Archive: MA, WWOMB, anywhere else please ask first
Category: h/c, angst, first-time
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS!!: implied rape (not described)
Summary: When all that you are has been taken from you, sometimes
the only response is give yourself away.
Feedback: Yes, please! Any and all feedback is desired, craved,
and appreciated (I mean it!) n_sanity75@hotmail.com
Author's Note: This was inspired by the opening scene of TJ's
"Revelations", although it takes a somewhat different
turn. :)
Qui-Gon turned on the light in the main living area of their
apartment and carefully led Obi-Wan into the room. The young
man's shoulders looked taut under the thick brown folds of his
robe, although his smooth face betrayed nothing.
"Go have a seat," Qui-Gon urged gently, his heart
aching. "I'll get us something to drink."
"Yes, Master."
Obi-Wan's voice was toneless, hollow. Qui-Gon turned away with a
barely concealed wince and moved into the kitchen. His hands
found the glasses in the cupboard without any conscious volition,
and he stood there for a moment, leaning his head forward against
the smooth paneled wood of the shelves, listening to his heart
thunder in his ears. He felt dizzy for a moment, light-headed,
and he had to remind himself yet again that this was real, that
it had truly happened.
*His padawan, naked and trembling, hands bound cruelly behind his
back, thin gold line of the Force-suppressant collar a stark
outline against the pale skin of his throat...*
Qui-Gon drew in a tremulous breath and closed his eyes, fighting
against the wave of nausea that rose in him. It had been a fairly
routine assignment, mediating the civil dispute between the
inhabitants of the native Dreyela. Routine, that is, until one of
the local princes had taken it on himself to kidnap one of the
visiting Jedi delegates.
*Sweat-slick skin, bruised and marked with the signs of his
claiming, shuddering under the harsh, unforgiving light of the
overhead lamps. Sheets tousled and twisted around his trembling
body, accentuating the light, fleshy rose color of his skin...*
Woodenly, Qui-Gon moved to the cooler and removed a pitcher of
chilled palaia juice. He poured the blood red liquid into the two
glasses he had obtained, carefully filling them to exactly the
same height, barely aware of the movements his hands made as they
went about this extremely well-familiar task.
*He had shied away from Qui-Gon's hand as the Jedi Master sought
to calm him, had cried out in horror as Qui-Gon's fingers touched
the skin at his nape, seeking to remove the detestable golden
collar. The sound of his Master's voice had soothed him, at least
enough for Qui-Gon to pull the abhorable object away from him,
flinging it with a surge of rage against the far corner of the
room...*
He returned the pitcher to its place in the cooler and shut the
door, moving with carefully measured strides to where he had left
the glasses sitting on the counter. They felt pleasantly chill
under his hands, banishing some of the heat that coursed through
him, as he swore once again that he would *not* let any of his
furiously banked anger bleed over the bond he shared with Obi-
Wan. The young man had suffered enough without being made subject
to his Master's impotent fury.
*As the collar was lifted from his neck, he had given a low,
animal-like moan, and then a staggering explosion of Force had
whipped through the room, catching up every object not bolted to
the floor and immediately shattering them into a billion star-
crossed fragments, spilling in a rainbow of glittering pieces to
the floor...*
Qui-Gon banished the memories from his mind as he entered the
living room. His eyes found Obi-Wan immediately. His padawan was
sitting with perfect poise at one end of the couch, his face
carefully revealing nothing of the thoughts that swirled like
muddy water behind the blankness of his gaze. He looked
impeccably correct in his white tunics and dark Jedi robe,
seeming almost to find solace by hiding within their concealing
folds.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said gently, and it was a moment
before the young man's eyes moved to track the sound of his
voice. Obi- Wan's expression did not change as he met his
Master's gaze. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon held out the glass of juice to
him. He accepted it readily enough, although he made no move to
drink from it.
Qui-Gon sat down on the couch next to him, deliberately keeping
some distance between them, and took a pensive sip from his own
glass, barely tasting the sweet liquid as it slid down his
parched throat. He had devoted very little time to taking care of
himself recently, and his body was suffering for it; realizing
for the first time how very thirsty he was, he gulped down more
of the ice-cold liquid, making a vaguely pleased sound in the
back of his throat as he swallowed it down.
Simple pleasures like this, he could allow himself. His enjoyment
faded, however, as he watched Obi-Wan, who was staring
distractedly at the floor as if he meant to burn a hole through
it with his gaze alone. His hands were white-knuckled around the
curve of his glass.
"If you're going to break it, Obi-Wan, I would suggest you
drink at least some of the juice first. It will mean less of a
mess for us to clean up later."
Obi-Wan looked up at him, startled, and then turned a rather
shame-faced look to the glass in his hand. With a visible effort,
he relaxed his death-grip on it and slowly raised the glass to
his lips. A faint look of astonishment creased his brows, echoed
by a flicker of surprise through their bond, and then he was
drinking deeply, obviously savoring the cool, familiar taste of
the juice.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Thirsty?"
"Yes. I didn't think I would be." With a sigh, he
leaned back against the cushions of the couch, seeming almost to
relax for a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "This
is harder than I thought it would be."
"What is?"
"Coming home."
Qui-Gon didn't press for details. He was all too aware of the
tightly reined emotions that surged within his padawan, spilling
over the bond they shared despite Obi-Wan's best efforts to
shield them from him. The thought of what had happened to make
his apprentice feel these things sparked another wave of anger in
Qui-Gon's mind, forcing him to up his own shields a notch lest
Obi-Wan be made aware of it. The last thing the boy needed was to
sense any kind of violent emotion from his Master, not now.
For a moment, Qui-Gon was caught by the stunning iridescence of
his padawan's eyes, so open and innocent despite the trauma that
had been inflicted on him. For the first time, Qui-Gon let
himself consider the word that described what his Obi-Wan had
been subjected to. Such an ugly, hateful little word, but with
such a power to hurt...
