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Crystal Rain

by Sheila Snow

Title: Crystal Rain
Author: Sheila Snow (sushiow2709@earthlink.net)
Archive: master_apprentice
Category: CHAN, Qui/Obi, Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: CHAN! Please don't read if this isn't your cup of tea! This is also un-beta'ed (which is a big warning all in itself.)
Summary: Qui-Gon discovers that Obi-Wan has an odd aversion to rain --and decides to remedy that situation.
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome, on or off-list.
Author's Note: I wrote this particular story so long ago that I think I actually used a pen and paper. Well, okay, maybe not that long ago! In any case, I realized I'd never archived this anywhere, and in honor of May and the "Merry Month of Masturbation," I thought I'd dust it off and post it here. Hope you enjoy.

Obi-Wan hated the rain. He always had. He didn't know why -- it wasn't like he'd had any traumatic experience with it as a small child or anything. There had been no bad experience with a thunderstorm. He'd never been caught in a cold, driving rain with no way to reach shelter before he froze. He had never come down with some obscure variant of the Argellian death flu because of it. Nothing like that.

He just hated the rain.

So, of course, his revered Master just had to bring them both here as soon as he discovered Obi-Wan's almost pathologic dislike of it.

He sighed, crossing his legs in front of him as he tried to get more comfortable against the cool, moss-covered rock he was using as a backrest. He could feel the rain coming . . . could almost smell it, and he shivered slightly with revulsion. Best just to get this over with.

He would never understand his Master's insistence to "face what you were afraid of and overcome it." For one thing, he wasn't afraid of the rain -- he just didn't like it, blast it all. Besides, he wasn't a child anymore -- he was 15 years old --and he hated when Qui-Gon treated him like one of the Temple younglings.

He made another face and looked up through the gently swaying trees. Oh, he would admit this world was beautiful. With its lavender skies and vegetation so deep a green it was almost black, it was almost breathtakingly beautiful. Sunset was approaching, and the setting primary would bring its own special mosaic of crimson and pink-patterned clouds against a backdrop of amethyst, star-spotted sky.

Or it would, if it weren't raining at the time, he thought to himself in disgust.

That was another thing Obi-Wan didn't understand, because visitors did not come to this planet because of its vivid display of blue-green vegetation, or its whimsically colored birds and flowers, or its spectacular sunsets. No. People actually came to this world because of its rain. He shuddered again. He would never understand the fascination.

Well, to be honest, Obi-Wan figured he could understand it, in theory. If you liked that sort of thing, that is. The rain on Dalorn was different. It sang to you, believe it or not . . . or at least that's what the textbooks said. Something to do with the almost crystalline structure of the water molecules. When they struck each other just right, or struck another object, the crystals rang out, like tapping the side of a vase, just before the crystalline structure itself disintegrated.

He remembered making a face while reading this on the shuttle trip over to this benighted planet, and when his Master had asked what was wrong, Obi-Wan had answered truthfully, "It sounds like it would hurt."

His Master had chuckled softly and replied, "The crystalline structures are on the molecular level, Padawan. It is just the number colliding at once that allows them to be audible to humans. Trust me, it does not hurt. I have been here before, and believe me, it is an experience you will not likely forget!" His Master had stood then, but prior to leaving their suite to make preparations for their landing, he had paused to tousle Obi-Wan's hair fondly.

Obi-Wan looked up again at the darkening violet sky and sighed heavily. He really did hate being treated like a child. And that bit with his hair was just another thing that was beginning to annoy him. He had recently started to view Qui-Gon in a different light, one of . . . physical attraction, and things like Qui-Gon tousling his hair as if he were a child effectively managed to drive away Obi-Wan's fantasies of his Master ever seeing him in the same way.

The wind picked up slightly, and beyond the subtle whisper of glossy leaf on leaf, he thought he could hear, very far off, the faintest of gentle chiming.

Obi-Wan wrapped his robe closer around his body. If nothing else, he had learned there was one thing he should never admit to Qui-Gon. No, make that two things now: that he really hated the rain . . . and he was desperately in love with his Master.

He moaned and deliberately bent his head back sharply to impact on the patient rock behind him. Just the thought of his Master's long limbs and imposing body were enough these days to make him hard, and it was beginning to become difficult to hide that fact.

Like now, as a matter of fact.

