Summary: A pesky Padawan, a mischievous Master and some Corellian silk.

Warnings: This is a bit kinkier than my previous ones, so if you don't like the sight of one of the boys tied up tightly and loving it, read no further No non-con or pain involved, so please do read further :)

Notes: Third in the Room Service series. And I promise I will get to altogether more normal rooms such as kitchens, hallways etcetera soon...

Feedback: Feet back and tied to whatever solid object happens to be around. Give it to me!!

A faint click, then a hesitant hum. The door. Good.

So he has found the message and come here. Even better. With the faintest suggestion of Force, I lock the door behind him soundlessly. Let this be a feast. Well, he asked for it.

He asked for it, and when I told him to be patient, he grumbled and bickered and whined and complained about how his Knighting would end up being delayed because I would not tell him where to find suitably fine-grained material to polish the perfect sheen into the crystals for his 'sabre.

Force forgive me this last stunt of mischief. Of course I knew perfectly well where to get the fabric he would need for this, and I suspect he would have figured out himself if he hadn't been so insistent on playing the cute dependent little Padawan once more, trying to tease the sweet sheltering Masterly caresses out of me that he loved so much. Well, not this time, Obi-Wan. Not this time.

It took less than a day to arrange for the room to be at my disposal, and another to wait for Knight Vaurt to be safely away on her weekly trip to the weavers. And she would not be back soon either. Of course she would not – Pehe Vaurt was too much of a reader of human faces not to have noticed the scheming glint in my eyes, and she acquiesced with a faint smile on her
handsome round features and made me promise not to make too much of a mess lest her girls should ask questions. And she wanted a detailed account of all that would happen of course – 'I'm perfectly aware of my reputation as a charitable haven for failed Padawans, Qui-Gon, but a sexless head I am not!'. That grin again. Of course not, Pehe, I had said, and wondered for
the umpteenth time how she had managed to remain unbonded for so long when there were few Knights in the Temple more compassionate and mentally alert than her.

Well, maybe being in charge of the tailoring workshop was somehow the mission of a lifetime for her. At the very least F'dede wool was vastly preferable to having to ride the damn things with a view to getting anywhere, and there was a lot to be said for Corellian silk while almost all sentient species on Corellia itself tended to be rather rougher to the touch. Though, on second thoughts, the smell when either of these came into contact with a lightsabre was remarkably similar.

Of course, the lightsabre/Corellian silk interface was what got me here in the first place. Obi-Wan's crystals. And now he's here. I am stretching out little tendrils of Force sense to follow him through the room. A little lost. Not like he would be in a forest full of potentially dangerous creatures, or the dank dark sublevels. More like a child lost in a mirror maze, or a fun fair.

I hear his slow measured steps and the quiet awed rustles of fabric as he reverently touches the riches assembled here. The huge bolts of the soft but sturdy material our tunics are made from, arrayed along one wall like columns, almost all the way to the ceiling and so heavy it takes three girls an a touch of Force from Pehe Vaurt to get them horizontal without crushing
anybody. The leather straps for belt repairs. The untidy heaps of brown wool that is not worth folding up neatly according to Pehe because every bit is a different shade of brown and this way you can get at the one you need most easily. Female logic, I guess.

And then there's the special section. Every now and then even a Jedi needs to dress up, be it to impress an off-world ambassador or blend in seamlessly with some strangely-attired culture on a distant planet. This is where the Corellian silk is, and this is where I am, hiding.

In the Corellian silk.

Stretched out motionless on my back, with a thin sheet of the shiny white stuff draped over me like a shroud. Let him come for the silk that will polish his crystals to perfection. Let him find who would like to polish _him_ to perfection.

***

Hands. Transmitted through several layers of silk at first, relaying the message through to the fine sheet covering my body. I can feel the heat building between the thin cover and my skin already, anticipating the brush of his fingers over the white silk, no doubt deeming it perfect for his purposes. And then he'll pull, and... well, let's leave the rest to imagination for the time being. I don't want to give myself away by making a certain area of the silky landscape rise up in a tell-tale fashion.

The hands come closer, approaching me from the head side. Good. Let him come. A surprised 'oh', then a pleased low chuckle. Ah. He's found the fabric, and any minute now he's going to run his fingertips over it and deem it perfect and... ow.

He's got my hair!

Sith damn my vanity for wearing it long it must have peeked out from under the cover and now he's tugging on it with one hand and giving a little laugh the cheeky bastard and his other hand stops my curse dead in my throat as it wraps around my neck, tightly, pressing the thin hot fabric to my skin and making the blood rush loudly to my head swoosh and before it's arrived there to kick the brain into action his mouth presses into mine soft and hard and insistent through the silk and it clings to my wet lips as he pushes his tongue into me and I couldn't say a word now even if I wanted. Glorious.

