Author's Notes: This was a plot bunny given to me by TC Regan
just before I left for work. It's her fault, therefore, that I
got nothing done today. You can also blame her for the fic
itself. *smiles innocently* But, well, she did suggest that I
write a smut scene to get over my fear of writing m/m smut. And
who am I to deny the smut? (It is not her fault, however, that
this goes on so long. That's all Qui-Gon's. Geez, you'd think
*he'd* be quiet, but get him started and he doesn't shut up...)
Oh, yeah; I know SW doesn't have showers, per se, but there's a
bathtub described in "Shadows of the Empire", so I took
some artistic license.
Finally, thanks of immense proportions go to TC Regan and kaly
for being wonderful beta-readers/cheerleaders. Many, many
chocolate-covered Obi-Wans to you both.
Continuity: Takes place shortly before TPM, probably around three
or four months.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Qui-Gon comes to some realizations about his Padawan.
Smut ensues.
Rating: Very NC-17. (It's all at the end, though.)
Category: Thinly-disguised PWP.
Disclaimer: Though I've spent enough on Star Wars and SW-related
stuff that I could probably claim *something* if I wanted to, I
claim no ownership of these characters; they belong to George
Lucas and Lucasfilms, Ltd.
Normally the sight of his Padawan clothed in nothing but droplets
of water would not have rattled Qui-Gon Jinn so much. But it had
been a rough day.
He and Obi-Wan had only just returned that morning from their
most recent mission, settling a dispute among two Quarren clans
on the watery world of Mon Calamari. Their return, aboard a Mon
Cal cruiser climatically designed for the amphibious species, had
been less than comfortable. To make matters worse, upon their
arrival at Coruscant, Qui-Gon had been immediately summoned
before the Jedi Council, without a chance to change or bathe. As
a result, he still smelled strongly of briny seawater, salty air,
and Mon Calamari flesh; his clothes had dried into stiff,
salt-encrusted bits of sandpaper; and his lengthy debriefing
before the Council - wherein he'd been forced to defend several
critical decisions made during the mission - had left him weary
in both body and soul. Now, all he wanted was food, hot water,
and sleep, in roughly that order. The sight of Obi-Wan, clean out
of the 'fresher unit and naked as the day he was born - save a
towel over his head - stopped him completely in his tracks.
"Master, you're back." Hastily, Obi-Wan wrapped the
towel with which he'd been drying his hair around his waist,
moving to help the exhausted Qui-Gon to a chair. The Master Jedi
sank into it with a sigh of relief, as Obi-Wan moved to the food
preparation area and began to fix a restorative drink.
"I take it the Council weren't too pleased with the
negotiations," commented the Padawan drily.
Qui-Gon shook his head, his drifting thoughts shifting back to
the ordeal he'd so recently escaped. "They were not,"
he agreed heavily.
Obi-Wan had already delivered the drink and gone back to begin
preparing a basic meal for his Master. At that mild statement, so
telling, he sighed and shook his head. "I warned you that
they would be displeased."
"The Council's opinion was not as important to me as was the
need to make sure no more Quarren died," Qui-Gon retorted.
"If the Council had been out there, they may very well have
seen why I handled it the way I did."
It was an argument they'd had for years; only the names and
specific situations had changed. As Obi-Wan puttered around the
food-prep area of the suite of rooms reserved for Master and
Apprentice during their brief stays on Coruscant, Qui-Gon gave
himself over to the argument, sipped at the stimulant, and felt
energy gradually flow back into him.
Once the meal had been prepared and consumed, the two fell into a
companionable silence. Qui-Gon frowned to himself as he found his
thoughts returning to his Padawan's appearance. After finishing
the meal, Obi-Wan had changed into a pair of trousers and a light
over-tunic; his feet, sprawled on a hassock, were bare. The image
from before - as Qui-Gon had first seen him upon returning to
their rooms - sprang into Qui-Gon's mind again unbidden, and he
found himself not thoroughly surprised by the capriciousness of
his thoughts.
It wasn't as if they'd never been nude before each other in the
past; after all, they were both men, both raised in the Jedi
culture that had no taboo of any kind against nudity. Yet
suddenly Qui-Gon could not banish that image from his mind:
Obi-Wan bare before him, skin soft and glowing, droplets of water
clinging to him, rivulets trickling down his smooth flesh,
dampening the curls—-
"Master?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan." With a wrench, he forced his thoughts
back to the present, realizing that Obi-Wan had been repeating
his title.
The Padawan arched an eyebrow. "I was just wondering if
you'd like to take a shower and get out of those clothes."