Well, he was alone, and there was a chance he'd actually be able to give himself some relief before the blasted rain hit. He had managed to become quite fast at taking the edge off, so to speak, and he was a little pleased with himself that he had managed to be quick and quiet enough that Qui-Gon had never noticed.

He closed his eyes, imagined his Master's large, knowing hands on him and reached inside his leggings to firmly stroke his cock.

He was well on his way to achieving his own personal best when the call of "Padawan?" from somewhere behind him rudely startled him out of his fantasy. He yelped and pulled his hand from his leggings fast enough that he rammed his elbow . . . hard . . . against the mossy rock behind him. He yelped again -- in pain this time -- and doubled over, cradling his injured elbow in his other hand.

"Padawan?" The deep voice held concern this time, and a large shadow was suddenly looming over him, blocking what was left of the fading blue-green light. "Are you injured, child?"

A gentle hand tipped Obi-Wan's chin up to look into his eyes, and Obi-Wan, dreadfully embarrassed that his Master might have seen what he had been doing, and equally disappointed that he obviously had not, yelled, "I am not a child!" out of months of sheer frustration and hurt.

Qui-Gon's hand pulled away as if stung, and Obi-Wan flung himself over, attempting to get away from a situation that had just gone from bad to inexcusable. How could he snap at his Master? Qui-Gon had never raised his voice to Obi-Wan, and for Obi-Wan to do this when his Master had only been trying to help him. . . .

Obi-Wan attempted to crawl away, needing space, time, something to get his center back, but the injured elbow suddenly gave way and he crumpled into a heap, too stricken to try again. Maybe the ground would be kind and simply swallow him up.

The ground was not accommodating him, but two very strong, very gentle hands picked him up bodily from the ground and carried him back to his rock. Qui-Gon folded his lanky frame back against the boulder and carefully arranged his padawan into his lap. Pulling Obi-Wan's unresisting arm away from his side, Qui-Gon carefully pulled back the layers of robe and tunic and probed the elbow. Obviously pleased with his inspection, he grunted softly in satisfaction.

"It is only a bad bruise, Padawan," he said, and Obi-Wan felt the increased warmth denoting healing energy coming from his Master's callused fingertips, roaming lightly over the tender skin of his elbow.

Obi-Wan tried reflexively to jerk away, whether out of physical discomfort or out of fear of what his Master's touch on his bare skin would do to him, he was not sure.

But this time, his Master did not allow the evasion. "Enough, Padawan," he said sharply, moving his grip to Obi-Wan's upper arm and tightening it in warning.

Obi-Wan winced and froze, his gaze turning to the massive hand wrapped around his arm. He stared as if entranced, his mind registering only that his Master's hand so easily encircled his arm, that it could so easily do a great many things. . . .

He was startled out of his reverie by the sudden boom of a nearby thunderclap and the accompanying flurry of a flock of golden nirvana birds startled from their evening nests. The little clearing was suddenly overcome by a veritable storm of golden wings and scarlet crests, and it was some time before the evening calm settled down once more to mere gentle breezes and whispering trees.

Obi-Wan felt the bruising grip on his arm slacken, and then his Master's hands settled to rest gently on his shoulders. "I am sorry, Padawan," came the velvet voice into his ear. "I was merely . . . concerned for you."

"No, Master," Obi-Wan said in a rush. "It is my fault, I should not have raised my voice to you."

"But you are correct, my Padawan. I have been . . . treating you like a child."

"No, no, Master. You are an excellent teacher. . . ."

"No, Padawan. . . ."

"I mean it, Master, you have always treated me with respect. . .."

"Padawan. . . ."

". . . And I just wanted you to know this is all my fault and. . .."

"Obi-Wan!"

"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan asked sheepishly, ducking his head.

"What have I always told you?"

Obi-Wan raised his head and smiled. He knew the answer to that one. "'You should never argue with an idiot, because other people may not be able to tell the difference'?"

The big chest behind him heaved, it shuddered, and Obi-Wan was startled to hear the barely stifled laughter coming from his Master as those overlarge hands he loved suddenly tightened around his torso and pulled him tight. "Oh, my Obi-Wan, you are a treasure." His Master's bearded chin finally settled on Obi-Wan's head as he managed to get his laughter under control, and he added, "But that was not the particular pearl of wisdom I was looking for."

"Oh."

"Would you care to try again?"

Obi-Wan settled back more snugly against his Master's frame, loving the unexpected closeness and suddenly very reluctant to give it up. His brow furrowed as he thought for awhile, and then he glanced up at his Master hopefully. "'One should never let one's first impressions cloud the ultimate truth of experience'?"

