Series title, Reinvention, chapter 1, "Pretend"

Author: Hilary

Rating: NC-17
Archive: Ask me, or Jacynthe Demorae's
Series: 1/3

Categories: Q/O pairing, PWP. Part one is a first-time, part two is bondage/power play, part three is romance. Fun for everyone!
Feedback: Dying for it, please. email above.

Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have to make some changes in the way they deal with each other and the Council

Disclaimers:If anyone officially authorized to be involved with them reads this, I hope you see two things: This was done out of utmost adoration, and I have no money.

/..../ denotes italics, which denote thoughts, bond speak, and emphasis.

Part 1-- Pretend

The Jedi were constant. For millennia, the staunch traditions, rigorous schedule and firmly-adhered-to reputation of the Order had been renowned. Nothing had changed; nothing had even shifted but the tides of Light and Dark. But the Light and Dark moved like Yin and Yang: they swirled around each other, distinctly cleaved, nothing changing within each side.

Within the Light, the Jedi moved as they always had: with calm, stoic precision, displaying neither tumult nor turmoil, even thrust violently into battle. /There is no emotion, there is only peace./

Some Jedi sheathed turmoil behind cool masks, bringing it to rein tightly, quickly, and absolutely; some Jedi felt no turmoil. Two, however, neither lacked nor hid emotional tumult, and this was rapidly becoming a problem: The Padawan displayed his to the Master; the Master, in turn, to the Council.

It was a classic case of bantha shit rolling uphill.

Of course, it always came back down, eventually. And so the pendulum swung, to the mutual dissatisfaction of all parties. Somehow, it never interfered with the dutiful obligations of either the Jedi pair, nor did it interfere with the ability of the Council to deliver orders.

That is, until, one rather eventful day in which the clear words, "We will not accept the mission" rang through the glassy, stony Council chamber.

Obi-Wan braced for impact.

His Master shot him a look, cool and unreadable to the casual observer, but to Obi-Wan there was a warning as distinct as the words to the Council had been.

Small green eyebrows had gone up markedly at the rejection. "Reject a Council-sanctioned assignment, do you, Master Jinn? Explanation you have for this action, I am quite sure."

"Yes, Master Yoda, if you will permit me," Qui-Gon replied smoothly, his voice as wooden as his expression. "It is documented that our mission success ratio is higher than that of any other pair in the Order. It is also documented that we have had fewer leave days -- and /more/ days designated to healers' quarters -- than any other pair. We require rest, peace, and latitude that does not involve a bacta tank or a cross-galaxy trip on a cruiser."

Obi-Wan could hear the acid etching on those words. So, apparently, could Master Windu. "What you require, Master Jinn, is a formal reprimand. The Council have tolerated your insubordination for decades, and the latitude you seem to require has been given you, time and again."

Master Mundi spoke then. "Your actions betray nothing of your words. But your words have never gone unmarked. To reject a Council-assigned mission and demand personal leave time in its stead is a most unsavory and selfish mannerism on your part."

"Grant you personal leave we shall," Master Yoda spoke suddenly, his words drawing a cool jolt of surprise through the chamber. "However, Master Qui-Gon," he emphasized the endearment, displaying that the latitude Qui-Gon demanded had always been there, "consider you must the weight of your actions here today. Much trouble have you placed upon us. Operatives we must find for the mission, now, when the best operatives we had already selected. Created delays and problems you have, in the interest of sleeping late." He laced his own words with a dour note. "Question the Council, you do, so often. Wonder we must if you are truly at peace here, or if you /require/ permanent reassignment to another system. Or, desire you resignation from the Order altogether?"

The words fell in the hall, rocking back and forth among the collective consciousness. It was unthinkable... /leave/ the Order? And yet, there it was. For the first time in his service to the Light, Qui-Gon Jinn was speechless.

Yoda nodded decisively, moving on as though he had never asked his latter question. He tapped his stick on the side of his seat. "Yes, yes. Leave you shall have. Find your center, you shall, and your Padawan, too." Masters Yoda and Qui-Gon both turned to Obi-Wan. "Much has he to learn as well, about patience, peace, and /silence/."

Qui-Gon could only raise his eyebrows in mute agreement. He was quite sure he would hear about this particular incident later -- in the Gardens, in the dining hall, in their rooms; it mattered little where they went, Obi-Wan was continuously plying his will toward the older Jedi, and continuously failing. Qui-Gon had been lax in the breaking of this particular habit because he wished to encourage free thinking in his Padawan.

Plus, he found it vaguely endearing. Until, that is, Obi-Wan would start pushing for Qui-Gon to settle down so he could secure a Council seat. Then, Qui-Gon would generally clip the discussion short, pulling rank if necessary. Familiarity and endearment only went so far.

"Go, go," Master Yoda said impatiently, seeing the distant look in his former Padawan's eyes. "Submitted your leave will be. Begin tomorrow it will. /Require/ transports, you do not, I hope?"