/Now there's a line if I ever heard one./ He shook off the
inadvertent thought and nodded. "That sounds heavenly."
Setting aside his empty cup, he pushed himself to his feet. His
muscles seemed to have stiffened up while he'd been seated, and
as he took a step, he felt himself falter.
In an instant, Obi-Wan was at his side, offering support. The
quick spike of worry that emanated through the Force had the
unfortunate side effect of irritating Qui-Gon.
"Stop treating me like an old man, damn it," he
snapped, flaring enough that Obi-Wan took a couple of uncertain
steps back.
But he wasn't being coddled, of course; as weariness overtook him
again, Qui-Gon recognized that his Padawan was only trying to
help.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head. "I'm tired,
and the climate from the Mon Calamari ship still has my joints
hurting. A hand would not be amiss."
Obi-Wan stepped forward again, a careful smile on his face.
"Of course, Master."
Shortly thereafter, in the shower, Qui-Gon felt himself relaxing
into a state of bliss. Steam billowed around him, obscuring the
true dimensions of the shower stall - itself large enough to hold
at least four people, or five if they were friendly. The hot
water pounding down from above did much to restore the last edges
of sanity to his mind, and while he still felt tired, it was no
longer that bone-deep exhaustion from before. Outside, Obi-Wan
was waiting in case he should need anything.
He really was a very good Padawan, Qui-Gon mused as he diligently
scrubbed salt out of his hair. Obi-Wan's attentiveness to the
living Force could still use some work, but overall, Qui-Gon felt
that his apprentice would soon be ready to face the Trials.
How far the young man had come from the boy he once was, a
soon-to-be-ex-Jedi initiate on a ship to Bandomeer. Full of
courage he had been then, but full of anger and fear, too. The
intervening years, spent in Qui-Gon's tutelage - as well as the
occasional lessons from other Masters in the Jedi Temple - had
seen Obi-Wan's full talents come to fruition. Qui-Gon was glad
he'd been there to see the growth of boy into man. He had to
admit that he'd be sad to lose Obi-Wan's companionship.
/Is that all you'll miss, Qui-Gon?/ His mind's voice was rueful.
He gave a low chuckle as the image of Obi-Wan naked appeared in
his mind's eye again. /No, I suppose not. But it's been left
alone for so long - best not to try and bring it up now./
He couldn't deny that he found his Padawan attractive. When he'd
first realized this, he wasn't sure; but he thought it might have
been sometime around Obi-Wan's seventeenth birthday. Youth and a
new adult status had given him an excited glow, and when Qui-Gon
had dismissed him from exercises that day, the grin on Obi-Wan's
face shone bright enough to make Qui-Gon's heart flip.
But how did one tell one's Padawan that one found him desirable?
One didn't. It wasn't done; or if it was, it was kept discreet.
Qui-Gon had wondered if he might find an appropriate moment, but
he'd never found one.
Better left unsaid, anyway. Obi-Wan could do much better than his
old Master.
Qui-Gon finished rinsing out his hair and shut the water off.
Pushing the door open, he reached for a towel, nodding thanks to
Obi-Wan as the Padawan stood.
"Go to bed, Obi-Wan," he said with a slight hint of
remonstration. "I can carry myself to my own rest."
Obi-Wan nodded, but didn't move quite yet. He seemed somewhat
frozen to the spot, his eyes locked somewhere at Qui-Gon's chest.
"What is it?" Qui-Gon asked, rubbing the towel over his
hair.
"Master, I--" Obi-Wan fidgeted for a moment; then his
eyes came up to meet Qui-Gon’s. "It was what you were
thinking about. In the shower. You were, ah--"
Qui-Gon nodded before he realized the full impact of Obi-Wan's
words. "Broadcasting?" he finished.
"I think it was because you were so tired..." Already
Obi-Wan was trying to come up with excuses, Qui-Gon recognized
vaguely. He had thought himself well past the age to be
embarrassed, but apparently he wasn't after all, for he felt a
blush staining his face.
"What exactly did you pick up?" he asked carefully.
"You were thinking about - how you wanted me." Somehow
Obi-Wan managed to push past his own embarrassment and speak
plainly.
"I was," Qui-Gon acknowledged. Though the awareness had
been made clear in a way that he would not have preferred, there
it was nonetheless.
