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You stumble back with your palm soiled wet.
Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next.
Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.
It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point.
Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too.
Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte.
Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk?
Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and–
Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”
“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction.
He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.
“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”
“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him.
Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts.
Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him.
However, your confidence blinds you.
Too close.
He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.
Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down.
In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength.
“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him.
You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.
Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.
And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core.
Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more.
You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress.
“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!”
Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation.
With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions.
Now, your staff is pressed against his throat.
“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?”
He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes.
It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else.
Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.
“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”
He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face.
“Training’s over for today.”
The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards.
His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.
“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more.
“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.
You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”
“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.”
“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?”
He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth.
“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.”
You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.
Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs.
Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours.
In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest.
The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him.
You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.
The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you.
He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him.
Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch.
“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”
The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple.
“...wanting to see you like this for me.”
You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit.
At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.
Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock.
When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir.
As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him.
You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.
The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest.
He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.
When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.
“You take my cock so well.”
A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.
You freeze, and then you feel it.
The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.
But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh.
On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.
“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.
“Yes,” you mentally scream.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you manage to croak.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”
You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there.
“Yes, Qimir.”
His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.
“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.
“Feels good, feels so fucking good…”
Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close—
And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.
You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.
“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”
That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
“Can you do that for me?”
You nod breathlessly.
Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.
“QimirQimirQimir–”
And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe.
Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later.
Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.
You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated?
But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code:
“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’”
He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.
“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’”
Holds your hand against his beating chest.
“‘Through strength, I gain power.’”
His grip tightens.
“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’”
Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.
And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you.
That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.