Series title, Reinvention, chapter 2, "Dream"

Author: Hilary

Rating: NC-17
Archive: Ask me, or Jacynthe Demorae's
Series: 2/3

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.

Part 2-- Dream

Qui-Gon bolted upright in the darkness, a low scream tearing itself out of his throat. He would have called his 'saber to him, but his outstretched arm came up hard against Obi-Wan's chest as his hand swept backward to summon the Force. Obi-Wan's breath left his lungs in a whoosh-- he had sat up too, instantly, and right into Qui-Gon's steely arm. He rocked backward, eyes wide, and Qui-Gon was murmuring contrite but somehow terse apologies and rubbing his Padawan's chest softly, even as the echoes of his nightmare rocketed back and forth in his mind.

"What was it?" Obi-Wan wondered quietly after a moment, cupping Qui-Gon's face and peering at him in the dark. Before sleeping, Qui-Gon had powered down the lights but had never opened the drapes, and the heavy cloth shut out any light Coruscant might have shed into the room. Obi-Wan could not see his Master's eyes, but he felt a kind of darkness there, deeper than that within the pitch-black room.

"Sith," was all the Master muttered, and Obi-Wan was unsure whether it was a summary of the dream, or simply a curse. Qui-Gon tore his face from Obi-Wan's caresses and rose, swinging his leg over Obi-Wan's body and moving swiftly off of the bed, muttering something about having slept on the wrong side. He padded naked to the door, palming it open and leaving it that way. Light flowed into the room, dim beams from the automatic system that kept Temple halls and exits lit perpetually. Qui-Gon strode quickly, crossly, down the hall and into the kitchen. The Padawan could hear him running water and putting on the teapot, the clink of a spoon in a cup and a cabinet door sliding closed.

Obi-Wan merely folded his legs closer to his chest and wrapped his arms about them, the sheet draped over him loosely. Whatever had disturbed Qui-Gon so completely would keep till he felt comfortable speaking on it. Still, he wondered why his Master seemed... /felt/... so vexed with him. "Do you want to talk about it, Master?" he called toward the kitchen, and there was no answer, though he felt sure that Qui-Gon had heard him.

Tentatively, he threaded a question through the training bond they shared, and felt it batted away in frustration. Obi-Wan recoiled, then grew irritated, himself. /Like that then, is it,/ he thought, and swung his legs off of the edge of the bed, tugging the sheet out from its place around his hips and flinging it aside, casting his gaze about for his leggings in the thin light coming in the doorway.

Finding them puddled on the floor a bit away, he moved to them and tugged them on, tying the laces quickly, his movements jerky and irritable. He was tired, had been awakened by his Master's reverberating nightmare cry and then stunned by the accidental blow to his chest. Obi-Wan understood the dynamics of dreams and the fog of waking in strange rooms; he could appreciate the need for quiet and contemplation after such a nightmare. But he certainly didn't need to wait obediently in bed for his lover while being mistreated about it. He moved to his closet and palmed it open. He reached inside, counting garments mentally, and dragged out a soft black robe, throwing it over his shoulders and shoving his arms through the sleeves impatiently.

As he moved through the halls and past the kitchen, he paused in the doorway and told Qui-Gon brusquely, "I'll be in the Gardens, if you decide to pull out of this and talk about it. Whatever difficulty you encountered in your nightmare, /I / am not the cause of it," he added, pointing at his own chest. He bit his lip in contrition, but his eyes remained hard.

Qui-Gon, standing in the kitchen that seemed so overly lit and overly white after the dimness of the room, regarded him from behind hooded eyes. "It doesn't concern you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, his voice smooth and cold.

"It does concern me, Master, when you're rebuffing me over it." His voice had a brittle edge to it now, and he grew frustrated. "Of all the stubborn-- /Do/ you want this?" he asked suddenly, making an expansive, all-encompassing gesture and studying the handsome, bearded face he loved so well.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "What does /that/ mean?"

