"N."

*Slap.*

"N-naughty," was the best Obi-Wan could do, and his bit his lip as a flare of lust jolted through him at the double entendre. Now he was ashamed again, afraid his deep arousal would be discovered. What would happen then? His shielding slipped and he
clung to it almost fearfully. This was too much, too much--he couldn't be letting this happen. Why had he acted so horribly?
What kind of Jedi acted like that? He tried to think ahead to the next letter, and couldn't remember what it was.

"K."

*Slap.*

Harder still than before, sizzling through Obi-Wan's nerves. Obi-Wan's throat ached with tension and his eyes began to burn. K? What in the galaxy started with a K?

/Kiss,/ he realized, and laughed a short bark of a laugh, not nearly as terrified as he thought he should be: as the laugh jerked him, his erection shifted against Qui-Gon's leg, perfectly evident.

"Knight," Qui-Gon offered, and his voice was thick and strange. "You weren't acting like one."

Obi-Wan nodded and closed his eyes tightly, pressing them against the back of his wrist.

"No, I wasn't," he agreed throatily, his voice muffled against the bed. His mind babbled, /And I'm not, now, either. I'd rather be acting like a lover--/

"E."

Obi-Wan had no time, no thought to brace before the next swat landed solidly, still in the same place, the hot, red pain drawing
a shudder through him as it snapped inside him and caught on all his nerves. He grunted as his teeth sank into his bottom lip
again, and he no longer had the focus to maintain the veneer around his mind.

"Excuse," Obi-Wan said, his voice just above a whisper as it shook. "I have... no excuse for my behavior."

But privately, he whispered, /Excited. Excellent. Exhilarated./ It dawned in his quivering thoughts that the lust could be attributed equally to Qui-Gon, whom he was distantly aware he must have wanted for a long, long time, and the pain, which was now, inexplicably, not the same pain anymore.

"N," Qui-Gon said with effort, and spanked again, his hand one great impatient burn, much like his erection. His arousal was commanding more attention than he would have liked.

"Never again," Obi-Wan promised in a whimper, breathless now. He was torn. He hated the shame at having disappointed his Master so thoroughly. And he was disturbed-- fundamentally so-- by the fact that he had begun to enjoy the physical sensation
of his Master's hand landing on his bare skin. He wanted to retreat into himself and hide from it, but at the same time, he longed to embrace it.

"O."

Qui-Gon brought his hand down again, sending searing hot pleasure along with the pain. Unmistakable pleasure. But before Obi-Wan could speak, he said softly, "Let's try for 'obedience' again, shall we?"

Obi-Wan nodded, and choked out the words. "Yes, Master, obedience," he promised raggedly.

He didn't know what to feel anymore. He wasn't even sure he knew what was happening. This all started out so ridiculous. He couldn't imagine that he'd deserved such punishment when Qui-Gon had started. But now... now...

"B," Qui-Gon spanked. Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward uncontrollably, and Qui-Gon gasped sharply. "Beautiful," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, suddenly. Obi-Wan's breath caught.

"Beg," he rasped. He didn't know where that had come from, and didn't care. "Qui-Gon--"

"I."

The last blow landed hard, too hard, and Obi-Wan lurched. A cry escaped his throat that wasn't a word. Then he stammered, "I-I'm sorry," completely out of rational thought. The fire was too intense.

"Intense," he breathed, just to have one more thing to say, because he had completely forgotten the exercise. He knew he hadn't given the right words for the last few blows, but he didn't know how to correct that now. He hoped it was enough, that they were done. His body was on fire and his mind was numb. Dully, he realized he'd been grinding his hips downward into Qui-Gon's lap, trying to ease his aching arousal. His throat was sore; he didn't know if it was because he'd been breathing so heavily or if it was the fact that he was near tears. He was ripped in too many directions to know which way to go.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered, his voice heavy.