There were dark circles around Obi-Wan's eyes, giving him a
wounded, world-weary air. He hadn't slept much since the incident
had occurred, and what little rest he did manage to get was
filled with such nightmares and vague horrors that Qui-Gon was
left thinking he would be better off without any sleep at all.
But all that would change now that they were home. The Healers
had examined the boy and declared him physically healed from his
ordeal, and Mace had even foregone the usual demand for an
instant post-mission briefing so that Qui-Gon could bring his
young charge home and see to his needs as best he could. Qui-Gon
could still see the haunted look in his old friend's eyes as he
led Obi-Wan out of the Healer's complex and towards the aircar
that would bring them home. Mace had understood, perhaps better
than Qui-Gon did himself.
Now all he wanted was for the demons that haunted his padawan to
be laid to rest. Obi-Wan held himself erect in the proper Jedi
posture, but there was a tension to his lean shoulders that spoke
of a bone-shattering weariness just barely held at bay.
Beautiful, Qui-Gon couldn't help but think, the way it made him
look so tender, almost fragile in his innocence. No, not fragile,
but simply...
...used...
With a sudden scowl, Qui-Gon put his empty glass aside and rose
to his feet in one fluid movement. Obi-Wan glanced up at him in
surprise. More gently, he turned to his padawan and said, "I
think you should get some sleep now, Obi-Wan. It's very late, and
I think some honest rest would do us both some good." He
tried not to sound as tired as he felt, but wasn't sure if he
succeeded.
Obi-Wan's lips parted slightly as if he were going to protest,
but then they pressed together into a thin line as he rose
smoothly to his feet, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of
submission. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon shadowed him to the bedroom, not quite willing to let him
go just yet. Obi-Wan's movements were smooth and seemingly
unhindered until he actually reached the door to the room. Then
he paused, and Qui-Gon felt something very like despair rise up
in him.
"What is it, Obi-Wan?" He asked this quietly, standing
close behind his wounded young padawan, so close that the boy had
to be able to feel his breath stirring the hairs at the back of
his neck. He wanted desperately to take the young man in his arms
but was unsure how the gesture would be interpreted, so he held
himself carefully still and just let himself share his
apprentice's pain.
It was a moment before Obi-Wan answered. His eyes were focused on
the cool, purple darkness of his room, which was illuminated by
the faintly shimmering lights outside his window. He was
obviously hesitant to step inside, although it had been his haven
for more than ten years now.
"I don't want to be alone," he said at last.
Qui-Gon felt another surge of anger at the man who had done this
to his padawan, had turned him into this frightened, hesitant
creature without any sense of self or autonomy, locking him away
inside the prison of his own fears. Unbidden, his hands moved to
his apprentice's shoulders, and Obi-Wan leaned back against him.
"It'll be all right," Qui-Gon whispered roughly.
"I know."
They stood like that for a while, leaning against each other, and
Qui-Gon was struck with the thought that Obi-Wan was giving
comfort at least as much as he was receiving it. How was it that
Qui-Gon had been injured by this as much as Obi-Wan was? He had
not been the one victimized by the vicious lusts of a hedonistic
lordling. He had only had to stand by while the search was
underway, unable to locate his apprentice through their bond
because of the Force-suppression properties of the collar that
had been forced on him, frantic with worry and impotent rage as
he wondered at the reason behind this attack on his padawan...
He took a deep, shuddering breath, releasing his increasing
agitation into the Force. Now was not the time to dwell on these
things, not when Obi-Wan needed him. "You need to get some
sleep," he urged, focusing on the clean scent of his
padawan's hair, which was pleasantly soft against the skin of his
face. He rubbed his cheek against it gently. Such a pure,
wholesome scent, so utterly Obi-Wan.
"Don't leave me, Master." This was a low whisper,
haunted, broken.
Qui-Gon's arms tightened instinctively around him. "I'm not
going anywhere." Slow surge of anger again, quickly
suppressed. "I'm not going to leave you."
A slow tremor passed through Obi-Wan at that, and he seemed to
fold into Qui-Gon, as if he were trying to become a part of him.
His head turned, sliding his cheek against the coarseness of his
Master's beard. His breath was warm on Qui-Gon's face. "I'm
sorry," he said softly, his voice rough with the threat of
tears.
Qui-Gon forced a low chuckle, turning his padawan around to face
him. Resting his hands lightly on those silently trembling
shoulders, he said, "And what do you have to be sorry
for?"
He had meant it as a rhetorical question, but Obi-Wan answered
him. "I should be stronger than this. I should be able to
handle it better. But I just can't seem to ... let it go..."
Wide eyes, staring up at him, the faintest glitter of unshed
tears fracturing their steady blue-green light. Qui-Gon kneaded
his fingers into the robes covering his padawan's shoulders,
trying to ease some of the hunted-animal tension out of the lean
muscles under his hands.
"Listen to me, Obi-Wan. You have nothing to be sorry for.
Nothing. It's going to take time, but I promise you we will get
through this." The swirling rage, never far from the surface
of his thoughts these days, rose in him again, and he tramped it
down hurriedly before Obi-Wan could become aware of it.
Despite his efforts, some of the Jedi Master's anger must have
bled over their bond to Obi-Wan, because the younger man tensed
slightly. Perversely, however, it seemed to comfort him. Smiling
faintly, he lifted one long finger and laid it against Qui-Gon's
lips. "My protector," he murmured.
Qui-Gon's lips parted in a soft exhalation. Before he knew quite
what he was saying, he asked, "Would you feel more
comfortable sleeping with me tonight?"
He almost winced once the words left his mouth, not sure how Obi-
Wan would react to them. But his padawan looked relieved and
nodded slightly, leaning into him once again. Qui-Gon closed his
arms around the younger man and hugged him close, amazed at the
tension that was strung through that small frame.