"It means what it means," Obi-Wan bit out, tired of his Master's evasive techniques. "The Council asked yesterday that you re-evaluate your position here. You question everything, even my concern for you, even after you know--" he cut off the sentence abruptly, and glossed over it: "Eventually one has to wonder what it is you /would/ be happy with."

Qui-Gon regarded him, his eyes still narrowed. "It is my nature to question," he uttered, his voice as formal as though he were speaking to a roomful of Council, not arguing in the kitchen with his lover. His voice grew slowly as he stated, "I question everything all the way back to taking my first /Padawan./"

Obi-Wan reeled. He knew the words weren't meant to sting the way they did. Or at least some part of his rational mind knew this. Hesitating, shifting as if to move, then pausing, Obi-Wan searched for something to say, and found nothing. He turned on his heel and left abruptly, leaving his Master with a vision of his Padawan's smooth skin under the unbelted black robe, hurt in his eyes and anger in his voice. He spat out an expletive, his voice low, ducking his head down and closing his eyes. He leaned heavily on the counter, palms splayed and arms locked straight, tense all over.

Obi-Wan felt a half-pleading, wordless tug at the training bond as he left their quarters, but kept moving. If Qui-Gon wanted something, he would just have to come and talk. Now he was annoyed, but didn't really know why. The visions Qui-Gon had seen in his sleep could not account for this anger between them, surely. Perhaps-- and his throat clicked as he swallowed at this worst-case possibility-- perhaps he was regretting last night. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and kept walking.

The soft floor lighting guided him down the halls, but even in the dark, he would know his way easily. The Gardens, when he reached them, embraced him, the Living Force swirling about him. The tension of Qui-Gon's residual feelings slowly ebbed away as he wandered throughout the starlit landscapes, touching the soft green leaves of plants and trees, giving up his anger to the Force.

Then, suddenly, he was shaking, shaking with some vague thing that felt like fear, but wasn't-- and it dawned slowly on him that what he was feeling wasn't /his/ emotion. It was the remnant of dreams and memories, of half-buried anxieties that had refused, like his own demons, to lie still and stay buried. But where were they coming from? He pressed his forehead to the rough gray bark of a tree, spreading his legs and planting his bare feet in the grass, desperately trying to ground the fear that wasn't. It flowed through him, but renewed itself as running water would: coldly, rapidly, rippling over the rest of his emotions, even his waning anger.

What was happening? What /was/ this? Obi-Wan shuddered and drew a breath, pushing harder, but as quickly as he shoved the chilling emotion down into the earth, it regenerated, seemingly hand-over-fist. Soon, he felt the protestations of the earth around him: he was going to start killing plant life if he didn't stop pushing the coldness out of his body, his spirit. So he began to internalize it, storing it away in a cold, tight ball, waiting for the moment to release it.

/What in the nine Sith hells *is* it?/ he wondered again. He moved to a different landscape, a different area of the Gardens, but found no place where he might expel the rapidly growing knot of ice manifesting in his chest. It was beginning to concern him. Thrusting aside his pride over the rapidly dissolving anger with Qui-Gon, he called out over their bond.

A flare of awareness and urgency let him know that Qui-Gon was on his way.

Now, he was hard-pressed to recall what, exactly, he and his Master had been bickering over. Oh-- the dream... he shivered and moved toward a warmer landscape within the Gardens, settling for a drier, more barren plain. He hoped to minimize the damage on the Gardens by shoving the ice out into a less fertile area; he wasn't going to be able to hold it much longer.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon came into the garden at a jog, worry creasing his features. He carried both their lightsabers and was in nothing but his leggings: he had come instantly, ready to defend. Obi-Wan was standing in the middle of the flat, dry late-summer plain, bent from the waist, breathing too hard and hands bracing himself on his knees. His black robe gapped open, hanging around his chest and arms. His eyes were taking on a chilled disturbance. He turned his face sideways toward Qui-Gon, and his teeth chattered minutely as he asked without preamble, "Wh-what is it?"

Qui-Gon felt into the training bond, probing, closing his eyes. His eyes flew open when he recognized the source of the frozen, fearful knot: it was he. He hooked the 'sabers into his waistband.

