Spoilers : Yes. Warnings : No. Archive : this list only, others
please ask first. Thanks. Enjoy.
Eros, a multi-universe love story by Brenda Antrim. Rated NC17
for adult themes and sexuality. No copyright infringement
intended (Star Trek : Voyager, Star Wars : The Phantom Menace,
Highlander, Sentinel, Stargate : SG-1, the Pantheon of Greek
Deities -- NOT the ones depicted in the HercXenaVerse, the Real
ones).
It was absolutely ridiculous. Why, one would think that they
were jealous, or insane, if one wasn't part of the same
Continuum. He would have noticed if that was the case. No, they
just had to be petty because he, Q, had thought of something
none of the other Q could be creative and imaginative enough to
consider.
Which led him to summary exile to a galaxy far, far away for an
indefinite period.
Alright, he could admit it, yes. He had brought an inferior
species into the middle of a Q disagreement. If one could call
something as cataclysmic as civil war a 'disagreement'. But the
Humans from Voyager, pathetic creatures that they were,
had made the difference. Because of that, and only
because of that, the exile was to another living galaxy instead
of being bound in the middle of a lump of meteor somewhere in
the back of beyond.
Q stared around the bustling planets, sighing silently, sending
gusts of galactic wind out to wreak havoc with a few pitiful
little warships. They bounced around and emitted tiny squeaks
of outrage, then turned on one another and blasted each other
out of existence.
It was a tiny moment of fun, but it just wasn't the same as
being home. Q was bored. Surely there was someone here
as interesting, or at least partially as interesting, as
Jean-Luc or dear Kathy, bless her brass brassiere. The essence
indefinable that was Q drifted toward a particularly busy
little planet, encrusted all over with the epitome of
civilization for this batch of sub-species, and floated around
aimlessly, looking for any sort of diversion to lift his mood.
High in one of the towers scattered like holes in an anthill,
he found it. A nicely developing malevolence with a dab hand at
spatial manipulation, dressed in melodramatic black, croaking
out orders through shady channels to his little minions of
darkness. Q chortled, unheard by the lesser beings. This might
be good for a small distraction.
Listening in, he heard definite delusions of Godhood from the
little lump of ambition. Lord Sidious, indeed. Leader of the
universe (ha!), soon to be grand emperor of the new empire
built on the ashes of the Republic. Q yawned, and grew weary of
the little man in the black robe with all the big ideas. But
his hovering horned apprentice with the bad teeth and hissing
voice was somewhat amusing.
Following on the heels of the brooding hound, ignoring the
posturing of the hound's master for the moment, Q drifted
alongside the warship on the way to another little rock in the
middle of nowhere. Naboo. What sort of name was that, even for
Humans? It sounded like a name for a stuffed bear, or some
other ridiculous toy. Q dogged the heels of the hound through
boring desert scenery to a boring rock outcropping to a boring
plain, all set to float away again, when something ...
interesting ... happened.
Oh. My. Q paused, arrested. Now, there was a pretty
sight.
A tall Human, dressed in depressingly dull clothing but
carrying it off well, with a nice craggy outline that reminded
him of Jean Luc. Only taller. With much more hair. And more
active, by far.
What lovely legs.
What lovely hands.
What lovely eyes.
The horned hound nearly caused a premature ending to the object
of Q's fascination, and Q wrapped a tendril of energy around
the horned one's ankle, tripping him up just enough for the
lovely tall man to leap up into the belly of another craft and
get away.
All of a sudden, Q wasn't bored anymore.
He tagged along with the tall Human, laughed at the frog-like
creatures with the bad syntax and the big ears, ignored the
pale girl child and the annoying little boy child, spared an
appreciative glance for the shorter warrior with the silly
haircut who might grow up into something toothsome in another
thirty years or so. But most of his attention was firmly
attached to the tall Human warrior with the great legs and the
long hair and the soft voice.
Qui Gon Jinn, of the Jedi Knights. Odd name, but then most
Humans had strange names. There was about him an air of calm
underlain with volcanic strength that reminded Q more strongly
of Jean Luc the longer Q watched him. He was also a spatial and
emotive manipulator, but, while arrogant, this one had none of
the delusions of the squatty little would-be emperor. This one,
this Qui Gon, was worthy of the notice of Q.
Things escalated in the silly little war, as they always did
when Humans were involved, and Q found himself watching over
his warrior as he and his student challenged the hound again.
This time, the hound was winning, and Q snorted with disgust.
This would never do. He'd finally found something worth
watching to keep his exile from boring him completely out of
existence, and this little thug was trying to take it away. No.
At the pivotal moment in the battle, the hound sneered at Q's
favorite, and struck at him as if to slice into his chest in a
killing blow. Q waved a finger, and the power crystals in the
hound's weapon reversed, extinguishing the energy blade
extending toward Qui Gon and extending it out the other end of
the handle. The hound effectively gutted himself. Q allowed
himself a smug smile at the astonished look frozen on the
hound's face as he fell, dead, to the floor, then materialized
in front of the equally astonished Qui Gon.
"It simply wouldn't do, to lose you when I've only just found
you," he murmured, running a finger along Qui Gon's cheek.
Unlike Jean Luc, when Q took his human form with Qui Gon he had
to look up to meet the crystalline blue eyes. Q liked
the difference. He slid one hand under the slightly open jaw
and closed it, gently.
"Master!" The student came skidding onto the scene, lightsaber
up and slashing as he came, belatedly, to his master's rescue.
Q ignored him.
"You're quite handsome, for one of your species," he praised
Qui Gon. Qui Gon swallowed.
"Master?" the student asked this time. "Do you, er, need any
help?" The boy's wide blue-green eyes were sweeping all along
the scene, the body of the hound collapsed and bleeding around
his own weapon, Q running his fingers along the trimmed beard
of his master, and his master himself, standing stock still in
total shock. Q couldn't hold back the chuckle.