Blissfully gagged with a moist film of Corellian silk and my Padawan's eager tongue all I can do is squirm as his hands trail hot paths of sheer sensation over my sensitised skin. I can't see him, only feel the sweet havoc his hands are working on me already, kneading my upper arms, ghosting down my chest and midriff, trailing individual fingers up the inside of my thighs, pressing into my hips trying to keep them steady and all the time holding my throat down in a near-stranglehold that is just on the verge of turning from pleasure into pain.

These are more hands than my Obi-Wan has on his body. He's reined in at least a dozen Force fingers stroking and probing and tickling me pink with desire, covering every square inch of my skin except _that_ area where my heat is desperately trying to rub against the smooth shiny white silk, sticky already with the evidence of my pleasure.

His real hands are still at my throat, I can feel the warm palms as I swallow hard. Sweaty. I moan into his mouth as I imagine seeing him all over me, radiant with lust and passion, my Obi-Wan. He growls and pulls his mouth away from mine, and the cool wet silk on my lips is sensuous and painful at the same time and then his hands are at the side of my head, pulling the
silk taut over my face so he can see me, see me in white, wet and aroused and he bites my lips through the thin film and tears the fabric and pushes his tongue through the tear, warm and wet and demanding and I swallow it gratefully. Oh, yes. More.

I feel Force fingers sliding down my flanks, tracing the sensitive nerve line from the back of the ear down to the pale flesh between hip and thigh, making me shudder with delight. More. They converge, enticingly and slowly, homing in on my throbbing hardness and just as they reach the tip of my cock, weeping and ready to burst with lust, they withdraw. A pleased groan from Obi-Wan fills my mouth, and then his lips are gone too and I buck up  in frustration only to have a firm warm hand clamped over my mouth, pushing me down again while the other travels down my chest and stomach, followed closely by feather-light breaths, the mere suggestion of a touch through the silk.

The hand slides across my cock, warm and heavy and I moan into his other hand as it cups my balls, tightly, squeezing just to the point of discomfort. Sweet torture. Oh, I cannot resist thrusting up into where I sense his mouth must be now and I do, with all my might, and make the contact –

With his teeth. Pain lances through my heated body as he bites down, just gently enough not to leave permanent marks, but firmly enough to send a flare of agony up my spine and the sheet flies off my face with my roar  and I fold up and roll over and lunge at him as he backs away, glee and horror mingling in his youthful face as I pounce on him and back him against the row of upright bolts of tunic stuff, pressing into him with all my weight, pinning him there, growling.

"What was all that about??"

He squirms so beautifully, so hotly against me that I can't wait for an answer and cover his mouth in a hungry kiss, oh those soft pink lips and his tongue comes awake again and darts at mine with renewed fervour and I feel my tight hold on him giving way under the sensual attack.

This I cannot allow. I'll show him who's Master here.

I lunge into the kiss with all my might, making his eyes widen and his breath give way in a sweet soft moan and concentrate on levitating a few of the storeroom's choice commodities my way.

Wide satin ribbon. That's good. Never letting my lips leave his, I wrap one length of it round his neck and tie it, just tight enough to be felt without giving discomfort. A necklace or a collar, depending on how he behaves. I smile and take a step back to admire the wide band of shining purple around my Obi-Wan's white neck, and his hands fly up to feel it, incredulous.

That's the moment I'd been waiting for – I catch his hands in a loop of wide brown leather band and tie them together with some effort, then pull them up over his head and fasten the strap around the column, tightly. Dammit, I have to stand closer to keep him from kicking, and the feeling of his rock-hard cock pressed into mine doesn't exactly help me concentrate either.
One more strap around his feet, aided by the Force, and then my mouth is on his again, cutting off the swelling tide of yells and curses. I bring up my hands to his face and lightly squeeze his nostrils, allowing him to breathe through my mouth only, and he does, oh he does, when we both know perfectly well he could fight back using his Force skills which have risen to a level similar to mine over the years...

But he's so gorgeous like this, panting and kiss-swollen, lean pale body stretched taut, exquisite long lines held in place by unyielding bonds allowing him to squirm and little else. Oh, and squirm he does, writhing against the ties that bind him, knowing full well how the sight of him struggling turns me on and I take a long moment just watching, contemplating the light sweat sheen on his skin, the straining muscles of his arms and legs and the sinews and pulsing veins standing out on his neck, contrasted
so beautifully against the satiny collar. Mine.

I allow my lips to trace the elegant line of his Padawan braid, down the side of his neck and over his shoulder and chest, almost down to the nipples, hard and silky and deep rose. He arches into me as far as the bonds will allow him, trying to get my mouth on them, too far gone for coherent speech already... "Please, Master..." is all he manages, and please him I will.