The big arms tightened around him again. "Exactly," Qui-Gon purred again in his ear. "I have known you for a long time, my Obi-Wan. My first, and up to now lasting impression of you was the young child that I could swing up in my arms, tell stories to . . . and tousle his hair."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said again. "But why has that impression changed now?" he asked with some little trepidation.

"Because you have very obviously grown up. . . ." Qui-Gon released his grip around Obi-Wan's chest and a big hand ghosted down the young man's right arm to rest on his elbow. ". . . And you have just as obviously come into your sexual awakening."

Obi-Wan reflexively pulled forward, suddenly embarrassed again and desperate to get away.

But Qui-Gon held him easily, restraining him gently until Obi-Wan stopped struggling and sat still, hugging his arms around himself with his breath coming in heaving gasps. "Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "It is unlike you to try to run from anything. What has gotten you so distressed?"

Obi-Wan found he could say nothing, but he didn't struggle again when the big Jedi brought him slowly back to rest against his chest again.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon chided again. "It is natural for one to have those urges, and just as natural to wish to fulfill them. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

"You don't understand."

"No, but I am trying to."

Obi-Wan merely shook his head emphatically. "I . . . I can't. Not yet."

There was a deep sigh from the man behind him. But his Master's voice, when he finally spoke, was bright, almost unnaturally so. "Well, I can at least give you some pointers on how to pleasure yourself."

"What?!"

"Well, Padawan, I am willing to wager that your impression of masturbation is that it is something one does alone, furtively and in haste. Am I correct?"

"Well, y. . .yes," came Obi-Wan's stammered reply.

"Would you be willing to learn from the truth of experience?"

Obi-Wan merely stared up at him in shock.

Qui-Gon tapped his apprentice on his forehead for emphasis, saying, "Let me add before you answer that you are under no obligation here . . . whatsoever. Do you understand, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master."

"And your answer?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan repeated, his voice firming slightly. There were possibilities here. If he could not yet bring himself to admit his love, he could at least have some memories of Qui-Gon that he could treasure. He hoped.

His Master nodded impassively. "Well, you'd better get undressed then."

"What!?" Obi-Wan squeaked. "But . . . but . . . the rain. . .?"

"Is not here yet and will not melt you in any case, my Obi-Wan. Now, get undressed." He paused and brought Obi-Wan's chin around again to look deeply into his eyes. "If this is something you still wish to do."

Obi-Wan stared up into those blazing indigo eyes, and he found he was amazed at how well they seemed to match the darkening Dalorn sky. The gently gripping hand gave his chin a little shake followed by the lightest of caresses, so light that Obi-Wan was sure he must have imagined it.

"Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and then said, "I do wish it, Master."

The fire in those eyes seemed to blaze just a little hotter, but there was the smallest of upward quirks to his Master's mouth. Qui-Gon released his chin and made a shooing motion with one hand.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet and then stood uncertainly, looking down at his patiently waiting Master. When Qui-Gon merely raised an eyebrow, Obi-Wan quickly removed his outer robe, folding it haphazardly and setting it carefully on the ground. His hands went to his sash and belt, undoing them clumsily and setting them just as carefully on the ground. By the time he got to his tunic, his hands were shaking visibly with his nervousness.

"Relax, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice, as always, was patient and kind. "You can stop at any time you wish."

"I know that, Master." He could feel his cheeks were flushed slightly, but Obi-Wan finished with his tunic and made a move to sit back down.

He was stopped by Qui-Gon's soft chuckle. "All your clothes, Obi-Wan."

Another blush, this one Obi-Wan could feel extending all the way to his chest. Damn my coloring to all the Sith hells, anyway. He balanced on one foot to remove his boot and then switched feet to remove the other one. He swayed, momentarily losing his precarious balance, and suddenly Qui-Gon was behind him with a supporting arm around his hip. He would never get used to how fast the big Jedi could move when he wanted to, and he despaired at ever having the slightest portion of his grace while doing so.

"It will come, Obi-Wan," his Master said, almost as if reading his mind. "You are just growing too fast, little one."

"Not fast enough evidently," Obi-Wan said wryly, as he looked up at his towering Master.

"You are perfect, my Obi-Wan." When Obi-Wan made to protest, Qui-Gon held up a hand and said, "Are you arguing with my experience, Padawan?"