"Not now," he answered both the student's immediate question
and Qui Gon's need for explanation, unvoiced but obvious in his
expression. "Perhaps later." With a last chuckle, Q
dematerialized and resumed his passive role as watcher, as
fighting broke through and swept the warriors up in its midst.
Qui Gon and his student exchanged bemused glances, then turned
to face their attackers together.
Q's attention was drawn from his Qui Gon by the tug from the
Continuum. His attention turned, but it was only a fellow Q,
checking on him, making sure he wasn't 'wreaking havoc amongst
the lesser species again'. Q shrugged indignantly. He was being
amazingly good. Now, go away and leave me alone, he projected
at the other Q. I thought exile was supposed to be served
solitarily, and I can't do that with you hanging about.
Suspicion flowed through him, emanating from the rest of the
Continuum, but he maintained his innocence of any and all
interference. Because it was, on the whole, quite true this
time, they eventually drew back and left him to his sentence.
Good, he thought, and wandered back, feeling the pull of the
light that was the Human Qui Gon. Time flowed differently for
the Q, of course, and a few years had passed in the Human's
span of time. The annoying little brat from the planet was now
Qui Gon's student. The original student, Obi Wan, his name was,
had filled out a little. His hair had grown, Q noticed and
approved. The balance of the situation had changed.
The little brat was around constantly. Obi Wan was
trying his damnedest to seduce his ex-master, and even had Qui
Gon been willing -- which, given Q's observances, he
undoubtedly was -- they never had five minutes alone to
do anything.
This wouldn't do at all. Q couldn't hope to have a free field
to court Qui Gon with the teenager and the courtier hanging
around all the time. It would definitely put a damper on his
courtship. Waiting until the brat finally took a bathroom
break, Q materialized in Qui Gon's quarters, all flash and
crimson flowing draperies, and prepared to sweep the Human off
his feet.
Before he had a chance, his rival bounced into the room.
"Qui Gon, finally--" the boy began. It was too much. Q hadn't
even had a chance to introduce himself. He swept Qui Gon up
into his arms, surprising both warriors into immobility. Taking
advantage of the moment of pure shock, Q wrapped tendrils of
purest thought energy around Qui Gon, effectively stopping any
possibility of struggle.
The boy took this as an attack, and ignited his energy weapon.
Screaming, "Master!", an interesting exclamation given their
current status, which distracted Q into wondering what,
precisely, their past training had entailed, Obi Wan sliced at
Q.
Burned his arm.
Pissed him off, instantly.
With a jerk of his head, Kenobi disappeared, still waving his
irritating little weapon. The toilet flushed and the teenager
appeared, all vacuous eyes and gaping mouth. Just for fun, Q
imprinted an image of Lord Sidious in the brat's mind, all
black robes and purple lightning flying from his fingertips.
Before his seduction scene could devolve into anything any more
ludicrous, Q concentrated.
They disappeared without a trace, Qui Gon's scream of Obi Wan's
name echoing in the empty chamber.
Drifting in the intersection of reality and nothingness, Qui
Gon's face buried against him, Q watched with interest as the
brat ran to a tall, dark-skinned man and blathered something
about darkness and Sith and the end of the galaxy. There was a
search, of course, but both Q's favorite and the warrior who'd
tried to take him from Q were long gone. The Jedi swarmed like
insects, put their little heads together, had a manhunt, had a
Darkness hunt. Q laughed aloud as several of them converged in
a fighting formation against the self-styled emperor, and the
toad-like man's dreams went up in ashes along with his life
force.
Served him right. Godhood, indeed. Saved Q the trouble of
having to do it himself.
Metaphorically turning his back to the madhouse, irresistibly
reminded of Earth ants pouring from a crushed anthill, he
whisked his new play-toy away to somewhere a little more
comfortable. It was time that Qui Gon Jinn was introduced to
the glory that was Q.
~~~
Duncan MacLeod was in trouble. He was an excellent fighter --
couldn't have survived almost five hundred years without being
able to take care of himself. But he followed the rules, and if
he didn't exactly expect others to do so, he did try to avoid
situations where they wouldn't.
Sometimes, such situations were unavoidable.
Seven immortals, hunting in a pack. Methos had dropped by a few
weeks previously and mentioned their leader, one Stavros Palas,
and Duncan had called on Joe for a little background. What he'd
found hadn't impressed him. Cowardly type, liked to prey on
young Immortals, not for their Quickenings, but to get them to
do his hunting for him, weaken the prey for him before he
stepped in and struck the killing blow. Then, once they got
strong enough to challenge him, he'd take their heads.
Unpleasant, but not too cocky, and not stupid. He wouldn't come
after MacLeod.
Mac was calling himself many things, including both cocky and
stupid, for making that assumption.
Three of the Immortals, led by Stavros, had him cornered in an
abandoned warehouse, one of many too many such buildings along
the docks in Seacouver. The other four were ranged at all
points of the compass, to cut him off should he manage to
scramble away from the main attack. Cursing to himself in a
dialect of Gaelic long since extinct, he swung his katana in a
whirling, crossing, dazzling pattern. He was holding all three
of them off, but not for long.
As the pattern was at the point of breaking under the combined
attack, there was a strange rippling in the air around them.
All eight Immortals shuddered, then a body tumbled into the
melee from out of nowhere.
A body wielding an impressive if utterly alien sword.
Two of the flanking Immortals attacked the newcomer, as the
lead three returned to their attack on MacLeod. With a strange
buzzing noise, the newcomer sliced literally all the way
through both Immortals attacking him. Mac shouted, a hoarse,
wordless cry for help as Stavros broke through his defense, his
sycophants stabbing at him, weakening him.
The stranger reacted instinctively, with an incredible
acrobatic leap over the cluster of fighting Immortals that
placed him back to back with MacLeod. Mac didn't have the
breath to thank or welcome him, just swung right into battle as
if they'd been shield-mates for centuries. A lucky swing took
the strange energy blade directly through Stavros' neck,
separating his head from his shoulders, at the same time Mac
slid his katana through the spine of one of the other
attackers. The third attacker fell back, joined by the two
surviving members of the pack, as the Quickenings sped around
the interior of the warehouse.