"The dream," he muttered, moving to Obi-Wan and placing his hands on the Padawan's torso, one on his back, and the other on his front. "I must have... shifted the anxiety to you unwittingly." Obi-Wan felt a push, and almost unbearable pressure as Qui-Gon dissipated the knot of cold energy even as he stood, still bent over his own legs. He straightened and tugged his robe shut around his chest, folding his arms in a tight, insecure knot around himself, hugging his own upper arms with cold hands. He looked at Qui-Gon, who was releasing the energy now, eyes closed, the Force thrumming around him. He still looked terribly imposing: long brown and silver hair streaming about him in the simulated wind, broad chest calm with steady breathing, arms relaxed, a lightsaber adjacent to each hand, forgotten. What on the galactic earths had they been fighting about again?

"Qui-Gon," he said quietly, "I am sorry I left like that... I -- didn't know what to do for you. Whatever it was--" He stopped when Qui-Gon's eyes met his. The powerful Knight looked haunted and alone. "What is it that can cause you to do that to me?" Obi-Wan asked, unable to help himself.

"We have talked about Xanatos before," Qui-Gon said quietly, and it was enough. /That/ demon bothered him infrequently, but with a precise completeness, every time. His eyes went distant: "He had you, locked away, as a bargaining chip," he recalled from his nightmare. The wind whipped through his hair, plastering it to his face briefly, unnoticed before it was brushed back again by a crosswind. "I could -- feel everything he was doing to you. By the time I-- got to you, you had turned." His voice was beginning to give way, his eyes lost to the Dark of the dream. Obi-Wan straightened and reached for him, but hesitated. Was this something Qui-Gon had to (he hated this phrase, always) handle on his own?

"Padawan, my... feelings for you may never overcome that part of me where Xanatos keeps residence." His words felt cold; they were a dictum, delivered without any evidence of the feelings Qui-Gon professed to. Obi-Wan tore his gaze away and looked out over the plains, uninterested in them but needing not to be staring into those lost, faraway eyes. His own love warred with itself. He wanted to help, but he needed to stay away from that long-Dark splinter that Qui-Gon seemed to aggravate to inflammation every time he noticed it.

Then the inventive, rebellious Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn rose to the surface, pushing back the lonely boy in love, and he stretched his hand toward his Master briefly, not reaching for a hand to close around his, but for his 'saber. He gave Qui-Gon a scant second's pause before he called his 'saber to him and powered it on.

Seeing the bent of Obi-Wan's mind, Qui-Gon instantly was armed.

"Your feelings," Obi-Wan said, circling Qui-Gon, bracing himself. His voice came out as a sneer but he trembled minutely, hurt for what he was being forced to do. "Your feelings never overcame tradition and orders, so of course I couldn't expect them to overcome the passion Xanatos still inspires."

Qui-Gon flinched, blinking, and Obi-Wan moved in, instantly the aggressor, levering a series of blows toward his Master. He pulled nothing; he knew it would take every bit of his skill and strength to make this happen the way they both needed it to. Their tiff this morning hadn't amounted to much; Qui-Gon had been trying to recover from a dream involving the Dark, and Obi-Wan should have left him alone. How it had grown so huge, so quickly, Obi-Wan was sure he didn't know.

He parried away the defensive response, and recognized the style: it was the technique Qui-Gon so often used with battle droids and simulators. There was no fire; his Master was on autopilot, not even thinking.

"What, now the name means nothing to you? Now Xanatos comes up and you fight like a robot. Where was this dispassionate calm this morning when you were insulting your lover?" Obi-Wan drew on the Force deliberately so that Qui-Gon would know it, and circled, striking and parrying swiftly.

"Obi-Wan," came the familiar growling warning, so often used when the young Padawan forgot himself, or forgot to care that he had. Their 'sabers crossed and they glared at each other, and Obi-Wan could see the flash of anger in his Master's eyes. /Come on,/ he thought, pushing it through the bond. /Fight me./

He raised his voice a little. "Xanatos has been dead a long time, Master. Yet you insist on treating him as though he were a viable threat to you." He pushed off his Master's 'saber, hard, when this drew no reaction. He pulled on the Force again, feeling a lance of pain with the effort-- now he was growing frustrated and treading thin ice.