He gently placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, intending to let him know it was all right to rise. When Obi-Wan made weak, struggling motions, looking for strength that wasn't there, Qui-Gon shifted and put his arm under Obi-Wan's chest, guiding him up to a weak standing position and then bending, tugging Obi-Wan's sleep pants up around his hips. He marked the wince and hiss of pain as the fabric drew over the ravaged skin. Then he looked into Obi-Wan's eyes. Obi-Wan's entire heart was visible in the blue-gray pools, shining with unshed tears. His lips were parted and his breath still hitched unsteadily, his face flushed and tense. But his eyes. in them, Qui-Gon saw all the pain that had flared along Obi-Wan's nerve endings. Moreover, he saw Obi-Wan's pain on realizing he had been completely out of control, completely childish. Qui-Gon saw remorse, Obi-Wan's fear that his Master might still be angry, and, yes, it was plain: desire. But the emotion that shone with the most definition was hope. Hope that he had fulfilled his part of the discipline. Hope that he hadn't been *alone* in his desire. Qui-Gon longed to reassure his apprentice and ease the conflict between them. He wanted to sweep Obi-Wan into his arms and kiss him, express his aching need, and his sorrow at having hurt him. But he faltered, unsure. What kind of lesson would that be, then? Shaking his head, he put his hands platonically on Obi-Wan's shoulders and patted them, drawing in strength with a deep breath of air. He stroked the side of Obi-Wan's head, the heel of his hand resting on a damply flushed cheek. Obi-Wan's skin was cool against the hot, electric throbbing of his palm.

"Master." Obi-Wan breathed, his eyes large, and shivered.

The phrase 'Go to your room, now, Padawan' rose to Qui-Gon's throat but never made it out. Qui-Gon released a deep moan and closed on his Padawan's lips, plunging his tongue into Obi-Wan's mouth before he even knew what he was doing. His rational mind had just begun to protest the dangers of this kiss. It explained coolly that if something went wrong, he and his Padawan would have a very, very big problem, and furthermore, this was not a prudent time to be exploring latent sexual tension. But when Obi-Wan's tongue met his, Qui-Gon thanked his mind for its input, and shut it down. Obi-Wan was a very good kisser. Their lips slid over each others' wetly, tongues meeting, withdrawing, meeting again, and Obi-Wan gripped Qui-Gon's shoulders for support. His own thoughts were tumbling around randomly now. After the shock of being spanked like a child, and the much greater shock of *liking* it, being kissed like this by his venerable Master seemed to simply be one more interesting item in a very prominent day. He felt completely naked and raw, spread and vulnerable to his very core, and he couldn't find it in himself to be bothered. Qui-Gon pulled back, his eyes shining ferally.

"Obi-Wan, are you sure--"

Obi-Wan made a noise in his throat and moved forward, driving them both backward onto the bed. They landed in a creak of springs and a mutual grunt, Obi-Wan on top of his Master's body. Obi-Wan was kissing him again, demanding, holding his Master's face in his hands, and Qui-Gon's own large hands were sliding under his sleep shirt, cool demeanor and protestations out the window, somewhere over Coruscant. Obi-Wan sat up, his hips in full contact with Qui-Gon's as he stretched and tugged the sleep shirt off of his body. Qui-Gon slid his hands over Obi-Wan's muscular torso, enamoured with the feel of muscle under skin. Obi-Wan stared down at him and felt relief mingled with his lust. They were here, doing this, and the rest would work itself out later. His awareness was pinpointed to one Moment after another, a series of immediacies strung together. His skin still burned from the spanking, but it was pushed aside as background noise to the sharp, sweet ache of his hardness against Qui-Gon's large, equally hard erection. He leaned down, pivoting his hips forward and arching into the lean, large body beneath his. Qui-Gon reached up suddenly and held Obi-Wan's face, staring at him. He didn't move, just stared. Obi-Wan didn't ask: he'd bought enough trouble with his speech today. He received the stare and gave it back, seeing what Qui-Gon's stunned eyes were seeing: this partner in all things suddenly wrapped up with him in a brand new kind of collaboration. Qui-Gon pulled him down and kissed him again, hotly and softly at the same time. Obi-Wan ground his hips downward, sliding his cloth-covered heat against Qui-Gon's, smug to feel Qui-Gon levering his hips up. It was hot, sharp, and intense, like the stinging slaps Qui-Gon had delivered. Obi-Wan moaned at the thought, bringing his lips to Qui-Gon's neck and then biting him sharply as his pleasure built. Qui-Gon groaned and thrust his hips.

"More," Obi-Wan muttered, tearing himself from Qui-Gon's grasp and scrambling down, yanking Qui-Gon's legs onto the bed properly, then yanking his leggings off, and his own as well.