Lights exploded. Wood spontaneously combusted. Windows
shattered. Mac felt like the top of his head was exploding
along with the light bulbs, like his eyes were melting and his
tongue was fried and his ears were molten flesh as the power of
both Quickenings struck him, harsh and overwhelming, snakebites
both draining and filling him with the charge of Life.
Even through the agony of the Quickenings tearing along his
nerves and wrenching skin from flesh and flesh from bones, he
saw the stranger, standing guard over him. The man's eyes were
wide, his face was pale, and his hands were shaking, but he was
defending MacLeod as he convulsed and spun, helpless in the
wake of the Quickenings. It was a good thing, too.
The three surviving pack members were circling, trying to find
an angle of attack. The stranger was everywhere, moving faster
than the eye could see, leaping, spinning, deflecting blows
from all three swords. Mac had never seen such consummate
swordsmanship. If only his eyes didn't feel like they were
dripping down his cheekbones, he'd really be enjoying the show.
As it was, he could only lay in a crumpled, twitching heap as
the stranger saved his life, over and over.
Eventually, the pack gave up, unable to get close to him while
he was still vulnerable, as long as his preternaturally
efficient defender kept guard. One of them screamed defiantly,
"You'll die for this!" as they ran. MacLeod believed it, or
believed they'd try, at least.
After the last of them had disappeared, the young man turned,
powered down his odd energy sword, and leaned over Mac. Close
enough to be heard, but not close enough to be grabbed.
Cautious. Mac appreciated that in a warrior.
"Are you alright?" Soft, low voice, educated, sounded like an
Englishman. Mac smiled at old prejudices, then winced as he
tried to move. Single Quickenings were tough. Doubles ...
doubles were a right bitch.
"Yeah, I think so," he managed to croak. The stranger didn't
look reassured. "Just gimme a moment, and let me catch m'
breath."
The stranger took him literally, crouching, watching him
intently, until Mac could breathe again. Then he asked, "Where
are we? Who are you? What happened? What planet is this?"
Mac stared up at him, then smothered a grin and hoisted
himself, painfully, to his feet. Halfway through the process,
the stranger reached out and steadied him. His hands were
strong and warm.
"What planet?" Mac asked, stalling for time. Aye, the man could
be a maniac, but he was a maniac with a startlingly useful
sword and a real facility for putting it to use.
"Yes," the stranger replied impatiently. "Just a moment ago, I
was on Coruscant. In my master's chambers. Then we were
attacked, I was flung into some sort of tunnel, and ended up
here. Where is here?"
Mac stared, vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open.
"You're from another planet?" he asked, but internally he kept
repeating, his master? His master? Oh, god, he has a
master. Oh, yes.
The stranger cocked his head and looked at him as if Mac
was the one who needed help. "Yes," he answered very slowly. "I
take it ... this is unusual."
"Ye could say that," Mac forced out. The stranger opened his
mouth again, and Mac raised his hand. "First things first. What
say we introduce ourselves, get away from here before those
bastards come back, go home, get cleaned up and share a good
bottle of Scotch while you tell me all about it. Duncan MacLeod
of the Clan MacLeod, at your service."
The stranger smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and it
distracted Mac. "Obi Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, in the service of
the Light." The words brought Mac back to earth with a
vengeance.
Knight?
Kenobi?
... master??
Okay, so someone hadn't been taking their medication. But the
lad could still fight, and was comely to look upon, and had,
after all, saved Mac's arse. It was worth the risk to take him
home.
Might even have some unlooked-for rewards.
In fact, with the energy currently twisting his guts in knots,
he could bank on it.
~~~
Obi Wan stared around the neatly appointed rooms of the small
barge and wondered, not for the first time, what in the seventh
circle of Sith hells was going on. The Sith had certainly
changed both their sphere of influence and their tactics over
the thousand years of their supposed extinction. One moment he
was fighting the forces of Darkness and the next ..
A memory hit him. The Sith fighting his Master, sure to kill
him, a few short years before. A being in a strange black
unitard standing between his Master and the dead body of the
Sith, touching Qui Gon's face in a disturbingly intimate
manner.
The way he'd touched Qui Gon as he abducted the Jedi Master
from his own quarters, without any significant difficulty.
Although if he wasn't Sith, what was he?
The stranger he'd helped, Duncan MacLeod Of The Clan MacLeod --
such an odd name -- was moving restlessly about, bristling with
excess energy. Obi Wan felt his skin tingle. There was
something unusual about this Duncan. Obi Wan drew deeply within
himself and concentrated all his attention on the Light,
delving into the Force to better read his host.
Sheer unadulterated lust very nearly knocked him off his feet.
Energy danced in the Force aura around the man, an aura deep
enough that regardless of his apparent age it was obvious this
man was ancient. Not as ancient as Master Yoda, but much older
than standard lifespan expectancy for most humans. Not infirm,
in the least ... rather tempting, in fact.
Very tempting.
Sweat shone on his skin, lightly, from the exertion of the
fight. In addition, tiny whorls of lightning crackled along the
surface of his body, knitting small cuts in his skin, the
electricity only visible through the Force. This one, whomever
he was, while no Jedi, was extremely strong in the Light. He
was also extremely aroused.
And focused on Obi Wan.
Pulled into the whirlpool of Force currents around Duncan,
helpless as a child in the face of a hurricane, Obi Wan was
subsumed by the lust radiating out from Duncan. It pulsed
through them both in waves, crashing with the distant rhythm of
primal storms. In an instant, their heartbeats were
synchronized, running hard and fast, urging them on.
Instinctively, Obi Wan did as he had been trained since
childhood, and gave himself to the will of the Force.
Which, at the moment, translated to giving himself to Duncan
MacLeod.
Not that Obi Wan was complaining.
