Summary: Obi-Wan knows what he needs to totally fulfill him,
but how can he explain himself to his lover without losing him?
A response to Clarence's first line challenge.
Notes: Written at work while the phones are down, this is in
tiny parts because Yahoo mail likes small mails and because I
don't want to get caught with it on my screen. The
circumstances also explain the complete and utter lack of beta
reading or proofreading, and the sort of lame title; I just
felt compelled to start writing, what can I say?
For those whose dark desires inspire my love and Mastery, not
to mention my creativity.
Obi-Wan was very glad that his frequent lack of an erection
failed to bother his Master. Of course, Qui-Gon had seen his
Padawan's medical records and knew about the bout of R'tecklian
flu Obi-Wan had suffered from during his initiate days. Only
Obi-Wan knew that it had been a rather mild case and hadn't
affected him the way it affected most Human males. He wasn't
really impotent or even partially so.
It was, however, kinder to let the man he loved think him so
than that he should know the real facts of the matter. Plain
and simply, Qui-Gon couldn't do what Obi-Wan needed.
Oh, they'd never talked about it, but Obi-Wan just knew
that his Master, his quiet voiced, diplomatic Master, a man
known for taking in stray baby animals, a big man whose
strength made him gentle, couldn't, wouldn't, even dream
of doing what Obi-Wan wanted him to do.
How could the gentle lover of so many nights of slow tender
lovemaking possibly comprehend that Obi-Wan wanted, needed,
more? And what would he think if he did know? How would
he judge his lover if he knew of Obi-Wan's hunger for something
darker? Qui-Gon had sworn that he loved Obi-Wan, and had proved
it over and over again, but this . . . No this was too much to
ask.
It made him adept at shielding, had made him adept at it even
before they were lovers, back when the only bond Obi-Wan had
hidden from was their training bond. It was understood that
each person in any bond would need some privacy and Obi-Wan
kept his dark desires hidden in that private place, barricaded
tightly from any accidental escape. And Qui-Gon was far too
polite, loved him far too much to pry.
Obi-Wan knew that his "private place" was preventing the
formation of a stronger bond between them, and he knew that the
lack of that bond pained Qui-Gon sometimes. True soulmates had
no barriers from each other; at least at their bonding and
then, later, during times of intimacy and closeness. He
wanted to soul-bond with Qui-Gon, his whole being ached
with the need for it, as he knew Qui-Gon felt the same.
Again they never spoke of it, as Obi-Wan hid that desire as
well as he hid the other. It was an endless cycle, and he
feared, as the two of them approached their second year as
lovers, that eventually his evasions and lies would tear them
apart. They still functioned perfectly as a Jedi team and they
still loved each other, remaining true and devoted under the
most trying of circumstances.
And yet . . . Qui-Gon had recently become moody occasionally,
and had developed a tendency to worry about his age. Obi-Wan
tried to reassure him, telling him that he wasn't old and
promising to love him forever, but he could feel the faint
doubt from his lover every once in a while.
Like every good Jedi should, Obi-Wan meditated on the problem,
seeking for an answer from the Force. As it frequently had the
annoying habit of doing, the Force told him what he knew to be
true: he had to break the barrier and reveal his true self to
his lover. But he couldn't, could he? Pacing the Meditation
Gardens at night, he was certain that, as much as Qui-Gon loved
him, his Master would (at the very least) be not interested in
the type of lovemaking Obi-Wan craved, and (at the very worst)
would be disgusted with the darkness of Obi-Wan's desires.
And then, the Will of the Force, as it was wont to do, took the
matter out of Obi-Wan's hands.
Qui-Gon was glad, for once, that he and Obi-Wan had been sent
on a mission to a planet like LiaFall. A planet once torn apart
by horrible religious wars, the lovely world was now at peace
and had been for centuries. As if to make up for thousands of
years of deprivations during their wars, the Lians and the
Fallians were determined to live life as one big party. More
isolated than Corellia, LiaFall did not have tourist crowds or
the tawdry aura of the Republic's preeminent pleasure planet.