"No, Master," Qui-Gon murmured, sounding rather humbled, bowing, and turning to go. Obi-Wan bowed as well, following after his Master.

* * * *

"Master," Obi-Wan began hesitantly, as he always did before he picked up steam and blazed ahead. "The Council today --" He paused, as if on cue.

"Not now, Padawan," Qui-Gon fairly growled, plying his tray with some kind of Tyderian salad. His response came fully as expected, just as he had fully expected his Padawan to broach the subject. Still, he was curious to know what possible argument Obi-Wan could pose: the venerable Master had found Obi-Wan to be at fault as well.

"Master, I only wanted to say, I am sorry for being so vocal about my opinions. I am not experienced in the Force and in politics as you are, and so I have no right. It's not my place."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Well, this was about as new a concept as -- well, as he himself growing humble before the Council.

"What shall we do, then, Padawan?" he asked seriously, nodding his head in the direction of a table and indicating Obi-Wan precede him through the crowded dining hall. "We are instructed in no uncertain terms to be at peace with each other and the Council. The inability to do so will find us shuffled off to the Outer Rim settling gambling disputes among the Hutts." He settled himself at the table and bent toward his meal, not very intent on it.

Obi-Wan glanced away, his clear blue eyes suddenly filled with disturbance. "I-- I am sure I don't know, Master." He, too, picked at his plate without interest. Qui-Gon sent a questioning tendril along the training bond, testing for some unforeseen problem between them, but whatever it was, it did not seem to involve him. He withdrew and sat up straight.

"I am not much for this meal, Padawan," he muttered abruptly, trying to soften the gruffness in his voice, but clearly failing. "I shall see you in our quarters." And he rose and took his tray straight to the washers, untouched; Obi-Wan watched him leave the dining hall.

He shoved a faintly blue cube of colo fish meat to one side and, elbow propped on the tabletop, slumped his cheek into his palm. He knew exactly why he questioned his Master. That is, he knew the underlying cause but could not determine what he expected to gain from his actions. Being in love and in deep, terrible lust with one's Master sometimes produced stress and tension, but in and of itself did not lend itself to continued argument with the Master's opinions.

It certainly wasn't that Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon to be wrong in most cases. Today, in fact, he had been most impressed that his Master had gone in having already done research into the statistics of the Order's deployments, and was concerned enough about him, about both of them, to forgo mission over sanity. Sith knew, Obi-Wan didn't want to go out on another mission right now; they'd only just come back from the last one. So what was it? Was it along the same lines as pulling a female Initiate's hair in the crèche because you liked her? Surely he was old enough to be past that kind of behavior now.

Perhaps, truly, he wasn't. But what then, his nearly-fifty Master was supposed to pick up fourth-year behavior and respond to it knowingly? Obi-Wan cringed, thinking of all the arguments he had started over Qui-Gon's problems with the Council. Qui-Gon fought because he was right; Obi-Wan fought because he wanted make-up sex.

He sullenly poked a vegetable with his fork and banged it on the plate softly, wielding it like a small, idle hammer. He was pouting, but he didn't care. Something had to happen, and soon. He had a sinking feeling it was up to him to initiate it.

* * * *

The rooms were dim when he returned to them, the light streaking up from the base of the walls softly. He assumed his Master was meditating, and moved to do the same himself. He needed to clear his mind. He needed a cleansing respite. /I need to get laid,/ he thought irreverently, and shoved it aside. He moved silently to his room, palmed the door closed, dropped the lights completely and drew the drapes tightly against Coruscant's perpetual ambient light, embracing the darkness. Darkness seemed to be so abused. He found it comforting. Here in the dark, in privacy, he could do, be, and think anything he wanted to, to purge his small, few demons as they cropped up. Slay them in anger with a metaphysical lightsaber, rage at them, scream in his mind at their very existence. Tradition, complacence, compliance! What were the good of them if one went stir crazy inside their boundaries?

Sighing, he settled on his knees into a meditative stance. He sank to a low consciousness almost immediately, the product of long years of practice. The Jedi tradition of peace and calm was difficult to bear at times, regardless of training. It was hinged theoretically on the premises of honor and respect, but this didn't help in the practical application. Respect leads to admiration, admiration leads to affection, affection leads to lust, and lust leads to love. Or something like that. That was how it had gone for Obi-Wan, in the case of his Master. So now he knelt in his room in the cavelike darkness, a hermit to his own emotions. Emotions too tumultous to display. He practiced at burying them.

But to be buried, they at least had to lie still. He had never found a way to make this happen. They snickered at him, taunting, circling him, little monsters that they were. Unrequited desire and one-sided love, the sense of incompletion, loneliness, desperate lust. /Ah, me,/ he thought, unable to find his center. Standing impatiently, he flexed and bent his knees and began to pace in the dark, his hand rubbing at his eyes and forehead.