The alien was beautiful, after all. Tawny skin stretched over
compact, bunched muscles, a fighter's body honed to its best
use as a weapon of his trade. Obi Wan sensed no malice or
manipulation as he went into the man's arms, as that full mouth
fastened on his throat, as strong, square hands tore at his
robes. He retained enough sense of self and place to levitate
his lightsaber out of harm's way before Duncan tangled one hand
in his hair, the other under his buttocks, and lifted him
bodily from the floor, controlling their fall as they sank onto
the cushions of the couch below.
Duncan's weight was somehow comforting and exciting at the same
time. Obi Wan felt Duncan's advances on two levels at once --
the purely physical, as a determined knee parted his thighs and
a hungry mouth descended to map his body, and through the
Force, where the lightning danced from Duncan's skin to his
own, a frenzied, hungry swarming of energy between their
bodies.
His first climax caught him by surprise. Arching against
Duncan's hands, screaming into the mouth clamped over his own,
he could actually feel the lightning dispersing through the
fluid of his semen, following the trail of liquid back to the
source, sending an electrical charge along the length of his
penis and throughout his testicles from the inside out. Obi Wan
was so distracted by the unique sensation he missed the action
further down, and Duncan was entering him before he quite
realized it.
The electricity was also dancing along the fluid coating
Duncan's erection, and Obi Wan convulsed again as the charges
spread inside him from the rear as well. His entire pelvis was
awash in Force charges, and he could no more control his
reaction to them than he could stop the planet from rotating on
its axis. He was climaxing in a continual, low-level surge,
dribbling more semen with every thrust Duncan gave. Every nerve
and muscle in his body was twitching, much as Duncan had
twitched after the lightning had struck him at the scene of the
battle earlier in the day.
Duncan was appreciating the continuous rippling convulsions
clamping around his cock, judging by the growl coming from his
throat. He was bucking harder and harder against Obi Wan,
grinding him into the soft cushions, trapping Obi Wan's
spitting penis between them, adding physical pressure and
rhythm to the Force to bathe Obi Wan in a series of sensations
that threatened to render him unconscious, if not dead, from
sheer sensual overload.
When Duncan finally came, he did so nearly silently. Obi Wan
made up for it with a howl that nearly shattered the windows.
Utterly spent, in every way, they lay on the couch, barely
breathing, completely unable to move.
"I'd ask if I were interrupting anything," a very dry tenor
commented from the vicinity of the doorway, "but I hate being
obvious. You know, MacLeod, if you're going to be rutting like
alley cats, you really might consider closing the door. Locking
it would be better, but at least closing it would be nice."
A long, lanky figure, hatchet face crowned by a mop of dark
hair and sporting a glacial expression in eyes the color of wet
leaves, perched on the arm of the sofa. Obi Wan peered up at
him, blinking through the sweat stinging his eyes, and did the
best Force reading he could, given the fact that his energy had
been depleted to near zero. The lightning still singing through
his body, centering in his groin and up his fundament, was a
distraction as well.
He blinked again.
Judging by the depth and layers of the Force aura around this
one, he was at least ten times older than the man who'd just
finished nearly sending him into a coma with his lovemaking.
Obi Wan spared a prayer of thanks to whomever the local deities
might be that the newcomer hadn't been the one to fuck him. He
didn't think he'd've survived the experience.
"Obi Wan Kenobi," he offered by way of introduction. It wasn't
easy retaining one's dignity when lying half stripped under
another man, with that man's slowly softening penis slipping
out of one's ass, but the Jedi were nothing if not composed
under even the most trying circumstances. The ancient man
raised an eyebrow at him. The ice in his eyes thawed a
fraction.
"Adam Pierson," he offered in return. "I'm presuming you know
MacLeod."
Obi Wan glanced down at Duncan, currently burying his face in
Obi Wan's neck. A blush had risen over his entire body, up to
and including his back and arms. Obi Wan looked back over at
Pierson. "We've been introduced. In battle. There were several
men with swords attempting to kill him when I, er, showed up."
Pierson slumped even further, if that was possible. "MacLeod?
Anything you want to tell me?"
Muffled by being pressed against Obi Wan's skin, the reply was
still clear enough for both listeners to understand. "Go AWAY,
Methos!"
Pierson's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Obi Wan was reminded
of nothing so much as a hunting bird about to snap the neck of
its unfortunate prey. Then Adam Pierson Methos -- another
strange name -- relaxed.
His eyes didn't.
"Well, I'll be off then," he said with studied nonchalance.
Duncan finally unburied his face and spoke over his shoulder,
keeping his eyes on Obi Wan's face. "No. Don't. Stay." Since
Pierson hadn't actually moved, it was an effective plea.
Trying to ease the situation, diplomacy ingrained in him, Obi
Wan wriggled and twisted, helping Duncan ease out of him. Since
neither had completely undressed, it was the work of a moment
for Obi Wan to pull his robes together, ignoring the fluid
staining his leggings, and for Duncan to fasten his trousers.
He left his shirt open. Not that he had much choice in the
matter, given that sometime in their grappling Obi Wan had
ripped most of the buttons off. Obi Wan sat up, easing gently
onto the cushions, grateful for their softness on his bruised
and well-stretched hindquarters.
Pierson watched him like a hawk. Obi Wan offered him a serene
look. Peripherally, he noticed that not only was Duncan looking
much less embarrassed, but the severity of the agitation in his
Force signature was vastly decreased.
"You require coitus to calm the Force turmoil after a battle
then?" he asked Duncan. Both men looked at him as if he was
speaking Huttese. He thought about it a moment, and rephrased
the question. "You have to fuck after fighting to get it out of
your system?"
Oddly enough, Duncan looked embarrassed again, but Pierson
looked much more at ease, almost as if he was about to laugh.
When it became obvious that Duncan either couldn't or wouldn't
answer the question, Pierson did.
"Usually helps," he admitted. "The ... results of battle can
make us ... prickly."