His Master felt it, and lowered his 'saber, concerned, beginning to see the point. "Obi-Wan," he said quietly, extending a hand, "that's enough. I'm sorry I--" His words were cut off with a humming swing of 'saber, and he defended quickly.

"No, Master," Obi-Wan pulled on the flare of anger they had exchanged this morning, and thrust it back through the bond. "/That/ is enough." He lunged and thrust, but was parried away with infuriatingly calm efficiency. His Master hadn't even broken a sweat. But the deep blue eyes widened now at the sight of his own brusque behavior, and he did grow angry then: at himself, at Xanatos, even at Obi-Wan for showing it to him. It was nothing, nothing they couldn't have talked about briefly and simply put behind them, but now? Now it involved Dark, swirling eddies around them, because Obi-Wan had drawn on the Force in anger.

Qui-Gon's training struggled with his emotions. This was wrong; with horror he realized he was beginning to fear for his Padawan. Why was this happening? He continued to block 'saber swings, and the exertion fueled his anger and puffed it into a low, muted fury.

"You don't know what you're playing with here, Padawan," he growled. "Are you going to save me from the memory of Xanatos by fighting with me? Send me to the edge of the Dark Side and then yank me back by my hair to the Light?" He parried several thrusts and set his expression. He found the idea ludicrous, but he knew that his Padawan was attempting exactly this. His indignation at the idea flared. It was definitely too much, who did Obi-Wan really think he was?

/So stop fighting, Jinn. You're both angry, one of you is going to get hurt-- toss the 'saber down now./

But he found that he couldn't. Or, more properly, wouldn't. The Force ebbed and flowed around them angrily, and he took advantage of a swell of it (he refused to draw on it) and used a Force blow to send Obi-Wan's 'saber spinning out of his hand, deactivated. Immediately his Padawan, ever resourceful, tried to call his Master's lightsaber into his own hand.

It stopped, mid-flight, spinning and twitching in the air, as the two Jedi fought for control: hands outstretched, faces frozen with their own violent feelings, both of them breathing too hard, hearts beating entirely too fast. Qui-Gon was lent strength by his sense of rightness-- and his sense of his Padawan's overreaching temerity. With a frustrated snarl of defeat, Obi-Wan sank to the ground and let go his Force hold on the 'saber. It flew into Qui-Gon's hand, powered down.

"Are you /quite/ finished desecrating the Gardens?" came a resonant voice behind Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan, breathing heavily, listed to one side to peer around Qui-Gon's leg at Mace Windu. He didn't bother getting up: he should have, but was still of a fiery enough mood not to care. Mace stood aggressively, feet parted, brown robes billowing in the plains wind.

As soon as he determined he had both Jedis' attention, he went on coldly, "Half the crèche is in tears. Some of the stronger Force-users within the confines of the Temple are sure the Dark Side has deposited an agent here. What /exactly/ do you think you're doing?"

"Exorcising demons," Obi-Wan replied tightly without missing a beat, rising smoothly and recalling his 'saber to him.

Mace was not amused. "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to cleanse the Gardens now? /The entire Gardens!/" he barked, eyes wide, voice vibrating with indignation and disappointment. "Jinn, I just can't believe you. How could you possibly--" He stopped, stared, waved his hand in a gesture of defeated resignation, obviously struggling to bring himself under control in the midst of the stir of Dark energy. "Go to your quarters. Meditate on your deplorable actions. Purge all this negativity you have conjured up within yourselves. Then prepare to spend the next several days purging the Gardens of the blackness you have summoned here. /Both/ of you." He glared from one to the other, then turned on his heel and strode away, rubbing his temples.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan faced each other, nerves strained, neither sure they were entirely finished. Wordlessly they turned and walked quickly back to their rooms, the silence and tension palpable, arcing between them like lightning. Obi-Wan, striding before Qui-Gon quickly, thought he might have gone too far, but there was no starting over. Qui-Gon knew he had allowed it to go too far, but also knew there was no help for it. But the /fury/ had felt so good... the anger-- he had relished it. He had sunk into it willingly. They both had.