Normally, Qui-Gon would have found such a place difficult.
Negotiation wasn't easy when everyone around you was more
interested in eating, drinking, and having sex than anything
else. This time, however, he and Obi-Wan were only present to
witness the re-signing of the historic treaty between the
planet's two races.
It was a "fluff" mission, as Qui-Gon had called this sort of
mission when he was much younger. In fact, it was the sort of
mission for a pair of newly minted Knights, or a new Master and
Padawan pair. Sometimes missions like these were given to older
Masters, or newly Bonded pairs. When they were given to a
proven team of negotiators, a Master in his prime and a Senior
Padawan, both of whom had worked with the other for 11 years
now, a "fluff" mission was a reward, the Council's silent way
of apologizing for a long string of hard missions.
This was something different, Qui-Gon now thought, as he looked
into the closet. Their rooms were sumptuous and obviously their
Lian hosts thought Jedi clothing too drab for words. And so the
closet was a riot of color. Qui-Gon blinked; he'd have to ask
Obi-Wan to help him choose something, as his own color sense
was terrible. Or so his partner had told him on more than one
occasion. Qui-Gon smiled at the memory of mock dismay on
Obi-Wan's face during a mission to Ari-demtha.
Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's smile faded as he backed up to sit on the
edge of the bed. This mission had something to do with Obi-Wan
and himself, of that Qui-Gon was sure. There had been something
in Yoda's swamp gray eyes as they flickered from Qui-Gon to
Obi-Wan as Mace ended the mission briefing. As a Padawan,
Qui-Gon had become adept at reading his Master's ear twitches
and facial expressions, but this had been too subtle for even
his understanding. It *was* bothersome that Yoda obviously knew
his former Padawan well enough to know that Qui-Gon was worried
about the partnership, although Qui-Gon doubted the meddling
old troll knew what he was worried about. He wasn't sure that
he himself knew.
It had never been easy, this love between himself and his
apprentice. He had known about Obi-Wan's bout of R'tecklian flu
before he'd even taken Obi-Wan on as a Padawan, and, in his own
hubris, had pitied the boy. Qui-Gon had never been a libertine
in any way, but he treasured the act of love as only one tied
to the Living Force could. Over the years, he'd learned that
Obi-Wan wasn't completely impotent, but their link had not only
given him a few glimpses of his Padawan's self-pleasure, but
the feelings of frustration that occasionally occurred at those
times.
They'd spoken of it only once before becoming lovers. It had
been after a terribly hard mission, one in which they'd been in
danger more than once. Once home, they'd both collapsed into
their beds, exhausted. And then Qui-Gon had woken to the sounds
of Obi-Wan crying in his room.
"I hate it!" Obi-Wan sobbed. "Fucking flu . . . I can't . . .
Jedi only have so many ways of reliving tension and . . . Sith
. . . why? Why me, Master?"
Qui-Gon had, for once, had no answer for the boy. He'd simply
held Obi-Wan and rocked him back and forth, allowing him the
release of tears at least. But in his own mind, he too had
questioned the Force. Why Obi-Wan? Was it really the Will of
the Force for him to be denied this one, but so important,
connection to the Living Force?
"Obi-Wan," he'd repeated over and over, his beard brushing
against Obi-Wan's bristly Padawan haircut. "Oh Obi-Wan . . ."
When finally the tears had ceased, he'd added, softly, as he
sent Obi-Wan a gentle Force suggestion to sleep, "I'll always
love you, Padawan. Always, Obi-Wan."
And then, one day, the boy was a man. Qui-Gon had noticed the
lessening of Obi-Wan's frustration and had assumed that the
Force had led his Padawan to a path of acceptance. He was
certain that Obi-Wan's affinity with the Unifying Force was
compensation and that the corresponding lack of connection with
the Living Force was another price exacted from Obi-Wan for his
illness.