"The lightning." It wasn't a question, but Pierson nodded
affirmation anyway. Obi Wan continued, "And taking in the
lightning from two foes would cause extreme ... prickliness?"
Pierson straightened up, staring at Duncan. "Another double
Quickening?" he asked, voice agitated.
Duncan nodded mutely.
All the remaining distance in Pierson's eyes disappeared.
"Bloody hell."
"Aye," Duncan finally found his voice.
"Tell me." There was an undercurrent of steel in Pierson's soft
voice. Duncan glanced over at Obi Wan. "He's in it too,"
Pierson prodded, impatiently.
Duncan did. Obi Wan sat there, shifting away the twinges in his
muscles, as Duncan said something about hunters and breaking
rules, packs and vengeance. Sworn equally against Obi Wan as
against Duncan. By the time he wound down, Pierson had joined
them on the couch, thigh to thigh with Duncan, and had his head
down, listening intently. When Duncan finished, the silence
stretched for long moments.
"Well, we have some unfinished business, then," Pierson finally
said. Duncan started to say something, and Pierson cut him off
with an upraised hand. "Don't start, Boy Scout. Yes, I'm in it,
so deal with it and get over it."
Duncan snorted, disgustedly, and Obi Wan grinned. These two
were old friends, and knew one another well, it would seem. A
pang of homesickness hit him, missing Qui Gon, wondering and
worrying about him. He came back to the conversation to hear
Pierson say, "He can't stay. He's a target, and he's not one of
us. He's at a disadvantage."
Obi Wan thought to mention that he'd done quite well so far,
but kept his mouth shut. If there was one thing he'd learned
from fifteen years of fieldwork as a Jedi peacekeeper, it was
to wait and watch while the natives made up their minds.
"Where can he go?" Duncan asked reasonably.
"I just want to go home," Obi Wan said quietly. Duncan and
Pierson looked at him. After a moment's thought, Pierson spoke
up again.
"How about Cascade? I have some friends there, not ... like us,
but unusual in their own right. They know how to keep secrets,
and they can keep him safe and under wraps until he can find
his way home."
"Can they help me find a way home?" Obi Wan asked.
"Blair is one of the most creative and imaginative mortals I
know, with contacts everywhere," Pierson responded, "and his
mate is both dependable and persistent. If anyone can help you,
they can."
Obi Wan's attention was caught by the strange use of the word
'mortal' but he was distracted by the hope the rest of
Pierson's words offered. "Then let us go to him, by all means."
Duncan looked over at him, then smiled, a wicked light in his
eyes. "A shower before mightn't go amiss."
Obi Wan grinned back at him, charmed by the expression on
Duncan's face, if not the chilly reaction from Pierson. "No
doubt," he agreed, and followed Duncan's lead to the
facilities, ignoring both his own stiff muscles and the
grumbling issuing from the slouched figure of Pierson behind
them. He made out "so much for straight," and "all sorts of
little secrets," and something about "see about that" before he
closed the door between himself and Duncan.
Hot water was bliss. He stood under the steaming spray and
tactfully ignored the verbal battle taking place out in the
living room. It seemed as if there had been a few surprises
today, and his displacement was the least of them.
~~~
It simply wasn't working. Nothing was working. He'd
offered the man wealth. Power beyond mere mortal imagining.
Fame spread across galaxies. Wars to be fought and victories in
battle to make any warrior's heart beat faster.
Qui Gon simply sat there, stared serenely at him, and said,
"No. Thank you."
Every time Q asked what the frustrating Human wanted, Qui Gon
responded with the same request. "To go home." That wasn't what
Q wanted to hear.
So Q started in on the sensual pleasures. The music of the
spheres. Tastes and scents so rich and subtle they would render
any Human drunk with pleasure. Finest textures of clothing and
bedding, sumptuous feasts, warming oils for his skin, a
smorgasbord of temptations of the flesh.
Qui Gon looked vaguely uncomfortable and drank water. While
standing to the side of all the soft, inviting furniture,
staring at the draperies suspiciously, completely ignoring the
feast. And Q knew he had to be hungry.
Q stared at him. A lesser being would have thrown up his hands,
or thrown one of those exquisite platters directly at Qui Gon's
head. Q simply studied him.
Of course. He was an Stoic, in the classical sense of the word.
How does one tempt a Stoic? It wasn't a question Q had ever
asked himself. If anything, it intrigued him even further.
What to give a being who believed, sincerely, that he lived for
duty? When such a being was still, in base form, merely flesh
and blood? For an instant, Q toyed with the thought of breaking
Qui Gon, finding the one temptation that Qui Gon would be
unable to deny. Then he shook the thought away. While it would
be fun, he had a sinking feeling he knew what that one thing
might be. And he hadn't gone to all this trouble just to give
Obi Wan to Qui Gon. It rather defeated the purpose, given that
Q had brought the Human here specifically to get him
away from Obi Wan and give him to Q.
So. If he wasn't going to break him, and didn't want to
break him, how could he seduce him? A puzzle worthy of the
attention of Q. It was a nice change of pace from the boredom
he'd been expecting in this exile.
The next period of time, subjectively forever to Qui Gon and
the blink of an eye to Q, was enlightening to the would-be
omnipotent being. Philosophy, while it engendered some interest
in Qui Gon, led only to endless, calm debates. Logic was even
worse. Simple gifts of the most perfect natural crystals and
rare ancient texts full of knowledge were met with equal
interest, but no passion.
Q wanted passion.
Qui Gon just wanted to go home.
He was worried about Anakin, and nearly frantic about Obi Wan,
although he thought he hid it from Q. Q knew better, but wasn't
about to give up the object of his fascination without a damned
good effort.
Not that it did him much good.
~~~
The drive to Cascade was a silent one. Methos watched MacLeod
drive, sitting sideways in his seat so he could keep an eye on
the uninvited guest along the way. The boy was easy enough on
the eyes, of course. All ginger hair waving about his face,
cleft chin and bright eyes, broad shoulders, long legs, strong
arms, creamy skin mottled red with passion, nail and bite marks
on his ... Methos derailed that train of thought immediately.
