Summary: Takes place during TPM; after Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's
argument on the Coruscant landing platform, but before
Obi-Wan's apology on Naboo.
This is my first TPM fanfic, and more importantly, although
I've written more het smut than I should even admit to, this is
my first attempt at slash. Please be gentle. <g> I didn't
intend to write something this dark; it just kind of happened.
If you're in the mood for something schmoopy, this is probably
not the fic for you.
Thanks to Yahtzee63 for her feedback and support.
I'm not on the comments list, so please send all feedback to
Dianora2@aol.com. You can read my Star Wars, X-Files, and
Robotech fanfic at members.aol.com/dianora2/main.htm.
Obi-Wan paced restlessly within the confines of his temporary
quarters aboard the Queen's starship, knowing full well that he
should be meditating instead, should be focusing his energies
on serenity and understanding rather than allowing anger to
course through him. But he didn't want to let go just yet; the
anger, at least, was his to call his own -- not his master's,
not the Council's, not the boy's - his, to do with as he
wished. The thought gave him a measure of satisfaction, colored
with a shame that he pushed away with impatience. By the fires
of hell, he had a right to be angry, he told himself
stubbornly.
Apprenticeship to Qui-Gon had always carried its share of
headaches: conscience-wracking complicity with his master in
defiance of the Council; disagreements with his master on
policies and procedures; barbs hurled at him by his
contemporaries for tagging along after someone widely regarded
as a renegade practitioner of the Jedi arts - all these things
had conspired to make his time with Qui-Gon into a challenge
above and beyond what he'd expected when he had first begun his
training.
But in spite of all the nuisances and trauma, it was worth it
-- more than worth it. Over the years, his relationship with
Qui-Gon had brought him more than enough joy to outweigh any
burden their pairing might otherwise bring. Tenderness,
affection, passion, an intimacy beyond his imaginings - Obi-Wan
had discovered all this and more in his master's embrace, and
wouldn't trade that for anything in the universe.
He only wished he could believe at the moment that Qui-Gon
still felt the same.
It all came back to the boy. Obi-Wan possessed a strong enough
sense of self-awareness to realize that his suspicion of the
child was shaded with jealousy; when Qui-Gon had announced to
the Council that he wished to take Anakin on as his padawan,
the cold shock of it had washed over Obi-Wan like a carbonite
bath. He had recovered well enough to humiliate himself in
front of the Council with his self-confidence regarding the
trials, but that seething kernel of jealousy still lurked
inside of him, leading, inevitably, to his most recent argument
with his master.
Replaying the scene in his head once more, it was the
chastising tone that he could not abide -- the way Qui-Gon had
dismissed him and ordered him to board the ship, as if he were
a recalcitrant child. As if he were the young boy, and not
Anakin Skywalker. Of course, Obi-Wan was - for now -- still an
apprentice and Qui-Gon his master, but nonetheless...
"Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan whirled around; he had been so lost in thought he had
not even felt the other man enter the room, and he silently
cursed himself for such vulnerability. "Yes, master?" he said
evenly.
Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest, his expression
unreadable. "You are broadcasting your thoughts and feelings to
every Force-sensitive on this ship. By which I mean you are not
only affecting me, but Anakin as well. As he does not yet know
how to shield himself against such interference, he is restless
and angered and doesn't understand why."
Good, Obi-Wan thought unfairly, but tamped the thought down
swiftly, along with the rest of his roiling emotions.
Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow. "If you have a quarrel with my
desire to train Anakin, so be it. But there is no reason to
take it out on the child."
Obi-Wan nodded, conceding the truth of it, but unwilling to
yield further. He knew he was pushing the boundaries now, but
didn't particularly care. "Is that all, master?" He barely
refrained from spitting out the title.
Their eyes met, and Obi-Wan forced himself not to look away
from his master's frosty blue gaze. "We have six hours until we
arrive on Naboo," Qui-Gon said. "I suggest you use that time
for mediation, or better yet, sleep. We're all exhausted; some
of us, perhaps, more than most." Obi- Wan clenched his jaw at
the veiled reprimand, but said nothing. "I will be resting in
my own quarters, should you..." For the first time, Qui- Gon
faltered, and Obi-Wan could hear the unsaid words: should you
need me. "I'll be in my quarters," he said finally, and left
the chamber.