There was only one problem as Obi-Wan grew in confidence as
well as body. It was a problem Qui-Gon buried deeply inside
himself, in that private place where even a closely bonded
Padawan wouldn't dream of going. He had loved the boy because
the boy was lovable and generous of spirit. Now he loved and
desired the young man not only because he was still lovable and
generous of spirit, but also because he was desire embodied.
Desire who could not express desire. A walking enticement to
sex who undoubtedly had no idea of the confusion he caused
among mere mortals, his own Master included. Obi-Wan was such a
curious combination of innocence and lust inducing grace and
beauty, and Qui-Gon burned and hungered as he never had before.
And, but for bloody war, Qui-Gon would never have acted on his
feelings.
It was only, as the Master and the Padawan huddled together for
shelter in a burned out building, that Obi-Wan, thinking death
was just around the corner, quietly said the words Qui-Gon had
never expected to hear. Words of love, not a Padawan's love or
a child's love, but the love of one adult for another.
"It doesn't matter," Obi-Wan said softly, his voice almost
buried by the noise of the concussion grenades outside, "that I
can't always show you how much I want you." He reached
out and grabbed one of Qui-Gon's hands, as the Master sat,
silent with shock, and pressed it to the side of his face.
"It's always here." And then the other hand, taken and slid
gently inside the pair of tunics to be laid against a muscled,
lightly furred chest. "And here."
"Oh skies above," Qui-Gon whispered reverently. "Oh, my
Obi-Wan, that's all that matters."
He'd meant it too, in that moment. If a celibate love was to be
theirs, then so be it. At least it was known to both of them
and the speaking of all those words could still happen.
Qui-Gon's fine and lofty thoughts were shattered as another
round of grenades shook their shelter and lit the night with
fire. A fire the revealed two pairs of eyes focused on each
other and then Obi-Wan's mouth was pressed hard to Qui-Gon's
and Qui-Gon's hand shoved the tunics aside, his fingers already
seeking out hard tight nipples.
Everything about both of them was hard and tight, this first
time not a gentle exploration of each other but a
half-terrified, adrenaline-fueled mad grappling. Any worry that
Obi-Wan wouldn't, or shouldn't or couldn't left Qui-Gon's mind
and he led this hungry feverish dance as he'd always led. And
Obi-Wan had followed, managing to match his Master as he always
did.
Hands, touching and then grabbing were followed by mouths,
kissing and then biting, until Qui-Gon was roughly stroking the
very firm erection of his Padawan. He took it inside his mouth
next, sucking hard and grazing the satin skin with his teeth.
Above him Obi-Wan cried out wordlessly, his hands knotted in
Qui-Gon's hair as his hips thrust against Qui-Gon's powerful
grasp. Sensing Obi-Wan's impending orgasm, Qui-Gon pulled his
mouth away, silencing Obi-Wan's bereft cry by grasping the
slick cock and stroking it, pumping it hard until Obi-Wan
screamed Qui-Gon's name and came.
Even as Qui-Gon slicked his fingers, Obi-Wan understood.
"Yes!" he demanded. "Take me, Master!"
And Qui-Gon had, maddened by two years of hunger for the man
beneath him. He maintained enough sanity to try to prepare
Obi-Wan, but his partner seemed not to care, chanting, no,
whimpering, "nownownownow," and "please, Master, oh Force,
please now!" He met Qui-Gon's first somewhat hesitant
thrust with a snap of his hips and a triumphant cry.
Qui-Gon let go then and just pounded into the form below him.
This was Obi-Wan! His own beloved Padawan, whom he'd
loved for years and desired, and nothing could stop him from
claiming the man who shuddered beneath him and begged for more.
And who, miraculously, was hard once more, pumping his own cock
in a driving rhythm that matched Qui-Gon's.
Both men screamed as they came, Qui-Gon buried as deeply in
Obi-Wan's body as he could be. Even their minds touched, not on
a true bonding level, but enough for each of them to know that
this was far more than a fear induced moment in time. Even as
their bodies stilled and remained close, their minds spoke of
love and forever and how they would overcome "my little
problem" as Obi-Wan called it.
And so, thought Qui-Gon as he suddenly returned to the present
and LiaFall, they had. And yet, something was still not right.