MacLeod hadn't been too forthcoming when he'd tackled him about
this heretofore unknown appreciation for male charms.
MacLeod had spread his hands in a 'what can I say?' gesture,
shrugged, widened his eyes and looked innocent. Tough to do
with the boy's come splattered all over him and a freshly
fucked air about him. Not to mention the eyeful Methos had
gotten springing into the barge, sword drawn, ready to join the
battle in progress.
Well, it had sounded like a battle. The boy could wail better
than most banshees Methos had met, and very long ago and far
away he had met them. Made them wail, too. The sight
that had greeted him on the couch in the barge had stopped him
dead in his tracks, frozen in the doorway. For the longest time
there had been nothing in the world but two bodies twined
together, pushing against one another, broad dusky back and
sturdy legs bisected by long pale legs crossed over those
thrusting buttocks. Methos had gotten light-headed just on the
smell of sex hanging in the air. Not to mention the visuals.
Of course, given that MacLeod had taken another double
Quickening, it was a wonder he hadn't pounded the boy into a
pulp fucking it off. One Quickening unleashed a pretty powerful
hunger. Two ... ouch. And this time he hadn't even had Methos
to bleed some of it off. Last time, Methos had gone on a tear,
well hidden, that had left half a dozen lovers exhausted in his
wake. He didn't know what -- or whom -- MacLeod had done,
hadn't even brought it up, because Methos' taste for lovers of
all types was one thing Straight Arrow Boy Scout wouldn't
understand.
Or so he'd thought.
When they dumped the boy off on Blair, he and MacLeod were
going to continue the little talk they'd begun at the barge.
Preferably behind a locked door. Naked.
Their arrival in Cascade interrupted the series of pleasant
mental images this resolution provoked. He snapped out of his
reverie and directed them to the loft Blair shared with his
Sentinel. It was after eight in the evening, so unless Ellison
had dragged them out on a stake-out, they should be home.
Luck held, and the trio tromped up the stairs to the third
floor. Methos hid a smile at the boy's barely concealed
fascination with everything they passed. He didn't know what
planet the kid had been living on, but wherever it was, it was
nothing like Earth. Methos throttled a laugh before it could
make its escape and rapped on the door.
A large, built brick wall of a man opened the door, bright blue
eyes sweeping over them like a laser. Methos cleared his
throat. This must be Ellison. "Hi," he began in a friendly
voice, 'grad student persona' firmly in place. "I'm Adam, a
friend of Blair's. Is he in?"
"Adam!" an enthusiastic cry from behind the door prompted
Ellison to open it in invitation. A blur of curls and flannel
whirled up to them, caught Adam up in a bear hug, and pulled
all three of them into the loft in the wake of the energy wave
left in his passing. Methos couldn't contain the grin. Sandburg
never changed. Thank any god who would listen. "Hey, man,
welcome! How long you been in town? Can you stay for long? Shut
the door, Jim, the neighbors are eyeballing us. Who's this?"
Wide, unblinking cerulean eyes bounced from Methos to MacLeod
to Kenobi, standing by the door looking slightly bemused. Nice
warrior instincts, Methos thought, hovering by the exit 'til he
knows if he has to run or fight. He gestured at his friend and
their orphan. "Blair Sandburg, meet Duncan MacLeod, an old
friend of mine. And Obi Wan Kenobi, a new friend." He wasn't
stretching it. MacLeod had made it clear that Obi Wan wasn't
just a convenient receptacle for a cleansing romp -- he'd saved
MacLeod's life. That made him a friend, in the 'probationary'
category Methos put any stranger who wasn't actively trying to
kill him. Too much time with MacLeod was rubbing off on him.
"MacLeod, Obi Wan, this is Blair, anthropologist and student of
life in all its forms."
Blair grinned at him. "Hey, guys, nice to meet you. This is
Jim. Ellison. My ... partner."
Ellison looked at him strangely, then asked the room at large,
"Beer?"
Methos led the enthusiastic acceptance. Kenobi, he noticed,
didn't say anything. They got their cans, settled into various
seats around the room, and chatted about nothing much in
particular for a little while. MacLeod was charming, as always,
Blair was a chatterbox, also the norm, and Methos kept the
conversation moving. Kenobi maintained his silence, but there
was nothing overtly unfriendly about it. Ellison split his time
between staring at Kenobi and staring at Methos.
By the third beer, Blair's curiosity was running too rampantly
for him to let it lie any longer. "So, give, man. What's up?"
Bright eyes stared at, and through, him. Methos took a deep
breath.
"It's going to sound insane." Blair gave him a look that said,
quite clearly, what else is new? Methos grinned, and explained.
Appeared out of nowhere, all indications are alien in origin,
helped MacLeod out of a tight spot, target as long as he stayed
in Seacouver, wants to go home, no idea how to get him there.
MacLeod filled in some of the bare spots. Kenobi sat there,
looking calm, as if all this made perfect sense. Of course, to
him, it would. "Any suggestions?" Methos wrapped up the scant
explanation.
Ellison was looking at him as if he'd like to frisk him for
hallucinogens. Blair simply looked thoughtful. "Maybe. Won't
know until tomorrow. I have to call some friends..." His voice
trailed off and his eyes unfocused. Now Ellison was staring at
Blair like he'd like to frisk him for illegal narcotics.
"Chief?" he asked. Blair shook himself back to attention and
smiled sweetly at Ellison. The big guy visibly melted.
"S'okay, Jim," Blair reassured him. "We've heard weirder,
right?" The words were laden with hidden meaning only three men
in the room understood. Ellison looked as if he wanted to argue
the point, but he didn't get the chance. "I gotta go call
Daniel. Back in a bit."
"Blair," Methos put in swiftly before the other man could
disappear. "We really need to be getting back. Can we leave Obi
Wan with you?"
