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"Are you asleep, Master?"

Even if the sliver of light illuminating the sill of Qui-Gon's door hadn't given Obi-Wan his answer, his own tingling awareness of Qui-Gon would have done so. He'd crept into their rooms many nights at later hours than this to find his master still awake, reading or meditating alone in his bedroom to pass the time until Obi-Wan was safely home. His door would be closed, the salon dark and silent, but Obi-Wan could always sense Qui-Gon's restless waiting. If he went quietly to his own room, it would not be long before he heard Qui-Gon move about, and then the true stillness of his master succumbing to sleep would lull him to his own rest.

It was rare for Qui-Gon to call out a greeting in acknowledgement of his presence; but sometimes Obi-Wan would come to his door, still too charged with the events of the evening to consider sleep, and tap on the heavy wood panel. The answer was always the same.

"Come in, Padawan."

Qui-Gon was sitting propped up against the bedhead, a datapad balanced on his knee. Its pale glow flickered over the planes of his bare torso; the light Obi-Wan had seen came from a sidelamp near the door, but otherwise the room was dark. The sheets were pulled up around Qui-Gon's waist, the coverlet tossed onto a nearby chair, and his hair was unbound, falling over his shoulders in an untidy tangle.

Obi-Wan shut the door behind him. "Isn't it late to be reading?"

"I'm reviewing the history of the Acquiescence Ritual. What little there is of it." Qui-Gon held the pad a bit further away and read out loud, "'The origins of this Ritual must remain wrapped in mystery, its current form hidden in an obscure language, its future within the Jedi order questionable.' Or at least that's what Horatius had to say two hundred Standard Revolutions ago." Qui-Gon snorted. "I think we can dispense with his learned opinion."

While Qui-Gon was quoting the offending passage, Obi-Wan had perched on the edge of the bed, unfastening his boots. He kicked them off and sprawled across the centre of the wide expanse which the furnishing department had deemed necessary to accommodate his large master.

"Surely it must say something more useful. Let me see." He reached out a languid hand.

Obediently Qui-Gon handed over the datapad. "I doubt there's anything there worth finding. By the look of it, Horatius didn't even take the trouble to learn any Dahometh. An obscure language, indeed! How can he pontificate about the Ritual when he hasn't read the two original source Folios it's based on?"

Obi-Wan ignored Qui-Gon's scornful dismissal of the great Jedi scholar, as he scrutinised the text. "Exactly what I thought!" he declared, flourishing the pad at his master.

Qui-Gon leaned over to peer at the screen. "What?"

"The text is the same size as normal."

"What? Padawan, that's completely irrelevant."

"Master, it's not. The text is the same size as normal, yet here you are holding the pad at arm's length and squinting. When did you last have the healers check your eyes?"

"Honestly, Obi-Wan! I thought you'd found something important." Annoyance and frustration were equally balanced in Qui-Gon's tone. "We have three days before the mission begins to find the key to this Ritual, and here you are blithering about my eyesight."

"My point exactly," Obi-Wan retorted. "In three days you are off for a full year to some Force-forsaken planet whose medical technology has been utterly destroyed, along with any other infrastructure the place ever possessed. You are getting your eyes checked. Tomorrow."

Qui-Gon retrieved the datapad, muttering.

"I'll make the appointment for you in the morning. I'm sure poor Master Ibbith will be able to squeeze you into his schedule; he's always happy for any excuse to get his hands on you." Obi-Wan crossed his hands over his chest and closed his eyes.

"Who would ever want to have an apprentice?" Qui-Gon said bitterly. "You feed them and teach them and love them, and this is how they repay you, throwing you to the healers." He snapped the datapad shut and laid it aside on the bed.

"Well, at this rate I doubt you'll have an apprentice for much longer. Unless the Council accept impotence as an excuse for not completing the Ritual, that is."

Qui-Gon's voice was stiff with indignation. "Padawan, my eyes might not be as good as once they were, but I'm not so old that I can't--"

"I don't mean you, Master! I mean me."

"What?"

Obi-Wan gave a long drawn-out sigh and opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling. "Not only am I incapable of letting myself be fucked, it would also appear that I'm equally incapable of fucking anyone else."

"Oh," Qui-Gon assimilated the information. "So the evening was not a success."

"No," Obi-Wan replied flatly. "Isn't that what you were waiting up to hear?"

"I was not waiting up." Qui-Gon gave the rote answer, his mind clearly occupied elsewhere.

"You always wait up."

"Nonsense. I'm usually asleep when you finally come in."

"No, you are very rarely asleep. And even when you are, you're tossing and turning and sending out little Force tendrils to make the hallway a maze of tripwires. Why do you think your sheets are so crumpled in the morning?"

Qui-Gon ignored his padawan's irrefutable argument. "I take it that you reacted to Garon in the same way you've been reacting to me."

"Garon; and Hestia and Dee-Dee, in fact. But it wasn't quite the same as the way I've been reacting to you."

"Oh?"

"I couldn't even manage to let them put their fingers in me."

"With Hestia's nails, I would have counted that as a blessing," Qui-Gon said lightly.

Obi-Wan pushed himself up on one elbow to glare at his master. "It's all well and good for you to make fun, Qui-Gon, but I didn't find it so amusing. In fact, I'd just about rate it as the most embarrassing, humiliating and disappointing evening of my life so far, if it wasn't for a dozen others I've had the joy of experiencing as your padawan." Slumping back down on the bed, he sniffed, "I came in here for some sympathy, not to be laughed at by you as well."

"I'm sorry, Padawan." Qui-Gon smoothed over Obi-Wan's ruffled hair with one large hand. "I'm sure your friends didn't mean to hurt your feelings. And it might be selfish of me, but I can't help being a little relieved." At Obi-Wan's puzzled look, he continued softly, "I didn't enjoy thinking that you couldn't bear my touch, when you take such pleasure in sharing your body with others."

Obi-Wan suddenly wanted to see Qui-Gon's expression very badly, but before he could lever himself up again his master had turned away to place the notepad on a shelf by the bed.

"Well, now," Qui-Gon's voice was crisply efficient when he turned back to his padawan, "let's see what we have to work with. Exactly what happened, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan groaned and lay back on the coverlet, the smell of crisply starched cotton faint in his nostrils. "First of all Hestia tried to fuck me, but he hadn't got very far when--"

"That much detail is unnecessary," Qui-Gon cut in. "What I actually want to know is whether you felt the same level of anxiety you did two mornings ago."

"None at all. I wasn't expecting any problems; in fact, I was looking forward to it. The last few days have been rather frustrating." Qui-Gon forebore to comment. "But I just couldn't. My body wouldn't open up, although I was desperate for a good--" He suddenly remembered that this might not be the most tactful thing to say in the situation, and broke the sentence with a small cough.

"It wasn't that I felt anything wrong in the Force, either," he continued, hoping he'd hidden his gaffe sufficiently. At least from his supine position he didn't have to meet his master's eyes. "We were all in a good mood, not taking it too seriously. Then we thought that if I came I might be more relaxed, so Dee-Dee started going down on me. But the minute she touched me, I just -- wilted."

"Had you been drinking?" Qui-Gon's voice came from the head of the bed. "Taken any drugs? "

"No, I don't usually when I'm going to have sex."

"Masturbated previously?"

"No."

"And you weren't at all tense or nervous?"

"No! Seriously, Master, this has never happened to me before. To lose it in the middle like that... What's wrong with me?" Surely Qui-Gon would be able to help.

"I doubt there's any physical cause." Qui-Gon shifted his weight, tugging up on the sheet caught beneath Obi-Wan's shoulders. "It seems likely that this stems from whatever is also underlying our difficulties with the Ritual."

"You don't suppose the Force is implying I shouldn't ever have sex again, do you?" Obi-Wan was reluctant to voice the unpalatable idea, but the dire possibility had been spinning through his mind.

"It seems highly unlikely." Qui-Gon sounded amused at the suggestion. "For one thing, the Will of the Force is rarely so obscured. If it were to demand such a sacrifice of you, you would know deep within you it was the right course. Do you want to give up sex?"

Obi-Wan snorted. "Right at this moment, I need it so badly I'd jump a bantha if I was able."

"Then we can lay aside any assumptions that you are psychologically reluctant. I assume you're still masturbating without any problems? Did you try after your -- ah, disappointment?"

Obi-Wan cringed at the memory. "Yes, we tried that next. First me with the rest of them giving me an 'encouraging example', as they called it -- though I'd say it was getting a head start. When that didn't work either, they left me in peace to get on with it."

"But you couldn't?" Qui-Gon sounded genuinely surprised.

"Master, I have managed to get an erection when I haven't had any sleep for seventy-two hours. I've had erections whilst recovering from stab wounds, after I lost ten kilos from dysentery on Golla, and when I got that mysterious disease previously only known amongst Bothan sheep. Since I first discovered what it was for, my penis has been a loyal and faithful friend. But tonight, I couldn't."

"Ah."

Qui-Gon's lack of apparent sympathy galled Obi-Wan into seeking vengeance. "Is this what old age is like, Master?" He tilted his head back to see if the shaft had hit home, but Qui-Gon was deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

"Hush while I consider this, Padawan."

Obediently, Obi-Wan closed his mouth. Qui-Gon looked odd from this upside-down angle, the prominence of his nose and jaw emphasised by the shadows cast across the room. He so rarely wore his hair loose that the tumbled, silvering strands falling across his face made him seem unfamiliar, though Obi-Wan had seen those weathered features nearly every day for the last six years. A thought skittered across Obi-Wan's mind, a memory from last night, but it was gone in the moment he reached for it.

Sighing in frustration, he eased his head forward from the uncomfortable position and closed his eyes, his body flung haphazardly across the bed, waiting for Qui-Gon to come to a conclusion. He might even have been dozing a little when he heard Qui-Gon's deep voice mutter, "Perhaps..."

Then his master moved, and in that instant a large hand grasped between his thighs.

"Gods!" Obi-Wan almost screeched, jerking under Qui-Gon's hand. "Give a man some warning next time you grab his balls!"

"I'm hardly grabbing, Padawan," Qui-Gon said mildly. "Does this feel uncomfortable?"

"No..." Now that Obi-Wan had time to calm his racing heartbeat, he realised that Qui-Gon's hand was cupped round his testicles in a gentle hold, curling fingers encompassing his dormant penis. The big man had shifted down the bed to reach him; the sheets were bunched up against his waist as he stretched out over his padawan, broad palm a pleasant warmth even through the cloth of Obi-Wan's leggings.

"What were you hoping to--" Obi-Wan drew in his breath as Qui-Gon's long fingers rolled his penis within his leggings, the cloth a sweet friction against the softened flesh. "Oh," he gasped back out when Qui-Gon repeated the action, fingertips brushing along the nestled curve.

"Is that alright?" Qui-Gon didn't stop for the answer, continuing the delicate touches.

"Not so gentle," Obi-Wan requested, pushing himself up on his elbows and spreading his legs a little wider to accommodate Qui-Gon's hand. He watched with rapt concentration the slow movement of Qui-Gon's fingers over the mound at his groin. His breathing was fast and shallow, as much from tension as from the tiny jolts of pleasure those fingers were sending to his spine. Under his anxious gaze, the petted flesh took on definition, pushing up against the cloth separating hand from cock.