"Thank you, Master." The words were thick with warmth
and gratitude.
It had been years since Obi-Wan had shared his Master's bed.
Certainly not since he was a child, and Qui-Gon found himself
wistfully remembering those long-forgotten days. Obi-Wan, young
and fierce, bright and bold, burrowing close against his Master's
side like a werecub seeking to shield itself from all the unknown
terrors of the world. Qui-Gon had never let on how much he
enjoyed those quiet evenings, basking in the love and trust of
the child in his arms, awed all over again at the fact that they
had been brought together. Obi-Wan, his light. Obi-Wan, his
heart. Had he ever truly known happiness before this man came
into his life?
He helped Obi-Wan out of his boots and then removed his own, but
he made no suggestion that they remove any clothing to be more
comfortable. Obi-Wan seemed quite content to curl up inside the
voluminous folds of his robe, and Qui-Gon followed suit, not
wanting anything to disturb the fragile peace that seemed to have
fallen over his apprentice. The bed felt remarkably good under
him as he settled his length onto it, and he was reminded again
of how long it had been since he'd had a good night's rest. Obi-
Wan was already curled up on his side, his back to him, a wealth
of anxiety evident in the curve of his spine. Qui-Gon could sense
his desire for further comfort, as well as his reluctance to ask
for it.
Ever so carefully, he eased Obi-Wan back into his arms, keenly
looking out for the slightest sign of discomfort, of recoiling
from his embrace. But Obi-Wan turned at his touch, folding into
his arms with a sigh of contentment, and the ever-present tension
in his shoulders actually seemed to ease slightly. He nuzzled
into Qui-Gon's body like a newborn kit seeking its mother's milk,
and Qui-Gon held him close, giving him what comfort he could.
Slowly, the younger man's breathing evened out into the uniform
rhythm of sleep. Qui-Gon lay there for a long while, holding him,
watching the play of lights outside the window in the night-
darkened Coruscant sky. He was very much aware of the feel of
Obi-Wan's breath on his neck, hot and moist, and the steady pulse
of the heart beating against his chest in tandem with his own. A
slow, sweet ache was beginning to radiate out of his groin, and
he shifted his hips back slightly, trying to distance himself
from the ardent heat of his padawan's body.
Obi-Wan made a small, dissatisfied sound in his sleep and
burrowed closer to his Master, and Qui-Gon acquiesced with an
aborted sigh. He would just have to cope with his entirely
inappropriate arousal and hope that it wouldn't bleed over their
bond to disturb his padawan's rest.
Too weary to meditate, too anxious to sleep, Qui-Gon lay in the
darkness and watched the moonlight as it played across his
sleeping padawan's body. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask
in the pure, unadulterated relief that his apprentice had been
returned to him, relatively unharmed and relatively whole. It
would be a long time before the healing process was complete, but
for now he was content merely to have his padawan home.
Steadfastly, he refused to think about how good it felt to hold
Obi-Wan in his arms. It was a long time before he fell asleep.
He woke suddenly, shocked to wakefulness by the violent tremors
that were wracking through Obi-Wan's body. Frowning, Qui-Gon
threw off the last clinging vestiges of sleep and tried to calm
his padawan's vehement trembling.
"Noooo..." Obi-Wan moaned, his brow creasing. His eyes
were still closed in sleep, and he pushed weakly against
Qui-Gon's chest, trying to extricate himself from his master's
embrace.
Immediately, Qui-Gon released him. "Shh, Padawan," he
murmured, sending a flood of reassurance over their bond.
Obi-Wan's thoughts were a morass of violent emotions, a tangle of
low pulsing fear coupled with a memory of heat, of dreadful
pressure, all of it mingling to choke the breath from his lungs.
Sweat stood out on his brow, glistening in the moonlight, and
Qui-Gon struggled to keep his own rampaging heartbeat under
control as he fought to still his padawan's frantic thrashings.
"Shh, it's only a dream, my Padawan, my Obi-Wan, shh, you're
safe now..." He continued to murmur nonsensically, and after
a few moments his words began to have the desired effect, as
Obi-Wan calmed under the soft, soothing touch of his hands.
Warm blue eyes blinked slowly open to gaze up at him. Obi-Wan
took a deep, quivering breath, and then burrowed into him,
seeming to seek the comfort of his presence instinctively out of
the confusion of half-awake impressions that still clung to him.
Qui-Gon closed his arms around him and stroked his hair gently,
feeling Obi-Wan's emotions quiet under the caress.
"It's all right, Obi-Wan," he said, very much aware of
the tremors that still vibrated through the young body in his
arms. He moved his hand in slow, soothing circles over the young
man's back, and was pleased when Obi-Wan relaxed slightly into
his embrace. "You're home now. It's over. You're safe."
"I always feel safe with you." The words were spoken so
softly that Qui-Gon could almost believe he'd imagined them.
He smiled slightly, feeling a rush of affection for this brave
young man. "We're going to beat this, Obi-Wan." Low,
fierce words, brooking no room for argument. "You're not
alone. What can I do to make it easier for you?"
Silence then, punctuated by a moist exhalation against the skin
of his neck. Then Obi-Wan seemed almost visibly to pull himself
together, and he whispered, "Make me feel."
Qui-Gon wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly. Obi-Wan's head was
bent under his chin, effectively shielding the young man's
expression from him. "Make you feel?" he echoed.
"Feel what?"
"Something else."
There was something about the softly spoken phrase that sent a
shiver of arousal down Qui-Gon's spine. Obi-Wan's voice rasped
like sandpaper across his skin, low and sensual. Force help him,
the boy couldn't have any idea how erotic his voice was. With an
effort, Qui-Gon threw up a hasty shield around the slow spike of
desire that rose in him, hoping desperately that Obi-Wan hadn't
noticed it. He was angry at himself for feeling this way, for
thinking of his apprentice in this light when it was obviously
the last thing that either of them needed right now.
