirade; Qui-Gon wasn't given to those. But the almost-serene, measured look was positively unnerving. He tried again.
"I-I just wanted to say--"
"--That you're sorry," Qui-Gon supplied for him, his voice as calm as his face had been before he'd turned away. "That it won't ever happen again. That you realize you were wrong." He sighed, displaying his bone-deep disappointment. "No, Padawan, I don't think that's going to be enough this time."
The words chilled Obi-Wan through, but he could find no reply. He bit his lower lip and glanced at the carpeting. Qui-Gon turned back around, a curious expression on his face. He was looking at the hairbrush, studying it, and turning it over in his hand. Then he set it on the windowsill, almost wistfully. Obi-Wan was thoroughly puzzled.
"You have been acting like a child for four days, Padawan."
Obi-Wan nodded morosely, staring at the floor.
"And something's going to have to be done about it."
Obi-Wan met his Master's eyes with a pained expression, but nodded again.
"And the Council is already aware of just how horribly you've acted. So we will have to make sure this is a punishment that won't be forgotten."
Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded."The Council is very good at finding punishment like that, Master," was all he could think to say. It was a shoddy, failed attempt at humor.
Qui-Gon snorted. "Oh, no," Qui-Gon's voice had gone very dangerously quiet, and he moved toward Obi-Wan. "No, no. If I can't handle my own Padawan, then I might as well not keep one."
Obi-Wan blanched. "Then... wh-what.?" was all he could get out.
"You're going to have to have a spanking, Padawan," Qui-Gon informed him in that same gray, quiet voice.
He had moved directly into Obi-Wan's immediate space, hovering, filling Obi-Wan's entire field of vision with intimidation and shock.
"A sp-" Obi-Wan swallowed. "Sp-"
He sucked in a breath. He couldn't even say it. His chest and stomach ached with adrenaline. He looked up at his Master, whose eyes now carried the smallest glint of humor at the wayward Padawan's discomfiture. Obi-Wan's breath left him in a broken whoosh of laughter.
"Oh, Master-Great Sith, you scared the Force out of me. I was sure you were--"
"Serious." Qui-Gon's tone was very serious, and so, now, were his eyes. Obi-Wan's heart hammered in his chest.
"...Spanking?" he said, mouse-like, the word disappearing at the end. Qui-Gon nodded, folding his arms over his chest and arching his eyebrows.
"Yes, Obi-Wan. This is your wake-up call. You've been acting like a crèche outcast, and you're going to be punished like one."
Obi-Wan tried to find righteous indignation, but couldn't. His breath was coming fast and shallow, but he didn't feel like he was getting any air. His Master was serious about this. They stared at one another a moment, then Qui-Gon shifted and broke the spell.
"We might as well get to it, Padawan."
Some part of Obi-Wan's rational mind simply wasn't willing to believe this was happening, and his eyes widened in horror.
"I-- you can't-- you're not really going to...?"
Qui-Gon stared at him and patted his lap. He smiled faintly with his eyes, as though he'd just decided he found the whole thing amusing.
"And take down your leggings," he added, nodding toward them.
Horrified, Obi-Wan discovered his body was moving of its own volition toward Qui-Gon. He caught himself, immediately before his Master, and shook his head, opening his hands in supplication.
"Master..."
"Padawan," Qui-Gon warned, and slapped his hand down on his knee once more. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head down, disappointment shading his face again at Obi-Wan's further hesitation. "Now!" he barked.
Obi-Wan moved before he knew what he was doing, tugging down his leggings and leaving them draped around his ankles. He didn't even take time to be modest about his nudity-clearly this exercise was meant to strip him of such small luxuries as prudishness. Besides, his Master had seen him hundreds of times. the thought trailed off and he flushed. *That* wasn't going to work. This was an entirely new world, and Obi-Wan knew it. He placed his stomach across his Master's lap awkwardly, extending his legs and balancing on his toes and hands. His disbelief had peaked. He was numb, having trouble staying steady, and now painfully humiliated.
"This is how it's going to work," Qui-Gon said calmly, his emotions buried beneath the tone he used almost exclusively with the Council. "You're going to get a swat for each letter in your name."
Obi-Wan nearly released a sigh of relief-that wouldn't be so bad-until Qui-Gon added, "Your full name."
There was a pause, and he seemed to contemplate a moment. Obi-Wan held his breath.
"And I want you to detail to me *why* you're being punished. One word for each letter. So that we understand each other, and know that it won't happen again."
Obi-Wan understood the impact of how he had acted, and why that kind of behavior had to be curbed, but he craned his neck around, draping one arm on the edge of the bed to better hold his weight. He was puzzled. He wasn't sure what to make of this exercise.
"Like this," Qui-Gon said. "O."
And he brought his open hand down on Obi-Wan's right cheek in a hard, ringing slap.