"Thank the Force!" Obi-Wan collapsed in relief. He was achingly hard, and life was wonderful.

Qui-Gon withdrew his hand. "I fancy the Force had little to do with it." He rubbed his eyes, looking tired suddenly. "We have begun the Ritual and invoked whatever power it embodies, but so far we have failed to face the demands it makes of us in turn. And our time runs short."

It was a sobering reminder, but another aspect of Qui-Gon's comment had drawn Obi-Wan's attention. "Master, you said earlier that it was our problem. Surely I'm the one to blame here? Aren't I the one who has failed?"

"No, my Padawan." Qui-Gon looked down at him, his face serious. "As your master, I too have a duty within the Ritual. I too can fail. For if one fails, the other has allowed the failure. We are together in this."

Obi-Wan turned on the bed, pressing his forehead to Qui-Gon's knee as it lay outlined by the coverlet. "I don't want to taint you with this, Master," he whispered. "Suppose they do separate us? Will they hold it against you? Will they stop you taking another padawan?" Hard questions, but he had to know the answers.

Qui-Gon's hand came to stroke his hair. "It hardly matters, Obi-Wan. I would have no stomach for another padawan in any case."

They stayed in silent thought for a few moments more before Qui-Gon stirred. "But we are not in such dire straits yet. There is something more I want to try tonight. Padawan, will you grant me your indulgence?"

The formal phrase made Obi-Wan pause. Its use implied that the favour Qui-Gon was about to ask of him could be freely refused by Obi-Wan, as one person to another, rather than as padawan to master. There was a formal rejoinder, inviting his master to ask the question without committing himself to an answer. He chose to ignore it.

"Whatever you want, Master. Just tell me."

"Umm. Well," Qui-Gon seemed taken aback by Obi-Wan's easy acceptance. "We've established that you can't maintain an erection through masturbation on your own. Would you try masturbating with me beside you?"

He lifted his hand in quick protest as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak. "I assure you, Padawan, this is not prurience on my part. But it would appear that the Dahometh Ritual resists being completed by us in our current state, yet also resists you taking sexual pleasure elsewhere. I want to test what difference my presence makes. Will it embarrass you too much to touch yourself in front of me?"

Obi-Wan was puzzled by Qui-Gon's concern over this request. "Why should I be any more embarrassed by that than by anything else in the Ritual?"

"But this is not part of the Ritual. I have no right to ask it of you." Qui-Gon's face was visibly flushed, even in the low light of the room.

Obi-Wan was at a loss to understand his master's reluctance. They rarely made reference to it, but on the many long journeys through space where they were required to share a cabin, they had had little choice but to intrude on each other's privacy. He was used to the soft sounds in the dark that meant Qui-Gon was pleasuring himself in the neighbouring bunk. He always pretended sleep; but he knew his master wasn't fooled. Likewise, he was often grateful for Qui-Gon's diplomatic snore to cover his own harsh gasp of completion.

Yet Qui-Gon was clearly uncomfortable with the request he had made: a ludicrous sentiment in view of the far more intimate things they'd done -- or failed to do -- over the last few days.

Obi-Wan caught his master's fingers in a firm grasp. "You have a right to ask anything of me, Qui-Gon. I'm your padawan." He said the words slowly and distinctly. "You're asking this for us: I understand that. But even if you were asking it for yourself alone, I would still do it. Besides," and he flashed a wicked grin, "I think I could manage to enjoy it."

Qui-Gon gave a wry smile in return. "I do believe you could, my Padawan."

"Now that that's settled..." Obi-Wan rolled back over, closing his eyes as he slipped one hand down into his leggings. A sigh of satisfaction came as his cock twitched into the familiar embrace, achingly ready. He began to stroke himself, each touch sure and brisk, rougher than he would have liked from another's hand but just right for his body's current urging.

For all his bold words and the undoubted pleasure his hand was giving him, he was uncomfortably aware of Qui-Gon's presence on the bed beside him. He'd never imagined his master watching him masturbate; had rarely thought of Qui-Gon in a sexual context at all. Suddenly he wished his hair was as long as his master's, so it could hide his face while he did this.

But a quick peep from beneath his lashes showed that Qui-Gon had averted his head, giving Obi-Wan a modicum of privacy. It was enough: Obi-Wan closed his eyes again and gave himself over to the demands of his body.

A few minutes later, he began to voice a stream of quiet, deliberate profanities.

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon queried gently.

Obi-Wan took the time to finish a particularly convoluted Xerxjian curse before breathing in deeply. "This is getting silly."

He opened his eyes to the sight of Qui-Gon's worried face above him. "Since that failed to bring me any satisfaction, Master, I can only hope it brought you some enlightenment."

"Sadly not, Obi-Wan. Couldn't you..." he made a vague gesture with his hand.

"No, I couldn't. It went away, alright?" Obi-Wan knew he was being unfairly aggressive: this was no more Qui-Gon's fault than his own. The frownlines deepened across Qui-Gon's brow, and immediately Obi-Wan's irritation gave way to a lick of remorse. "Don't worry," he chided with an unconvincing smile, reaching up to touch the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. Surreptitiously he disengaged the other hand from his leggings. "I will survive, you know."

But it was hard to quell the ache which had been gnawing at him, unassuageable, all evening. He couldn't understand why he wanted sex so badly: though he had all the appetites of a young, healthy male, he also had a Jedi's control and a warrior's discipline, and had often had to exercise them in the face of great temptation. Yet, lying here, he wanted -- despite his body's even more mysterious failure to cooperate. The only relief had been the blessed moments when Qui-Gon was caressing him.

Qui-Gon's voice was grave as he replied, "I'm sure you will survive, Padawan. Few have died of unfulfilled lust, after all. But this worries me more and more, that we neither of us understand what the Force is guiding us towards. I have rarely felt so unsure..." Lost in thought, his fingers curled around Obi-Wan's reflexively. "Perhaps there's a clue somewhere in the sources Horatius cites. I need to go through them in more detail--"

His master let go of his hand to reach for the datapad, but Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's wrist before he could pick it up. His heart was pounding madly in his chest: he couldn't believe he was about to ask Qui-Gon this question.

"Will you grant me your indulgence, Master?"

Qui-Gon stilled at the formal request, his eyes searching Obi-Wan's face. His answer, when it came, followed the prescribed form. "If it be in my power, and if it suit my pleasure."

Obi-Wan winced inside. He didn't want the hedgings and equivocations of the rote reply; he wanted the same unreserved trust he had offered Qui-Gon a few moments ago. Now he was more nervous than ever. This was his Master, the person who had been his guardian for six years. What a thing to request! But he had to ask.

"Will you give me relief, since I cannot find it for myself?"

He could tell immediately from Qui-Gon's shocked expression that his master would refuse him. Those blue eyes rarely showed emotion, but they were wide open now, pupils expanding rapidly.

"I can survive it," he whispered, "but it's beginning to hurt. Please, Master."

Qui-Gon was already turning away, pulling his wrist from Obi-Wan's grasp as he pushed himself off the bed. The creamy length of his thighs and buttocks flashed into view as he bent to snatch up a pair of discarded leggings. Obi-Wan caught his breath at the sight, then quickly shut his eyes, hearing the rustle of cloth as Qui-Gon drew the leggings on. He'd seen Qui-Gon naked many times and thought nothing of it; it was a sign of his desperation that a glimpse of his master's backside was enough to twist the frustration in him to a truly painful level.

Yet his penis was still flaccid, dangling uselessly between his legs. The ache was physical, sexual; but even if he could have achieved an erection on his own, he doubted that a climax could quench this hunger. And in the meantime, he'd selfishly pestered his master with a request that had obviously upset him. Qui-Gon had asked for something for them both; Obi-Wan's demand had been only for himself. He should apologise and leave now...

"Take off your leggings, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was quiet and steady as he settled back down onto the bed.

"What?" For a moment, Obi-Wan couldn't accept the meaning of Qui-Gon's simple words.

"Your leggings. Slip them down for me."

"Master," he didn't bother to disguise his relief as he stared up into Qui-Gon's earnest face. "You don't have to do this -- I shouldn't have asked--"

One large finger was pressed to his lips. "While I regret the necessity that forces you to ask it, Padawan, I am happy to do this for you. It is in my power, and it suits my pleasure." Qui-Gon accompanied the formulaic acceptance of his padawan's request with a small grin that on anyone else would have seemed sheepish. "It won't be such a hardship, Obi-Wan." The grin grew wider. "I might even manage to enjoy it. Now, if you haven't changed your mind..." He glanced pointedly at Obi-Wan's groin.

"Oh, no chance of that!" Obi-Wan's breath might have been stolen for a moment by that unexpectedly devilish smile, but he knew when action was called for. He hooked his thumbs into the belt of his leggings and obligingly wriggled till they were pushed down to his knees. "It's all yours," he spread his hands, indicating the limp cock snuggled up in its bed of curling hair. "A challenge for you."

"Hmm. I think this situation calls for drastic measures." Qui-Gon followed his lead, letting humour mask any discomfort he might be feeling. "Consider yourself warned that I'm about to grab your balls, Padawan."

Obi-Wan's laughter was abruptly transformed into a deep groan as Qui-Gon's fingers curled around his penis, gently pulling down the foreskin to expose the soft, pink head. Just that simple gesture was enough to have the blood pounding through his arteries, bringing him semi-erect again at painful speed.

"I don't think it's my balls you've got there, Master," he gasped. "But don't let that stop you."

Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. "I thought you had a challenge ready for me. How can I prove my abilities if you insist on responding so quickly?" His fingers followed his words, lightly teasing Obi-Wan's already hardened flesh.

Obi-Wan wanted to reply in kind, downplaying the urgency of his need with a joke, but at that moment Qui-Gon stroked a calloused thumb across the fraenulum just below the head of his cock. He gave a startled cry, the air pushed from his lungs by the shock of desire shooting up through him.

"Padawan?" The soft question requested Obi-Wan's reassurance, but he did not have it to give. He could only dig his fingers into the bedclothes, trying desperately to catch his breath. He had just been expecting a relief of tension; this intensity was startlingly more than he had bargained for.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke more firmly. "Look at me."

He didn't want Qui-Gon to see this lack of control in him, but in obedience he raised his eyes to meet Qui-Gon's intent gaze.

"It's alright, Padawan." The strength of conviction in the older man's tone was nearly enough to settle Obi-Wan's sudden discomposure. "Don't fear your own desire: I'm not here to judge you for it." Qui-Gon's voice gentled. "You can let me see. I'll not bring any shame nor harm to you. And I won't do this if it leads to shame between us."

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted. "Then I'd best not be ashamed, because if you don't do it, I'll go insane. Now, my Master."

The last was a command. Qui-Gon complied, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's as his thumb repeated that caress, rough skin sliding against smooth, sparking another shiver of sensation up Obi-Wan's spine. This time he let the surge of desire rip through him, resolutely meeting his master's sympathetic gaze as his hips jerked up, pushing his cock against Qui-Gon's hand. He didn't try to stifle the whimper which left his throat. "Again."