There was no change in the slow, steady breathing under Qui-Gon's
chin, and he let out a pent-up breath he hadn't even known he'd
been holding. His reaction had apparently gone by unobserved.
"I don't know what you mean," he said at last.
When Obi-Wan spoke, his voice was low and even, with a distracted
quality to the words that suggested he might have been talking
about someone else entirely. "I can still feel his hands on
me," he said. "Touching me. Making me feel..." He
trailed off, unwilling to continue.
Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat, and he hugged Obi-Wan
closer to his chest, nuzzling the bristled hair at the top of the
young man's head. "It's over now, Obi-Wan."
"No, it isn't." Obi-Wan's voice was cold. "I want
it to be, but it isn't. It's like a part of me never left that
place. Or like a part of it never left me..."
Not knowing what to say, Qui-Gon simply held him and let him
talk, knowing that even this was a healing of sorts.
"I want to forget it, erase it, pretend it never happened.
But I can't. I can't, Master."
He sounded vaguely self-deprecating. Qui-Gon frowned and
tightened his arms around his apprentice's shoulders. "It's
not your fault, Obi-Wan. Do not blame yourself for this, any of
it. I could not bear it if you blamed yourself." And again,
softly, "What can I do?"
Obi-Wan repeated his earlier plea. "I need to feel something
else, Master. Please. Give me something to think of other than
... what happened to me."
Something like ice coiled in the pit of Qui-Gon's stomach.
"Obi- Wan..."
"Please, Master." His voice had roughened, and with a
start, Qui-Gon realized that he could feel the soft warmth of
tears where Obi-Wan's face was pressed against his neck.
"Please." This was barely a whisper.
Qui-Gon was stricken. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the
concept of what Obi-Wan was asking of him. "Obi-Wan, I don't
know if I-"
"Make love to me, Master."
With those gentle words, all of Qui-Gon's careful defenses blew
away like dust in the wind. He bit back a low moan, fiercely glad
that Obi-Wan could not see his face, and deliberately unclenched
the fists that his hands had become. A sudden roaring filled his
ears, identifiable after a moment as the thunderous pounding of
his heart.
"Do you want to make love to me, Master?" Small, timid
voice, barely audible. Warm breath against his skin.
*I have never wanted anything more.* But the words caught in his
throat, choking him. He felt as if he were being ripped open and
remade all at the same time, as the feelings spun through him,
dizzying.
Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's silence as a negative. His voice had
cooled considerably when he spoke next. "I-I'm sorry. I
didn't want to ask. I know it would be difficult for you. But if
you could find it in yourself to ... I mean, if you could make
the sacrifice ... please..." He was losing whatever tenuous
control he had won, and the tears were starting all over again.
His shoulders shook gently with quiet sobs.
It was too much for Qui-Gon. That this beautiful, passionate
young man should feel the need to debase himself like this, to
beg his Master to make love to him out of pity, that he would
crave Qui-Gon's touch at all after the horrors that had been done
to him... "No." He felt Obi-Wan flinch under his hands,
and he hastened to add, "It would be no sacrifice, my
Obi-Wan. I would be ... honored ... to do this for you. But it is
not necessary. Never doubt that I care for you, that you are
beautiful and wonderful and deserving of love. This experience
has taken nothing away from you."
Slow shifting under his arms, and Obi-Wan pulled back slightly so
he could look into his Master's face. Qui-Gon caught his breath
as he met his apprentice's eyes. Moonlight pooled between Obi-
Wan's lashes like tears, fracturing the color in them, and Qui-
Gon found himself drowning in the shattered-crystal beauty of
that gaze. The raw need in them burned him; he would almost swear
that the air he breathed in was scalding his lungs, and it tasted
faintly of Obi-Wan.
"Do you truly want this, my own one?" he asked softly,
trailing his hand lightly across his padawan's cheek. The tears
felt slick under his fingers.
"Yes, my Master." Light sigh of breath against his
hand, softly pleading. Obi-Wan turned his face into the caress,
eyes half- closing at the feel of Qui-Gon's fingers against his
skin.
And Qui-Gon knew he was lost. There was nothing he could deny
this man, nothing, and his body was clamoring at him to accept
what was being offered, practically writhing with its own wild
need as he fought the urge to rub himself against his padawan's
willing body. "Be very sure," he whispered, unable to
keep the low growl of arousal out of his voice. "I would not
do you further injury."
"I'm sure, Master." Obi-Wan cupped his hand over
Qui-Gon's and rubbed his face cat-like against his Master's palm.
Qui-Gon gave into the temptation to brush his thumb across the
thinly veined softness of the young man's lips, hardly daring to
breathe. Obi- Wan's eyes drifted shut with a soft sigh.
Very carefully, Qui-Gon leaned forward and pressed his lips
against the skin above his padawan's left eye. Obi-Wan was
trembling, like a frightened colt getting ready to bolt, and Qui-
Gon slid the backs of his fingers down the side of the younger
man's face, trying to ease the tension out of that beloved form.
He very deliberately did not let any part of his body touch Obi-
Wan's except for those fingers, and he could feel his padawan's
whole attention focus on that one point of contact between them.
"Relax," Qui-Gon whispered, smoothing back the hair at
the side of Obi-Wan's face with light, sure touches. "If
this is what you truly want, what you need, then let me do this
for you. But never doubt that you are in control, Obi-Wan. If you
want me to stop, you have only to tell me. Do you
understand?"
"Yes." This was little more than a hiss, and Qui-Gon
could feel the small pulse of the vein in Obi-Wan's temple,
beating rapidly under the pad of his finger, quick as a bird's.
"Relax," he said again, sliding his lips across his
young lover's brow, feeling as if he were leaving a trail of fire
in their wake. "Just relax, Obi-Wan, and let me love
you."
