Master Apprentice
Archive
Blind Man's Bluff
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It was a rather silly game.
Obi-Wan should have backed out before it began, but at that stage it was fun, filled with nervous laughter and the shrieking of girls. Their delighted cries quickly heightened his blood, and he chose badly. It was a game that a Force-sensitive could easily turn in his own favor, and so he chose to shield himself, so that he would not take advantage of his new friends in any way.
It was better that way, more fun. When the blindfold went on, he had no idea whom he would first touch, who would finally tumble into his arms, who would reward him with a kiss. It might be a girl; it might be a boy. It didn't matter. Pairings of either or both kissed as readily, and as eagerly. They were used to this game, they had played it before.
Obi-Wan had not.
He helped tie the blindfolds the first time they played, watched the young people arrange themselves at random throughout the wide, echoing cavern that housed the Jankilii. He laughed at the ecstatic pandemonium that ensued in the torchlight. Partners were found, kisses exchanged, blindfolds removed, identities discovered. It all seemed quite harmless, and so he joined in, and found his arms full of a delightfully squirming girl who kissed him eagerly, then a boy slightly taller than himself, and then another. By that time he was laughing too, Jedi formality abandoned, not noticing that the laughter was shriller, that the blindfolds stayed on longer, that the light in the cavern was fading as the torches were extinguished one by one.
And then it was gone, but the game did not stop, and the blindfolds were only a token, and the kisses grew longer in between time calls. And Obi-Wan found himself in the arms of another lovely girl-- no, a woman. She was taller than he, fully-developed, and when she released him, he was rock-hard and aching and his belly was quivering with a combination of quivering desire and shy reluctance. He realized suddenly that the laughter had changed, growing richer-deep bell-like men's laughter and silvery women's. There were adults joining in the festivities, and it troubled him enough that he decided to move away. After all, he hadn't expected it to evolve from a kissing game into something more, though perhaps he should have anticipated more thoroughly before becoming involved.
It wasn't that he would have minded participating, precisely. He'd been enjoying himself thoroughly, and was still aroused. It was more that he would have liked to select his first partner, instead of having fate select him. He would have liked to choose...
Obi-Wan sighed. What he would have liked was immaterial. He couldn't have it, and that was that. By withdrawing from the game and moving away, perhaps to indulge in solitary self-pleasure before returning to the village and his Master's side, he was missing an opportunity to enrich his own life... but that was his decision to make, and he had made it.
He made his way toward the edge of the cavern. Yes, he'd nearly gotten in over his head this time. The point of the play had grown serious almost before he realized. He reached to remove his blindfold, sensing himself on the fringes of the area, when time was called again. Before he could move further away, he felt himself caught and swept back into the melee again.
Another boy, slim arms circling him firmly, and Obi-Wan paid the kiss that was the game's price, but his companion did not release him, and he realized that around them, pairs were settling to the ground. Obi-Wan resisted the downward tug, and his partner pressed a finger to his lips, accepting his decision, and vanished. The young Jedi began to pick his cautious way to the edge again, dropping his blindfold to the stone floor, but before he reached it, another hand fell on his shoulder.
Obi-Wan was not sure whether to be grateful or frightened; the hand was heavy-- a man's hand, not a boy's, and it lingered on his shoulder. He blinked wide-eyed into midnight blackness, hesitating. Something about the touch froze him, keeping him from shrugging out from under the solid, questing hand. The sooty black around them pressed in on his eyes, on his lungs, deprivation of his ability to see affecting him more than it ought, with his Jedi senses. He had never experienced such pure darkness, and suddenly he felt the weight of the ceiling hanging over him, billions of tons of earth and stone, and the hand on him felt like an anchor, a lifeline, against that darkness and that looming threat.
"Time!" The voice was met by protests, but most partners rose to exchange. Obi-Wan nearly pulled back against the firm hand that held him, but decided not to, and similarly, he was not released. Instead, another solid palm fell on his opposite shoulder, and he was held where he was as the exchange streamed around them. Obi-Wan reached out with timid fingertips and touched leather; a traditional moss-farmer's belt over rough linen trousers, the same bare chest that the cave miners wore and that he had adopted himself when he joined the game. Any of the village men might have worn such clothing.
A small thrill shivered up Obi-Wan's spine. His partner was tall, belt-buckle almost at the level of Obi-Wan's chest. It made him think of Qui-Gon, ensconced safely away in the heart of the nearby village with the mayor of the small settlement, discussing water rights and ownership of surface access passages.