"No, just questioning your sanity."

"Strip."

"Yes, Master." It was easier to do this accompanied by the light banter they often traded back and forth, and Obi-Wan had the sneaking suspicion that this was exactly what his Master had intended.

But it was still one of the most difficult things he had ever done, as he slowly slid his leggings and underclothing down his legs and stepped out of them. He still felt awkward, ugly, and he was afraid to look and see what his splendid Master thought of him.

Obi-Wan paused and looked around slowly. The clearing seemed eerily quiet. The wind had eased, the birds had settled, and the night creatures had not yet stirred from their daytime haunts. He stared into the dark forest with some apprehension as he suddenly realized the faint chiming sound he had heard earlier was indeed closer -- and coming from the direction of the threatening cloud that was rapidly approaching them. He stepped back instinctively and bumped into the solid body of his Master. Strong arms wrapped around to steady him, and Obi-Wan gasped at the burning feeling of Qui-Gon's hands on his bare hips.

The clearing was quiet, and therefore Obi-Wan heard with no difficulty the slightly altered rhythm of his Master's breathing. Obi-Wan looked up in surprise, but other than the unnatural brilliance of Qui-Gon's magnificent eyes, he looked the picture of the calm, patient Jedi Master.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked shyly.

His Master made no answer, but simply reached under Obi-Wan's legs to pick him up again as he carried him back to their rock.

Obi-Wan started to protest . . . started to say he was quite capable of walking, but in truth he rather liked the way the big Jedi was holding him and almost clung to him in protest when Qui-Gon tried to settle them both back down on the ground.

When Obi-Wan was settled once more between his Master's legs, Qui-Gon said, "Now, Padawan, shall we begin?"

Obi-Wan ducked his head in another bout of sudden shyness and tentatively reached for his limp phallus.

At Qui-Gon's sharply barked, "No!" Obi-Wan froze and looked up almost apprehensively into Qui-Gon's face.

"Obi-Wan. I want you to listen very carefully. If I am to teach this lesson well, you must listen to me and do exactly what I say, when I say. Do you understand?"

Obi-Wan relaxed slightly. This he understood. "Like when you're trying to walk me through advanced 'saber drills without fricasseing myself?"

Qui-Gon's lips quirked upward again. "Sort of like that, yes."

"I can do that."

"Good."

"So what do I do?"

There was another long sigh behind him, and Obi-Wan stiffened his back slightly in reflexive response to any hint of displeasure from his Master.

Silence.

He winced. He knew he was going to make a hash of this, he just knew it.

"Obi-Wan, you have to relax."

"I'm trying, Master."

"I know you are, Obi-Wan. Lean back and close your eyes."

Obi-Wan obeyed, gradually relaxing as he started to breathe in time with that of his Master. He was relaxed enough to actually be startled when he felt one big hand come around his forehead and hold his head firmly against his Master's chest.

"Keep your eyes closed, Obi-Wan."

"But I can't. . . ."

That wonderfully deep voice lowered to speak directly into one ear, "You don't need to see, Padawan. You don't need to move your head. Just open your other senses . . . and feel. Feel everything around you."

Obi-Wan struggled to do what he was asked, but it was more difficult than he would have imagined. Yes, he could feel, but he could feel only the long, lean body against his back, the soft exhalations of breath against his neck, and how that large restraining hand made him feel cherished, owned, possessed.

"You are doing fine, Padawan. Now take the palm of your right hand and stroke your chest. No, a lighter touch."

It felt odd, strange, and yes, good. He would never have thought that just touching one's chest could feel . . . so wonderful.

"Feel how the soft hairs sensitize your skin as your hand passes, feel the contours of your muscles -- lighter still. Yes."

Obi-Wan was amazed to find that his breathing had quickened already with just this little stimulation, and his fingers instinctively arrowed their way to his nipples. He could feel they were hardened, they were tingling slightly, and he was suddenly aching to stroke his hand over them to ease the sensation.

"No, Padawan. Not yet." A firm hand on his, stopping his progress.

Obi-Wan tried to shake his head in negation at the impediment, but Qui-Gon's other hand still held his head firmly to the broad chest.

"You may come close, Obi-Wan, but you may not touch. It is too soon."

Obi-Wan murmured an indistinct assent, and he obediently resumed the slow exploration of his own chest. He found to his amazement how incredibly erotic it was to only allow himself those limits, to run his fingertips right to the areola and draw back, again and again.