Edgy. He had always been too edgy, Qui-Gon said. He hid it well, but Qui-Gon generally felt it, and Obi-Wan supposed it made him edgy as well. Obi-Wan could stifle bitchy irritation beneath a veneer of complacency as readily as most Jedi take complacency to heart. Obi-Wan had always wondered which was the greater skill. He paced restlessly in the pitch-blackness. Oh, for one chance to rail angrily, fists clenched, pacing like this, gesturing wildly at the Council without the constant assumption that he was crossing over to the damned Dark Side.

What kind of arrangement was that, anyway? One stray thought in the wrong direction and poof, you were a Sith Lord. What would the Council make of his anger, his lust? What about angry lust? What about the idea that he could stride right into Qui-Gon's room and take him, immediately, on the floor? That would absolve years of frustration right there. "Yes, Padawan, take me now!" he heard in his head, and lust poured through him like molten rock. What about hunger and burning need? What about tenderness and devotion? He tried to calm his raging desire, but tenderness and devotion were pushed roughly aside like a couple of unwanted layers of clothing under roving hands.

Was that it then? Were all his difficulties with his Master so easily tallied up to years of one-sided lust? He doubted it. But Obi-Wan realized that frustration and loneliness were larger demons to him than he'd first wanted to admit. He'd stared into those deep cerulean eyes too long, been guided by the large, firm hands, felt the tension in battle of that tall, lithe body. Now he wanted the hands and eyes and body to be doing entirely new things to him, and the want wasn't going away the longer the things didn't happen.

"Obi-Wan." The door muffled qui-Gon’s voice before it slid open under his hand. He was surprised to see, in the light that fell into the room from the hall, Obi-Wan standing tensely in the middle of the dark room, obviously in distress. "For one so quiet, Padawan, you are creating quite a disturbance." Obi-Wan flushed, realizing he must have projected quite a distance.

Qui-Gon turned on the light a little, enough to see but low, so that it wouldn't bother Obi-Wan's eyes after the darkness. "Would you care to tell me what's going on?" the Master asked softly, moving in to sit on Obi-Wan's bunk.

Unable to contain it, blurting out his problems suddenly, with key dramatis personae left out of course, Obi-Wan vented his problem with the Code in respect to emotion, and the sexual desire and love he had been repressing.

Qui-Gon regarded him steadily. Even sitting, with Obi-Wan standing a fair distance away from him, Qui-Gon was striking an imposing figure. /Would that he would only impose a little more,/ Obi-Wan thought recklessly, and squelched it before it could escape. Damn demons.

"You know that the Code refers to those emotions which we cannot control, which we allow to rule us. Emotions released into the Force are not the same, Obi-Wan. We have been over this before." There was no note of disapproval, nor was there a sense of resignation. Obi-Wan was how he was.

"Yes Master, but-- "Obi-Wan paced some more, rubbing at the back of his neck, fiddling with his braid. Qui-Gon could see how nervous he was.

"So you have had feelings for someone for years, feelings that involve sexual desire, and now you feel that this is a difficulty and is interfering with your sense of calm." Qui-Gon had always had an infuriating knack for breaking down Obi-Wan's vehement emotions to clinical simplicity. "Have you... approached the individual?" Qui-Gon peered at his Padawan in the dimness. Obi-Wan stopped pacing and met his eyes, wondering at the expression on Qui-Gon's face... but there was no expression. He was, as always, inscrutable.

"Not..." Obi-Wan paused, licking his lips. "Not as such," he murmured lamely. Oh, there had been lots of times when he had wished his Master would only tune in to the training bond. Sometimes he thought that getting caught at it would be easier and more acceptable than confessing to it. After so long, it was difficult to think of how a discussion like that could be breached.

"Well then, there's your answer," Qui-Gon said brightly. "Surely one so attractive as you will win out," he added, still inscrutably. Obi-Wan couldn't decide if he was speaking from personal opinion or in generalities. Of course, there was always the maddening possibility that he could see that Obi-Wan was attractive but not be attracted to him.

Obi-Wan pulled a veneer of stillness and calm over himself, forcibly. "Master, I am not sure that's an option at this juncture," he informed the almost-too-beautiful older man, and his heart clenched at the contradiction between his cool voice and his hot feelings.

Qui-Gon gazed at him steadily. "Have you considered the possibility of acting out your desires with someone else?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, rooted to the floor. He cast his eyes away. That would be unthinkable. Not even he had that good an imagination, to pretend--

"No, Master, it hadn't crossed my mind." Not in a millennium could that have crossed his mind.

"Let's see then," Qui-Gon suggested amiably. "Is the ... individual ... human?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Oh, that's convenient. Male or female?"

"M-male." Obi-Wan wondered how much further Qui-Gon was going to try to narrow down the possibilities.

"Age?"

Obi-Wan made a noise and a vague gesture in the air with his hand, shaking his head, signifying nothing.

"Well then. Perhaps, in the interest of bringing you some personal peace, I might indulge you."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in mute shock.

"I mean, Padawan, that if you could act them out with me, perhaps you could dismiss this particular difficulty. Resolve it in your mind."

Obi-Wan stared harder, if that were possible. "So you would do this for me-- and what of /your/ difficulties?"

