My Two Jedi

Part XI

We stumbled into his bedroom, finding it difficult to walk while
entwined in each other’s arms but unable to let go. I moaned at the
feel of his tongue deep in my mouth, and he responded with a picture of
a hand covering my mouth – in other words, be quiet! I tried to
acknowledge this command, but it was difficult. My mind was flooded
with erotic imagery, flashes of us as we had been or might be, so many
that I became unsure who was sending to whom. I think it was Obi-Wan
who suggested we step back a moment to undress; I didn’t have that kind
of presence of mind at the moment.

Stripped, I stepped back up to him. He was sitting on the edge of the
bed, still struggling with his boots. I knelt and helped him remove
them, then looked up to find myself in a quite enviable position
between his knees. Looking up into his eyes, I formed a suggestion
that sent him falling onto his back as I began working my way up his
inner thighs.

My fingers worked their way inexorably upwards, my lips alternating
between left and right. Obi-Wan made quiet noises in the back of his
throat as his breath grew shallower and more rapid. When I reached the
juncture of his legs, my tongue flicked out to trace the line that
bisected his scrotum. He moaned.

“I thought we were going to be quiet,” I whispered teasingly,
punctuating my statement with another well-placed lick. He gave a
strangled sound as he tried not to moan again. Groping with his left
hand, he found a pillow, brought it to his face, and bit deeply into
one corner. I chuckled. Placing my open lips against his sac, I
gently sucked one testicle into my mouth. He squeezed that pillow like
it was a Sith Lord. I became aware, as I turned my attention to the
other ball, that all the images in my head now centered on various
parts of my anatomy contacting his straining penis. And they were
beginning to take on a pleading quality. I took pity on him.

Leaning forward, I let just the tip of my nose touch the base of his
erection, then drew it slowly up to the head. He trembled and thrust
his hips urgently off the bed, begging me to do more. I turned my head
to the side and let my hair fall over his groin. I could hear him
mumbling “Please, please” even through the pillow. Stretching up as
high as I could go on my knees, I positioned myself carefully, then
wrapped my breasts around his throbbing cock.

He bucked off the bed as soon as I began to move. Grabbing my
shoulders, pillow forgotten, he began to thrust against the yielding
flesh. All I could do was hold still, and let the tip of my tongue
slide over his glans on the apex of each thrust. I sent him images of
his semen gushing over my face, my breasts, my tongue licking it from
my lips. With a gurgled “Oh, yes” he came hard.

I could feel the powerful muscle contractions against my flesh, the
waves of pleasure coursing across his mind, and mine through his. In
some ways it was better than having an orgasm of my own. But my
imagery did not come true; strangely, there was very little ejaculate.
I must have nearly drained my Jedi dry, poor thing. With a very smug
smile, I crawled over him, straddling him with arms and legs, and
leaned down to kiss his cheek. His hands came up to weakly circle my
waist.

And the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, his head was buried
against my shoulder, his teeth nibbling at my neck.

“Why you…” he murmured, a succession of alternative titles flitting
through his thoughts. “I ought to…” Another amazingly varied group of
possibilities.

“Yes, you ought to,” I whispered back wantonly.

I could feel him smile against my neck. Then he pushed up and off me.
I was about to shout “Where are you going?!” when he quickly returned,
holding the discarded pillow. Handing it to me with a wink, he laid
himself once more over me and began to slide slowly downward, his mouth
finding all my sensitive spots along the way. The underside of my
breasts, the hollow beneath my armpit, the sides of my ribcage and
waist – all these he found without my prompting, for I was too busy
reacting to conjure up any suggestions. Throughout, I was quite
grateful for the pillow, which was the only thing that kept me from
awakening not just Qui-Gon, but the entire hall. When he finally
reached my groin, breathing gently across the curling hairs, kissing my
innermost thighs, I was trembling with need. And then he began to move
away, down toward my knees.

“Please, please,” I mumbled through the corner of the pillow. Then,
ripping it out from between my teeth, I whispered – very loudly
whispered – “Fuck me, Obi-Wan, I beg you!”

I guess that was what he wanted, for with one last nip at the tender
flesh of my leg, he rose to his knees. Sliding his hands under my
buttocks, he lifted me to his waiting cock and slowly but surely
slipped inside. My back arched involuntarily, my hands groped behind
me for the wall, to push back against him. I felt him hit bottom, and
begin to pull out, an exquisite sensation.

And that’s when I felt it.

No, not pain. Though there was a bit of that, it was certainly washed
away by the intense pleasure I was also feeling. It was…

Perhaps I should take a moment here to say a few words in defense
of the parties involved. After all, I was most likely broadcasting
powerfully, not only my own pleasure but my lover’s through me, and our
minds had linked before. He was pre-sensitized. He could hardly be
expected to ignore what was being pushed against his mind. Despite
occasional appearances to the contrary, he is just a man. And he did
not intend for it to go as far as it did; that was my fault.

You see, when I felt the tiniest tendril, the merest brush of his
inquisitive mind, I not only let Qui-Gon in, I pulled him in.

He tried to resist, but I had a hold on him, and he could not get away.
I wanted him in my mind too much, wanted them both. When he realized
he could not escape, his first thought was a plea. /Don’t tell Obi-
Wan./ Only if you let me in, I made clear, and so he had no choice.

I dived into his thoughts. This time I went much deeper, my desire
pressing me onward, clouding my judgment. I plowed straight through
what he most wanted to hide from me, and that is how I knew. Knew how
he had lain in the next room, listening, desperately tempted,
desperately aroused. How he had been unable to help himself, had
needed to get just a peek, a glance, to assuage his jealousy and
longing. How he had finally been forced to face what he had so long
hidden, even from himself: that he was madly, deeply, completely in
love…with Obi-Wan.

Just as I had suspected.

This feeling I could understand, and being connected to them both as I
was, I wanted nothing more than to make them happy, and myself happy by
reflection. So while I continued to match pace with Obi-Wan’s thrusts,
feeling his pleasure wash over me, echoing my own, I sent these
sensations along the link to Qui-Gon, and felt his pleased reaction.
This is what Qui-Gon had dreamed of, making love to his Padawan,
feeling him inside his body.

But it was lessened, muted, not just from being second hand, but by the
roiling negative emotions that threatened to push Qui-Gon’s feelings
back underground. Guilt over his eavesdropping. Embarrassment over
the wanting. Concern that he would be taking advantage of the younger
man if he were to pursue him. But mostly, fear that his love would
never be recipted.ted.

Rashly, I conceived of and executed a plan to end his worries once and
for all, one way or the other. I threw together an image of my two
Jedi together. Very close together. Their naked, sweat-glossed bodies
pressed against each other, their tongues intertwined, their turgid
cocks side by side as though jousting. And I sent it, to both of them.

The reaction was immediate, and quite gratifying. I felt Obi-Wan gush
inside me with a shuddering groan, his dry spell apparently over, while
Qui-Gon’s own release tore through our link like lightning. Naturally,
I followed, riding along on the wave of pleasure that echoed back and
forth among us for what seemed an eternity. Then we all passed out.