/What does it mean?/ he wondered, and Obi-Wan turned before him, palming the door to their quarters coolly, and said implacably, "It means nothing."

Qui-Gon felt the fire of rage light, right in the pit of his gut where the cold fear of the memory of Xanatos had been. "You did this on purpose." His eyes narrowed, glittering, as they entered their rooms.

Obi-Wan's noncommittal shrug and cold expression pushed him over the edge.

Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's arm in a bitingly harsh hand and whirled him around. He wound his fists in the front of the black bedrobe Obi-Wan wore, and slammed his Padawan hard against a wall, driving the air out of his chest and stunning him.

"Do you have /any/ idea how dangerous you just became? How dangerous you just made /me?/" Qui-Gon demanded.

Obi-Wan's blue eyes were shielded and cold. /You make yourself so,/ he thought across the bond, and Qui-Gon blinked at him. /You make yourself a slave to the memory of the one Padawan who failed you. I am not that Padawan./

Qui-Gon's eyes widened. /You nearly are, today!/ his mind snarled, and he watched, waiting for his Padawan's expression to change. Obi-Wan's hair and skin was damp from exertion. His stormy blue green eyes shone with daring, his lips parted to receive air to the heaving chest. A moist, pink tongue darted out and lapped itself once, quickly, over those lips, sheening them, and Qui-Gon's distracted gaze dropped to that mouth. /Oh, that mouth,/ he could not keep from thinking, yearningly.

"Then save me," Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon knew the game instantly for what it was. He resented it, was infuriated by it. "How dare you?" he hissed. "How dare you draw us so close to the Dark over your own jealousy?"

Obi-Wan's expression did not change. "Do you love me?" he asked abruptly, his eyes still holding the coldness of the Dark, and the contrast was disarming and confusing.

"I--" Qui-Gon frowned and turned his face slightly away from Obi-Wan's, looking at him sidelong. He examined his feelings then, in that instant: now, he was so furious at his Padawan's deception and assumption that he could simply be fixed this way, like a child given candy. He felt defeated, lost... Abruptly he pressed himself forward against Obi-Wan's body, pinning him hard to the wall, kissing him savagely. It came from another part of him, a soft, teasing demon voice coaxing, "Take him, take him, /show/ him Darkness." His mouth covered Obi-Wan's bruisingly, teeth biting, tongue searching madly for something... something...

The kiss was returned with an eager hunger that Qui-Gon found maddening. Kisses like--

-- like those of Xanatos.

But not. Light, edged with Darkness, that was familiar. His own need, that was familiar as well. But the mouth moved in an irrepressible rhythm, the tongue danced differently, undeniably /not/ Xanatos. He pulled back, looking into the hungry eyes of his Padawan.

/I can be him, you know,/ Obi-Wan's low, impish voice intruded cryptically. Qui-Gon felt something give, a shield of some kind, and felt his own memories, his own thoughts being plundered, borrowed, returned. His mouth opened in shock. Before he could question the how of it, Obi-Wan was kissing him as Xanatos had, mouth taking on a different feel altogether, tongue moving in a new dance that did not belong to it. Qui-Gon grunted in surprise but did not pull back. He closed his eyes and saw Xanatos... he could not decide whether he wanted to, or not, and so he opened his eyes again.

/I could blindfold you, too,/ Obi-Wan threatened, and both of them felt the twitch of arousal arcing between them as readily as the anger had before. He tugged the black sash of his robe out of its loops and held it up, brought it toward Qui-Gon's face, and was stunned once again, physically, as Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's hands and pinned them against the wall on either side of his head, holding him there.

"I," Qui-Gon said darkly, "am not going back /there./"

"Then stay here with me, if you can." And Obi-Wan shoved strongly with the Force, pushing Qui-Gon's hands off of his arms, pushing the whole of his Master's body backward, inexorably. Moving with him, Obi-Wan smiled dangerously.