Obi-Wan trembled, a sustained, bone-deep shudder that almost
broke Qui-Gon's resolve, but then his hands were clenching in
Qui-Gon's robes, refusing to let him pull away.
"Please." He dipped his head forward slightly, as if he
were ashamed of his need.
Qui-Gon saw the submission inherent in the gesture and felt a
dull ache claw at him, as he recognized the loss of self that it
entailed. Obi-Wan had been brutally molested, his body used
against his will, his wishes ignored, and now he was suffering
from an understandable lack of confidence and faith. He wanted to
be loved; he wanted to believe that he was not truly as worthless
as the assault had made him feel.
Even knowing the motivations behind Obi-Wan's request, he could
not stop himself from placing a soft kiss on the bridge of his
padawan's nose, the soft skin underneath his eye, the smooth
curve of his jaw. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, with a ghosting of
dark lashes against the pale skin of his cheek. He was a vision,
a work of art so perfect that Qui-Gon felt his heart would break
just looking at him. So beautiful, his padawan was. So beautiful,
and so very desirable.
"You are exquisite," Qui-Gon breathed, trailing his
lips across his padawan's face until he was nuzzling at the
tender curve of his ear. The shivers in Obi-Wan's body were
becoming more pronounced now, but he did not release his
stranglehold on Qui- Gon's robes. "Shall I tell you what I
see when I look at you? The way the moonlight caresses you,
worships you? It is all I can do not to fall to my knees in your
presence, my love. You are everything to me. My life, my heart,
my soul..."
Oh, whatever had possessed him to bear his emotions this way? Bad
enough that he was giving in to the temptation to use his padawan
like this; did he really have to frighten the boy with his own
long-buried feelings? Maybe it was the full, pale- crystal glow
of the moon, which covered everything in such a beautiful light,
giving the room a dream-like quality, as it were being viewed
underwater, leaving him to drown in the emotions that blazed like
banked fire within him. Or maybe it was merely the fact that
Obi-Wan was here in his bed, wanting him, needing him, clutching
at him in a frenzy of need and want, his every emotion laid bare.
The thought of it rose in Qui-Gon's head like wine, only it was
more heady, more seductive, and he found himself panting in small
shallow breaths of longing.
He had to slow down, had to gain some measure of control. Obi-
Wan was trembling like a storm-tossed leaf beside him, his eyes
pressed tightly shut. The anxiety rising off of him practically
thrummed in the air between them.
"Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon immediately focused on his
padawan's distress, cursing himself inwardly. "I'm sorry.
Please, Obi- Wan, forgive me. I never meant-"
"Don't." Obi-Wan's voice was fierce. "Don't tell
me you didn't mean it. Please." He was crying again. When
his eyes opened to meet Qui-Gon's, they glittered like diamonds
behind his tears, catching and fragmenting the light that pooled
there. "I want you to love me. The way I love you..."
Qui-Gon felt flushed, feverish, as he felt the words sink in. He
had never been put through such a gamut of emotion as he had over
the past few days, and it was wearing on him. He felt wrung out,
stretched beyond his endurance, his very soul pulled taut and
sensitive to the slightest touch. Obi-Wan's softly spoken words
burned through him like heated brands.
"Obi-Wan," he breathed, unable to think of anything
else to say. A part of him was actually amused by this; to think
of the formidable Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, reduced to
speechlessness by a simple declaration of love from his padawan.
He would have laughed if he wasn't so very near tears with
gratitude.
"I love you, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan's voice was steady as he
said this, although it was underlaid by a soft tremor that
betrayed his nervousness at making this admission. "I think
I've always loved you."
The words hung in the air between them, begging some response but
asking for nothing else in return. It was a moment before Qui-
Gon could speak.
"My Obi-Wan," he murmured, cupping the young man's chin
in his hand and running his thumb possessively along the gentle
slope of his jaw. "Know that I love you, with all my heart.
No Master has ever had a padawan such as you. So beautiful, so
clever, so graceful and strong. I am filled with pride for you,
and I cherish the day that you came into my life. I love
you."
He bent to kiss the soft skin in front of his padawan's ear, and
this time, Obi-Wan did not flinch away from him. With the
faintest moan in the back of his throat, the younger man leaned
into the touch, his hands flexing where they clenched in Qui-
Gon's robe.
The faintest vibration of laughter caused Qui-Gon to pull away
and gaze down at his padawan quizzically. Obi-Wan had freed one
hand to wipe at the tears on his cheeks. "I seem to be doing
this an awful lot lately," he said by way of explanation,
indicating the tears.
Qui-Gon smiled and cupped the back of his lover's head with one
hand, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his padawan's.
"I would say you're allowed."
Obi-Wan chuckled again and breathed out deeply, nuzzling forward
against his Master's face. "Would you kiss me again
please?" he whispered.
Catching his breath slightly, Qui-Gon complied. He slid his lips
across Obi-Wan's skin, carefully skirting his mouth, taking the
opportunity to taste every millimeter of that beloved face. He
had yearned to do this for so very long, ached for it, and now
the reality was so much more satisfying that the fantasy could
ever have been. Obi-Wan titled his head up in subtle invitation,
and Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to his throat, holding himself there
for a moment, feeling the tender beat of the pulse under his
lips.
When he finally let himself move to Obi-Wan's mouth, he couldn't
bite back the low moan that rose from him. Lightly at first, the
barest brush of lips, and he could feel the desire and heat
radiating off of Obi-Wan's body with the force of a small sun.
Deeper then, barest flicker of his tongue, and Obi-Wan was
opening to him, silently bidding him to enter. He slid his tongue
reverently into that warm chasm, sweeping along the hard planes
of his lover's teeth, tasting the tender skin inside his lips.
Obi-Wan had gone very still under him, every sense attuned to the
delicate torment of his Master's kiss.
