I can resist this.
I'm awake in our shared room on TaHareel, watching you sleep. You've
already tossed half your blankets on the floor with your nightly
twisting and turnings. Indeed, it is often quite a feat to actually
-sleep- in the same room as you, restless as you are, although that
isn't what is keeping me awake this night.
I'm awake because you're dreaming about me.
I'm watching you, watching the moonlight cast a diffused glow over
you and the first thought that comes to me is, 'How -dare- you be so
beautiful?'
I dismiss it immediately; your appeal is far from your fault, more
so at night than during the day. In your blissful innocence you have
never known your appeal, wouldn't believe it if you did. But I see
it.
And as I watch you this night, I have thoughts of you that no Jedi
should -ever- have of his Padawan.
Thoughts about the curve of your throat, the taste of your skin,
your lips...
No. I can resist this. A Jedi has control over his emotions and
himself and I can resist this.
I have been for years now, since the awkwardness of adolescence left
you and instead you became a vision of masculine beauty. But I
resist it; I must resist it because I know that you will not. You
are as clear to me as the lakes of Alderaan and if I turned the
warmth of my thoughts to you, you would bend to me like a flower to
the sun.
But my light would burn you, my Padawan. The last thing a vision
such as you needs is an aged man who is far too reckless for the
good of either of us. On this, I will not be reckless, no matter the
temptation.
I will resist this because it is forbidden, and with good reason. A
Master and Padawan should not, can not, be lovers. It interferes
with the teacher/student relationship, it brings in heated emotion
where there should be calm, it is -wrong-. And you, my Padawan, are
destined to become a far better Jedi than I am. I will not allow
myself to taint your learning with my desires. Or yours. It is a
double-edged blade that we must tread with careful balance, lest we
both be cut.
And if I were to give in, I would lose the piece of you that I have.
It is all I can do now to hide my feelings from the Council, I could
never hide a bonding from them. We would be separated and I am
selfish enough to want to hold on to you, no matter how difficult
these nights are. And I know you too well to think that you would
let me stand before the Council alone. No, my apprentice, you will
never be subjected to the scrutiny of the Council, not over my lack
of control. Because I can resist this.
Or perhaps I'm a masochist.
I don't need to sit here, awake, and torture myself with the siryn
call of your dream. I can put myself to sleep, I have before on many
occasions, too many to count. But here, away from the prying minds
of a few thousand Jedi, I relax my shields just a little and watch
you.
I can't see your dream, but I can feel its intensity and I watch you
and think of what you might be dreaming. Would you have me touch
your cheek, kiss you gently, sip of your sweetness? No, your dream
is not so chaste, you would have me devour you, invade you, I would
press my lips to yours hungrily as a starving man because I have
been starving, for you.
I would bite down the tempting curve of your neck, push you back on
the lumpy mattress and meld my body to yours, to feel as much of
that golden skin as possible against my own. I would trace your lips
with my finger before I pushed it into your mouth, let you suck on
it before I would pull it back and stroke your nipples with the
wetness, let them slip between my fingertips. I would taste those
hard nubs myself, bite them hard enough to make you gasp, stop
before you could protest. As if you would.
I would travel further downward, leave a damp trail with my tongue
as I explore the smooth plane of your stomach and you would arch
against me, begging silently for more. But I would ignore the hard
curve of your cock, crimson and leaking clear silky fluid from the
tip. I would move lower, kneel between your legs and kiss the soft
skin of your inner thighs. You would spread your legs wide,
desperate for any touch from me that might bring you closer to your
release.
I lick my way upward, press my nose against the soft sac at the base
of your cock and inhale deeply the scent of your sex, a sharp tang
that is sweeter to me than the most costly perfumes.
I would continue upward finally where you most want me, the heat of
my breath caressing the swollen need of your cock. Would you plead
with me, lift your hips to me? Or would you be silent but for the
harshness of your breathing, still wearing that dignity of yours
wrapped around you like a cloak.
I would make you beg, if only to hear the sensuous rasp of your
voice beseeching me to take you.
Would you give a choked cry as I lick the shimmering jewel of fluid
from the tip, lightly circle the head with my tongue before licking
my way down the shaft? This is a delicacy I have never enjoyed with
you, salty and rich, and I intend to savor it.
I would play your body like an instrument, work you to a fevered
pitch of need before I would finally take your cock between my lips,
feel it pulse strongly with repressed longing. I would caress you
with my mouth, sucking hard then soft, teasing you. Your hands would
wind themselves in my hair and I would capture them and hold them
down, hear you wail in dismay as you realize that you are trapped,
trapped in a web of ecstasy and raw passion that you can not evade.
And just as you reach the peak you have been striving for I would
pull away, ignoring your protests that are nearly screams. I would
pull your legs up and over my thighs and press my cock against the
entrance of your body and you would freeze and fall silent, waiting.
We would hesitate there, I would be leaning over you looking into
your eyes and a battle would be waged there, silently, until
finally, finally...
"Please," you would whisper. And I would thrust inside the crimson
heat of your body, gentleness and teasing forgotten in the storm of
carnality that surrounds us. I slam into your body, uncaring if your
cries are pain or pleasure because I know that you are as lost as I
and we are swept away in a glorious nova of sensation that mounts
until the explosion runs a shock wave through us both that I pray
will never, never end.
You shift slightly in your sleep and I freeze, the only thing
surrounding my cock is my hand, which is wet and sticky with semen.
Quickly, I soothe you, as carefully as my trembling senses allow,
using the force to weave a comforting shield against reality around
you and you relax into it, into sleep, your skin gleaming with sweat
and your own pearly essence that coats your stomach. I use the force
to gingerly clean away the evidence of your orgasm with the edge of
your blanket and I do the same with my hand.
I lie back on the bed and push the fantasy from my mind, ignoring a
soft cry from my soul, a tiny part of me unwilling to release that
bit of hope. But I ignore it, because that will not happen. It will
-never- happen.
Because I can resist this.
I -can- resist this.
I can -resist- this.
Can't I?
-finis-
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