Qui-Gon pushed back against the Force, using his own power over it. He stopped walking backwards and dropped his hands to his sides.

"Just as well," Obi-Wan breathed, and bent his head to catch a soft nipple into his teeth, causing Qui-Gon to let out a sharp, pained yelp. He held Obi-Wan's head and pushed him away, but Obi-Wan was not to be denied. He captured Qui-Gon's mouth with his own, augmenting his strength with that of the Force, biting his Master's lips, pushing his tongue against the other's. Qui-Gon felt mingled relief and disappointment: the kisses were completely Obi-Wan.

But at that realization, they changed again. Qui-Gon let out a startled moan and sank into the fantasy this time, of Xanatos as he had been, /before./ Light, almost delicate kisses, even in their most burning need. Hands that slipped over him in hesitant desire, unsure, inexperienced even after many, many nights. Qui-Gon found himself craving the certainty of Obi-Wan's mouth and hands. He opened his eyes and instantly, Force-guided, the black sash came up and wrapped around his head.

He allowed it.

He allowed himself to be pressed toward the bed, then onto it, the uncertain hands that so easily could have been Xanatos', removing his leggings. Whispered pet names, the names he had heard innumerable times back when he was younger, simpler, before his sweet, loving Xan had turned. /Oh, Xanatos, why? Did I love you too much? Not enough? What could I have done?/

The illusion disappeared, melting under kisses that morphed into Obi-Wan's, the touches becoming sure, firm, and needed. Obi-Wan traced his tongue around a now-firm nipple, and Qui-Gon gasped, "Yes..." arching into the mouth before it shifted down his ribcage, over his fluttering, ticklish stomach, over one flank. The sensations did not allow him the wash of guilt and sorrow he had begun; with Obi-Wan, he felt neither. He reached to grip his Padawan's head, to guide it, and felt his arms pressed over his head, again with the Force, holding him. He allowed this, too.

The warm, wet mouth became unsure again, the change almost too slow to register. But then there it was, the mouth of Xanatos, guided by his own memories, superimposed over Obi-Wan's sureness and desire. The way the tongue flicked softly, anxiously over the tip of his swollen erection, then slid down the length of it. /Oh, Obi-Wan,/ he called mentally, grieving. /I remember the night... it was the last night--/

And the unseen mouth plunged over his cock, denying him his painful memory as Obi-Wan returned with vengeance and hunger. He could see the battle clearly now between Xanatos and Obi-Wan, fighting over their Master. But the Master had placed a glossy sheen over the memory of his former love, dimming the lighting to hide the flaws, dousing the memory in sweet wine and hazy vision to perfect it. The two sets of images and sensations struggled in Qui-Gon's mind. There was his lost Padawan, so uncertain after months, never trusting fully, never completely engaged in his Master's presence. And here was his new love, sure and solid after one night. One night, and Obi-Wan knew what pleased him, knew what he needed, sucking expertly, teeth and tongue involved together, giving pleasure the way Xanatos never had.

Qui-Gon was gifted then with the knowledge that he should have felt all along: Xanatos had never been strong, and it mattered not a whit that Qui-Gon had tried to be strong for him. Just as it mattered not a whit that Qui-Gon had been with him so often, loved him gently, coaxing, trying to bring the certainty out of him. He had never been sure, had never trusted in Qui-Gon's love. And Obi-Wan, with a half-declaration of love a scant nine hours prior, was here, trusting him to be able to pull up out of the Dark and keep them both safe.

Qui-Gon knew then what he needed. With great effort, he removed the sash from his eyes, and Obi-Wan raised his head to stare at him quizzically. Qui-Gon pulled the strands of Dark within him and stretched them, elongating them as he sat up and drew Obi-Wan close to him. He kissed his lover greedily, as savagely as he had against the wall, and let the Dark swell inside him unheeded. Obi-Wan felt it, moaning into his mouth in anticipation and fear.