This was rapture. Obi-Wan tasted delectable, a heady combination
of sweetness and spice combined with something else that was
uniquely Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon found himself drowning in it. His
tongue plunged further into that willing mouth, tasting the
faintest residue of the juice they'd shared, and he slid his palm
down Obi-Wan's shoulder, smoothing over the hard lines of muscle
and flesh. He felt dizzy, breathless, and after just a few
moments of this he had to pull back, groping for some measure of
equilibrium.
Obi-Wan's face was flushed, his pupils dilated to opaque swirls
of darkness in the shifting half-light. His breathing was shallow
as it ghosted across Qui-Gon's face, torturing him with the
stirring of arousal it caused in him.
Qui-Gon took a moment to assure himself that this was still what
Obi-Wan wanted, and then he was very gently running his hands
over his lover's shoulders, massaging deeply at the base of his
neck. Obi-Wan went boneless under the caress and shifted closer,
straining for any increase in contact between them. But Qui-Gon
refused to rush this.
"May I touch you?" he asked quietly.
The look in Obi-Wan's eyes said he knew exactly what his Master
was asking. He nodded slightly, the arousal in his eyes
deepening.
Very gently, Qui-Gon drew the robe back off of his padawan's
shoulders, and Obi-Wan did what he could to help his Master
remove the heavy piece of clothing. The faintest flicker of
unease traveled across their bond as it was laid aside, and Qui-
Gon froze, watching him closely. "Obi-Wan?"
"I want this," Obi-Wan said, touching Qui-Gon's face
lightly. It was the first gesture he'd made to actually instigate
contact between them. "It's hard for me to let go, but I do
want this."
Qui-Gon leaned forward to kiss him softly, marveling at the way
the young man yielded under his touch. "My brave, beautiful
padawan," he murmured, gently drawing Obi-Wan's lower lip
into this mouth and suckling lightly. Obi-Wan gasped and moved
against him, the gentle friction of his body increasing the sweet
ache in Qui-Gon's groin. With growing urgency, Qui-Gon slid his
hands under the fabric of his lover's tunics and spread his
fingers across that smooth flesh, feeling the whisper-soft brush
of silken hairs against his palms. Obi-Wan's skin was warm under
his seeking touch, almost feverish. Qui-Gon's hands skimmed down
the smooth flanks, drawing forth an appreciative shiver, and then
he was unwinding the sash from around the younger man's waist. He
dipped his head to lap at the side of Obi-Wan's neck, tasting
salt and arousal in equal proportions.
The tunic fell open to reveal the dusky expanse of Obi-Wan's
chest, nipples dark against the paleness of his skin. Qui-Gon
moaned faintly and bent to taste one of them, circling his tongue
lazily around its contour without quite touching the pebbled nub.
Obi-Wan's hands fisted in his hair. "Master, please..."
Qui-Gon smiled and exhaled lightly, feeling Obi-Wan tense as the
warm air contacted his moistened skin. He was pressing himself
against his Master's body now, all hesitation gone, the urgency
of his need thrumming across their bond, fueling Qui-Gon's own
desire. Without thinking, Qui-Gon slid out of his own heavy robe,
shoving it aside, all attention focused on the small patch of
skin under his lips.
He took the nipple into his mouth, applying gentle suction, and
felt the sensation arc like lightning through Obi-Wan's trembling
form. Slow seduction, this, giving his padawan ample opportunity
to pull away, to tell him it wasn't what he wanted, to ask to be
let go. But Obi-Wan responded to each of his touches with
increased yearning, pleading with every movement, every breath,
for Qui-Gon to give him more.
How long had Qui-Gon been dreaming of this? Too long, it seemed,
and it took all of his considerable control not to rush this,
reminding himself that Obi-Wan's comfort was paramount here. It
was difficult, however, harder than he'd thought it would be. He
wanted this, more than he had ever wanted anything else in his
life, and the blissful torture that he was causing was far from
one-sided.
He moved to the other nipple now, giving it equal attention,
feeling Obi-Wan go weak under him, losing himself to the
sensations even as Qui-Gon's hands unbuckled the belt around his
waist, sliding it out from under him so that the tunic fell fully
open, baring all of his torso to his Master's loving touch.
Qui-Gon felt slim hands at his waist, struggling to unclasp his
own belt, and he pulled back slightly to give them better access.
His eyes found Obi-Wan's, held them, as his sash and belt were
lifted from him. The young man's gaze was focused as he
tentatively touched his fingers to Qui-Gon's chest. The absolute
love and trust in them was searing.
"I am humbled by you," Qui-Gon said quietly, holding
Obi-Wan's head in his hands and bending to kiss him first on one
corner of his mouth, then the other. "Shall I tell you what
I see when I look at you?"
"Yes." Soft voice, warm as honey against his skin.
Obi-Wan arched against him, moaning softly. "Tell me."
Qui-Gon curled his tongue slowly along the curve of Obi-Wan's
ear, earning a sharp gasp and another shifting of that sensuous
body against him. "There is a light in you," he said
softly, "so bright, it burns. It's blinding. I am awed by
you, by the purity of your light. You complete me, my Obi-Wan.
You fill all those distant, lonely parts of me that I once
thought would never be free of the darkness." As he spoke,
his hands lifted the tunics away, smoothing down the naked plains
of Obi-Wan's back until his fingers dipped just under the
waistband of his leggings. Obi-Wan hissed and arched into him,
hands scrabbling at his Master's strong arms, trying to draw him
closer.
"What do you want, my Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked hoarsely,
sliding his fingers over the sensitive patch of skin just below
the small of his lover's back. Slow, repetitive circles, making
Obi-Wan tip his head back at the sensations coursing through him,
baring the pale curve of his throat. Unable to resist, Qui-Gon
bent his head to taste that tender skin, closing his lips over a
chosen spot just below his padawan's jaw, sucking at first
lightly and then with increasing pressure, drawing the blood up
to the surface.