Obi-Wan almost wished that he had chosen to stay at his Master's elbow rather than following the youngsters to their play, rather than finding himself here with a man's hands resting on his body, but the decision was made, and he found that he wasn't really regretting it. He swallowed shyly, feeling the reassuring warmth of the waiting hands on him. His own hand ventured outward, and found a bare, rippled abdomen. Obi-Wan swallowed, intensely aware of his partner's stillness. He nearly reached out through the training bond for Qui-Gon, an instinctive reaction in moments of stress, but suddenly stopped himself; this was no longer a children's game, and Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan was no longer a child.
Or at least, he decided suddenly, he would no longer be one when he returned to his Master tonight.
His decision made, Obi-Wan let his questing fingers stray upward. The man was tall, with feathers of long hair about his shoulders-- it caused a wild pulse of arousal to shoot into his groin, feeling that hair beneath his timid fingertips. But of course, many of the villagers had long hair, and were tall, and were solidly built from a lifetime of mining the caverns... very like Qui-Gon Jinn.
He licked his lips suddenly, wistful longing seizing him. Perhaps he could not ever have his Master... Qui-Gon was Jedi to the bone, treating him with affection and unfailing polite courtesy, but no more. But tonight... tonight, he could have a man, not another boy... and tonight, he could pretend.
His fingertips ventured back downward again, and rubbed over a nipple. Obi-Wan smiled faintly as the palms on his shoulders tightened slightly. Big, rough, coarse hands on him, strong but gentle. Perfect.
The callused thumbs began to move softly, stroking over his collarbone, and Obi-Wan stepped closer, feeling boldness surge in him. The heavy hands slid down over his back, and Obi-Wan leaned forward and tentatively flicked his tongue over the nipple his questing fingers had located, drawing a soft sigh from the other man.
He had not yet kissed his partner, but it didn't seem to matter as the man's hands moved slowly over his body, skirting his waistband carefully, never moving lower than his navel. Obi-Wan sighed cool air against the wet skin he had kissed, stepping yet closer to the tall villager. He hoped he would not have to see the man when it was over... he wanted to preserve his illusions. And it was chilly in the cave, now that he was no longer running and laughing... he wanted hot skin against him, wanted to feel it now. A wing of hair brushed his face, and the shudder of arousal flared again, stronger this time.
If this were Qui-Gon...
Obi-Wan took another step, felt masculine hardness against his belly, restrained by rough cloth. He licked at the hollow of the man's throat, tasting sweat in spite of the cave chill, and realized that he too was having an effect on his partner. He smiled, the remainder of his nervousness flowing out of him. It was going to be good, it was going to be very good. He could sense it in the gentleness of those hands.
Perhaps this was not a game after all. No, not a game, but a rite of passage, a moment of reverence and sharing. A moment for sharing of knowledge between adults and the newly grown, for teaching and tenderness. His heart ached suddenly, and he pressed a wistful kiss to his partner's lightly-furred chest. If only Qui-Gon felt such teaching would be appropriate! But he had not been raised in this culture; he had been raised Jedi and treated his apprentice according to professional rules of courtesy that definitely did not provide for such instruction.
Obi-Wan blinked back a sting of tears, stepping into the older man's embrace. Live in the moment. Dwelling on regrets would steal all of his pleasures, if he let it. He would not permit the past and the future to take this from him.
The hard hands drew him closer still; Obi-Wan went willingly, and they slid over his hips, lingering briefly to test the fit of his round muscle inside their callused breadth. And then they moved lower, thick blunt fingers stroking slowly down the insides of his thighs as his soon-to-be-lover leaned over him, hooking his chin over Obi-Wan's shoulder, and Obi-Wan shuddered deeply with delight as the roughness of beard and stubble settled to prickle the skin of his neck and back. "Ohhhhh..." he gasped, arching involuntarily.
The hands tightened, lifting him, and the man's back straightened. Obi-Wan's toes dangled, but he didn't care. He loved the feeling of being dwarfed in the man's embrace, nuzzling into the man's neck. To be carried this way, by Qui-Gon... it would be so good. So good. He sighed deeply, relaxing into the powerful embrace.
Obi-Wan turned his head and nipped at the ear that bumped against his lips. He wrapped his legs around the man's thighs, and was hoisted higher, a powerful lunge that he obeyed instinctively, and his legs locked around the lean waist of his partner.
