Star Wars, Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, using the braid as a leash
“Vanity does not become you, Padawan Mine.”
Obi-Wan jumped, startled, as though he had been caught doing something private or inappropriate or embarrassing… or wrong. He saw his reflection in the ‘fresher mirror flush slightly and tried his best to keep that emotion to himself instead of sharing it through their bond.
Qui-Gon stood beside Obi-Wan, taller, older, wiser. He touched the back of his hand to the smooth side of Obi-Wan’s face where chin met cheek. “If you have finished here, it is time to work on that report for…” Qui-Gon trailed off and a smirk appeared on his face. “Why, Obi-Wan, that’s not a very nice thing to think.”
Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly. “That’s why I didn’t say it out loud. But, master, I’m not a little child any longer. I should not have to write these useless summary reports. All it is is busy work. It isn’t as though any of it will even be read.”
“And you have far more important things to do with your time.”
“Yes,” the padawan proclaimed.
“Such as gazing at yourself in the mirror for hours.”
“Not hours, Master.” Obi-Wan looked at his reflection again, then reached up and fingered his braid. It hung down an inch past his shoulder now, and had never been this long before. There had been times, on particular missions, when he had needed to conceal it or even cut it off to disguise his identity. But he had had it for so long that it seemed as much a part of him as his ear or his arm. “I will be proud to be a full Jedi one day, Master. I look forward to facing my trials. But I will be sad to see this part of me go.”
Nodding solemnly, Qui-Gon moved behind Obi-Wan. He wrapped his arms around his padawan, squeezing affectionately. “Your braid is an important symbol, one which is respected throughout the galaxy.” He took hold of the end, past the band and gave it a tiny, playful tug. Then he slid his hand up and made a fist around the bottom part of the braid. “But it is also quite handy. Come along now.” And he pulled.
Obi-Wan’s head tilted to the side. His body turned and followed as his master walked and pulled, pulled and walked, leading him out of the ‘fresher, out into the common area, and then over to Qui-Gon’s bedroom.
“So obedient,” Qui-Gon mused, as Obi-Wan climbed onto the bed with him, unable to be more than a foot away from his master and his master’s tight grip.
“I don’t seem to have a choice,” Obi-Wan replied, at which Qui-Gon laughed.
Qui-Gon took a deep breath and kissed Obi-Wan, exhaling warm breath slowly through his nose as the kiss deepened and carried on. One hand slipped beneath Obi-Wan’s robes and his tunic, searching out skin. Qui-Gon hooked his leg around Obi-Wan’s leg, spreading, thrusting, rubbing. Obi-Wan shuddered excitedly and tried to pull back or help Qui-Gon with his robes or something, but Qui-Gon held onto the braid, smiling. “Master?”
Grinning, Qui-Gon gave it a tug. Then he retracted his limbs and, from a fold of his robes, pulled out a datapad. “Sit. Study. Write. And when you’re done with the report, I’ll be right here to give you a special treat.”
Obi-Wan groaned, feeling the excitement and anticipation drain out of him slowly. But, as he pulled the files up on the datapad, he realized his master was still holding onto the braid. And it wasn’t so bad then, because Qui-Gon was still attached. It might be a leash, but it was Qui-Gon at the end of that leash.