Obi-Wan stared at the doorway for a long time after his master
had walked through it. Then he undressed, cued off the lights,
and went to bed, although he suspected he was far too agitated
to sleep.
He must have been wrong about his ability to surrender to
slumber, for it was a murky haze of sleep that Obi-Wan swam
through some time later as he struggled toward consciousness.
He had, to his growing alarm, an ineffable sense of...being
watched.
His eyes snapped open, and he blinked rapidly to adjust to the
darkness.
Qui-Gon hovered over him.
The outline of his master's shape was as familiar to him as
breathing; Obi-Wan nonetheless swallowed hard against a rush of
fear before he realized that Qui-Gon was simply watching him,
and apparently had been doing so while Obi-Wan slept. When
their eyes found each other through the shadows Obi-Wan could
feel the connection crackle between them like a magnetic pulse.
In a fugue of half-sleep he fancied that he could actually see
the pull between them, sparking blue in the dark.
Qui-Gon did not speak, did not attempt to offer explanations;
instead, he reached out a hand to touch Obi-Wan's cheek. With
now fully awake reflexes Obi-Wan halted the motion, gripping
the other man's forearm firmly with his fist. Qui-Gon let out a
sharp exhalation of breath, but did not fight the iron grasp.
Heady with newfound power, Obi-Wan drew his master close,
closer, tangling his free hand in Qui-Gon's long, thick hair.
Still, his master did not resist. Their lips met and pressed
against each other briefly; then Obi-Wan forced his tongue
between Qui-Gon's lips, the other man opening to him eagerly,
sucking strongly on Obi-Wan's tongue, tracing his teeth and
lips in ardent exploration. But much as he wanted to simply
lose himself in that hot, wet, seductive mouth, Obi-Wan did not
allow the kiss to continue for too long before pulling his
master down onto the bed beside him.
Obi-Wan had disrobed for bed, and while the feel of Qui-Gon's
coarse homespun against his skin was strangely arousing, he
wanted the sensation of flesh to flesh even more. With
practiced fingers he helped Qui-Gon out of his clothing,
tossing it in a heap on the floor, and then finally they melded
together, skin to skin, clutching at each other with increasing
urgency. Obi-Wan ran his hands up and down Qui-Gon's strong,
muscular thighs, digging his fingers into the yielding flesh of
the other man's behind. Qui-Gon let out a strangled moan and
covered Obi-Wan's mouth with his, and again they kissed and
kissed and kissed, desperately devouring each other. When
Obi-Wan felt his master's hand close around his straining cock,
he gasped into Qui-Gon's mouth, shuddered.
"You want this?" Obi-Wan whispered. The pent-up anger, the
jealousy, the desire -- he heard it all in his own voice, knew
there was no point in hiding it.
"Yes," came the immediate response. Qui-Gon's breathing was
harsh and heavy in the dark.
The corners of Obi-Wan's mouth quirked in a half-smile, even as
he berated himself for the un-Jedi-like smugness. He kissed his
master again, all too briefly, then pushed him back onto the
pillows and began to travel down the length of Qui-Gon's body,
using his mouth as a guide. He nibbled at Qui-Gon's collarbone,
tasting the tang of sweat; sucked lazily at Qui-Gon's nipples,
swirling his tongue over each one in turn; caressed the planes
of his abdomen with lips and teeth, biting the sensitive skin
lightly and eliciting a sharp moan from above. By the time he
reached Qui-Gon's rigid cock, his master was gasping, straining
up against him, hips twitching with slight, almost hesitant
movements. Obi-Wan placed soft, slow kisses in the hollows of
his groin, on either side of his erect member, pleased when
Qui-Gon twitched and jerked his hips up violently.
He straightened, sitting back on his ankles, and looked down at
his master. "Turn over."
There was a long pause in which Obi-Wan's heart nearly stopped;
had he gone too far? But no, he knew his master as well as he
thought he did. With heart-wrenching obedience Qui-Gon turned
over onto his stomach, letting out a choked gasp when his
erection hit the softness of the sheets beneath him.