He felt himself lengthening as his breathing deepened, and the voice was back again, lower now, deeper itself. "Lower, Padawan. To the soft skin of your belly. Small circles, Obi-Wan. Slow, small circles. Open further, Padawan. Feel the Living Force around you."

Obi-Wan moaned. He couldn't. . . .

"Feel the wind, my Obi-Wan. Let its essence caress your body, feel its subtle presence across your skin. It will help you if you let it, Padawan. Let it in."

Obi-Wan found he could feel it then -- when he concentrated on it -- gentle wisps of air that teased against the sweat breaking out on his skin. He forced his right hand to remain with the gentle circles on his belly, but he found his other hand was following that almost ethereal presence as it danced across his chest, following the whorls and eddies, finding places he had never dreamed were so sensitive.

"Can you hear the music, my Obi-Wan? Listen, and let your fingers dance with it."

Music? Oh, the rain. The rain must almost be upon them now, but somehow he could not find an objection to it. Not when he felt this good. It did sound nice, like tiny bells tuned to different notes but all on the same key. It was random, and yet somehow not. If you concentrated, you could hear the melody. . . .

"Move your right hand up and away now, Obi-Wan. You amaze me, my own, with how quickly you respond. Tell me how you feel?"

Obi-Wan moaned again, he felt wonderful, he had never felt so wonderful, but he needed. Oh, how he needed. . . . "Master, please, may I touch. . .?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan. You may touch your nipples." Obi-Wan felt himself being shifted, moved slightly on Qui-Gon's lap, but the restraining hand never left his forehead.

He thought briefly to protest the motion, but a warm hand guided his own to drift over one hardened nub, and Obi-Wan gasped and jerked his body upward instead, fighting for control.

"Listen to the music, let it center you like a kata."

He eased back, stroking his fingertips lightly over his nipples and then rolled them in time to the increasing tempo, losing himself again to sensation.

Oh, he was so hard he ached. He started to reach down but met again the restraining hand of Qui-Gon Jinn. He moaned but did not protest further, merely undulating his hips slightly, mutely expressing his need for friction or motion.

"Bend your knees, Padawan. Caress your thighs, but do not touch your cock. Do you understand?"

Understand, yes. But he was not sure he could obey. Just the sound of Qui-Gon's voice as he instructed him was putting him in a frenzy, and he was not sure how long he could last without bringing himself to completion. But he was a quick learner and determined to grasp this lesson well. He did not need to be told to keep his touch on his thighs light and teasing, he did so anyway, but he felt the fluid leaking from his cock and his hips were now thrusting of their own accord. It was so tempting to just stroke his balls or touch himself, only once. Oh, Force, please.

"Soon, Padawan, soon."

Had he said that last out loud?

"I know you are hard, Padawan. So hard you ache. Not much longer, little one. Not much longer."

Qui-Gon shifted again, and a lock of his hair ventured across one of Obi-Wan's nipples. Obi-Wan bit back a scream and thrust his chest towards that impossible sensation, wanting more, needing more.

"You may touch yourself now, but you must stroke yourself slowly. It will be better if you go slowly. Will you trust me, little one?"

He almost didn't believe he had heard correctly. His trembling hand found his needy erection and he almost came with that single sensation. The music was louder now, closer, and it distracted him slightly. Enough that he was able to survive those achingly slow strokes without losing the tenuous threads of his control.

Enough that when the first drop of the crystal rain hit his overheated chest, he almost pulled himself up out of his Master's grip in surprise. He gasped, but not in pain. It tingled slightly, but its refreshing coolness was a pleasure all its own as the raindrop followed a track of its own choosing down his chest.

Another drop hit his chest, then another his thigh. And they did sing to him, each one, a song of life, of discovery, of joy. He found himself stroking himself in time with their melody, and as the frequency of the drops increased, so did his pace.

And the rhythm did increase, from individual drops to a light rain, from aria to symphony, and soon he was spellbound by their concerted beauty, immersed in their glory.

He opened his eyes at last to meet the intent, possessive gaze of his Master, to feel the wet tendrils of his Master's hair as it lightly grazed his neck in the fitful wind, to hear the deep growl of his Master's voice as it intoned merely, "My Obi-Wan."

And somewhere in a pristine clearing, as the warm summer's amethyst dusk settled amidst the towering trees, one can almost hear the echoes of a boy's keening scream, barely audible over the passing remnants of a triumphant crystal rain.