Qui-Gon smiled a little. "Oh, I am sure we shall find a way to resolve mine eventually. We do what we can when we can, Padawan."

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking away, but the wheels were clicking: what if. What if. His gaze went distant at the idea of pretending to pretend to be with someone else. He shook his head again, wondering which was more ridiculous, doing it, or /refusing/ it. Here was a chance to fulfill his desires: but would he want Qui-Gon to do this out of a clinical need to improve his social skills?

And of course the more important question was, did he care?

"That would-- be a kindness," he stammered, finding vaguely that he did care, in fact he cared a great deal about how Qui-Gon came to him. But his Jedi veneer was dissolving under his Master's calm, questioning looks, like candy on the tongue.

He closed his eyes tightly. /Now's not the time for that kind of imagery, Kenobi,/ he reprimanded himself. "But I am not sure that would be a good idea, Master," he heard himself saying almost distantly, and wanted to shake himself. Was he an idiot, or did he really enjoy long, slow torture at the hands of his cackling little demons? Maybe this would be the thing to help him cast them out. Maybe the Master and the Padawan would be completely incompatible in bed, and the fantasizing and broken sleep would end there, abruptly. But his mouth went on talking, heedless of his brain's bent: "I wouldn't want to do anything to damage our training relationship, and sexual relations have a way of complicating things." /Sith hells, Kenobi, you pick now to channel his intellectualism?/

Qui-Gon shrugged. "As your Master, I feel I should do whatever I can to alleviate your difficulties. Especially now, as we have been dealt an ultimatum." He looked pointedly at Obi-Wan, who groaned inwardly. The duty trump card. He hated that one but it worked a treat, and Qui-Gon knew it.

"It is our responsibility to explore and test every option," Obi-Wan admitted, his voice sounding more and more as though it might fail him as his mind took every phrase and turned it into a sexual position. "Viewing from every angle," he added with internal perversity. Might as well make it good.

Qui-Gon nodded approvingly. "I am sure we are both mature enough to speak of any hard issues that may arise before they become problematic," he assured his Padawan, who was quite sure that Qui-Gon was doing this on purpose now. "After all, it is an exercise in role-play." He rose from Obi-Wan's bunk, shedding his voluminous brown robe onto a nearby chair. "Visualize your desired partner," he instructed as smoothly as though he were directing 'saber exercises (and Obi-Wan scoffed at the direction his mind took that mental comment).

Qui-Gon stepped close to Obi-Wan, inspecting his tunic, tugging at it, straightening it, as though the Padawan were about to appear before a review board. Obi-Wan's breath hooked in his throat and he looked off to one side. What, exactly was he supposed to do now?

"Reinvent yourself. Pretend," Qui-Gon rephrased simply, tipping Obi-Wan's chin up to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan couldn't tell if he had sent his thought through the bond or not. It was too close. How was he supposed to pull this off? Pretend, indeed. As if he needed personal reinvention to /act/ like he wanted-- and then Qui-Gon was cupping the back of his Padawan's neck in a large, gentle hand, drawing him close, slowly, as though to allow Obi-Wan time to escape if need be.

Escape, hell. Obi-Wan was like a Tirellian antelope caught in floodlights. His perception narrowed to the mouth moving toward his, that word, "pretend," echoing between the two of them guiltily. Warm breath caressed his lips a scant second before he was trapped, completely trapped by that questioning, soft mouth. Clinical no more, Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan with an exploratory sweetness that was rapidly breaking down Obi-Wan's resolve. He was here, doing this, kissing his Master, the man he had adored and lusted after for years, but ... but ... /pretending./

He clamped down tightly on the thought before it could interfere, and thrust his tongue firmly between Qui-Gon's parted lips, met in turn with a newer, more demanding kiss. Pulling from deep inside himself, he dragged out the frustration of the past years, dragged out the loneliness, the love, and the fiery lust and shoved it all to the surface. Acting, role-play, pretending, it was all about putting oneself in the Moment. Adjusting to it. It was just a different Order: placing the desired face on whatever undesired reaction might be inside.

It was all useless knowledge, Obi-Wan knew, as he poured long-stagnant frustration and need into the kiss, sure that some of it was leaking through the training bond. His lips slid over Qui-Gon's, catching and playing, his tongue dancing with that other soft, quick, clever one. He couldn't recall exactly when he had wound his arms about Qui-Gon's neck, or when it had been, quite, that they had pressed their bodies together, standing flush against each other in the middle of the floor. Pretending? The longing vented itself in waves; surely this could only be good, even if it wasn't exactly-- no, it wasn't /at all/-- what Qui-Gon thought it was.

He tugged at Qui-Gon's mouth with his teeth, and reveled in the groan the small action produced. He wove his long fingers through Qui-Gon's hair, as soft and sensual as it always had been as he helped his Master put it up in a tail. But now, to be combing his fingers through it in the middle of such a kiss-- he moaned into Qui-Gon's mouth.