Obi-Wan stroked the smooth, firm cheeks of his master's behind,
admiring the way the muscles bunched beneath his fingertips,
the way Qui-Gon thrust himself into the bed with each
application of pressure from his apprentice's hands. He dipped
his head to place a tender kiss on Qui-Gon's tailbone, then
leaned over the side of the bed and rummaged through the travel
bag he had left nearby on the floor until his fingers closed
over the bottle of lubricant he kept there.
Obi-Wan squeezed a liberal amount of the cool gel onto his
palm, then gently spread it over and into Qui-Gon's anus,
inserting one, then two probing fingers inside of him. Obi-Wan
could feel his master loosening beneath him, using the Force to
help relax the muscles. He withdrew his fingers and lubricated
himself with a few swift strokes, biting down on his lip at the
feel of it. Finally, Qui-Gon raised his hips up even higher,
and Obi-Wan slid slowly, slowly into him, letting out a low
groan he couldn't contain. Qui- Gon emitted a deep sigh and
clutched at the sheets with clawing fingers. Obi-Wan could feel
tendrils of the Force prodding at his consciousness, signs of
his master trying to draw him out of himself and into the
emotion between them, but Obi-Wan resisted. He would not
surrender himself so completely this time. Couldn't.
In, then out, and in again, and Obi-Wan groaned once more, a
higher- pitched groan this time. So hot and tight and
strong...another thrust, and Qui-Gon reared back up against
him, an animalistic grunt flying from deep in his throat.
Without stopping, Obi-Wan leaned over as far as he could,
sinking his teeth into the firm flesh of his master's shoulder.
The skin tasted warm and salty and bitter and utterly perfect.
In, and out, and they moaned in unison, loud, guttural sounds,
and Obi-Wan fleetingly hoped their room was soundproof. Again,
and Obi-Wan reached around his master's thrusting hips to find
Qui-Gon's cock, which pulsed red heat against his slick palm.
Slow, sure strokes with a firm, gentle grip, and Qui-Gon was
practically whimpering beneath him, helpless, thrusting
mindlessly into his grasp, hips rising and falling as Obi-Wan
increased the tempo, pounding into him relentlessly.
Mine, he thought, as he kept up the steady rhythm. Mine mine
mine mine mine mine mine....
The orgasm took him almost by surprise, consuming him,
enveloping him in a cascade of light, suspending rational
thought as he rode the crests of the waves, spasming over and
over and over -- mine mine mine mine mine -- until finally he
came back to himself, gasping for air, murmuring his master's
name without even realizing his mouth was forming the words. He
rested his head against Qui-Gon's shoulder, composing himself
for just a moment, before he once again continued to stroke
Qui-Gon's throbbing cock, refusing to lose himself in
post-coital lassitude until his lover had joined him there.
He stroked and clenched and pumped, velvet steel hot in his
fist, his master panting and straining toward release, until
finally Qui-Gon stiffened and let out a sharp cry, hips jerking
spasmodically as Obi-Wan felt his hand bathed in warm semen,
slippery and thick and wet. They both collapsed against the
bed, Obi-Wan still embracing Qui- Gon from behind, both of them
breathing heavily, neither of them speaking, until: "You
shielded yourself from me," Qui-Gon said quietly. His tone was
not accusatory, but Obi-Wan detected the emotion anyway.
He disengaged and rolled off of Qui-Gon's back, settled in
beside him as his master turned over to face him. He stroked
Qui-Gon's cheek, his hair, his neck. "Yes," he said simply. He
was not ready to apologize -- for any of it -- just yet.
Perhaps later. Certainly later. But for now... "Kiss me," he
said softly, hearing the pleading undercurrent to his demand.
Master obeyed apprentice, capturing Obi-Wan's lips with his
own. I may not always be your padawan, Obi-Wan thought,
returning the kiss, but I will always be this, here, now...
Despite Obi-Wan's carefully erected shields, Qui-Gon must have
felt something of the sentiment, for he pulled back and cradled
his apprentice's face with his hands, callused fingertips rough
against Obi-Wan's skin. "Always," he whispered.
Always. Obi-Wan wondered just how long that would be.
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