And then the man began to walk, and they were leaving the main cavern. Obi-Wan felt the cooler air draught of a surface passage and felt a moment's flicker of worry about being isolated, but he was a Jedi, and these were simple miner folk. They were not warlike; mild and content with their lot, requiring Jedi protection against their more aggressive enemies.
He heard the rushing of a stream, and his partner went to one knee, settling Obi-Wan carefully back into a patch of soft moss. The young Jedi lay there, sensing the hugeness of the man who knelt between his spread thighs. His breath was coming fast, and so was his partner's... Obi-Wan had surrendered totally to his fantasies, and could imagine that it was Qui-Gon's breath, could imagine the look his Master would have.
The Jedi Master would be slightly frayed, eyes piercing beneath his heavy brows, control balanced on a knife-edge. He would lick his lips, staring down at Obi-Wan with aching, terrible hunger... Obi-Wan moaned softly, shifting his hips so that his inner thighs rubbed against the other man's legs. The big hands returned, dropping onto him with the gentleness of autumn leaves or spring blossoms, once again testing the heat of his inner thighs, this time moving up to skirt his groin and find the flatness of his belly.
Obi-Wan arched up gently, touched once again by the tenderness of the gesture. It was a fortuitous match for him then; perhaps the man sensed his complete inexperience. Or more likely, he had felt the braid against his chest when he carried Obi-Wan, and knew that he held a Jedi, and thus was proceeding cautiously.
Enough. The stray thoughts were spoiling his fantasy.
The man bent forward, sliding his arms under Obi-Wan's shoulders and bracing himself on his elbows. His long hair trailed against Obi-Wan's bare chest, tickling. It was a heady sensation, tasting his lover's breath hovering over his lips, waiting for the mouth to descend onto his for the first time. In the end, he couldn't bear to wait. His hands crept up and twined into the long hair, tugging gently, and he lifted his head until the warm lips met his own.
Obi-Wan smiled into the kiss, feeling intimacy and trust beginning to build between them, and let his tongue dart out to trace the full lower lip, teasing and withdrawing, rocking his hips up simultaneously. He was willing, and he began to understand that he must make that perfectly clear. That was fine; it matched his fantasy of overcoming his Master's precarious control. Obi-Wan moaned luxuriantly, writhing a little-- delicious, to take the unexpected role of seducer.
He let his fingertips wander over the strong neck and broad shoulders, tracing over ribs and spine and tense muscle. "Mmmmmm," Obi-Wan purred low in his throat, hands clasping the bigger man's hips as he gently thrust his pelvis upward. His partner held perfectly still, letting him squirm and caress their bodies together. The breath in his ear was harsh, and the warm, wet mouth sought and found his, teeth softly touching his lip.
Obi-Wan opened softly to the questing pressure, accepting the warm tongue that almost shyly sought his. He hooked his ankles around the other man's, rocking them together determinedly, hands wandering, seeking, devouring. And still, neither of their hands had moved where the other needed it most... he pushed upward, and twisted his hips to roll them, reversing their positions. He pressed the wide shoulders down firmly to the moss and laughed suddenly, joyously.
He settled himself with the thickness of the large man's shaft between his hips and rocked back and forth quickly, insistently, until the body beneath him arched and a low growl rose from the deep chest. Obi-Wan leaned forward, letting his braid tickle the other man's chest and nipples. Laughter seemed to well forth from a bottomless well in him, delight, pleasure, total abdication of Jedi responsibilities. The joy and beauty of the moment. His pleasure in the body and response of his unknown lover.
His lover rolled him suddenly, dangerously near the stream, and reached out with one thick hand, cupping water, letting it drip along Obi-Wan's sternum to his navel. The padawan squirmed, still laughing, nipples peaking in response to the chill.
And then the mood shifted, and he sensed the change immediately, welcoming it. The wide body pressed harder against his, thick erection paralleling his own, and his lover began to thrust very softly. Obi-Wan's fingers dug into the man's back where ribs met spine, and he felt laughter turn to a moan, and then even the moan was devoured by a mouth, suddenly hard and sure, descending onto his.
His arousal spiraled out of control, and he slid his hands down and struggled with the wide belt until his unseen lover helped him remove it. Then Obi-Wan plunged his hands into the back of the rough linen trousers, sliding them over the soft-skinned tension of the big hips, encouraging the thrusts that were maddening him.
His lover caught his braid and tickled his lips with the tip of it before leaning in to run his rough wet tongue over them. Obi-Wan responded by nipping at the tongue, bucking up with a quicksilver writhe of his hips. He slid his hand around the hipbone, inside the loose trousers, settling his palm against the urgent heat that waited there, ready for him.