/Years,/ he thought wildly, pushing it through the bond without thinking. /One look, one word, I would come running to you,/ he babbled mentally, then pulled back, shocked at himself. Qui-Gon seemed more bothered that the kissing had stopped so abruptly. "Let it all go, Padawan," he soothed, and Obi-Wan realized he was still thinking in third-party terms. He didn't know then if he was relieved or disappointed. Qui-Gon's mouth came down on his again, hard, teeth biting and tongue slashing through his mouth. /Let it all go,/ Obi-Wan thought. /Let it all go. Pour the pain and fear of rejection and the sleepless nights into Qui-Gon. Release them, and then you will be able to breathe again./

But Obi-Wan found he was clinging to the angst almost jealously as Qui-Gon's fevered kisses slid along his jawbone to his ear. He shuddered hard as Qui-Gon's breath rasped against his skin, whispering, "Give it all up to me, Obi-Wan. Don't pen it up anymore." But Obi-Wan was sure now that he couldn't. How would that be possible, when he knew that Qui-Gon wasn't aware of his true feelings? Relief and release would only come with truth.

/An opportunity will present itself,/ his Master's sage voice echoed in his mind. It was a favored maxim, and Obi-Wan was able then to release at least his anxiety into the Force.

Qui-Gon's mouth was trailing hotly down his throat now, breath heavy and tongue cool in comparison. Obi-Wan clung to him, eyes tightly closed, savoring the tickling, shooting fire as his Master's beard stroked his neck and collarbone. Qui-Gon was tugging at his belt and sash then, and Obi-Wan took cue from that, shakily and impatiently removing his Master's tunics. Clothing slid to the floor, unheeded, in piles, boots impatiently toed then yanked off. Qui-Gon pulled his young Padawan back toward the bed, sitting roughly as the backs of his knees struck the edge of it. Obi-Wan did not follow suit; he knelt.

Years of dreams came to fruition as he tucked his torso between those knees, sliding his hands possessively along the hard thighs to Qui-Gon's hips. Obi-Wan stared at his Master, mentor, trainer, his breath shallow with need. Qui-Gon looked equally desperate, eyes glazed and cock erect and dark. Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon's head forcefully down to his own, kissing him savagely, and Qui-Gon's response matched the kiss perfectly, fitting mouths together in raging desire. /Years,/ Obi-Wan thought again. Qui-Gon moaned as Obi-Wan's flat, firm stomach pressed against his erection, hot and throbbing greedily. He pumped his hips slightly, but Obi-Wan curved his back, no longer arching up to kiss his Master, but leaning down to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking and flicking his tongue over it as his teeth grazed it delicately. Qui-Gon groaned loudly, from the sensation on his nipple, or the lack of sensation on his erection, Obi-Wan did not know. It didn't matter anyway; Obi-Wan immediately bent, sitting back onto his heels, and engulfed the hard shaft into his mouth.

Qui-Gon made a deep, guttural cry, gripping first the edge of the bed, then his Padawan's head as it rose and descended over him, Obi-Wan's tongue extending down the hard shaft and then swirling back up again.

/Yes, yes,/ Obi-Wan's mind shouted enthusiastically at Qui-Gon as his mouth and throat worked around the throbbing cock. /Yes, come for me. Do it, I want you to. Hard./ He needed to see his Master completely lose control, to drop the cool, elevated demeanor and fuck his mouth. /No more distance, no more fighting, nothing, just come for me,/ he almost pleaded now. He gripped Qui-Gon's hips, encouraging his deep thrusts as Obi-Wan's mouth sucked hard, licking.

But then his mouth slowed, and Qui-Gon moaned as the fervent sucking shifted to soft, slow movement. Obi-Wan was momentarily distracted as he reached to one side and felt under the corner of the mattress. His hand withdrew quickly, holding a small tube, and Qui-Gon stared raptly in anticipation, his breath harsh and hot. "Yes," he said throatily, parting his legs wide as Obi-Wan applied the cool lubricant to a finger. He removed his mouth from Qui-Gon's hardness, causing a flare of disappointment through the bond and a noise that sounded somewhat like a whimper. Quickly Obi-Wan redeemed himself by trailing his tongue down Qui-Gon's length to his sac, breathing hot air onto it as his tongue lapped at it. Qui-Gon's breath was shallow and fast, then shuddering as Obi-Wan's tongue found his entrance, circling it, deliberately teasing, darting around it quickly.

"Padawan." It was half-plea, half threat.

Obi-Wan eased his finger slowly into Qui-Gon, turning it, withdrawing slightly to press it back inside again. He was rewarded with a long, hissing groan that issued through Qui-Gon's clenched teeth. Gently, he set a rhythm that did not match the flaring need of his years-long lust, but it set the stage. Moving now, pulsing, his mouth wrapped itself around Qui-Gon's cock again, cool from the wet lack of contact but still hard, hard as stone. Now Qui-Gon's hips rocked forward, matching the rhythm of Obi-Wan's mouth and hand as he added another finger, teasing the sensitized prostate and eliciting a gasp and a hard shudder. Qui-Gon's hands were in his short hair, grasping the short ponytail at the back of his head, guiding him up and down, mostly down, harder, further. Obi-Wan moaned around Qui-Gon's cock and Qui-Gon hissed some incoherent blessing at him as the vibrations from his throat caressed the head of his shaft. Hand and mouth worked in unison now, and Obi-Wan was lost.