"Oh..." Obi-Wan was nearly incoherent with need. He
repeated the word in a soft litany of desire, over and over
again, each word punctuating the steady suckling at his throat.
"What do you want?" Qui-Gon repeated, soothing the
newly formed passion mark with his tongue. His hands slid lower,
finding the firm curves of Obi-Wan's buttocks, and the feel of
that smooth skin under his hands made the Jedi Master moan in
ecstasy. He pulled those willing hips tight against his own,
feeling Obi- Wan's erection slide against his with delectable
friction through the fabric of their leggings. His teeth bit
lightly into the curve of Obi-Wan's shoulder, muffling his cries.
"You," Obi-Wan whispered, and the word speared into
Qui-Gon's brain with the force of a nuclear explosion. "I
want you. Only you, always..."
Qui-Gon's mouth met his padawan's in a searing kiss, taking his
breath away. He slid a finger into the crease of Obi-Wan's
buttocks, swallowing the resulting groan this caused, and pressed
gently at the tight opening there until just the tip of his
finger had slipped inside. Obi-Wan shuddered, his tongue plunging
into Qui-Gon's mouth, stroking, pleading, demanding. His hands
pushed at Qui-Gon's tunics, trying desperately to remove all
barriers to further intimacy, and Qui-Gon removed his hands from
Obi-Wan's pants long enough to shrug out of the long sleeves.
Panting, he found Obi-Wan's lips again and drowned in them.
Amazing, some small rational corner of his brain thought, that he
could feel such urgency at his age, after everything he had
experienced in his life. His hands once again slid under the
waistband of Obi-Wan's leggings, tugging gently, and he bent to
suckle at a soft bronze nipple, laving it with his tongue.
Slowly, he pulled Obi-Wan's leggings down over his hips, exposing
more of that smooth milky skin to his vision, and he found
himself entranced by the sight of the reddish-gold curls that he
found there. He couldn't resist the impulse to touch those short
silky hairs, drawing a sustained hiss from his lover, and he
smiled, rubbing his beard just barely across the sensitive skin
of the young man's stomach.
Further down then, revealing the head of the younger man's cock,
thick and red in the half-light that filled the room. Qui-Gon
made a small, strangled sound, dipping his tongue into Obi-Wan's
navel, rubbing his thumbs in slow circular movements over the
hard bones of his padawan's hips. "So beautiful," he
breathed, smelling the sharp musky scent of his lover's arousal.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said with a quivering breath, his
hands fluttering helplessly at his sides for a moment before
coming to rest on the back of his Master's head. "Oh,
Qui-Gon. Please..."
Qui-Gon pulled the leggings further down, at last freeing Obi-
Wan's erection from the constraining fabric. He let his eyes
drink in the young man's beauty, hard cock curving proudly
against his belly, hips thrusting up into his Master's hands,
silently crying out for more contact, more stimulation, more
loving touches. Qui-Gon complied, bending to flick his tongue at
the weeping tip, closing his eyes at the sudden taste that
flooded his mouth. It was addictive, consuming, and he almost
didn't notice when Obi-Wan arched his hips up off the sheets with
a searing cry, so caught up was he in the sensations that were
racing through him.
Further down, exposing the strongly muscled thighs. He smoothed
his hands over them, soothing the urgency that peaked in them
both, giving just the faintest scrape of his nails at the inside
of one thigh. Obi-Wan gasped, his knees falling open, and Qui-
Gon took the opportunity to nuzzle the heavy balls between his
padawan's legs. Sliding his tongue over them, reveling in the
feel of the smooth textured skin, the tickle of soft hairs
against his face, the smell of sex and need that enveloped him.
"Let go, my love," he murmured, feeling Obi-Wan's hands
fist in his hair. "Trust in me. Let me do this for
you..."
"Yes, my Master," Obi-Wan answered him, his voice a
tremulous whisper. "My Qui-Gon. Beloved..."
The word sent a shiver down Qui-Gon's spine, a spark of
electrifying energy that went straight to his groin. He removed
the leggings from Obi-Wan's lean legs and tossed them aside,
hands moving immediately to the laces at his own waist, pulling
his trousers down over his hips and squirming out of them without
a thought, mouth closing as if of its own accord over the tender
skin at the inside of his padawan's thighs, hands reaching,
grasping, making love with fingers and tongue and lips, his heart
racing. He had never felt so out of control, never thought he
could love the feeling this much. He wanted to be consumed,
devoured, and his need roared in his ears with a sound like
thunder.
He licked his way up his lover's body until he found that hot,
wet mouth again, and Obi-Wan met his kiss, passion for passion.
Strong arms closed around his shoulders, crushing him down onto
that lean, graceful body, and their erections slid against each
other, slick with sweat and precum, a delightful, charged
friction that sent Qui-Gon's mind swirling into the oblivion of
desire. He reached down with one hand, groped between his
padawan's legs, and rubbed his fingers with deep, sure strokes
over the skin of Obi-Wan's perineum. Obi-Wan cried out, hips
bucking, and Qui-Gon swirled his tongue into his ear with a
groan.
Obi-Wan was trembling beneath him, his thoughts an agony of need,
his hips grinding up into Qui-Gon's with the force of his
arousal. Heat rose off of him in waves, thickening the air,
making it difficult to breathe. Panting, Qui-Gon pulled back
enough to gaze down into his eyes. The irises were a thin circle
of color around the gaping blackness of his pupils, dilated to
impossible size with desire, framed by thick, dark lashes like
brushstrokes in a painting. Again, Qui-Gon was struck by how very
beautiful Obi-Wan was, how lovely, and the hands smoothing over
his back were the sweetest sensation he had ever experienced, as
his padawan touched him with love and want and need. Qui-Gon bent
to kiss those lips again, softer this time, almost humming with
the intense happiness that washed through him.