Qui-Gon's hand closed around his shaft, nowhere near as firm as his grip would have been on his lightsabre, but tight enough to leave Obi-Wan shuddering as it moved inexorably up to enfold the weeping head. He knew his face was flushing red: he could feel the heat of it. But Qui-Gon's hand was hotter yet, soft skin and calluses stroking back down him.

They stared at each other as Qui-Gon did it again and again, each time a little harder. Each time, Obi-Wan moaned a little louder, and Qui-Gon's breathing grew a little faster, till their mouths were both open and their lips were swollen with the blood rushing to their cheeks. These obvious signs of arousal, so unexpectedly found on his master's flushed face, made Obi-Wan's desire sharper still; suddenly, he was proud that his own face must mirror Qui-Gon's, displaying his desire as much as did his rising hips -- for each time Qui-Gon stroked him, Obi-Wan pushed up to meet the descending hand.

But he was too eager, breaking out of Qui-Gon's rhythm more often than not, till he groaned between gritted teeth, "Gods, won't you go any faster? Please."

"I can't, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice shook. "I'll hurt you. Let me get some oil--"

"Don't you dare stop!"

Qui-Gon did, though, for an excrutiating moment of indecision. The look on his padawan's face, part threat and part desperation, must have convinced him: he reared up and with both hands hauled Obi-Wan's leggings the rest of the way down, the sound of ripping cloth deeply satisfying in some atavistic way Obi-Wan didn't care to analyse.

Then any thought of analysis -- any thought of any kind -- fled completely as Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan's knees apart and swallowed Obi-Wan's cock into his mouth.

Gods, it was hot and it was moist, and Qui-Gon had taken him in halfway down his entire length, closing his lips round the rigid flesh and sucking hard. Qui-Gon's tongue had curled around to press against the sensitive folds just below the head of the penis where his thumb had earlier wrought such devastation on Obi-Wan's senses, the slight roughness of tastebuds just near the tonguetip enough to have Obi-Wan crying out loud, "Master!" Mindlessly, he thrust up into that liquid heat, uncaring of any harm he might do Qui-Gon.

His response must have been anticipated, for his master's large hands had already moved to shackle Obi-Wan's thighs to the bed, holding him down as he strove to ram himself into Qui-Gon's throat. The weight of Qui-Gon's heavily muscled torso absorbed the powerful upward surge of his body with ease, pinning him relentlessly in place. It was an unexpected blessing, for it left him free to push as hard as he wanted, his muscles craving their part in his fight for release. Qui-Gon leant into his fruitless thrusts, hands bruising on his thighs, mouth now sucking hard enough to bruise his cock.

"Oooh," Obi-Wan sighed, feeling the brush of Qui-Gon's hair against his inner thighs. "Please, it tickles...too much. C-can't take this. Let me come, Qui-Gon, I beg you."

He couldn't tell if Qui-Gon was paying him the least bit of mind, for his master's face was now hidden by the curtain of his silvered hair tumbling down to Obi-Wan's groin. The suction grew slacker, if anything, Qui-Gon's tongue no longer flat against the length of his penis, rubbing against the big vein there instead.

But his master was not without mercy, for a moment later Qui-Gon was lowering himself even further, slowly allowing the head of Obi-Wan's penis into the cavern of soft tissues at the back of his mouth. The delicate fluttering of Qui-Gon's epiglottis against the sensitive tip had Obi-Wan pleading mindlessly; then babbling his thanks as Qui-Gon pushed that little bit further to take Obi-Wan into the tighter channel of his throat. His lips were a soft warmth sliding all the way down Obi-Wan's shaft till they reached the root of his penis, his beard a prickle on Obi-Wan's balls.

"Please..." It was wicked to beg for more, when he had never imagined that Qui-Gon would do such an intimate thing for him, but he needed, so badly. His hands gripped the bedclothes in an effort not to wind into Qui-Gon's hair, because then he would push and push -- and if he came in his master's mouth, he would never live down the embarrassment. But it was going to be so hard to leave this incredible warmth...

Qui-Gon's tongue snaked out to lick round the root of Obi-Wan's penis, probing between its tender underside and his own lower lip. A moment later, the dampened curve of his master's lip slipped down, sliding moistly over the skin of Obi-Wan's scrotum, jaw opening wide to take in as much of Obi-Wan's genitalia as he could. Obi-Wan gasped at the gentle sucking pulling his balls up into that torrid heat. The movement forced Obi-Wan even further down Qui-Gon's throat, but his master didn't hesitate, relaxing his muscles to aid Obi-Wan's entry.

Then he swallowed around the invading cockhead. Obi-Wan shouted as the muscles rippled down the length of him to the tender tip of his cock.

His balls were released and Qui-Gon withdrew to halfway up his shaft, throat and lips and tongue caressing him with wet friction as they passed by. "No," Obi-Wan groaned, "don't leave me. If you love me at all -- ah!"

Qui-Gon had plunged back down to his root, quicker this time, throat muscles accepting Obi-Wan's passage with ease. Again the loose skin of his testicles were sucked up into the warmth, again his penis felt the grasp of muscles as Qui-Gon swallowed, and this time when Qui-Gon withdrew, Obi-Wan sobbed a protest to the sound of the sheet ripping beneath his hand.

Back down, and he couldn't stop himself, surely he didn't need to warn his master because the man must be able to feel the tightening of the balls beneath his lip, but Qui-Gon only pulled a little way back, enough to let Obi-Wan's seed fill his mouth as his padawan suddenly came, spurting into him. Obi-Wan jerked twice against the hold of Qui-Gon's hands on his thighs, yelling Qui-Gon's name in one long ululation of relief.

"Master," he had the breath left to whisper, when his softening penis finally slipped through Qui-Gon's lips. His master's hands grew gentle on his thighs, and Qui-Gon's head lifted so their eyes met again.

Qui-Gon's lips were a brilliant, bruised red, and he was still swallowing. Obi-Wan shuddered for the decadence of it, where he had never expected to see decadence before, but more for the stunned look on Qui-Gon's face.

Wordlessly, Obi-Wan patted the space beside him, and Qui-Gon moved to join him there, lying on the bed facing him. For a moment, they just looked at each other, no more than a finger's breadth between them. Qui-Gon's voice was hoarse when finally he spoke.

"You were very -- vocal."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispered, too ensnared by the brilliant blue of Qui-Gon's eyes to entertain any such regret.

"No, don't be. The last time I had a padawan on this bed..."

Qui-Gon's voice petered out as he continued to look into Obi-Wan's eyes, his face so close that his breath brushed Obi-Wan's mouth with each exhalation. They lay there, neither of them blinking, just staring at each other till Obi-Wan broke the spell.

"The last time..?" He watched as Qui-Gon's eyes shifted their gaze down to his mouth, as if he were lipreading to make sense of Obi-Wan's words.

"Xani. He wasn't so -- taken with it. It was good to hear you." Now that voice was like the sound of stones rolling along a river bed, slow and deep and gravelly.

"Thank you." He too spoke slowly, struggling to find words which slipped from his mind, blown away by the puff of Qui-Gon's breath on his lips. "Did you like doing that?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, a furrow of concentration marking his brows before he answered. "It was sweet within the Force. You taste good..."

"I do?"

"Not the way I thought you would. More -- of you. More like you."

Obi-Wan blinked sagely, as if he understood Qui-Gon's words. "Would you do it again for me? Now?" The question had left his lips before any thought of saying it occurred to him.

"Obi-Wan -- " His name was a strangled thread of sound. He watched Qui-Gon swallow, watched his pupils dilate once more till the intense blue of his eyes was nearly eclipsed by the inky depths.

It couldn't have been more than two ko ago that he had first asked Qui-Gon this question, hedged round with ritual and equivocation and fear. Now all he felt was a calm content. He wanted this. Qui-Gon would want it too. Everything was so simple.

As if the same thought had occurred to Qui-Gon, he began to smile, little lines creasing at the sides of his mouth till they were deep grooves. The dazed look had left his face: now his whole focus was intent on Obi-Wan.

"Would this be in the nature of a second dessert, my Padawan?" No longer the hoarse rasp of a moment ago, Qui-Gon's voice was laced with amusement.

Obi-Wan smiled back, slowly regaining his own focus. "It might be. I think I deserve some indulgence, anyway."

"Oh, do you?" Qui-Gon's teeth flashed white. "It seems to me as if I will be the one getting dessert. Or at least a taste of something new."

But Qui-Gon had already licked Obi-Wan most intimately; what did he--? Oh. Oh, his master couldn't mean... "Roll over, Padawan. And take off that tunic."

Oh, yes he did. Belatedly, Obi-Wan remembered that Qui-Gon never did anything by half measures. Already the bigger man was pushing himself to a seated position, reaching over to the shelf by the bed and snatching up his leather hair tie to wind it briskly round his tail.

Obi-Wan thought about protesting, then realised that the only thing he wanted to protest was the loss of the incredibly tantalising tickle Qui-Gon's hair on his flesh would bring. He was far too lethargic to object to anything else his master cared to do to him. In fact, he felt rather decadent, lying there decorously dressed from the waist up, naked from the waist down, and with no intention of lifting a single finger to change that condition.

Qui-Gon turned back, and his eyebrows rose at the sight of Obi-Wan, still partly dressed; his hands, fiddling with the tie, went still.

"Do you want to retract your request, Obi-Wan? You're under no obligation..."

Qui-Gon broke off as Obi-Wan stretched, slowly, bringing up his arms in one long, sinuous movement to rest above his head.

"If you want me undressed, my Master, you'd best do it yourself. I couldn't move any more than a Sithulian sea slug." Languidly he stretched again, in brazen contradiction of his previous words.

From under his lashes, he watched Qui-Gon take in the blatant tease -- and surge into action. Unceremoniously he was rolled onto his front and his tunic was whipped off over his head, an action much facilitated by his current position. Then a beard was scratching its way down over his shoulderblade, followed by a soft, hot mouth.

"I don't know what tickles more, your hair or your beard," Obi-Wan said dreamily, stretching into the bedclothes this time.

"I'm told the beard," Qui-Gon interrupted his mouthing of Obi-Wan's ribs to reply. "Did you know you have freckles down your spine, Padawan?"

"I'm told they're quite appealing." He felt Qui-Gon's teeth trace a bump of bone in the middle of his back. The tug went directly through his body to his navel, making him catch his breath and starting his penis swelling again, impossible so soon after the powerful orgasm he'd just experienced. But then, he'd never thought he'd be given fellatio by his master, either; this was clearly a night filled with impossibilities.

By now, Qui-Gon had reached the soft fuzz near the base of his spine, just before the swelling of his hips began. Qui-Gon wasn't biting anymore; he was licking instead, gentle flicks of his tongue stirring the tiny hairs there. There was none of the easy familiarity with Obi-Wan's body that DeeDee or Hestia had shown earlier that night, but the tentative little licks were infinitely more arousing. Just as his penis reached full erection, Qui-Gon changed tack, striping the tender flesh near Obi-Wan's sides with wide long swathes of wetness.

Obi-Wan squirmed at the sensation, as much to feel the brush of the sheet against his cock as to escape his master's attentions. "Do you intend to lick me all over? I did wash this evening, you know."

Qui-Gon laughed, the sound of it a rumble deep in his chest, the vibration of it a buzz between his lips and the curve of Obi-Wan's hip. "You've awoken my curiosity, Padawan. I want to know what you taste like, everywhere. Your back, your sides -- even down to the soles of your feet."