/Yes, I've waited so long for this, for you,/ Obi-Wan's mental voice uttered, and he moaned again, deliberately low, sending shudders through Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon felt the years of self-imposed denial and fear melting into him as Obi-Wan's desire rose and fell, washing over him like waves on sand. Obi-Wan let go a small amount of the frustration he had felt, carefully, and the greed with which Qui-Gon took it and assimilated it astonished him. He moaned again, and it proved too much.

/Good!/ he encouraged disjointedly as Qui-Gon tensed and came, screaming out his pleasure, holding Obi-Wan's head to him, and clenching around his fingers. /Oh gods, yes,/ Obi-Wan licked and sucked and swallowed, and his Master bucked into his mouth uncontrollably, head tipped back, neck arched, hands in his Padawan's hair.

He slumped back onto the bed, breath heaving in and out, and Obi-Wan withdrew hand and mouth, staring. His Master looked more spectacular in ecstasy than even he could have fantasized: his long brown and silver hair fanned out around his head, stray strands clinging in the beard. His eyes were clenched closed but his mouth gasped for air, the frantic breaths slowing somewhat. The chest, that muscular, beautiful chest-- Obi-Wan reached out and slid his hand along it, soothing when Qui-Gon jumped a little-- sculpted by years of training. One arm was cocked back by his head, the other bent downward so that a hand rested on his smooth, flat stomach.

/Beautiful,/ he whispered mentally to himself, astonishment fueling his desire. "I--" he tried to begin, voice caught in his throat. His Master tilted his head up, beckoning lazily with the hand that rested on his stomach. Obi-Wan climbed onto the bed, straddling Qui-Gon's hips, gaze darting over his Master's face.

"Now, Padawan, I think it would be best for this exercise if you voiced some of the things that bother you most about this unrequited lust of yours." His voice was low and amazingly calm, considering the screaming orgasm he had just reached moments ago. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Remember, we are still in role," he breathed.

Obi-Wan floundered for words. He knelt over his Master's body, both of them gleaming damply. His erection was yet unattended, and it was distracting that Qui-Gon, pressed beneath him closely, was shifting and growing firm again. But he drew up his bravado and leaned forward, pinning their erections between them, side by side. Qui-Gon stifled a gasp, and Obi-Wan smiled inwardly. Role or no, the physical chemistry was blatantly apparent. Obi-Wan leaned on his elbows, his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders, stroking idly. He pressed a soft, almost delicate kiss on Qui-Gon's throat, darting his tongue out to taste the skin, inhaling deeply. Oh, he could just eat this man alive! Qui-Gon shivered.

Obi-Wan laid his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, sure that his pulsing erection was enough of a display of how his control was flagging. He kept his face turned into Qui-Gon's throat, whispering softly. "It bothers me that the desire goes unacknowledged," he began. "It bothers me that the Council would frown upon it, thinking--" he grasped for wording, his breath falling on Qui-Gon's skin, "thinking that a relationship is the last thing their best Padawan operative needs to worry about." /Not to mention their best Master,/ he added internally, but to say that out loud would be stepping out of character, so he continued. "I lay awake some nights, thinking about this-- about you," he amended, struggling for enough of his mental facilities to remember the ruse. "Sometimes it makes me angry... I think about simply tearing off your uniforms and--" he flushed, swallowing hard. He tasted Qui-Gon, still, and his heart beat faster at the thought of all of this. "It isn't fair, the duty, the tradition, I am human, and I deserve love and lust and reciprocation." Some of his muted frustration returned, and he rose a little, looking into Qui-Gon's eyes. Even if this were just /pretend,/ surely his Master would understand that these were basic needs. Rights, even. Even for a Jedi.

"And so the adherence to duty bothers you, when you aren't getting the other half of what would make you whole," Qui-Gon finished for him, his voice soft but noncommittal. Obi-Wan nodded. Qui-Gon nodded as well, understanding. "How is it, then, that you deal with the feelings for... this person?"

Obi-Wan looked away, moving his hand to pluck at the coverlet in feigned interest. There was no honest answer he could give that would be correct. He knew that now. "I have been pushing them down," he replied, his voice ever quieter. "It-- is very hard." He swallowed again. This tenderness he was feeling wasn't supposed to be part of this sociological experiment. This was supposed to be a pressure valve for his long-standing lust. But he knew that he loved Qui-Gon, had known for so long, and now, wondered despairingly what would become of it.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon tilted his head to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "How long have you had these feelings?"

"I have loved him since I was fifteen," he replied simply, and Qui-Gon's eyes softened.