/What have I unleashed?/ Obi-Wan wondered, before he was flipped ungracefully onto his stomach and left there. The sash came up around his eyes unexpectedly, and he fought it, clawing at it, but it remained steadfastly tied. He tried to rise and found himself being bound Forcefully to the bed, wrists together, feet apart.

/That is for playing games with me,/ Qui-Gon said mildly, and Obi-Wan's fists clenched. When he would have cursed, the ends of the sash came around his head and into his mouth, between his teeth, binding his mouth open and rendering it useless.

/Oh really,/ Obi-Wan thought smugly, but felt and heard his Master's shields slamming up into place, hard and unyielding. Obi-Wan had to admire the man's ingeniuity. It was very hard to silence a Jedi.

"No more Xanatos," Qui-Gon muttered, his mouth tracing the back of Obi-Wan's neck, beard tickling softly, but Obi-Wan could feel the Darkness lurking just beneath the surface, and he was helpless. His Master was no longer, altogether, the man he trusted, and he was more than a little afraid. He struggled against the Force bonds, and Qui-Gon chuckled coolly. "If you can undo that, I will resign as your Master." Obi-Wan struggled harder, testing, pulling, unable to do more than get his hips off the bed. He had no leverage, no slack. He couldn't even glare angrily. He made a muffled, furious noise but his Master did not chuckle again.

"Actually," Qui-Gon's soft voice was suddenly very near his ear, "I like it when you fight."

Obi-Wan went very still.

Qui-Gon sighed. "You just have to have the last word, don't you? Very well." He moved up onto the bed, and to his horror, Obi-Wan felt himself being spread, his buttocks parted. The idea of being penetrated, this way, unlubricated, shielded, gagged, blind-- he made a fearful noise, a /terrified/ noise, and squirmed frantically.

But then, he stopped. No matter how much Darkness moved around them, this was still his Master. This was still Qui-Gon Jinn, who, he knew, would sooner die than willingly hurt him. He steeled himself, then slumped, pushing the tension out of his body, relaxing instantly. The hard fingers released him, then caressed him, roaming over his skin, moving along his back. He felt his Master's long, firm body sliding alongside him on the bed.

"You aren't off the hook yet," Qui-Gon said menacingly, and his voice contained a hard edge to it, but the edge was strained-- Obi-Wan could tell he was close to breaking, giving up this charade on the edge of Darkness. Qui-Gon fumbled with something, and Obi-Wan heard slick, wet noises and a muted groan, and moaned into the fabric wrapped between his lips. He felt hands against his buttocks again, but they were somewhat gentler now, and he shifted his hips upward invitingly, trying to imply that he could do so much more if he were freed.

He yelped into the sash as he was spanked sharply, twice. "Stop it," Qui-Gon growled. Obi-Wan settled petulantly, but his legs were released, and his knees pushed under him roughly, still spread. Qui-Gon's thick, wet thumb found his opening and massaged it softly, then pressed inside, and Obi-Wan held very still, resisting the urge to lean back onto Qui-Gon's hand. He shuddered as Qui-Gon withdrew his hand and pressed against him, rubbing the hard bluntness of his erection against Obi-Wan, teasing, and then he plunged inward, and Obi-Wan shouted into his makeshift gag in pain and startled pleasure. Now he fought, trying to pull away from Qui-Gon, angry at the pain, ignoring the pleasure in favor of indignation that his Master should so mistreat the gift he was trying to give. Immediately he was subdued, Qui-Gon using the Force to yank Obi-Wan's knees out from under him and causing them both to fall heavily to the mattress, still engaged. Obi-Wan cried out against the material again in frustration. Now he was pinned with the heaviness of his much larger Master over him, inside him, and what was even more frustrating was that Qui-Gon was moving very slowly, deliberately teasing, sometimes holding very still, leaving Obi-Wan filled and aching with need, unable to move to remedy it.