If this was the result of Qui-Gon's curiosity, he shuddered to think what effect the man's passion might have: he'd be devoured alive. Perhaps it was time to lay down some boundaries. "Touch my balls all you want, but the feet are off-limits."

"Ah, I'd forgotten how ticklish you are. Perhaps I'd best confine my attentions to somewhere they might be appreciated." There was a suggestion of a tongue flicking against the beginning of the cleft between his buttocks.

Obi-Wan gave a soft moan, obligingly spreading his legs a little wider when Qui-Gon nudged his thigh with one hand. He moaned again as the hand continued down, stroking to the back of one knee with firm, assured pressure. "Checking out your handiwork?" he asked, as Qui-Gon kneaded the muscles in his calf.

"My handiwork?"

"I am as you made me, my Master. Anything you find here is your doing."

"Nonsense," Qui-Gon replied brusquely. "You made yourself, Obi-Wan, from your own hard work, your own determination and courage. I wouldn't steal that credit from you. It is curious, though, to see how you have changed. There is much here to admire." He slid his hand back up the other leg, coming to rest with fingers very near Obi-Wan's sac.

"That area's particularly appreciative of admiration," Obi-Wan hinted, squirming indecisively between Qui-Gon's fingers and his mouth, which had returned to nibble at Obi-Wan's coccyx.

"Which? This?" Qui-Gon drifted his fingers over the delicate skin at the very base of Obi-Wan's balls. "Or this?" His teasing voice stopped as he licked, gently, into Obi-Wan's crease.

"I have to choose?" Obi-Wan said breathlessly, holding himself as still as he could, willing that tongue a little lower.

Gods, he wanted his master to rim him. He'd never once conceived of Qui-Gon's mouth on someone else's arse before, and now he was lying there, waiting for it to happen to him. The realisation had him burying his head in the bedclothes once more, a hot wave of furious flushing tingeing his skin pink all over.

He heard Qui-Gon chuckle again, a rich, warm sound. "Blushing for your greediness, Padawan? Don't worry, I'll do both soon enough."

He blushed again, relieved that Qui-Gon had misinterpreted the reason for his sudden embarrassment. "You could start just there. Oh..." as Qui-Gon did, parting the soft cheeks with gentle fingers to lick his way down in slow, luscious swipes of his tongue. "Yes..."

It was a staggeringly good feeling, despite the occasional scrape of beard on the tender flesh, and of course his master was as proficient at this as a man who could take a prick down his throat would be, setting every nerve ending in Obi-Wan's bottom screaming in anticipation.

The licking stopped abruptly.

"Who's so fond of quallia berries, Padawan? I know it's not you."

Gods. Obi-Wan had totally forgotten the flavoured lubricant he'd been prepped with earlier that evening.

"Hestia, I think," he mumbled into the sheets, blushing harder than before.

"Ah." One short, neutral syllable. "I'm not overly taken with them, myself."

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's weight lift off the bed, but he couldn't bring himself to roll over and apologise for such a stunning faux pas. He doubted he could meet Qui-Gon's eyes. Coming to his master's bed, still wet with traces of his earlier attempts at lovemaking: yes, it was all understandable, but not to even have warned his master... And Qui-Gon had suddenly sounded so withdrawn.

He didn't hear any footsteps above the hum of the ventilator, but the sudden noise of a tap running water told him that his master had gone through to the lavabo while he lay there in his haze of humiliation. Miserably, he realised that Qui-Gon must be washing the taste out of his mouth. Perhaps tonight really was turning into one of the most embarrassing and frustrating of his entire apprenticeship.

He was contemplating creeping out of the big bed and making his way back to his own when a damp finger danced along his spine, sending shudders chasing after it. Qui-Gon had slipped back in as silently as he had left.

"Would you mind, Padawan, if I cleaned that stuff off you?"

Obi-Wan gave a shiver of relief, though he would have said, if asked, that it was from the chill of the water trail Qui-Gon was leaving down his back.

"Of course not, Master," he answered huskily. "Do whatever you want. And I'm so sorry I-- "

"Hush," Qui-Gon told him. "You hardly intended this when you knocked on my door. But I'd prefer to taste you, rather than some dubiously flavoured muck. Hestia must have a very sweet tooth."

That make Obi-Wan laugh. "He never grew out of it the way I did."

"How's this? Too cold?" Qui-Gon began wiping a damp cloth between Obi-Wan's legs, the warmed material surprisingly soft against the folds of skin round his testicles. His balls shifted under Qui-Gon's hand.

"No, it's blissful. What is that you're using?"

"Microtex: it's made from the same stuff as the microgaunts, I believe. Very thin, very fine." The cloth was now dabbing against his perineum, a sensation not unlike Qui-Gon's own tongue flicking his skin. His master was being so careful, so gentle, but he was an adult male; he wouldn't break.

"You can rub harder, if you want."

The pressure against him increased a little, but not as much as he had hoped for. Still, Qui-Gon's hand was finally moving up into the cleft, wiping it clean of all vestiges of Hestia's tastes. "Mmm. Nice."

"You must have worn out your voice, Padawan. You're much quieter this time."

A finger swaddled in the soft cloth pressed against his opening, slipping easily in with no more friction than oiled skin would have brought. He sighed, shifting his hips slightly into the touch. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me if you dislike it."

Obi-Wan groaned as the finger brushed in a circular pattern, stimulating every nerve ending in the sensitive anal tissues. "Not yet. Why don't you try two fingers? I might dislike it then."

Qui-Gon laughed and withdrew the cooling cloth. "That should be enough. Roll over."

His protest was ignored as Qui-Gon's hands settled on his hips, pulling him onto his back and spreading his thighs. Another wet cloth settled on his now eager penis, hotter than the last.

"Do you have an infinite supply of those?"

"One more after this. I'm saving it for something special."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look at Qui-Gon. His master was sitting up beside him, weight borne on one hand while he cleaned Obi-Wan's sweaty skin with the other. His face was solemn, lines of concentration marked on his brow as he explored the rises and indents of Obi-Wan's groin with the damp rag.

"I might like something special."

A sudden grin lit up Qui-Gon's features; Obi-Wan's breath caught to see it. "I hope you will, Padawan. You must say if you don't."

"Can I say if I do?"

Again that wicked smile, so uncharacteristic of his master. It made him look a different man entirely. "You won't be able to speak at all, if I do it right."

"What are you waiting for?" Obi-Wan thrust his cock into Qui-Gon's hand.

"Don't you remember? I'm due a dessert." Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled at him, and then the big head was between his thighs, licking every spot the rag had passed over with hungry enthusiasm. Obi-Wan would have shouted if he could have, but instead he made do with moaning at the drag of a wide, flat tongue over his balls, at the probe of its tip into the ticklish hollows between groin and thigh, at the nuzzling of a large, broken nose into the damp hair surrounding his cock. He lay boneless, his hands on the bed above his head, as Qui-Gon turned his body this way and that, moving a leg to get his tongue into the little cranny just so, tilting Obi-Wan's cock to one side to lick the slit at the top.

It was soothing, warming, then tantalising beyond measure. He moaned louder. "Please, my Master, I like that, I really do."

Qui-Gon's huff of laughter was a tickle against the base of his cock, setting his balls on edge. "Good." There was a wealth of satisfaction in that deep voice. "What do you say to this?"

The curling warmth of Qui-Gon's tongue retraced the path the cloth had first taken, along the division between Obi-Wan's testicles to the firm swelling of his perineum beyond. "Oh, yes, that's better, that's wonderful. You wouldn't by any chance have done this before, Master?"

"Impudent brat." Teeth nipped gently at him, then Qui-Gon rolled him on his side, manoeuvring Obi-Wan's leg up at an angle. He settled on the bed beside his padawan. "Can you stay like that?"

"Surely," Obi-Wan sighed in satisfaction, letting the weight of his limb balance into the socket of his hip. He'd always liked being taken in this position: it spoke to him of long, slow loving, gentle thrusts with no demands behind them.

But Qui-Gon wasn't there to fuck him. That clever tongue was on him again, tracking up from his perineum to his crack; but, if either of them were to pay attention to duty, it would be a cock brushing against his anus now.

Obi-Wan screwed up his will to make the offer he ought.

"You can try again, if you want."

Qui-Gon stopped. "Do you want me to?" He hadn't needed to ask what Obi-Wan meant.

"In all honesty, no. We should, but I'm enjoying this too much--"

"And so am I," Qui-Gon said firmly, cutting off any further discussion. "Live in the moment, Padawan. We can fret about all that tomorrow." His tongue flicked against Obi-Wan's opening, a tiny jab of wetness. "And I'd prefer not to have you tighten up against me just yet."

Immediately Obi-Wan reached down, fingers digging in to one buttock to pull his bottom cheeks further apart. "I won't, Master. Put your tongue in me: I want it there."

He heard Qui-Gon's breath catch, then there was another hand spreading him from below, and Qui-Gon's mouth was back, beard scratchy against the sensitive flesh but Obi-Wan didn't care, as long as that fleshy probe pushed into him -- and it did, wriggling and squirming into him, agile and quick like the dart of a reptile's tongue, greedily lapping.

"Qui-Gon," he gasped, "my Master, please, slow down. It's t-too fast. I want to feel you."

Immediately Qui-Gon's movements eased, becoming long strokes in and out of Obi-Wan's sphincter, deliberate and thorough enough that Obi-Wan could make out the curl of the tip as it passed through the flexing ring, the slight roughness at the sides, the smoothness below...

Languorous, delicate, that tongue pierced him deep.

"Yes," he whispered in pleasure. "Like that. Don't rush the moment. Oh, good, so good, didn't know you could do that..." Long shudders began to wrack Obi-Wan's body. His master took his time, responding to the slow pattern of the tremors to set his pace. Other than the trembling, Obi-Wan lay totally still, eyes closed as he focussed on the sound of Qui-Gon's deep breathing.

The shudders intensified as Qui-Gon's hand slipped between his legs and over his cock, covering it with the last warm cloth. The heat of it was marvellous. When the warmth began to dissipate, Qui-Gon gripped him through the cloth and began to masturbate him with it in the same slow rhythm, a perfect complement to the hot, soft tongue in Obi-Wan's anus. It slithered up and down his flesh, warm and wet and wonderful pressure.

"Aaah." Obi-Wan was held on a knifepoint of pleasure between the two sensations, his body passive between them yet startlingly aware. Some moment soon he would slip, falling into ecstasy, but he wouldn't go just yet... Beneath him the sheet crinkled with the movements of Qui-Gon's hand. His own braid brushed his nipple in time to the rhythm, the barest touch like sandpaper against the delicate nub. A drop of water fell from the rag to his thigh, spilling over the curve to the bed...

He came. It was between the end of one long shudder and the beginning of the next, yet it went on forever. Qui-Gon caught his semen in the warm cloth, but the seed itself hardly seemed relevant, for it was his whole body climaxing at the last.

Qui-Gon withdrew his long tongue and sat up, slipping Obi-Wan over onto his back once more. He lay there shivering for some time afterwards, his eyes closed, until a kiss brushed his nipple.

"Obi-Wan." The summons was very quiet. "Don't you think it is time for you to go to bed?"