"Ow!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, his body jerking as he gripped the bedspread in a fist. It stung far more than he could have anticipated-his Master had huge, quick, hard hands. Obviously Obi-Wan had never fully realized *how* hard. Qui-Gon shook his head.
"I was thinking more along the lines of 'obedience.' As in: you are being punished for your obvious lack of it. Understand now?"
Obi-Wan began to feel mildly irritated. "Yes, Master," he gritted, thinking this was perverse and entirely unnecessary.
Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes critically. "I don't think you do," he said thoughtfully. "We shall see."
He almost felt sorry for his Padawan. He had released most of his ire-certainly he would never strike his Padawan in anger-but he felt enough residual irritation to fuel his thought that this was the right way to handle the situation. He squelched the vision of the sour look on Obi-Wan's face as he walked away, trying not to think about the disrespect Obi-Wan had shown to the man who was both his Master and his friend. Now was not the time. They would talk about that when this was done. But now, Qui-Gon was well aware of Obi-Wan's tense, wounded pride and the uneven pink splotch on his skin. Otherwise, the skin was smooth and perfect. He shook his head.
/Don't get carried away,/ he reprimanded himself. /This is disciplinary action./
Obi-Wan's breathing was shallow but silent as he waited.
"B," Qui-Gon announced, and slapped, harder than before, landing it directly on the warm target he had created with the first swat.
Obi-Wan jerked and bit his lip, still gripping the bed, and thought in a flash of anger, /'Bastard.'/ It slipped through the training bond. He shoved his shields up forcibly, too late. Qui-Gon reined himself in tightly. He would not succumb to anger, as his Padawan was doing.
"Brat," he supplied, in a perfectly rational voice, and added, "If I am going to have to provide your explanations for you, then we'll have to repeat on the other side."
Obi-Wan forced himself calm, but there was still petulance in his tone: "I'm sorry, Master, but I fail to see--"
"*I.*" Qui-Gon said firmly, and *slapped.*
Obi-Wan hissed in a breath at the sharpness of it. It was getting worse. And he was expected to think through this?
"Impudent," he said, surprising himself. That was good. "I was very impudent, Master, with you and with the Council."
This could work. He decided he could play this game. Qui-Gon hummed in his throat, releasing a sigh. He placed his hand over the warm, red place on Obi-Wan's cheek, surprising Obi-Wan with the tenderness of it.
"Obi-Wan, this is going to be very difficult if you don't believe the seriousness of it."
Obi-Wan blanched as the warm place on his ass grow even more so under his Master's unmoving hand. The skin was oversensitive, and -- he swallowed -- Obi-Wan was thinking things he shouldn't be about that large hand covering his flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable all over again to believe he was draped, naked from the waist down, over his Master's lap like this. Worse, he was beginning to feel a pale red wash of arousal rush through him. He angled his neck and put his head on his forearm in shame, his fingers still holding the coverlet in a death grip. Qui-Gon sighed, pulling his hand away from Obi-Wan's increasingly warm skin. It was a bright pink flush against a white background, and Qui-Gon had to resist the urge to touch it again. He wanted to slip his hand over Obi-Wan's flesh, feeling the cool/warm/cool contrasts in the softness of the white/pink/white expanse of skin. He closed his eyes and found resolve, from somewhere, to quit thinking this way about his apprentice.
/At least for the time being,/ he added mentally, and continued: "W." He brought his hand down, harder even than he had before. His palm and fingers were warm and stinging.
"Wa-" Obi-Wan started, gasping at the fire that now suffused his skin. "Wayward," he said quickly.
He had nearly said, "Want."
He gritted his teeth, hoping the slight difference in intonation had gone unnoticed. But it was true, he was growing hard now, and struggling not to shift against his Master's firm legs and the soft material they were clothed in. He hoped desperately that if he stayed still, Qui-Gon wouldn't notice his erection. He was quite sure he wasn't meant to be *enjoying* this punishment. He focused on the angry red pain. He focused on his embarrassment, which, to his horror, was fading. He tried to prod himself into mortification again, and couldn't. His body was betraying him completely, and now, so was his mind. He realized he wanted his Master, wanted peace between them, wanted this punishment over so that he could be sure his Master wasn't angry anymore, and so that he could stop being angry at himself.
The small revelation surprised him, even as Qui-Gon said "A," and brought his hand down again in a hard blow that rocketed pain through him. Unquestionable, fiery pain.
"Angry!" Obi-Wan cried out immediately, all of his will focused on not pressing his erection firmly into Qui-Gon's legs. "I acted badly, Master, because I was angry, even though-even though I had no right to be."
His breathing was reduced to ragged panting as he fought for control, trying to distract himself. Qui-Gon was too painfully aware of his own erection to notice Obi-Wan's. He was glad that his Padawan was positioned a little away from his torso, or it would be as plain as day. His hand itched and felt like he had laid it on a hot teakettle, but this had to be finished.
To Be Continued in Part Two