Qui-Gon began to kiss Obi-Wan's back and neck softly, brushing his beard along the sensitive skin. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how long he could tolerate being shielded from his Master like this, but he willed himself to relax into it, and he sighed and moaned at the light, gentle kisses. Qui-Gon must have felt the change; he began to move then, thrusting slowly but steadily, bracing himself on his arms, allowing Obi-Wan just enough room to raise his hips slightly: just enough room to move back onto the hot erection impaling him. Qui-Gon grasped his hips, pulling Obi-Wan onto him, harder now, encouraged by Obi-Wan's muffled, pleasured sounds. No, he knew that Xanatos had never been like this, would never have tolerated this, and yet here was Obi-Wan, arching backwards onto him, gagged and bound as he was. Love burst inside him, and Obi-Wan made urgent noises, rocking back harder, questing, as though he could feel Qui-Gon's still-shielded emotions.

It overwhelmed him. Qui-Gon came, clutching Obi-Wan to him, brightness evaporating the Dark suddenly and completely, burning it away in love and need. In that moment he would have given anything to be looking into those well-loved eyes, but his body won out over his heart, this time. He collapsed, pushing Obi-Wan into the mattress under him, unfulfilled still. But Obi-Wan was smart enough to take his opportunity when it was presented him. He continued his thrusting, groaning into the gag, clenching around Qui-Gon's remaining erection, and Qui-Gon felt himself stirring again, felt his shields melting under Obi-Wan's desperate, tugging thrusts. Obi-Wan took the chink in the armor and pried at it, pushing his way in, and carrying his pleasure with him, the soft sheets under his thrusting hardness, Qui-Gon still filling him. Qui-Gon moaned in spite of himself and began to move again, in time with his Padawan. Slick and relaxed, Obi-Wan clenched around him, still hot and so, so willing, and Qui-Gon heard in his mind, /Yes, yes... please.... /

The bond exploded then with the two of them, shuddering and springing open, winding them together as they came, wide-eyed and astonished as it broke over their skin and through their blood and nerves, wracking them, each feeling the other's waning orgasm and shock.

Qui-Gon collapsed to one side, careful not to hurt Obi-Wan's abused body any more. The sash fell away from Obi-Wan's eyes, and he pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue, allowing Qui-Gon to unwrap it from his neck. The tension around his wrists dissipated, and he moved into Qui-Gon's arms, each kissing the other with soft urgency.

/I'm sorry, I'm sorry,/ Qui-Gon sighed, feeling the last twinges of pain inside Obi-Wan's body as they sank into each other. Obi-Wan shook his head wordlessly, tucking himself yet further into Qui-Gon's embrace.

/None of that,/ he admonished. They had both been right: they knew what the other would respond to, and grow angry at. And they had both been wrong to use it. But it had seared away the last of the Darkness holding Qui-Gon prisoner and that would be worth a hundred similar encounters and a lifetime's more pain than had been endured.

"You have taught me something today, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered, his voice soft and warm. "Xanatos is gone. That time is finished. And dreams are only dreams."

Obi-Wan sighed in relief and gladness. His heart soared as he said silently, /I knew you would find the answers. I knew I could trust you to come back to me./

/Your faith in me is my greatest weakness,/ Qui-Gon murmured to Obi-Wan's thoughts.

Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon over him, the larger man tracing his beloved, bearded kisses over Obi-Wan's throat and collarbone. Obi-Wan reached absently upward to wind his fingers through the long, silvered hair, but Qui-Gon stayed his hand, gently, drawing it back down between them and kissing the open palm in supplication and gratefulness. Obi-Wan looked into the dark blue eyes, and his brow furrowed to see such intense and yet unreadable emotion there.

"I love you," Qui-Gon said quietly, casting his eyes away, then closing them, and drawing his cheek against the open hand he held captive. "I have, for at least as long as you have loved me. And I will, for as long as you /will/ have me."

"I will." Obi-Wan used the hand held against his Master's cheek to tip the chin upward. "As long as you'll keep humoring your dangerous and irreverent Padawan," he whispered, and his eyes were serious a second before he succumbed to a smile, unable to contain it. Qui-Gon smiled then, too, a rare, joyful smile, and Obi-Wan kissed the smiling mouth intently.

End part 2