For, hidden in his private mind place, were things that
frightened him. Desires more dark than any he had ever had.
Obi-Wan frowned slightly as he wandered out of the bathroom, a
towel draped loosely around his waist. Qui-Gon was sitting on
the foot of the bed, brooding. Again Obi-Wan felt that
helplessness; He could lose Qui-Gon by saying nothing, or lose
him by telling the truth.
But when Qui-Gon looked up, the smile on his face was genuine
enough and he gestured wryly toward the closet.
"I can't handle it," he said, chuckling. "There isn't any beige
or brown in there."
"Skies above," Obi-Wan replied with mock solemnity. "Whatever
will you do?
"Therefore," Qui-Gon said, rising to his feet and drawing
himself up to look down at Obi-Wan, "I will go take a bath
while you set out my clothes, Padawan." He waved toward
the closet in what was supposed to be an impatient gesture.
Obi-Wan clamped down hard on his thoughts and bowed slightly.
"Yes, my Master."
Damn, but the man could be so overwhelming at times, Obi-Wan
thought as he looked at the closet. Why did his Master have to
issue mock commands like that, as if it were all some sort of
game or something? And why did those commands, made in jest,
get under Obi-Wan's skin so easily?
As always, he knew the answer to the question. He wanted
to be commanded, not in jest, but in reality. And the rough
driving sex of their first coupling had led him to believe that
Qui-Gon was claiming him. And then, in a fit of guilt over his
roughness, Qui-Gon had never taken him like that again.
Oh it wasn't that Obi-Wan didn't adore his lover's gentle
touch, far from it. Qui-Gon, to his surprise, was a sensualist,
capable of tightly controlling his pleasure in order to spend
hours for just one round of lovemaking. Sometimes Obi-Wan could
respond, and sometimes he couldn't. They talked about it every
once in a while, each assuring the other that it was all right
if it was all right with the other.
Every once in a while, Obi-Wan wanted to make some grand
gesture, to yell and say "No! It's not all right and
won't be until you do enough to break me free of my body's
limitations. For he'd learned with time that fantasies of
strength and roughness from his partner, even, Force help him,
dreams of pain carefully dealt out were what made him truly
physically aroused. And when that fantasy partner was Qui-Gon,
when that shadow Master was his Jedi Master, that arousal was
real in a way it only had been once with a partner.
Abandoning the fruitless, and hardly new, line of thought,
Obi-Wan sighed, and turned his attention to the rainbow held in
the closet. Normally, when given the chance to dress his
master, he went for dark blues to match Qui-Gon's eyes, or
greens to signify Qui-Gon's affinity to the Living Force. But
the blues and greens offered did not interest him. *Too pale,*
he thought, *Master needs darker colors.*
Red? Qui-Gon could wear it, although one had to be careful and
go for the dark jewel reds. But when Obi-Wan reached for the
red, he shook his head instantly. It wasn't that his Master
didn't like thin silk -- Obi-Wan smiled, remembering Qui-Gon's
cock wrapped in a thin silken sheet and how it had felt to move
his mouth over that silk wrapped length -- but somehow sheer
red silk and gauze clothes held together mostly with ribbons
just didn't say "Qui-Gon Jinn."
He sighed in frustration and looked at the blue again. And then
. . . past the blue, he saw the blacks. No gauze or thin silk
here, no, the textures of the garments matched their color and
quickly Obi-Wan laid out an outfit, complete with boots. Just
once, he thought, just once he would see Qui-Gon at least
look like the Master he wished the man would be to him.
Hearing Qui-Gon getting out of the bath, Obi-Wan ducked quickly
into the adjoining room to hunt though his own closet. Yes,
there it was, a similar set of clothes to the dark red in
Qui-Gon's closet, only this was all flame, red and oragne and a
touch of gold. As he slid into garments that could be removed
with the simple pulling of a few silken ties, Obi-Wan vowed to
at least dress them in his fantasy for one night.
Maybe it would give him the courage to speak and break down the
barrier.
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