The other man fell still, warm breath softly caressing his face, perfect silence between them broken only by their rapid breathing, by the soft ripple of the stream, and the plinking of water droplets near and far.
"Yes," Obi-Wan murmured, his fingers curling about the silky shaft. "Yes, please." He reached up and his fingertips stroked over the roughness of beard, the satin of lips that trembled with his shuddering inhalation.
And then Obi-Wan simply knew.
His fingertips brushed butterfly-light back across the mouth as it firmed with resolve, over the short wiry beard, much more neatly trimmed than the natives wore theirs, down the long neck to the hollow of collarbone. His other hand held solid, moist hardness, vulnerable tender skin against his own damp palm, and instinctively caressed it, very slowly and lightly, as he continued his gentle exploration.
A hand stroked up his side to settle at his cheek and Obi-Wan followed the muscular angle of arm and shoulder until his thumb settled in the center of a callused palm. He stroked the strong hand, moving his face to turn his lips into it, subtly testing the pattern of the calluses he found there. The skin was not the rough horn of hands almost entirely roughened by mining. The calluses were distinctive, thicker on the tip of the thumb and the inside of the forefinger, where a lightsaber was held most tightly. Obi-Wan kissed them with trembling lips, not daring to speak again for fear of breaking the spell, for fear that his knowledge would escape in the tone of his voice.
He lifted his head very gently, moving away from the hand that cradled his jaw so gently, and kissed the soft lips that waited for him. He lingered close, nuzzling, moving his face upward, pausing to brush his lips along soft skin as he moved, tracing the expected ridge of the old ill-healed break with the tip of his own nose. He smiled faintly, pressing a kiss against Qui-Gon's forehead.
A fantasy come true, the gift of a single night both given clandestinely. Qui-Gon would never have to know that Obi-Wan knew, would never have to suffer the guilt of Obi-Wan's loss of innocence regarding his Master. Would never have to fear that he had damaged his Padawan with this indulgence. That would be Obi-Wan's own gift to Qui-Gon, a beautiful secret that he would hold in trust until he was knighted and could approach Qui-Gon at last, as an equal.
Qui-Gon's free hand was working gently at Obi-Wan's loose trousers, dragging them down over his hips, and the Padawan trembled, sinking his teeth lightly into his Master's shoulder. The second hand joined in the task, and Qui-Gon moved to slide the garment from his ankles. Obi-Wan's keen senses brought him the rustle of his Master removing his own trousers, and he felt the rush of air as the clothing was tossed to the moss at his side.
He lay perfectly still, an inferno of strained anticipation, waiting for the first whisper of Qui-Gon's skin against his own. He was rewarded immediately as Qui-Gon knelt at his feet. Warm hands circled his ankles, parting them slowly, and Obi-Wan offered no resistance, limbs flowing as smoothly as the water in the small stream. The hands stroked lightly up his calves, fingertips tracing the tender flesh behind his knees.
Obi-Wan lifted his chin, seeking his partner's -- Qui-Gon's -- lips with his own timidly. Kisses that had been casual were now clinging, desperately earnest, and he felt himself leaving slow patches of almost desperate heat on Qui-Gon's mouth, his face, his throat.
Hard weight covered him, pressing the breath from his lungs, left him gasping, but he cherished it, savoring the feel of his Master's body on his. His hands clenched in silky hair, then counted their way down the rough ridge of spine and ribs to rounded softness. He could feel the muscles tense at his touch, feel Qui-Gon's response to his sudden passion.
The man drew back for a moment, resisting the gentle clinging pressure of Obi-Wan's arms, clearly nonplused by the change in the young man beneath him. Obi-Wan whimpered a low protest, squirming his hips upward in an imploring rhythm, terrified that his sudden ardor had given away too much.
Then Qui-Gon settled back atop him, and Obi-Wan's kisses were met with equal fervor, the powerful arms enveloping him. Obi-Wan sank into bliss, letting himself be devoured, his head spinning with delight at the sensation of Qui-Gon's hard shaft lying against his thigh. He moaned into the older man's fierce kiss.
Qui-Gon shifted them, rolling to his side, and Obi-Wan felt a hard broad hand slip between them and cover his shaft, powerful fingers curling delicately around it. His mouth was released and he whimpered desperately, incoherent with need and passion. Qui-Gon's mouth darted to nip at his throat and the strong thumb swirled over the crown of his erection.