The moment hung between them, silent, awkward. Qui-Gon took a
step forward, reaching for Obi-Wan, though he expected the
Padawan to step away. He didn't, though, and Qui-Gon's large hand
rested on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have ever had
to know that, to learn about that. It was never my intention
to--"
"Master." Obi-Wan's eyes met his. To his surprise,
there was no revulsion or shame in Obi-Wan's eyes: stranger yet,
he thought he saw hope there. Though he had to be reading his own
emotions into this, for surely--
Then Obi-Wan was stepping closer to him, reaching up to touch his
face. The apprentice's fingers were curiously tender on Qui-Gon's
skin, light as they traveled over the worn lines of the Master's
face to clasp behind his neck. Qui-Gon was startled enough that
his eyes stayed open as Obi-Wan leaned up, ever so slightly, to
kiss him.
Qui-Gon's hand floated up to caress Obi-Wan's wrist, feeling,
with some wonder, the roughness of the pale brown hairs sprinkled
over the back of his hand, contrasting with the calluses of his
own hand. Strangely, he could find nothing to say, except,
"Obi-Wan," in a slightly shaky voice.
Obi-Wan's smile was slightly rueful. "No need to be
ashamed," he said, voice soft. "I've been wanting this,
too."
"You're saying this to please me, to -- to make me feel
better," Qui-Gon began, grasping at straws. A moment later,
he blinked, feeling a sudden surge of emotion in the Force. The
ripples, the intensity of feeling, were undeniable, as were their
origin point. Though he and Obi-Wan had not shared an emotional
connection of this kind in some time, there was no mistaking the
mental signature.
The slight smile was gone from the Padawan's face; the earnest,
serious look in his pale eyes one of raw truth. "This is
/not/ out of some sophomoric effort to please you, Qui-Gon,"
he said, and the elder Jedi shuddered to hear his name on
Obi-Wan’s lips. "I want you. I've never wanted anyone
else."
He felt himself shaking, his hand on Obi-Wan's arm trembling
under the force of the emotions. The wave of lust that swept over
him pounded at his heart with its intensity, and suddenly Qui-Gon
wanted nothing more than to drag Obi-Wan to the floor and have
his way with him.
Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes dark with desire. "Yes,
Master," he said in a tone equally charged with desire.
As if hearing those words were the final catalyst, Qui-Gon pulled
Obi-Wan to him, one shaking hand cupping the back of the
Padawan's head, the other going around his waist. The blaze of
anticipation ignited in the kiss that followed.
Only a minute or so later, Qui-Gon found himself sprawled back in
his bed, his Padawan laying beside him. How they had managed to
get from the bathroom to the bed without seriously injuring one
or both of them still surprised him, as he hadn't been paying
attention to where they were going. Neither, he suspected, had
Obi-Wan; but he wasn't in the mind to dwell on such minor
details.
The heat between them was unmistakable; it billowed in waves with
every kiss, every touch, as they divested each other of what
little remained of their clothing, hands sliding over bare skin
and through damp hair. Qui-Gon's senses were inflamed with
Obi-Wan, his scent, his touch, everything about him; he found
himself torn between wanting to make their first time slow and
special and the driving desire to shove his Padawan to the bed
and Take Him Now.
Instead, he found the breath going out of him when Obi-Wan's hand
found its way to the throbbing erection rising between his legs.
An inarticulate groan his only response, he arched into the firm,
experienced caress.
Obi-Wan's lazy smile grew wider, a devilish light dancing in his
eyes as his thumb played around the head of Qui-Gon's stiff cock.
He gave his lover another long, lingering kiss, then gently
pushed Qui-Gon back against the mattress and straddled his knees.
His breath coming in shallower pants, Qui-Gon closed his eyes
with anticipatory desire. Smooth lips nuzzled his earlobe, tasted
his neck, then moved easily down his collarbone, his shoulders,
the small hollow at the base of his neck, swirling a wet trail
down his torso. Obi-Wan took his time discovering the sensitivity
of Qui-Gon's nipples, taking delight in rasping the flat of his
tongue over one hardened nub to get another moan out of his
Master.
It seemed decades to Qui-Gon before Obi-Wan finally resumed his
journey down his torso, the younger Jedi's tongue slicking a path
across lean abdominal muscles, taut with tension, closer to that
part of him that seemed raging with fire.
Curiously, the wetness of Obi-Wan's mouth did not extinguish the
flame; instead, it only exacerbated the heat. Qui-Gon gave
another shuddering, wordless moan, his hips arching up to meet
the warm, lips and tongue that so eagerly took him in.
The room grew completely silent, save for the shallowest of
breathing and a soft, wet suckling noise.
"You're trying to kill me," Qui-Gon said, some time
later, in a strained voice. There was no response but a muffled
chuckle, and a flicker of Obi-Wan's tongue that made the elder
Jedi grip the sheets and cry out, shuddering.