A strange expression crossed Kenobi's face, part exasperation,
part understanding, part disgust, as if he felt like the orphan
Methos had mentally christened him -- or a puppy left on the
doorstep. Blair was hugging Methos goodbye before anyone else
could say anything, happily forestalling MacLeod's expected
protest.
MacLeod was not in a big hurry to be alone with Methos,
and Methos knew it. This merely added urgency to Methos' need
to dump the boy and get back to Seacouver. A darkling glance
from Duncan informed Methos that he knew precisely why Methos
was in such a rush. Methos ignored him, returning Blair's hug,
shaking Ellison's hand, clapping Kenobi on the shoulder, with
the requisite affection, politesse and gratitude each deserved
before hustling his Scot back down the stairs and into the car.
The drive back to Seacouver was as silent as the drive up had
been. When they arrived at the barge, Methos didn't ask, he
just followed MacLeod in. All the way back he could practically
hear MacLeod thinking, coming up with all the arguments, all
the claims of spur of the moment passion and expediency that
Methos had heard before from so many supposedly straight men.
He didn't get the chance.
They settled on the couch. MacLeod offered him a beer. Methos
slid across the length of the couch, tipped MacLeod over on his
back and climbed on top of him, faster than the speed of
thought. MacLeod stared up at him, open-mouthed, wide-eyed.
"Rather have you," Methos stated forcefully, ignoring the trite
phrasing in acknowledgement of the sheer unvarnished truth.
Then he dove into that open mouth and did what he'd been
fantasizing about for the last six years, at the very least.
He ravished the Highlander.
MacLeod didn't put up even a token fight. If anything, he was
more demanding than Methos, and Methos wondered for a second if
MacLeod really would do anything rather than talk. Then he
shrugged, tossed clothes off with wild abandon, and proceeded
to show Duncan MacLeod what five thousand years of experience
translated to in down and dirty terms.
Sometime between the second and third bout, Methos panted, "Why
didn't you tell me you liked men, too?
MacLeod grinned at him, a wicked slash of white across the dark
face, defining 'piratical' and causing Methos to grab for him
all over again. As MacLeod was disappearing under Methos' body,
he gasped out, "You never asked!"
Methos remedied the omission. Repeatedly.
By the fifth orgasm, praising Immortal regeneration and stamina
heartily, Methos was pretty sure MacLeod had gotten the
message.
Finally.
~~~
Blair had been on the phone nearly an hour. Seemed his
anthropologist buddy and he hadn't had the chance to catch up
for quite awhile, and Blair wanted to make sure everything was
up to date and all right before he asked for any favors. Not
that Jim knew what favors another anthropologist could do for
the man deposited on their doorstep.
A psychologist, maybe.
Preferably one who came equipped with a rubber room and one of
those designer jackets with the extra-long sleeves, complete
with buckles.
The kid, couldn't have been much older than Blair if he was
even that old, wasn't making a nuisance of himself. He just sat
there. Completely relaxed looking, but Jim's sentinel senses
told him another story. His heart was beating rapidly, his
temperature was spiking, and he was throwing off enough
pheromones to give a dead man a lift. He tripped every one of
Jim's territorial trip-wires. And he was staring at Jim. Not
blinking. Just staring, and leaking fuck-me signals.
After a silence that felt much longer than it probably was, the
kid spoke, abruptly, startling Jim. "Why are you upset?"
Without thought, Jim told the truth in response to the quiet
question. "You're in my space."
"And?" Clear blue-green eyes stared at him, demanding answers
he wasn't sure he wanted to give.
"I'm in love with Blair." Jim nearly bit the end of his tongue
off. Where had that come from? Well, yeah, he knew where it
came from, but why had it come out? Don't ask,
don't tell, don't screw up your life. But the kid had asked.
And for God only knew what reason, Jim had told.
"Why am I a threat?" The kid just wouldn't quit. Jim opened his
mouth to blast him and surprised both of them by answering the
question, instead.
"He finds you attractive." Jim could tell. Blair'd been
practically salivating as soon as the kid walked in the door.
Not that Jim could blame Blair. The kid was sexy, in a tough
little farm boy way, overlaid with a veneer of calm. But it was
a thin veneer. Jim could see right through it.
"He's attractive as well," the kid admitted, revving Jim's
desire to kill him and hide the body up several notches.
"You're more so," the kid continued, to Jim's complete shock.
As he was still trying to close his dropped jaw, the kid moved,
faster than Jim expected. A solid weight hit him mid-chest and
dropped him neatly on his ass on the floor, his lap full of
hot, ten-armed, suction-mouthed horny pheromone-streaming farm
boy. He was erect, unzipped, palmed and jacked before he knew
what hit him.
~~~
Obi Wan wasn't quite sure what was happening, but then, that
had been the case since the Sith -- or whatever he was -- had
appeared and blasted him into another dimension, in the course
of stealing his Master. So he followed the tenets of the Jedi,
and flowed with the Force.
The Force seemed to be exceptionally affectionate. Sex-starved,
one might say.
This man, this Jim, had affected physically him in much the
same way Duncan had, and his Master. All were big men, solid,
quiet warriors whose true worth shone through the Force. Jim's
Force aura was the most intense he'd ever seen, the colors
running the gamut of the spectrum, of a depth and clarity
unlike anything he'd ever experienced. They were echoed by
Blair's, the two appearing symbiotic, and some instinct told
him that the two were mated at the soul level. But the
symbiosis was incomplete.
It required a catalyst.
Acting on the unremitting urging of the Force, knowing without
understanding how that he was the catalyst these two matched
souls needed, he translated Force into physical action.
Launching himself at the larger man, he brought him down,
cushioning their fall with the Force, then tore into him with
all the intensity of passion Jim's unique Force signature
dictated.
The storm shook them both.
Tendrils of Force wove about them, binding them together in
passion and need. Obi Wan took Jim's erection into his hand,
palming and pulling it as he rocked his groin into Jim's
thighs. After the first few moments of paralysis, Jim responded
equally as instinctively, stripping Obi Wan of his robes.