Obi-Wan cried out and bucked his hips toward his master, clutching the warm body tightly against him. But Qui-Gon pulled his arms loose and slipped away, leaving Obi-Wan to lie panting on the moss. The padawan's wide eyes stared miserably into darkness, and he reached out tentatively, fearing that all was lost. But then his fingers tangled into a wisp of hair, and he realized what was happening.
Obi-Wan subsided, lying very still, and felt the warm ghost of Qui-Gon's breath brush his erection only instants before the full lips touched the crown and then the warm living velvet of Qui-Gon's mouth and tongue encompassed him.
He wailed, a primal cry from deep within his chest, fingers tearing up clumps of moss as he clutched helplessly at something-- anything-- to anchor himself against the wash of sheer pleasure that assaulted his nerves. Lightning pulsed in his body and orgasm slammed into him like a thunderclap, precipitating a pulsating flood into Qui-Gon's mouth. Qui-Gon's. Obi-Wan shuddered again, even harder, spending the last remnants of himself on his lover's tongue.
He reached for Qui-Gon as his Master drew away, wanting a kiss, but Qui-Gon evaded him, warm hands smoothing over Obi-Wan's quivering flanks, a gentle caress meant to steady him. Then the hands retreated and Qui-Gon sat back on his heels.
"Stay," Obi-Wan managed, voice shaking in spite of all he could do. He knew his Master's mind, knew that he would resist reciprocation for what he had just done. He lifted himself to his elbows, gazing wildly into the blackness. "Please."
Fingertips touched his cheek and a heavy hand glided to cradle his jaw, thumb sliding over his lips. Obi-Wan kissed softly at it. "I want more of you," he whispered, nuzzling into the gentle palm. He raised himself to one knee and slipped into the arms that awaited him, laying his cheek on Qui-Gon's shoulder. Slowly, his Master eased them down to the moss again, Obi-Wan lying on his chest.
Obi-Wan sighed deeply, content in the aftermath of orgasm, enjoying the sensation of being held. He let his hands wander meditatively over his Master, studying the sturdy chest that supported him, tracing the tautness of a nipple, exploring the hard curve of narrow waist. Qui-Gon's hardness lay between their bellies, and Obi-Wan luxuriated in the sensation of it against him, feathering kisses against Qui-Gon's collarbone softly.
His own erection began to recover, growing stealthily between them, and Obi-Wan shifted to ease it, bringing it alongside Qui-Gon's with a slow, husky sigh. His Master's arms tightened, and a kiss fell on the spiky brush of his hair. Obi-Wan purred a low murmur of contentment, enjoying the rise and fall of the chest beneath him.
Obi-Wan squirmed a little, raising his head and dropping a teasing kiss on Qui-Gon's mouth. The arms that held him slipped away, leaving him free, and he raised himself to kneel over Qui-Gon's waist, palms splayed on the sparsely furred chest. Qui-Gon's hands moved to Obi-Wan's waist, applying gentle pressure to move his padawan's hips so that their shafts would remain side by side, but Obi-Wan resisted, gently peeling away one of the hands and pressing a kiss to its palm, tongue darting out to tickle the sensitive skin at the center.
Laying Qui-Gon's hand on the bigger man's chest, Obi-Wan reached behind himself, finding the thick, stiff length of his erection, and he settled it in the curve of his hand, steadying it, moving himself back until it nudged between his cheeks.
A gasp, and tension froze the long, rangy frame beneath him; the hand on his hip came alive with the swiftness of a bird and darted behind his back, fierce pressure holding him where he was, Qui-Gon's erection still in his hand. Obi-Wan rebelled, shoving back against that hand; the Jedi Master's arm muscles quivered slightly but he held Obi-Wan fast, then pulled him forward with sheer determined strength.
Obi-Wan tensed as well, embarrassed and confused by the rejection, releasing Qui-Gon's shaft reluctantly with a final gentle squeeze. Shyness overwhelmed him and he pushed himself to his feet, but Qui-Gon's hands curved behind his calves, stroking him soothingly, sliding up to the joint of his knees and applying gentle pressure.
Obi-Wan hesitantly succumbed to the pressure and knelt again, knees settling to the moss on either side of Qui-Gon's waist. One hand slid to the small of his back, holding him there, and he blinked as he heard an unfamiliar sound, then flushed crimson as he realized what Qui-Gon was doing.