"I can't move." It wasn't a tease: Obi-Wan had only just managed the effort needed for speech. "Let me sleep here, Master. Or take me to my own bed. I don't care."

Qui-Gon sighed. "If you think I have the energy to carry you after that, Padawan, you overrate my abilities. Stay there, then."

Reprieved, Obi-Wan lay motionless as Qui-Gon stirred around him, folding Obi-Wan's discarded clothes into a neat pile on a chair, placing his boots underneath, and collecting the cloths into a basin he had carried through from the lavabo.

"Up a bit, now." For all he had claimed he was incapable, Qui-Gon seemed to have no problems levitating Obi-Wan a few inches while he stripped the torn sheet out from under him, settling him down nearer the pillows. A new sheet was tucked round him, crisp cotton with the starch still a rich aroma in the fibres, then the warmth of the coverlet was drawn over him.

"Wh's pil'ws?" Obi-Wan mumbled hopefully.

Qui-Gon sighed again, but Obi-Wan heard the door open, and a few moments later Qui-Gon was back with Obi-Wan's pillows, much softer and fluffier than his own. "Mmmm. Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome, my Padawan." Qui-Gon turned off the light and slipped in beside him. "Sleep well."

Of course, Obi-Wan could not go to sleep at all.

He'd been allowed to share Qui-Gon's bed a number of times before, usually in illness. Then there had been the month after Reeft's death when his nightmares woke him so frequently that Qui-Gon insisted he sleep nearby, so his master could soothe him in his dreams. And last year, after that terrible trip to Brahas, even back in the safety of the Temple they had clung to each other for the first few nights, sleeping together without needing to discuss it.

So the big bed was no novelty to him; nor was the soft breathing of his master just an arm's length away. But there were too many thoughts chasing themselves in his mind to drop off easily, now that the sharp urgency of sexual need had been slaked. From the awareness he had of Qui-Gon in the Force, the same was true of the older man. Perhaps they could talk, instead. For there was a question that, now he thought of it, Obi-Wan was surprised he had never asked before.

"What was your Ritual like, Master?"

"Hmmm?" Qui-Gon replied sleepily.

"Your Ritual. We've talked a lot about Xanatos, but we haven't talked at all about you. You must have done the Ritual, yes?"

"Yes." For all the short reply, Qui-Gon sounded more awake now.

"So? What was it like?" When his master didn't immediately reply, Obi-Wan prompted, "Was it about submission, like Xanatos'?" If it had been, Obi-Wan could only assume it had been a lesson imperfectly learnt.

Qui-Gon sighed. "There are many kinds of submission, Obi-Wan. You think of it too literally: you see it as obedience to the Council, or to the Code. You want to know what you need to do, and then do it, all the guidelines clearly laid out for you, transgressions easy to judge. Everything is black and white with you."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No, though it can be a weakness, if it makes you fearful to act on your feelings when the situation requires you to form an interpretation of your own. But we've broached that question before -- and will again, if you are to be knighted one day." That day seemed more distant now than it had in the two years preceding.

Qui-Gon shifted onto his back. "The submission Xanatos needed to make was not to the rules of the Order, although he saw it in those terms. He was being asked, instead, to submit himself to something far more demanding: to the ideal of being a Jedi. He had to take into himself the highest aspirations of our Order and make them his, as he would take my seed into his body."

"A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind," murmured Obi-Wan, resting his head by Qui-Gon's shoulder.

"It was time for him to commit himself wholly to the Force, to allow it to chart the course of his life. Not an arid list of proscriptions, Padawan, but a goal to be strived for, every day with all your heart and mind." Qui-Gon must have smiled, for his voice was warm as he said, "Not that I need to tell you that, my Padawan, for you do it as naturally as breathing." Obi-Wan blushed in the dark. "For all his ability in manipulation of the Force -- and he was naturally more gifted at that than either you or I -- he found such commitment hard. Eventually, it proved beyond him."

"I can't imagine you ever needed to learn that kind of submission, Master." Obi-Wan did not plan to discuss Xanatos the whole night.

"Not that kind, no. But I had my own weaknesses."

Obi-Wan made an enquiring sound.

"I was found late, not like you. Yoda didn't stumble across me until I was five. And by that time, I had developed some ... bad habits. He worked hard during my early training to correct them, but with mixed success. I didn't really want to let go of them. I didn't understand the need."

Qui-Gon paused for so long that Obi-Wan wondered if he would continue.

"It's alright, Master. You don't have to confess to them if you don't want to."

"It's not that. Any faults of mine you haven't uncovered over the last six years can hardly be grievous, after all." He continued slowly, " But, if I tell you this story, I don't want you to think less of Yoda for it."

"Master Yoda? Why should I do that?" Obi-Wan propped himself up on one arm, trying to see his master's features in the dark. "Because I was so opposed to doing the Ritual with another master? Of course I understand that it was totally different for you and Yoda. I hardly expected him to have taken you through the Ritual himself, after all." Obi-Wan gave a small laugh. "That's what the different species dispensation is for, isn't it? And if you two don't count as different species..."

"No. In fact, we don't. If you remember your earlier lessons, the dispensation is normally only granted when the master and the padawan do not share an understanding of the symbolism behind the rite of penetration. Yoda's species is fully aware of that symbolism, as is mine."

"But, even so, Master Yoda isn't really of a size to..."

"Size matters not."

"Surely you're joking, Qui-Gon. Yoda wouldn't..."

Obi-Wan petered out in the face of Qui-Gon's silence.

"Master?" he whispered, "he didn't... he couldn't have..."

"He did."

Obi-Wan collapsed back down on the bed.

"Oh."

"You didn't expect that, did you, young man?"

"I can't say that I did," he replied feebly, his mind still trying to conjure up the image of Qui-Gon. With Yoda. Teetering between two opposing reactions, he couldn't think of anything else to say. Qui-Gon might find his utter disbelief upsetting, but hysterical laughter wasn't the right reponse, either...

"Trained for the unexpected, a Jedi should be," Qui-Gon said, in a passable imitation of his diminutive master, tipping Obi-Wan over into a shout of laughter.

He smothered his face in the pillow to stifle the next one, before he could bring himself to say, "There is no training thorough enough to cope with that idea, Master!"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Don't tell me you never wondered whether he had, because I won't believe you."

"It was certainly a topic of conversation amongst my friends when we first got told about the Ritual," Obi-Wan confessed. "They all dared me to ask you, but you can imagine what I said to that."

"You were a very reserved boy, when it came to sex. Surprising how quickly that changed."

Obi-Wan ignored the small gibe; Qui-Gon was probably entitled to it, given Obi-Wan's laughter at his own expense a moment previously. "I didn't think it could be true, or if it was, that he'd done it -- oh, I don't know. Maybe using a dildo, the way a female master would, or just using the Force to give you the sensation..."

"No. He did it with his own body."

Obi-Wan sat back up, saying in tones of triumphant discovery, "So Master Yoda does have a--"

He broke off abruptly, as the visual image to match his thoughts crashed into his head.

"A cock?" Qui-Gon completed calmly. "Yes, he does. Oh, don't worry, Padawan, your circle of friends are certainly not the first to have contemplated that great question of the universe. Mine were, too, and even more eager to have me ask Yoda if he planned to use it on me. Unlike you, however, I was able to work up the courage and pose the question."

"And he told you yes," Obi-Wan said, settling back down on one elbow to listen in fascination.

"He did. But the details -- he was as deliberately obscure about those as only Yoda can be. Just as well; perhaps he sensed even then that it would be difficult."

"Master?" Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon's shoulder diffidently, curiosity suddenly tempered by the memory of Qui-Gon's initial reluctance to tell the tale. "How bad was it?" For he knew his master's habit of understatement.

Qui-Gon sighed and rolled onto his stomach, away from Obi-Wan. "I'd spent too many years developing my use of the Force on my own before Yoda took me in hand. You know the Living Force has always come easily to me. Before Yoda found me and chose me as his apprentice, I had virtually no awareness of the Unifying Force at all. His training helped, but often I would fall back on the Living Force when I should have been reaching out to the Unifying, or trying to balance them both within me. It's like using any pair of muscles in your legs or arms. If you overdevelop one, you risk damaging the other, and my sense of the Living Force was developed well beyond the norm. Yoda chided me for it many times, but maintaining a balance was beyond me. I failed often, and as I grew more powerful in the Force and more complex tasks were given to me, the danger inherent in those failures grew. It became clear to both Yoda and myself that, if I couldn't control this problem, I would not take my Trials.

"I came to the Ritual a little younger than you, Padawan, barely eighteen. I hadn't completed all the intermediate level yet, but Yoda decided we had to cure me of my reliance on the Living Force before my training went much further. So he packed me onto a small cargo craft, borrowed a couple of utility droids from a Senate representative he knew, and we set off for the Rim. He wouldn't tell me very much, merely that we were on course for a sun on the edge of the Lirring sector. It only had one small satellite, more moon than planet, with hardly any atmosphere of its own. I looked it up during the flight: it was utterly isolated, parsecs from the nearest inhabited system.

"I'd assumed the droids were there because, much as Yoda hates them, he hates flying a ship even more. But when we landed, he had the droids set up a biobubble, the sort which will keep you alive for a few weeks in an emergency. Then he levitated a huge boulder into the bubble and chained me to it."

"He did what?" Obi-Wan interrupted in astonishment.

"He asked me to strip off all my clothes. He took away my commlink, my utility belt, my lightsabre... the last was the worst. I felt completely bereft without it. Then he had me lie face down on the boulder, my arms and legs spread out, and he created manacles from the stone itself. I'd thought the power he had demonstrated lifting the boulder was impressive enough, but to watch him carve the rock with his mind, moulding it around my wrists like toffee, was awesome. He is much weaker now than he was then."

The antipathy towards Yoda which had stirred in Obi-Wan during Qui-Gon's quiet narration was stilled again by the sadness in his master's tone. "Is he dying?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"We all die. Even Yoda must die someday, though he will probably outlive us both. But others have written of him as unaging, unchanging, and that is no longer true. He ages, now."

"I hadn't thought of that," Obi-Wan said, lying back and reaching out to tug gently at a strand of Qui-Gon's hair. "Please, Master, continue."

Qui-Gon rolled onto his back, towards Obi-Wan once more, lying as his padawan did staring up at the dark ceiling. "When I was chained securely, he stroked my cheek and told me goodbye."

"He left you." Obi-Wan was appalled.

"Yes. He programmed one of the droids to take care of me, and it remained, but he took the ship into hyperspace and left me there. I--" there was a small break in Qui-Gon's voice, "I was very alone, Padawan."

"Did he expect you to free yourself?" Obi-Wan asked indignantly. "How could he test you like that?"

"No, I wasn't meant to escape. He wanted me to be on my own: truly on my own, many parsecs from any other being capable of symbiosis with midichlorians. And once his ship was gone, there was little point to breaking free from the rock, even if I could have managed it. But my attention was focussed elsewhere. It wasn't long before I yearned for the touch of the Living Force, for anyone else's Force signature other than my own. The droid was diligent, feeding me and clearing away my wastes, keeping the temperature constant for me; but it was only an R2 model, not even capable of speech.