He was very close. Sensing this, Obi-Wan quickened the pace,
tightening the thumb and forefinger wrapped around the base of
Qui-Gon's erection. He had prolonged it long enough, drawing out
his master's enjoyment as far as he could; now he intensified the
sensations, suckling hard—-
The cry seemed to come from deep within Qui-Gon; his hips arched
upward, his hands clutching the sheets, as the force of the
orgasm shot through him. He felt the disconnection of mind and
body that he always felt at that moment; at the same time he felt
a strange kind of complete connection with both the physical and
spiritual elements of himself, though his head was spinning too
rapidly; and all he really wanted to do was lay back and savor
this moment.
Warmth next to him, then; he sighed contentedly, wrapping his arm
around Obi-Wan's waist and leaning into the shoulder to his side.
He felt suddenly territorial as he slid his other hand into
Obi-Wan's hair and pulling the Padawan close for a deep,
satisfying kiss. /Mine,/ something inside him seemed to growl.
The heat of a stiff erection pressed to him aroused another,
equally intense emotion from somewhere deep inside of him.
It was a need to have his Padawan, here, now, in his bed. With a
growl, he rolled over, pressing Obi-Wan to the mattress. The
younger Jedi moaned aloud, willingly surrendering to his Master's
desire; and the sight of Obi-Wan thus - sprawled in the sheets,
skin flushed with heat and a look of lust on his face - drove
Qui-Gon to greater depths of longing. Feeling the blood rush
again to his stiffening cock, he knew a moment of sharp clarity
in his desire to take possession of his Padawan.
One hand on Obi-Wan's stomach to keep him in place, Qui-Gon
reached over to his bedside table, rummaging in the drawer for a
bottle of massage oil he kept there. Normally, he used the cool
liquid to ease the burn from aching muscles after long exercise
sessions. As he knelt over Obi-Wan, spreading a puddle of the oil
on his hands, he felt more than saw the Padawan's excitement and
equal need, and knew it would be put to good use.
He made sure that both of them were well-prepared; watching and
feeling Obi-Wan's ecstacy as he slid a finger, then two, in and
out of the younger man's anus was almost enough to make Qui-Gon
climax again. Qui-Gon had to apply a Jedi mind-calming trick to
keep himself ready for the joining.
Leaning over Obi-Wan again, he held the head of his cock to the
puckered opening of his lover's anus. Obi-Wan arranged his legs
around Qui-Gon's hips, getting comfortable, the look on his face
one of excited anticipation; he knew no fear, fully aware of what
was to come, and the elder Jedi felt a mild sense of relief at
that. Qui-Gon bent his head and kissed Obi-Wan tenderly, then
pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan's shoulder as he began to push
into him.
Obi-Wan's tight passage seemed to caress him, the muscles
rippling tightly around his rock-hard cock. Though he wanted to
go slow, he couldn't seem to; and when Obi-Wan relaxed
momentarily and then tightened again, Qui-Gon felt his entire
erection fill up Obi-Wan's anus. He let go of a shuddering moan
at that intense sensation, gripping the bedclothes on either side
of Obi-Wan's head.
The younger Jedi's fingernails raked up and down Qui-Gon's back,
the intensity of his own feelings transmitted in the arch of his
back, the way he pushed into Qui-Gon's thrusts. Slowly, a
tentative push became a rhythm as the lovers became familiar with
the movements of each others' bodies, as they fed off the
heightened sensations brought about by their connection in the
bond of the Force.
Qui-Gon found, very rapidly, that he could not maintain control
for long. He wanted to stretch it out, make it last, but his body
had other ideas, and he pulled back to try and make it last. One
hand went to Obi-Wan's own stiff cock, where it began to move up
and down in an irregular rhythm. Obi-Wan's hand overlaid his;
together they began to move, in and out of each other, finding
the pattern again.
Obi-Wan came all at once, with an almost tortured cry, his semen
pouring over their joined fists. The combination of his physical
reaction, the muscles contracting, rippling around Qui-Gon's
cock, and the emotion release, finally pushed Qui-Gon over the
edge he had been fighting to stay above. He let the rhythm go,
abandoning himself in his lover's body and the intense release
that touched him from his toes to the roots of his hair.
They curled up together, almost naturally finding themselves
cuddling spoon-style, with Qui-Gon's chest pressed protectively
to Obi-Wan's back. Sweat- and semen- and oil-coated, they slept,
warm and new in each others' arms; secure in their newfound
feelings and the bone-deep peace that left no words to be spoken.
END