Then Qui-Gon's wide fingers, wet with warm saliva, gently stroked the crease of his buttocks and probed deeper still, pressing gently at the entrance to his body. Obi-Wan relaxed deliberately, anticipating the careful entry. Qui-Gon spat in his palm again and Obi-Wan had to stifle a chuckle at the notion of his dignified Master doing such a thing, the oddness of their position and predicament suddenly, joyously amusing.
He had won. Oh, he had won, and the fingers that were preparing him dipped into Qui-Gon's wet palm and returned to his body. This time one pressed inside, painless but strange in him. Obi-Wan breathed deeply, head falling forward. He could feel his braid tickling at Qui-Gon's chest, feel the stretch and fullness of the finger inside him, moving forward to the second knuckle now. Then back, and a second finger joined it slowly. Obi-Wan gasped as they pressed deftly inside him, stroking him, sending a rush of pleasure through his nerves.
"Ohhhhh." The slowly exhaled word spoke of discovery and pleasure. He was rigidly erect now, the sensation of Qui-Gon's fingers inside him stimulating his arousal almost unbearably. "That's good," Obi-Wan gasped as the fingers slowly turned and pressed deep inside him.
Then they were withdrawn, and the hands moved from his body. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment then shyly moved back, reaching again for the erection that awaited him. He found it, brought it to the slicked opening of his body, and raised himself over it for leverage, pausing, legs quivering, and stared down into the pure blackness, wistfully yearning for a glimpse of Qui-Gon's face.
Slowly he sank down.
Obi-Wan's head fell back in a silent scream, his hand moving forward to brace himself as his body clasped the thick shaft and embraced it, steadying it. He impaled himself over the span of a short eternity, accepting pain and pleasure, accepting his Master. It was almost as if by entering his body, the Jedi Master infused him with his being.
Obi-Wan knelt, trembling, his hips tight against Qui-Gon's pelvis, his head bent forward, sweat trickling from the tip of his nose to fall to Qui-Gon's chest. The older man's hands slid around his hips gently, comforting him, thumbs stroking softly at the seam between thighs and body.
Qui-Gon was quivering too, quivering with restrained desire. Obi-Wan grew to understand it slowly, feeling the restrained energy humming into him. His body had adjusted now, the first wild flush of pain ebbing, and he raised his body and then dropped his weight sharply.
The hands holding his hips tightened, fingers biting into his skin, and Qui-Gon's hips arched upward hard.
Obi-Wan obeyed, rising and falling again, his breath entering his chest with a sob and leaving with a soft cry each time he lifted himself and descended, shoving the piercing spike of his Master's desire deep into his body. Qui-Gon was writhing under him, control shattered, hips bucking up in a quick tempo that Obi-Wan matched. Qui-Gon's fists fiercely struck the moss next to Obi-Wan's straining thighs as he fought the urge to give voice to his pleasure and passion.
Then one shaking hand found Obi-Wan's erection and clasped it, held still and let Obi-Wan drive his hardness in and out of its sweat-slick channel as he rode Qui-Gon's erection in turn, a circuit of maddening desire and pleasure building fiercely between them. Obi-Wan's thighs shook with the strain, and he threw his head back, struggling to maintain the driving pace, fighting to keep control as Qui-Gon's hand pumped him.
And then he was lost in the white-hot blaze, coming with a triumphant shout, and there was a wet rush deep inside him and hard hands dragged his quivering body down to a heaving chest.
They lay there for a long time, pounding hearts subsiding to a normal pace, trembling muscles relaxing. They shared soft kisses and Obi-Wan let his hands wander worshipfully over his Master's body, imprinting his memories with the older man's shape and taste to last himself through the lean years ahead.
At last the drying sweat on their bodies chilled them, and Qui-Gon very gently pushed Obi away, placing his abandoned clothing into his hands. Slowly and reluctantly the padawan dressed himself, hearing his Master do the same. They set out for the village together, Qui-Gon's hand warm on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
Just as the young Jedi sensed the faintest glimmer of light from the narrow cavern passage that led to the village, he felt Qui-Gon's hand firm on his shoulder, the pressure stopping him. Qui-Gon turned him and bent to him, claiming his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. It was farewell, and Obi-Wan knew it. He wound his arms around his Master's neck, tears stinging his eyes, returning the kiss and clinging to Qui-Gon long after it should have ended. They kissed till they were short of breath, and Obi-Wan stepped back at last, sensing that if he had not, his Master would have pushed him away again gently.
Slowly Obi-Wan Kenobi turned and set out for the dim glow, leaving his first lover lingering in the shadows behind him.
-end-