"I began to extend my awareness as far as I could, searching for anyone, anything. I convinced myself that Yoda had brought the ship back out of hyperspace on the other side of the sun and was sitting there, monitoring me, just waiting for -- I couldn't say what, but I tried to contact him, more frantically every time, and when I could not I sent my consciousness searching in ever-increasing circles. I believe I might have touched a nearby star, but there was no-one there."

To think of Qui-Gon, younger than Obi-Wan was now, frightened and alone... "How long did he leave you for?"

"I could not tell, for I measure my life in the heartbeats of others. By the end, my own midichlorians were beginning to die, cut off from the vitality of the rest of the Force. I even tried to instil something of myself into the droid, in the desperate hopes of having another living being with me... I must have been nearly insane when Yoda came back."

"But -- we've spent time abandoned in space before. You've always coped."

"Even now, I would find it hard in as isolated a place as that. Then, I had no resources within myself to help me survive. I couldn't draw on the Unifying Force as I needed to, for only the Unifying Force can bridge the great expanses of time and space, and all my strength came from life alone. That was what Yoda was attempting to cure."

"So he knew there was a risk you might react like that." Obi-Wan could not help but wonder at Yoda's cruelty, even though he knew Qui-Gon did not want him to judge the old Jedi master.

"He probably hoped my own desperation would carve a path through to the Unifying Force. But, since it hadn't... The moment he came out of hyperspace, I was instantly aware of him. My mind surged to meet his, almost overwhelming in its need. I wanted the touch of his Life Force; I was ready to rip it from him, so urgent was that desire. If it had been anyone other than Yoda, I might well have overpowered and killed them, I think. But he shielded against me and threw me back into myself, keeping me chained there in spirit as securely as the stone shackles held my body fast to the rock. I didn't even know the precise moment he entered the bubble, until I felt the touch of his body against my thigh. So light, Padawan: he weighs less than a child, but in the Force his presence bore me down. I called out his name, and at that moment he opened all his shields to me, his mind overwhelming mine as his body pierced deep inside me."

"What was it like?" Obi-Wan whispered.

"Fire." Qui-Gon was silent for a moment.

"I screamed, enough to bring the droid rushing up to help me, but Yoda disabled it and tore through my own shields, such as they were, just as he was tearing into my body. And for all the pain I welcomed it, latching onto him with a hunger, pulling his mind into my own; but even in that moment he was the stronger one, and he had locked away whatever part of him holds the Living Force from my grasp. Instead, he drove into me the core inside himself where the Unifying Force resides. At any other time, I do not think I could have accepted it, but I was so eager, so open, I enveloped it all, and in a moment he was spilling his semen into me, to fill me even further. It burnt like acid, more caustic than any human's, eating its way into me. Yet my body responded to it, wasting my own seed onto the rock."

"You came? In the middle of all that?"

"I hadn't exactly expected it myself." Qui-Gon's tone was dry. "I passed out afterwards, it was such an earthshattering experience. Literally so; when I came to, the boulder was in smithereens around me. Yoda said it had just imploded under the stress of the Forces we brought to bear against it, the shackles round my wrists and ankles disintegrating into dust. I was in no position to ask him at the time, mind; he told me that later, on the way home."

Obi-Wan sighed. "It seems a drastic teaching method, Master."

"I had driven myself into a drastic position, Padawan, by my unwillingness to open myself up to all aspects of the Force. This was my submission to the Unifying Force, and even then it was not complete. My body fought against the injection of Yoda's midichlorians carried with his semen into my bloodstream: I fell into a long fever, tossing and turning on the bunk in the cargoship while Yoda cared for me. He would not even let the droids tend me, for fear that my body would reject the midichlorians in his absence. I remember his hands cool on my forehead, and his voice persuading me to drink. It took three days for the fever to die down, but many more before I regained my previous strength in the Force."

"You were weaker in the Force?" That was unexpected. "Surely the Unifying Force could only serve to strengthen you?"

"Over time it did, but I had to learn how to use it. Yoda took us to Dagobah: it was a balm for my soul having all that life around us again, and he was anxious not to endanger my connection to the Living Force either. There, he taught me how to control the gift he had given me. We grew very close in those months. Before, he had always been my master; now he was a part of me. At last I could begin to understand him, as well as to love him."

"Is that what this Ritual might bring us, then?" Obi-Wan asked. "Will I finally begin to understand you?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Perhaps we should leave such a daunting task to your Trials. Haven't you run out of questions yet?"

"I think I might have." As much as Obi-Wan wanted to consider the story he had just been told, his body was choosing sleep. He yawned into the pillow. "Can we talk about this some more, Master, when I'm awake again?"

"Whenever you want, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied gently. "But for now I think you should sleep."

Obi-Wan succumbed to the Force suggestion without the slightest protest.

Late in the cool of the night, he roused suddenly from a dream he couldn't remember, to a rhythm he did. Qui-Gon was a bulky black shadow across the bed, his back turned to Obi-Wan, but there was no mistaking that familiar jerking of the arm slung low on his hip. His master was utterly silent, his breathing so shallow it didn't register over the low hum of the ventilation system, yet Obi-Wan knew from the intensity of the movement that he was close to climax.

And the same sense of wrongness that had dogged Obi-Wan each time they'd attempted the Ritual was gnawing at his stomach now.

"Qui-Gon," he breathed, and in his master's surprised gasp he leant up on one arm and put the other around the older man, stilling the hand wrapped round his penis.

Qui-Gon gasped again, thrusting out his hips against Obi-Wan's fingers in an instinctive response that sent the head of his cock nestling into Obi-Wan's palm. Just as instinctively, Obi-Wan's fingertips curled around the shaft, slipping gently under the glans. The foreskin there was soft as skeins of lambswool, more delicate than he had ever imagined any part of his battle-scarred master to be. Qui-Gon moaned at his touch.

"Hush, and stay still, my Master," Obi-Wan said, shaken by the sound, and by the deep, panting breaths which were now clearly audible in the quiet night.

But Qui-Gon groaned again in protest and butted his cock once more into Obi-Wan's palm. Sticky warm liquid oozed from the slit at its tip onto Obi-Wan's skin, the length of the shaft sliding through Obi-Wan's fingers.

"No," Obi-Wan said a little more sternly, although inside he ached in sympathy. "Please stop."

Firmly he detached himself from the probing phallus and wrapped his fingers round Qui-Gon's wrist instead, carrying both their hands back up across Qui-Gon's chest, out of temptation's way. This time Qui-Gon's moan was more plaintive, obedient but forlorn, and he curled up around Obi-Wan's arm as if for comfort, his chest heaving.

The movement pulled Obi-Wan closer, pressing his torso against the bare skin of Qui-Gon's back, his own groin against Qui-Gon's buttocks where his master's leggings rode low on his hips. Abruptly he was very aware of the thinness of the cloth separating them, of the beginnings of a warm cleft uncovered above it where his own penis was softly snuggling in. He was grateful that he was incapable of a further erection that night, given the circumstances.

"I'm sorry. I really am." He held Qui-Gon harder, realising that the big man's heart was pounding beneath his hand, and that the skin down Qui-Gon's back was damp with sweat. "It's hardly fair that I'm allowed my relief, but you aren't allowed yours."

Qui-Gon shuddered at that, but he kept still beneath Obi-Wan's arm, only his laboured breathing stirring his body. Finally, when he had quieted even that, he asked in a voice husky and low,

"Why not?"

"Not this way," Obi-Wan whispered. "It would be wrong. It would go against the Ritual -- the Force -- I don't know, but something inside me just tells me it would be wrong."

Obi-Wan expected him to argue against such an amorphous feeling, but after a moment Qui-Gon heaved a deep sigh, his muscles relaxing. "This Ritual is very hard," he said sadly.

"I know," Obi-Wan said, his own voice filled with regret. "Go to sleep. It will be easier than staying awake, wanting it."

"Alright, my Padawan. I'll try." Qui-Gon sighed again and turned his head into the pillows.

Obi-Wan placed a gentle kiss between his shoulderblades, and nudged him into sleep with a delicate touch of the Force. Once Qui-Gon's breathing was deep and regular, Obi-Wan extricated his arm from his master's loosened clasp and rolled over onto his own pillows, himself reluctant to drift into sleep so quickly.

He had learned so much this evening: enough to overwhelm him, but for the discipline that the Unifying Force brought to his tumbling thoughts. And with the clarity it lent his mind, he knew one fact was pre-eminent. Yoda was dying.

Perhaps Obi-Wan himself might perish long before the oldest of the Jedi breathed his last, but Obi-Wan's entire life could not fail to be overshadowed by that sole truth. The most powerful of them all was weakening, and who knew what shadows would come once his Light failed. Is that what had moved Yoda to treat his best beloved padawan so harshly, in an attempt to forge the weapon of Light Qui-Gon had become? Qui-Gon had returned from his Ritual as an apprentice not yet even a senior, but with a formidable grasp of both aspects of the Force. It had set him apart from most other Jedi, who never achieved such synthesis combined with such power; it had set him in opposition to those who resented the achievement in one so young.

Obi-Wan shivered with an intimation of the horrors Yoda might already have foreseen attendant on his death, which would require a warrior like Qui-Gon to face them.

If his master survived the next year.

Unwilling just yet to face the full implications of that thought, Obi-Wan curled up with the sheet tucked tightly around him, his cheek pillowed on his hand. The smell of Qui-Gon's semen on his palm followed him into sleep.

Obi-Wan woke the next morning with cold, empty sheets beside him, and a hard determination in his heart.

Pushing aside the covers, he picked up his master's bathrobe which lay abandoned on a chair by the bed, and wrapped it around himself, the faded green cotton soft on his skin. The slight chill in the air told him it was still early, although Qui-Gon seemed to have been up for some time.

But instead of seeking out his master, he strode through into the lavabo. The sun was not yet high in the sky, the light slanting through the big windows to shine on the walls opposite, making the white tiles gleam. Obi-Wan discarded the robe in a heap on the floor and stepped into the shower cubicle, turning on a hot, fierce stream of water. As he scrubbed, he rehearsed his arguments, grim obstinacy tightening his jaw.

They were going to finish this thing today.

He watched the suds slither down the drain, then sent a stream of urine following them before he rinsed everything away.

He found Qui-Gon in the study, kneeling on the thick woollen rug in meditation. His master did not stir when he entered; breathing deep and slow, the older Jedi seemed carved from stone, features sharply delineated in the morning light, hands resting on his thighs. Unlike Obi-Wan, who still only wore the robe, he had dressed in leggings, a tunic and sash. But the clothing was still too light for the early morning air; when Obi-Wan squatted beside him and brushed one finger against his hand, his skin was cold to touch.

For a few moments, Obi-Wan remained crouched, staring at the closed eyes, the thin mouth. He had seen this face for years, had come to take it for granted as a constant in his life. What would happen if he were never to see it again? A Jedi was not to be ruled by fear, but Obi-Wan had to admit that the horrible, grasping feeling at the pit of his stomach, the one pushing him inexorably towards an unwished-for course of action, most assuredly was fear.

All around him he sensed open avenues closing, as if the myriad possibilities of his future were shrinking away from him. He had woken with the knowledge that he must act, now, or lose it all; and by the Force, he would act.