"For eight years you have felt all this and never said a word," Qui-Gon said wonderingly, his voice and his eyes distant.

Obi-Wan began to see.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, unable to think anymore rational thoughts. His senses were torn between the conflicting emotions his Master seemed intent upon rousing, and the body beneath his.

"So... if given a chance, then?" Qui-Gon looked up at him, keeping his voice even, and Obi-Wan blinked at him. "Tonight, when you were pacing madly and sending sheets of irrepressible lust over every Force-sensitive within this quadrant of the building," he teased, and Obi-Wan flushed and buried his face again, but Qui-Gon coaxed him up, looking into his eyes, his voice growing soft and tender again. "If you had a chance then, right then, what would you have done?" The words were whispered and were accompanied by something Qui-Gon had done before in more mundane settings: He recalled the turbulence of Obi-Wan's earlier mood and sent it to him through the training bond. He had no specifics, Obi-Wan knew, but he had picked up on the demanding desire and the anger of self-imposed denial. And Obi-Wan got it all back in a rush.

His eyes and his mood became feral. Memories of years... seven years' worth of sometimes painful, sometimes sweet longing overtook him, and flashes of Qui-Gon in the training room (/Oh I wish I could just touch him/), in the Council hall (/He's so strong-- I want--/), on missions (/Complicated, infuriating, maddeningly beautiful/) came instantly to his recall. His erection flared to life as he remembered in all the ways, for all the reasons that he had ever wanted Qui-Gon, and all the ways and reasons he had denied himself this. He ground his hips downward against Qui-Gon's and made a noise that was half-purr, half-sigh.

What, indeed, would he have done tonight, if he had been of the mind to act?

"I would have gone to your room," he began to speak, staring down at his Master, who stared back, enrapt. "I would have found you there meditating, and pulled you to your feet, and --" he broke off speaking, taking Qui-Gon's lips in a searing kiss, his tongue churning against Qui-Gon's. He completed the thought by sending images of himself bent over Qui-Gon's back, buried inside him, both men gasping in ecstatic union. Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's head then and began kissing him madly, with a sudden intensity that hadn't been there before. Qui-Gon shifted and turned on the bed, carrying Obi-Wan with him, till they were lengthwise on it. His hands roamed over Obi-Wan's back, but it was more than a desire to pleasure. It was a desire to memorize curve and contour, warm skin, a scar there, small dips at the backs of hipbones, and then he was grasping Obi-Wan's hips, his long fingers curving around the firm, smooth ass, pulling him downward as his own hips pushed up. Obi-Wan moaned and bit Qui-Gon's bottom lip, running his tongue along it. Qui-Gon dragged a fingertip along the cleft of Obi-Wan's ass and Obi-Wan shivered and rocked his hips back toward that hand. Then Qui-Gon was holding the lubricant, pressing Obi-Wan up and away from him. Obi-Wan stared down, lips parted as they tried to catch air, his chest rising and falling with effort. /You make me forget to breathe,/ he sent, and Qui-Gon's eyes caught his but he said nothing. He squeezed lubricant into his hand and smeared it unceremoniously over Obi-Wan's erection, and Obi-Wan sucked in air and tipped his head back, letting out a long, deep noise.

Qui-Gon parted his legs and angled his hips upward. "I thought," he whispered, his voice catching oddly, "that it might be better this way, so we don't--" he licked his lips-- "forget who--"

His breath left him suddenly as Obi-Wan pressed into him fluidly, levering Qui-Gon's hips up. Obi-Wan dropped his head, overwhelmed, and nearly climaxed instantly.

/Tell me what you would have done,/ Qui-Gon sent.

/Tight,/ was all Obi-Wan could think at him at first, and Qui-Gon waited.

"Wanted you... hard," Obi-Wan muttered, sliding out slowly, exhaling shakily and hoping the effort of speech through this thick pleasure would keep him focused. "I wanted to see you lose control," he said more clearly, slipping inside again, and moaning in spite of himself. Qui-Gon was making small writhing movements and it was driving him mad. He held Qui-Gon's hips firmly and looked at him. "Don't move," he said, his voice as hard as his hands. He pulled out again, then thrust back inside, tight velvety warmth enveloping him, so he began to speak, to distract himself, because thinking about the tight slickness on his shaft was not doing anything for his resolve.

"I wanted to hear my name from your lips, I wanted to hear how badly you wanted me. Maybe to tease you until you begged me to take you." He shuddered and tensed, stopping his movement, and Qui-Gon rolled his head to one side, hissing his frustration. This wasn't working. It was going to end too fast this way.

He tried again. "The Code--" he started to say, and Qui-Gon huffed the beginning of a laugh, contracting around Obi-Wan abruptly. Obi-Wan gasped and laughed too, in spite of himself. The Jedi Code was a common thing human males recited to stave off orgasm. He began yet again. "The Code forbids fear, lust, greed, gluttony, but you inspire all of these in me," he began to breathe irregularly, shifting in and out of Qui-Gon in small pulses, drawing a veil of control around himself from the Force.