"I love you, Obi-Wan," he said softly, curling his
fingers around the braid at the side of the younger man's face,
running its silken length against his palm.
"Love you, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was hoarse,
breathless, and Qui-Gon smiled. He was very far gone now.
"Tell me again that you want this, my love," he urged,
unable to bring himself to take the next step until he was sure
of his lover's thoughts in this matter. He was well aware of the
memories that Obi-Wan was fighting against, and he had no wish to
compound his padawan's misery, despite his body's own rather
vehement opinion on the matter.
Obi-Wan smiled up at him, and it was such a sweet, trusting
expression that Qui-Gon felt it wash through him like rain,
cleansing any last remnants of guilt he had about indulging in
his padawan's love tonight. Obi-Wan lifted one hand to his face
and trailed delicate fingers across his cheek, tracing his lips
lightly. "I'm sure," he said. "Make love to me,
Qui-Gon. I want this, want you. I've never wanted anything as
much."
Qui-Gon dipped to kiss him again, fingering lightly at the
entrance to his lover's body. Very gently, he slid one finger
inside, feeling the tight warmth grip him, drawing him further
in. Slick with the fluids of their arousal, it went in easily,
and Obi-Wan's hips pressed onto him wantonly, without hesitation
or fear. Qui-Gon thought again about the man who had forced his
padawan to this act, but instead of the familiar rage there was
only a deep, soul-deep sorrow, and he ached to think that his
beloved Obi-Wan had had to endure the torment of an unloving
touch. It wasn't fair; there had never been a man more deserving
of love than his padawan, more deserving of admiration and
respect.
A second finger now, and Obi-Wan was writhing beneath him, hands
clutching at his shoulders in a gesture of absolute abandon. His
neck arched, and Qui-Gon bent to taste it, nipping gently at the
tantalizing beat of his pulse. A third finger, opening that
silken channel for him, scraping lightly across his lover's
prostate, earning a sharp, indrawn breath as the smooth body
convulsed beneath him. Hardly able to breathe, his chest
constricted with need, Qui-Gon pulled his fingers out to a deep
groan of protest from his lover, and he kissed that sweat-sheened
face comfortingly as he took the heavy length of his own erection
in his hand, positioning it at the entrance to the young man's
body.
Tight, supple heat around his cock, burning him, and he threw his
head back with a deep-voiced groan, fingers clenching
spasmodically at Obi-Wan's body. Liquid ecstasy, washing through
him, and he shuddered as he drove himself further into that
velvet warmth, his thoughts fragmenting as he was consumed by
pure sensation. Obi-Wan's lips found his throat and suckled
softly, sending him into a riot of pleasure that disavowed any
pretense at rational thought, and then there was only the long,
slick movements of their bodies together, bound by love and
ecstasy.
He rode the pleasure as he would a wave in the sea, letting it
carry him, enfold him, take him where he needed to be. His mind
reached out for Obi-Wan's, seeking affirmation, and the fingers
of their thoughts intertwined until they were as inextricably
joined as their bodies, molded into one bright point of light
between them. His hands smoothed over Obi-Wan's skin as they
moved, cupping under one knee and lifting the leg up onto his
shoulder, angling his body to strike deeper with every heated
thrust. Obi-Wan raised his hips to meet him, fingers tangling in
his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, opening his mouth to Qui-
Gon's and thrusting his tongue deep inside him, mimicking the
movements of their bodies.
It was too much. Already, Qui-Gon could feel the warm, liquid
tingle of his orgasm coiling at the small of his back, begging
release. His hand slid between their bodies, found Obi-Wan's
erection, and began pumping it in time to the rhythm of his
thrusts. Obi-Wan gave a hoarse cry, practically lifting his body
off the bed in his pleasure, and Qui-Gon sank his teeth deep into
the soft juncture between shoulder and neck, biting back his own
wild cries. Too much, it was too much, the heat was going to
consume him, and this was Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, who loved him and
needed him and wanted to make him come...
Qui-Gon gave a deep, heartfelt groan as his orgasm hit him, and
his entire body shuddered as the sensations washed over him,
spilling his passion into his lover's body. A moment later, Obi-
Wan arched under him with an inarticulate cry, and liquid warmth
was spilling over Qui-Gon's hand, the evidence of the younger
man's pleasure. For one harsh second they were locked together in
the throes of their passion, and then they both collapsed onto
the bed again, sated.
Obi-Wan's arms and legs were wrapped around him, head pillowed on
his Master's chest. Qui-Gon stroked his hair lightly, twirling
his fingers around the slim softness of his braid. "Better
now?" he asked softly.
Obi-Wan gave a surprised laugh and shifted to look at him,
resting his chin on his Master's sternum so he could meet his
eyes. "Yes, Master," he said with an impish smile.
"Thank you."
Qui-Gon chuckled and stroked one finger down his cheek fondly.
"Any time, my love."
His apprentice stretched out cat-like against him, arms wrapped
possessively around his torso, molding to his body as if they had
been made to fit together like this. Qui-Gon held him close,
marveling once again that they had found each other, that the
Force had seen fit to bring them together. He savored the memory
of those eyes as he had just glimpsed them, so full of love and
trust, completely unshadowed by any lingering doubts or fears.
There was no tension whatsoever in the younger man's quiescent
frame, and Qui-Gon hugged him close, daring to hope that his
padawan would finally find the rest that he needed. Fatigue
washed over him with an insistent pull, making him realize that
Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had been missing out on his sleep
recently.
"I love you," Qui-Gon murmured, breathing in the warm
scents of love and spent passion that swirled around him. Obi-Wan
made no reply, his breathing already locked in the deep, even
rhythm of sleep. One last touch, proving to himself that this was
real, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, giving into a similar
compulsion.
They slept, wrapped in each other's arms, and neither of them
dreamed.
Fin.