Stiffening his back, he straightened to his feet. Qui-Gon's calmness in meditation was almost an affront, a cool rebuke for his own histrionics. Was his master so genuinely untouched by the eddies of the future around them? Were Obi-Wan's fears unfounded, his determinations unnecessary?

No, he thought not. By the desk, the lights of the commslink were blinking steadily.

Obi-Wan flipped up the screen and read the message Qui-Gon had left open, a short note from Yoda received in the early hours of the morning. Yoda regretted, but the Council had dismissed both Master Jinn's petitions. Would Master Jinn report to them that afternoon, and would he bring Padawan Kenobi with him.

It was not phrased as a question.

Obi-Wan was hit by a sudden, uncharacteristic wave of panic, and he grasped the edge of the desk for balance as the blood rushed to his head. This was what the Force had whispered to him in his early morning dreams. The time for care and delicacy was past.

"You've seen it, then?" Qui-Gon's voice made him start.

He turned to find his master's eyes open and alert, staring at him assessingly. Qui-Gon's presence in the Force was well-shielded, but Obi-Wan could sense a tension that hadn't been apparent while he sat in meditation. Its flavour was the same as Qui-Gon often exuded just before battle: a building energy like a dam about to burst. It belied the graven calm of his face.

"I assumed you meant me to. When did you read it?"

"Some while ago. It seemed pointless to wake you at that hour, since there's nothing for us to do till this afternoon."

"There is, and you know it."

Blue eyes drilled into him. "Say what you mean."

"You know," he repeated, more emphatically. "Why are you pretending otherwise? We have to go through with the Ritual. Now."

An odd expression touched his master's face: guarded, and yet warmed by a flickering hope. "You think last night changed things, then?"

"No." Qui-Gon's face lost that little warmth with Obi-Wan's stark honesty. "But I think last night may serve to make this morning more tolerable. Either way, it is time for us to do this, Master."

"It would be rape." Qui-Gon's voice was flat and hard, his mouth severe. But Obi-Wan did not flinch from the word.

"Yes, on a physical level." Qui-Gon turned his face away and Obi-Wan took a hasty step forward, falling on one knee in front of him. "But not on the level of my heart, Master! It isn't rape if I'm willing. You know I give my body freely to you, so that we both can achieve this!" He put his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, willing his master to turn back to him. "Please, Master Qui-Gon, stop and think for a moment."

Qui-Gon shook his head impatiently, but he didn't shrug off Obi-Wan's hand. "I've been worrying at it for hours this morning, with no result. The Force has abandoned me in this, Obi-Wan. I can't see any way forward other than to do this, yet I know it's not right: I would still be forcing your body, even if you are willing. How could I exonerate myself afterwards?"

"No-one will ask you to defend yourself. As long as you can truthfully say we've undertaken the Ritual, the Council will let it pass: it will suit them too well to accept the outward show, if not the inward reality."

"Damn the Council!" Qui-Gon turned to glare at Obi-Wan. "How can I square it with myself? I have done enough wrongs to haunt me at nights without adding this to the list."

"But maybe, my Master, that's what the Force is willing you to do. After all," he added gently, "the Force is not always kind. It demands hard things of every Jedi."

"Why this of me, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon whispered. "Why would the Force demand such a thing of us both?" There was an urgency to the question, but also a helplessness, as if Qui-Gon for once had no answers and was forced to look to his padawan for them.

"Perhaps it's the lesson I need to learn, whether or not you want to teach it to me. Consider, Master," he pleaded, "Xanatos needed to understand submission, you needed to understand balance. But me? You've accused me of idealism in the past, of making everything black and white. Maybe I need to understand that sometimes the choices the Force has to offer me will be between bad and worse. Maybe I need to know that I'll be hurt. Maybe I need to know that I will hurt others in the search for what is right, or that I will ask them to do things they consider wrong." He paused. "As I am asking you now."

"It seems you've already understood that lesson well enough." Qui-Gon said hardly.

"Knowing is not understanding. I know it well enough to recite it back to you, but it's a rote learning only. I don't understand it." He clenched his fist against his heart. "I don't carry it here. After this, I think I will."

"And will you carry as close to your heart the memory that it was me who taught it to you?"

"As I carry the memory of every time you hit me with a 'sabre in practice, or pushed me to run when I had no breath left, to climb when every muscle was aching. It is all part of your training me to be the best Jedi you can make me, and I thank you for it, every day."

He brushed his fingers against the bristles of Qui-Gon's beard, before rising to his feet. "Master Jinn, do your duty. Take your padawan through this Ritual."

Qui-Gon bowed his head for a long moment before he, too, stood up, his movements slow in comparison to Obi-Wan's litheness. His mouth set in a tight line, he said, "I will do my duty, but it is the hardest thing you have asked me for in the six years we have been together."

"I know." Obi-Wan fumbled in the pocket of the gown, pulling out the tube of gel he had brought in with him. "Just remember one thing. I'm not Xanatos. I won't ever begrudge you this. And one day I hope you can find it in your heart not to begrudge it of me."

He put the tube in Qui-Gon's hand. "Prepare yourself. Please?"

Qui-Gon nodded, a curt, short gesture. He turned away from Obi-Wan, staring instead at the sunlight dappling the shelves of books as he began to adjust his clothing.

This wasn't last night, with its intimacy and its frankness, and its swift, sweet pleasures. There would be no teasing, there would be no tingling of lust to ameliorate the hurt. There would only be duty and pain. Seeing the rigid set of Qui-Gon's shoulders, Obi-Wan was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden urge to call the whole thing to an end. But that was not the way, he was sure of it, with the kind of bedrock certainty he rarely experienced but Qui-Gon knew so well. A Jedi shirked neither duty nor pain, and a Jedi he was meant to be.

He turned aside and pulled out the chair from the desk, putting it away in a corner. Making sure to keep his eyes averted from his master's preparations, he slipped the robe from his shoulders, folding it into a neat bundle which he placed on the desk. Naked now, his penis flaccid against his scrotum, he bent over the polished surface till his stomach was flat against it, his face buried in the soft cotton of the robe.

The cloth was still warm and damp with the moisture from his shower. It smelt of sharp carbolic and very slightly of Qui-Gon, a heavier, muskier scent trapped in its folds. Qui-Gon had owned this robe for as long as Obi-Wan had known him. The first time he'd seen the Jedi Master at ease, lounging on a sofa in their quarters, Qui-Gon had been wearing it. The sight of him like that, no longer wrapped in the cloak of his office but in a bathrobe faded and fraying even then, had been a naive young Obi-Wan's introduction to the idea that Masters could be human, too.

Breathing in the comforting smell, Obi-Wan kept that image of his master in his mind as he waited, his knees apart, his thighs braced against the desk. If he thought of Qui-Gon like that, feet up on the couch reading some trashy comic poet, perhaps this would seem less dehumanising for them both.

"I'm going to stretch and lubricate you now, Padawan."

He didn't shift to look at Qui-Gon. It seemed safer to keep his head buried in the circle of his arms. The pillow of the robe muffled his voice when he spoke, "I don't think that'll make much difference."

"Nevertheless."

"It might make it worse. I did put some gel on before I came in. Master, I'd really rather you just went ahead."

He heard Qui-Gon's deep sigh. "Alright. If that's the way you want to do it." The tube of gel was placed on the desk beside him. "I might need to hold you in place. Obi-Wan, you can always stop me. It doesn't matter how far I've gone: just call out and I'll stop. Promise me you'll do that if you need me to?"

"I promise."

He felt the soft drag of Qui-Gon's leggings against the backs of his calves, but for a long moment nothing more. Then there was the most delicate of touches against his spine, a tracing of fingertips in a soothing spiral across his lower back. He couldn't bear it.

"Please. Do it now."

"Give me a minute, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was shaking slightly but, within the minute he had promised, steady hands had dropped to Obi-Wan's buttocks. Fingers parted his bottom cheeks, firmly yet gently. Obi-Wan's eyes screwed shut, the exposed orifice below following suit in a clenching motion he couldn't control. Qui-Gon must have felt the movement of the muscles beneath his fingertips, but he put the blunt head of his cock against the opening. Obi-Wan felt the cold of the gel against his flesh, and behind it...

The pressure began. A slow, steady push, with the considerable power of Qui-Gon's body to force it home. Obi-Wan's hands bunched into fists in the cloth as the first spear of pain went straight up his spine. He'd touched Qui-Gon's prick last night, the skin soft and velvety against his fingers. But the thing pushing in now was surely not that same organ. This was a piece of iron being shoved into him with slow deliberation, the weight of it enough to force a way through the rigid sphincter. The ring of muscle squeezed as tight shut as it could, but Qui-Gon's phallus was stronger.

And it hurt so much. Little shocks of ice followed by red hot spears shot through him, radiating from the single point where his master's penis was invading. All thoughts he had had of relaxing into this were gone: he only had the strength to hold himself still under the relentless assault.

Two days ago, bent over this very desk, hard wood under his stomach, he'd actually pushed himself back onto Qui-Gon to rush the Ritual through. Today that was impossible: his entire body was helpless, consumed with the searing burn of Qui-Gon's entry against much greater resistance. It was left to Qui-Gon to determine the pace of their joining: Obi-Wan had no control left to help him. Qui-Gon's fingers dug deep into Obi-Wan's hips as he forced their two bodies together, but slowly, slowly, and Obi-Wan was desperately glad of it. He had thought it would be better faster, but now he knew he would have begged for his master to stop. If he could only hang on until it was in...

Qui-Gon pushed a little harder and Obi-Wan flinched away. It was utterly instinctive, as uncontrollable as the clenching of his anus. It was also futile: the desk stopped his forward motion almost immediately, and then Qui-Gon's fingers tightened their grip.

There was a trembling in Qui-Gon's voice as he urged, "Stay still if you can. It'll hurt worse the more often I have to enter you."

Obi-Wan wanted to tell his master that it couldn't possibly hurt worse. He'd known greater pain when he'd been wounded, but it hadn't been a pain there, at the core of his body. It hadn't torn and splintered him from head to toe as Qui-Gon had done, poking him with slow, grim determination. But he couldn't say that, so he took a shaking breath and held it, nodding his head to show he understood.

"I'm going to try something different. This might hurt less, to begin with. Easy now, Padawan. Concentrate on the touch of my hand, the sound of my voice." Qui-Gon began to rub between his shoulderblades, the feeling a distraction, while he murmured words of comfort into the nape of Obi-Wan's neck, his lips just brushing the tiny hairs there, beard a light scratch against the skin. Slowly Obi-Wan began to relax.

But then he felt the oddest sensation, as if a cool thin tube were being slipped into his anus, narrow enough to squeeze through the tiny portal. He gasped at the intrusion, then buried his face deeper in the robe as the tube began to swell, slowly stretching the sphincter open against the force of his muscles.

He'd used the Force like this himself, in play with a lover or occasionally for his own pleasure. It was difficult to do, requiring enormous control, but the level of resistance was much more sensitively gauged through the Force than through nerves in skin. Even with Qui-Gon giving that degree of attention, it still hurt: not as ferociously as had his earlier invasion, but Obi-Wan's body still tried to deny the breach, spasming even though cheated of anything to push against. Qui-Gon had to be aware of the resistance he put up, yet the pressure grew.