"I wanted you tonight, to be mine, forever, starting with one immediate, demanding fuck," he blurted. Qui-Gon shuddered beneath him and reached for his own tense, hot erection. Obi-Wan swatted his hand away and took the shaft himself, stroking it lightly with his fingers, delighting in the noises Qui-Gon was making.

"I wanted to be buried in you, like this, with you screaming out my name. That would have resolved my fear, my loneliness--" he made a noise like a sob and stopped talking. /It was enough, enough,/ he thought, knowing they were no longer playing at this, knowing it was all out now, his anger, his love, his hunger was all there, laid out plainly.

"Make me scream out your name, then, Padawan."

The words were issued like a training command, and Obi-Wan withdrew from Qui-Gon's body abruptly, a little stunned. Qui-Gon looked for an instant as though he /would/ scream Obi-Wan's name, in irritation if not in pleasure. "Turn over," Obi-Wan uttered hoarsely, and Qui-Gon did so, grasping the headboard, knees spread wide. /Oh, delicious,/ he thought out loud, running his hands over the broad back and ribs, relishing the sight of the tight, huge body made so available to him. He pressed himself against Qui-Gon's backside, thighs on thighs, and drove in quickly, Qui-Gon crying out and pressing back insistently. Obi-Wan leaned forward, his chest against the solid back, and reached underneath for Qui-Gon's rigid erection. His hips began to rock slowly, but soon enough, the pretense of control was lost. Qui-Gon was caught between his hand and the shaft impaling him, and Obi-Wan grew hotly excited at the very idea. /My Master,/ he thought, /if you had any idea.../ He gripped Qui-Gon's cock, squeezed it, stroked it more slowly. He could tell.... it was close... so close, the end of this, and he wanted it to last, but he ached desperately.

"Need you," Qui-Gon bucked backwards onto him, then forward into his hand "Don't stop," he urged, panting.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, thrusting hard. And he breathed into Qui-Gon’s ear, "It was you. You." In, and in again, hard, skin slapping against glistening skin. Qui-Gon had no words, but Obi-Wan felt understanding shiver through the bond they shared.

Obi-Wan felt himself grow impossibly hard, his head swollen and sensitive, and the fire began to build over him in waves. Qui-Gon groaned, trying to push back. Obi-Wan held him off, battling for control. He pressed inside, slowly... agonizingly slowly... he shuddered and withdrew quickly, and Qui-Gon tried to push himself backwards again; Obi-Wan actually had to manipulate the Force to make his strength match the larger man's. It became a battle of wills.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon begged finally, "please. Please." And Obi-Wan broke, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon's waist and pushing hard inside him, hips bucking as he finally let go-- /all/ of the anger, /all/ of the fear. He came explosively, shrieking raggedly into Qui-Gon's back, shaking hands finding Qui-Gon's cock almost as an afterthought and stroking hastily. He had barely touched the hardness before Qui-Gon did it: first breathed, then screamed Obi-Wan's name as he, too, came, blinding white ecstasy imploding between them.

They collapsed, Qui-Gon's body falling to the pillows, Obi-Wan gasping at the sudden rush of air around him. He moved into Qui-Gon's arms, and Qui-Gon kissed him tenderly, over and over, raining soft kisses over his face and head.

After a breathless pause, Qui-Gon said, "There now, Padawan, that wasn't so bad." His voice teased, but Obi-Wan leaned up on one elbow and looked at him seriously.

"You knew," he said, almost accusingly: almost. But a beaming, half-embarrassed smile found its way onto his face. He had been caught outright, but had he really expected the role-play to succeed? Had he even /wanted/ it to?

"Of course I knew," Qui-Gon told him. "When you showed me the image of me..."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, settling back into Qui-Gon's embrace, before rising up again on the elbow and looking hard at his Master.

"Then you /do/ feel the same--." he began, but the anxiety insinuated itself back into his mind, and he trailed off.

"Yes, actually, I do," Qui-Gon murmured, looking at his Padawan's mouth. "I have for a long time." Both could feel the unspoken words reverberating. He caught the beautiful mouth quickly in a kiss, and said, "I am sure that we have found a way past at least a few of our differences?" he quipped.

Obi-Wan grinned. "Some, Master. Perhaps." But he grew serious. Perhaps exploration of darker feelings on a personal level would help keep them out of their lives as diplomats. Qui-Gon caught the feeling and volleyed back several interesting possibilities for dealing with darkness, and his Padawan shivered and licked his lips, half-anxious, half-hungry.

Obi-Wan sank down again, enjoying the hard, warm feel of the body he was nearly twined around. Qui-Gon kissed the top of the head that leaned on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan sighed, belief settling in comfortably. He was here. It was real. He thought he might berate himself for wasting time, but what was the good of that? It was done now. Done, and corrected.

He practically snuggled himself into the crook of Qui-Gon's shoulder, and his Master wrapped himself around his apprentice, looking forward.