The sore skin on his right cheek protested at the scrape of cloth, and he ignored it. He looked around quickly, impatiently, searching until Qui-Gon picked up on the unspoken question, flashed a ragged smile and pointed to a dresser drawer. Obi-Wan moved to it and jerked it open, retrieving the small tube. He found himself smiling at his own eager need, and at the fact that this would, some day, be very funny. In fact it would probably be so now if he didn't have a raging, almost-painful erection. Qui-Gon shifted as Obi-Wan approached the bed, leaned up on one elbow and put his hand on Obi-Wan's hip. He pulled his Padawan sideways until they faced each other, Qui-Gon lounging, Obi-Wan standing, staring down at him. Then Qui-Gon gripped the base of Obi-Wan's shaft and sheathed him in his mouth. Obi-Wan's eyes slid closed and a shivery moan spilled out of his throat. He didn't really notice that the lube slipped soundlessly to the floor, and he didn't notice that he wasn't on the bed, where he had planned to be. He sank his hands into Qui-Gon's hair, more to steady himself than to guide the mouth that played over his cock so expertly now. There was no guidance he could have given to improve the slick tongue wrapping itself around his head, or the depth and speed that engulfed him. He wanted to murmur something important, encouraging, or sweet, but suddenly forgot how to speak as Qui-Gon's tongue and throat worked over him. The white shine of orgasm began to build inside him, uncoiling rapidly as Qui-Gon's fingers found his sac and stroked delicately.

Obi-Wan's moans turned to a stunned yelp when Qui-Gon released him and leaned over the edge of the bed, taking up the lube. He applied it to himself quickly, almost tersely, his hands sliding over himself efficiently, spreading the slickness. Obi-Wan stared in helpless fascination, his erection aching and cold now, drying in the air. Only when Qui-Gon said his name unsteadily did he remember to move. He straddled Qui-Gon's hips, staring down at his Master, who was reaching between Obi-Wan's legs and delicately sliding one fingertip against his opening. Obi-Wan moaned and threw his head back, bracing himself with his palms splayed on Qui-Gon's chest, rocking his hips onto the fingertip that now pressed inside him, coating him with cool wetness and teasing. It wasn't enough.

"I can't-- more," Obi-Wan demanded, pulling away from Qui-Gon's hand and grasping his large-- oh. Very large cock.

He closed his eyes, drew himself up, and relaxed, guiding Qui-Gon against him, then into him slowly. It burned like his skin did, throbbing fire. He shuddered a sigh and focused on Qui-Gon, whose eyes were tightly closed, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's folded knees.Relentlessly, Obi-Wan sank onto that rigidly thick cock under him, gasping when his ass met Qui-Gon's hips, but the seared skin was nothing to the scorching heat inside him, striking sparks as he struggled for control. It hurt but he needed it, just as he had needed it before. Qui-Gon opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan licking his lips, his breathing shallow and uneven. He reached up and touched his Padawan's cheek, trying hard not to thrust. It was good, and tight, but he knew that he would rather drop everything than hurt his Padawan further. It was a thrice-blessed event when Obi-Wan, staring down, began to rock over him. And Qui-Gon knew, with that slick tightness wrapped so firmly around him, it was going to be over too soon. He wrapped his still-lubed hand around Obi-Wan's straining shaft, relishing the sharp gasp of pleasure.

He slid his thumb over the tip, sliding it around in the wetness there, delighting in Obi-Wan's easy moans and indecision: he couldn't tell whether to move forward into the hand that stroked him, or backward onto the heat inside him. Gently, slowly, Qui-Gon pivoted his hips up, taking the decision away. Abruptly, electricity jolted through Obi-Wan and he came with a loud, uneven cry, jerking back onto Qui-Gon and spilling himself all over the large hand and flat stomach. His panting and clenching took Qui-Gon's last thread of control and snapped it. He gripped Obi-Wan's hip with his free hand and pressed up into that dark heat, hard, and the release broke over him like water, drenching him, drowning him. It spread through him liquidly, the ache disappearing in a rush of sweetness as he came into Obi-Wan, gritting his teeth and hissing and moaning. Gingerly, panting softly, Obi-Wan settled back onto Qui-Gon's hips, trying to relax his shaking legs and arms, his Master still sheathed firmly.

"I." he began, but couldn't for the life of him think what to say.

"You're amazing," Qui-Gon told him. "I *love* you," he added, astonishment in his voice.

Obi-Wan sighed, and stared, his eyes wide and stunned and reciprocating.

"All of this because I couldn't hold my tongue."

Qui-Gon pulled him down and said in a very un-Masterly tone, "Come here. I'll hold your tongue."

And kissed him.

End.