"Alright, Padawan," Qui-Gon soothed. "Move for now if it helps. I'll hold you still when I'm ready again."

Grateful for any respite, Obi-Wan let his cheeks clench together in quick fits, gripping in every muscle from his anus to his testicles then pushing them out again to distract himself from the slow burn. He found that he was pushing himself up from the floor on his toes, shifting from one foot to the other as the pressure increased. He must look a fool, his buttocks jerking as if he had sat on a nest of ants, but it made the swelling inside slightly less sharp.

"Easy, Obi-Wan," came the deep, soft voice. "I know it's bad, but it'll be over soon. Try and breathe for me, even and slow now."

Obediently he sucked in a long breath while Qui-Gon's hands settled on his bottom and spread his cheeks once more. He let the pent-up breath go, then took another, steadier one. Three times he did it, and on the third exhalation Qui-Gon began to push into him once more.

It was easier than it had been before, Qui-Gon's big, blunt penis getting quick purchase in the forced opening, but then the true pressure began once the head was lodged in place. Obi-Wan lost control of his breathing again as the mild burn became a sharp prickle and then a savage scalding, the pain shooting down into his thighs and balls. Panting, he crammed a bit of the cloth into his mouth to stop himself crying out.

Surely it was in by now! Over the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear the tiny grunts his master was making as his body hitched forward minutely, stretching open the narrow passage with sheer power where the Force had been used with delicacy.

Each tiny push rubbed Obi-Wan's nipples against the polished wood of the desk. He was desperate to move, anything to try and ease the fierce fire, but Qui-Gon's hands held him inexorably in place. He bit down hard on the cloth to keep in the moans that wanted to come from him at that searing pain, the cotton dry in his mouth. Gods, but it scorched, to be stretched so against his body's will!

Most of the head had pushed through the first and second rings now. He could feel it fat and round in his anus, an alien object his body tried desperately to eject. But Qui-Gon was having none of it, his hands iron bands on Obi-Wan's thighs as he pressed inexorably home, faster now that the breach was complete. One final push, and Qui-Gon's leggings were pressed against the backs of his thighs, the hair on his groin and testicles springy against Obi-Wan's bottom cheeks. Qui-Gon's deep groan hid his own muffled scream.

"Shhh." One large hand detached from his leg to stroke his hair. "Your body will adjust. Be still for a few moments--"

Obi-Wan spat out the cloth. "No! I -- I can't take much more. Please, just come as fast as you can and get it out of me!"

The hand on his hair stilled.

A moment later, Qui-Gon moved in obedience to the plea, pulling back his hips in a quick jerk which made Obi-Wan gasp in relief. He didn't go all the way out, bringing the head of his cock only as far back as the stretched ring of muscle before he thrust in again, a long hard drive that took him deep into Obi-Wan's rectum.

"Unghh!" Obi-Wan's body arched and the cry was released before he could cover his face with the cloth again. The pain of distension sent his guts cramping: he was sure he would soil himself. But before the sensation could become intolerable, Qui-Gon was retreating once more.

Obi-Wan wanted to weep. Why did this have to be so difficult? His entire spine taut as a curved bowstring, he waited for the next thrust in.

Then, Qui-Gon's cock slipped from his body.

"Oh!" The sudden reprieve was almost a pain in itself, as his sphincter closed tightly back up. Panting, he collapsed onto the surface of the desk, the wood cool beneath his sweating body. He let his knees fold, taking the weight from his shaking legs, while he tried to recover his breath, to ready himself for the next attempt. From behind him he heard a fumbling of cloth, and then Qui-Gon's hands were on him again.

His master stroked him gently, hand trembling slightly as it passed down his spine to rest briefly over the sealed orifice hidden between his buttocks. A slight tingle in Obi-Wan's flesh told him that Qui-Gon was sending healing energies to bathe the area, though he knew there had been little physical damage done despite all the pain. Strained muscles, but no bleeding, he was sure: Qui-Gon was free to go on when he was ready.

But instead, Qui-Gon's hands closed around his shoulders, and pulled him upright.

"No, Master! You have to continue! You promised!"

But Qui-Gon was turning him, wrapping him in an embrace that brooked no opposition, arms holding him close. Qui-Gon's beard brushed his cheek, lips soft on his temple.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." The apology was quietly spoken, but with a deliberation that made Obi-Wan start to shake in earnest. Qui-Gon rocked him with a gentle swaying of their bodies, arms warm around his naked padawan.

"You promised." It was a plea, not a statement, uttered into the crook of Qui-Gon's neck. There was still a hope: Obi-Wan could feel the press of Qui-Gon's erection against his belly through the cloth between them. He reached down to tug at the lacings Qui-Gon had retied, but his hand was caught and held tight against their bodies.

"Listen to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Qui-Gon's voice was firm, unwavering. "I may have killed many men in my life: a warrior has no choice, though by the gods I have tried to use my tongue before my sabre. And I may have done many things the precious Council would not accept, as long as the Force was my guide. But I am not a brutal man. I won't do this to you."

He pulled Obi-Wan's hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against Obi-Wan's knuckles, before tucking his padawan more securely against him.

"Would you prefer to see me lose my Knighthood?" Obi-Wan whispered into the sheltering arms. "I've already spent enough sweat and tears getting this far with you, Master. This -- it's only physical pain. I can't count the number of times I've come out of the training salles hurting worse. Please, can't you treat it as you would any other match?"

"This isn't a training match. This is savagery. I won't do it." The finality in Qui-Gon's voice was at odds with the gentle hands stroking his hair.

Obi-Wan stood trembling, hiding his face in Qui-Gon's shoulder for a few moments until he could control himself. So this is where all the hopes of his life would end: not with a failure in the dreaded Trials, or gutted by the laserblast of some unseen enemy, but here, in the safety of Qui-Gon's embrace. He had always held a secret certainty that these common padawan nightmares would never come to pass for him, that he was destined to become a Jedi knight. Only now, with his master's betrayal, did that certainty implode, leaving him in a confusion of anger and grief. One or two tears fell furtively down his cheeks, secreting themselves in the folds of Qui-Gon's tunic.

"Ah, Obi-Wan, I am so sorry. But I can't be other than myself, even for you. You may not be able to forgive me, but before all else I must follow the Will of the Force, and then I must follow what I know to be right. This is neither." Qui-Gon hugged his padawan's unresisting body once more and released him. "One day you may see it through my eyes."

"One day, perhaps." Obi-Wan couldn't quite look him in the face. He wanted to thump Qui-Gon with his fists, to sob all over him, to beg him to reconsider. But he knew that his pleas would never sway his master. Turning away, he fumbled for the robe; he desperately needed to go off into a corner on his own for awhile.

Qui-Gon forestalled him, taking the robe from his hands to drape it around his shoulders.

"Will you meditate with me?" Qui-Gon asked gently, as he watched Obi-Wan shrug into it.

About to beg off, Obi-Wan paused. It might be their last opportunity to do so together. The cold realisation quenched some of his anger. "Of course, Master," he answered.

Qui-Gon gestured to the rug and they both sank to their knees opposite one another, Obi-Wan forgoing his usual position to mirror Qui-Gon's. Around them, the early morning sunlight played across their faces to touch the bookspines on the nearby shelves. It was brighter now, bringing warmth as well as light, picking out the deep golds and russets of the saffron and chibilla dyes in the thick woollen rug.

His master sighed, closed his eyes and tilted up his face to the light. Obi-Wan could sense him opening himself to the Force, warming it and welcoming it till the whole room thrummed faintly to its presence. In the receiving, Qui-Gon was also giving, sending back into the Force the warmth and presence of himself, till Obi-Wan could almost feel him in the kiss of the sunlight, or the sweetness of the air in his lungs. Slowly, surrounded by such serenity, Obi-Wan calmed enough to think, if not to meditate.

The worst of it was that he knew Qui-Gon was right. The flaws in his reasoning this morning had been shown up, not least by the fact that, whatever Qui-Gon Jinn might do, he could never be forced to betray his own honour. Obi-Wan smiled sourly. His padawan perhaps, but not his own honour.

Was that what Obi-Wan had to learn? To find the one right goal which overrode all others, and hold fast to it, no matter what it demanded of him? His own aims -- to complete the Ritual, to accompany Qui-Gon on his mission -- did they constitute an honourable objective?

Look at what they had entailed. A forced taking, a forced submission: these things were unworthy of both Qui-Gon and himself. He would always have known; even if he had made it to his Trials, even if he had passed them with flying colours. It would have been a canker, eating into his own sense of self-worth and souring his love for his master. He would always have questioned whether he had earned his knighthood fairly, whether he had truly forgiven Qui-Gon for the enforced submission -- and whether Qui-Gon had forgiven him. Despite his earlier reassurances to the contrary, it would have come between them.

But where did that leave Obi-Wan? He tried to sift through the few possibilities still open to him, regaining his determination as he considered them.

He would be a Jedi knight.

Whatever that entailed, he would do. He'd start with a petition of his own, that very afternoon. If the Council were determined he should not accompany Qui-Gon, then he would beg for their dispensation to spend the next year in solitary study. After all, he'd missed most of the optional classes, what with the riotous life he and Qui-Gon led.

And if they wouldn't accept that, he'd ask for a temporary master to be appointed, one who only wanted to form a light bond, possibly as a preliminary to taking on the greater responsibility of an initiate.

And if that wasn't sufficient for them, he'd take another master to knighthood. He hated the idea, but he could do it, just as he was sure he could undertake the Ritual with someone else if he had to. Six years...he shuddered at the thought, then set his jaw. If that was what the Force willed, he'd do it. And on his knighting day, he would corner his former master and ask him if he wanted a partner for the next six years, to learn all the things Qui-Gon should have taught him. Because they belonged together.

Gods, he wasn't sure he could do that. Six years -- and who was to say Qui-Gon would even be alive then, without Obi-Wan there to guard him? That, too, was a horrifying thought.

He stared at his master's face, curious. If Qui-Gon cared at all about losing Obi-Wan as an apprentice, if he was worried about going into one of the most challenging missions of his life on his own, then why did he look so beautiful?

For there was a particular beauty to a man communing with the Living Force, letting it radiate through him. Its touch was sweeter, more freely joyous than the Unifying Force's structures, as pleasing as they were in their own intricate detail. And no knight alive was more beautiful in his contemplation of the Living Force than Qui-Gon.

It was at times like these that Obi-Wan remembered to look at his master with open eyes. It was too easy, in the host of pressing, everyday requirements -- keeping oneself alive, fulfilling the next mission goal, and then the next -- to forget this other face Qui-Gon wore. His master could be infuriating in his whimsies, hurtful in his criticisms, annoyingly superior in his own self-confidence. But he was also possessed of an inner strength which shone through his harsh features: peace flowed from him, and comfort, and warmth. And Obi-Wan remembered that he loved him, and that he would miss him more than he could contemplate, if they were parted.

He bowed his head and let another tear fall. It was not only his knighthood he stood to lose today. Desperately he sought for the sense of Qui-Gon around him, surrounding him through the Force, to ease his sorrow.

The moment he sought, his Master found him, welcoming even his turbulence with as much warmth as he had the balm of the Force. Gratefully, Obi-Wan abandoned himself in their meditation.