After all, there is more ribbon where the first one came from, and despite my own desperate desire I feel in a position to appreciate Pehe Vaurt's propensity for purple. They come in all shades and widths, all shiny and soft and smooth yet unyielding, and all mind-meltingly beautiful on my Obi-Wan's creamy body, decorating as much as restraining, the loose ends brushing his skin ever so teasingly as I tie the knots and he squirms and finds himself more and more unable to move at all, held in the clinging embrace of leather straps and purple ribbons, back pressed against a bolt of soft fabric, front exposed to my careful fingers and hungry gazes. Oh, he is gorgeous like that, and my lips feel magnetically drawn to his sweaty shining skin as I nibble my way along the binds, delighting in his shudders of pleasure.

I pull one strap taut with my teeth and watch him tense as it digs into his creamy flesh, then writhe with lust and the tiniest sting of pain as the strap snaps back over his nipple. Force knows I can't hold out much longer but the sight of him squirming bound and aroused is just so adorable that I am willing to go to the limits of my  control to make this last as long as possible.

I trail a Force finger around his lips and watch him open, lick, suck it in, lost in the ghostly sensation and he is such a sexy sight like this that I _have_ to turn away if I want to keep myself from coming here and now. I scan the room. There must be _something_ to... something fluffy and green catches my eyes, on one of the worktables, inconspicuous at first glance, but now shining out at me in such a way that I am certain it must be meant for me if not made for me.

And sure enough the scarred table surface is decorated with the tiniest note, chalked  in Pehe's neat handwriting: "Hope it'll stretch to your huge hands, Qui. Enjoy!".

A dainty ring of olive-green elastic, so small that it could be a hair ornament as well as a finger-ring for someone as small as Pehe or her girls. It stretches surprisingly as I slide it over my middle finger, and fits snugly, the proud plume of bushy deep green feathers turning my hand into the perfect instrument for pleasure torture. Just perfect. Knight Pehe Vaurt, if you don't get to have the most amazing sex of your lifetime within the next few weeks I shall see to it personally that you _get_ some!!

A soft moan from the other end if the room reminds me that there is someone else wanting the sex of his lifetime, and Force knows there's two of those here! I run over almost undignifiedly, erection bobbing up and down and squash myself against that heated bound body, devouring Obi-Wan's expectant mouth. Oh so good.

I nearly forget about the ring, lost in his lush mouth, but he alerts me to it just as well as my hands roam the webwork of straps and ribbons holding him tight and he gives a slight moan at the brush of the soft feathers against his hot sweat-slick skin. Ah. Yes. The ring. He squirms adorably as I trail the plume along the lines of his body, and squirms some more when I follow the soft touch with determined fingernails, scratching the sensitised skin red, and he arches into the touch moaning in delight and comes at the first gentle brush of feather against his straining cock, spurting all over my chest and belly and my own throbbing hardness, endlessly, screaming his pleasure and tugging frantically at the straps until he sags, spent, blissfully exhausted, held up by his bonds alone, glowing.

A sight to drink and eat and breathe in, to bathe in and drown in, and I would do all of these gladly if I had the time but my own need is unbearable now and it's all I can do to spread Obi-Wan's seed over my aching cock before I step up to him, untie his legs, lift them up and support his boneless hot body with my arms, shoving him up against the column and then allowing his own weight to settle himself on my length. He slides down slowly, moaning at the intrusion, almost unbearably tight and yet unable
to pull away.

I do my best to enter him carefully but there is only so much Jedi Master left in me and that is nowhere near enough to damp down on the animal desires rising at the sight of my creamy squirming Obi-Wan, thrashing in his bonds with the rise and fall of his body impaled on my length, moaning continuously now, filling all my senses to overload with the sweetness of his lust, this man of silk and flesh and steel, my Obi-Wan and I scream his name as I come into him and fill him with the heat he has roused in me and I hold on to him, only just, and if I hadn't tied him up so expertly we would both be tumbling to the floor now, spent, boneless, blissed-out.

***

When we are both sane enough again to gaze deeply into each other's eyes and exchange soft loving kisses I untie the ribbons from his silken body, one by one, and let him collapse into my arms, a heavy, sensual weight. In my mind's voice, I thank Pehe Vaurt for this room, and for letting me have it...

A slight chuckle from Obi-Wan alerts me to how I must have been transmitting inadvertently again.

//Master... I would be curious to hear just _how_ you explain the stained and torn sheet of her best Corellian silk?//

//Easy, Padawan. Undercover practice.//

//Ah. And... several yards of leather straps and satin ribbons gone missing?//

I smile into his mischievous face, the most beautiful I have ever seen him, and cover his inviting mouth with yet another deep kiss. Oh, it won't be the last one, not even for today. And the explanation that I won't even need to give to dear Pehe is so obvious, Padawan. So obvious.

//Male bonding.//

--- The End ---