Finding himself at the mercy of the Force for the second time
that day, Obi Wan gave a mental shrug and lay back, pulling Jim
over him.
His leggings were trapped around his ankles, and he solved that
problem by arching his back, putting his knees over Jim's
shoulders and using the leggings as a brace behind Jim's neck
to pull him closer. He reached below himself, drew Jim's hips
into alignment, then impaled himself on Jim's erection. Still
somewhat stretched from the earlier pounding Duncan had given
him, he took Jim's bulk easily. Jim rested his weight on his
stiffened arms, slamming his pelvis into Obi Wan's flanks as he
thrust. Their eyes locked.
Jim looked like he was in agony, so much pleasure strained his
features. Mid-thrust, they both heard a noise from the doorway
at the same time. Jim tore his eyes away and looked toward the
bedroom. Obi Wan followed his horrified gaze.
Blair stood there, eyes wide, color high, flush staining his
cheeks. He didn't look horrified, as Jim did. Quite the
opposite. He was looking at Jim as if he'd never seen him
before, and was liking the new view.
Obi Wan watched, Jim still frozen in place deep within him, as
Blair unbuttoned his jeans. Reached inside. Pushed his boxers
to the side, and drew his penis out. Walked the few short feet
to stand at Obi Wan's head.
Fed his cock to Jim. Inch at a time.
Jim moaned around the bulk feeding into his throat, a sound
echoed by both Blair and Obi Wan. Convulsively, Obi Wan kicked
free of his leggings and brought his knees up to his chest,
tucking his feet back out of the way along Jim's sides.
For endless seconds they stayed there, Blair's hand on Jim's
head, his feet planted to either side of Obi Wan's head. Then
Blair's hips began to thrust, and after a few moments, Jim's
hips copied the movement. Obi Wan gasped, eyes glued to the
sight directly above him, the heavy bulk of Blair's sac swaying
against Jim's chin, the muscles of Jim's throat swallowing
rhythmically, that rhythm resounding in his own body, jolting
him from his ankles to his shoulder blades.
Soon, the rhythm sped up, gaining momentum as they drove into
one another. Blair came first, throwing back his head and
howling like a wolf at the winter moon. Jim swallowed as
quickly as he could, but semen overflowed his greedy mouth,
dripping onto Obi Wan's face. He licked at it, the creamy
saltiness flavorful on his tongue.
Blair's climax triggered Jim's, who whipped hard into Obi Wan,
thrusting so deeply Obi Wan thought he'd never lose the
imprint. That final spasm tore his own orgasm from him, and he
arched against Jim, who held his hips in a vise grip, all the
time licking and nuzzling at Blair's spent genitals.
Blair's knees gave, and Obi Wan had just enough strength left
to help Jim's efforts to catch the falling man with a judicious
cushioning from the Force. They curled up in a knot on the
floor, Jim cradled between him and Blair. Obi Wan had no idea
why the Force was leading him this direction, but as he saw the
silent communication between the two mated souls and watched
their Force signatures meld into a single blazing spectrum of
colors, he knew it had been the right thing to do. These two
were joined in the Light, and all was as it should be.
For them, at least.
~~~
Had he been a lesser being, Q would have been at his wit's end.
Qui Gon didn't whine. Didn't plead. Didn't do anything but sit
there, stare at him, and worry about Obi Wan.
It was enough to make even an omnipotent being toss in the
towel.
But he wasn't about to quit. Not yet. Q didn't quit, not when
there was something he wanted. He cast out a tendril of
inquiry, and smiled, rather nastily, to himself.
"Your little loverboy is perfectly fine, and so is your whiny
brat of a student," he sniped, patience at an end. Qui Gon
looked ridiculously hopeful. Q drew a sphere in the air, and a
picture formed.
The interior of the Jedi temple on Coruscant blinked into
being. Seated cross-legged, a happy-looking Anakin was playing
a logic game with, of all beings, Master Yoda, who appeared to
have gotten over any reservations he might have had about
training the boy in the first place.
The scene winked out of existence, and a new one emerged. This
showed a cavernous, cold room with an oval viewport awash with
stars, a sole occupant in a light-eating black robe sitting on
a throne under the port. A cadre of masters and knights burst
into the room, light overpowering the shadows. They surrounded
the lone figure, who threw vivid pulses of lightning at them,
but was soon overpowered and killed. The black robe fluttered
to the floor, empty, and the darkness dissipated completely.
Q waved a third time, and the picture changed again.
Obi Wan, being penetrated by a large, muscular, naked man who
was suckling at a smaller, furrier man. All three were clearly
having a wonderful time, a Gordian knot of steaming, sweating,
pulsating carnality. Q felt vaguely envious.
If Qui Gon would just cooperate a little, some of that
rampant carnality could be happening right there and then.
"As you can plainly see, your pupil, your ex-pupil, and your
universe are perfectly safe," Q hissed at Qui Gon, making an
admirable if futile attempt to rein in his temper. "NOW will
you kiss me?"
Qui Gon smiled at him, finally. "Thank you." Q preened, then
deflated as he continued. "May I go home now?"
Perhaps a little brute force wouldn't be amiss, after all.
~~~
Blair lay in a heap against Jim's warm bulk, trying to recover
his shattered composure after the single most intense orgasm of
his young and varied sex life. He didn't know what wild
instinct had moved him to join the party, but then he didn't
know what wild spark had started it, either. At the moment it
didn't seem to matter.
From the far side of Jim's chest, a small voice asked, "Bed?"
It wavered.
Sympathy for Obi Wan washed through Blair. From what he'd
heard, then what he'd experienced, Blair could well understand
Obi Wan being totally wiped. He raised one hand and pointed.
"There. Be my guest. Sleep well."
"My thanks," Obi Wan mumbled as he half-staggered, half-crawled
around Jim's legs toward Blair's bedroom. Blair heard the creak
of springs as Obi Wan collapsed onto the bed and, very shortly
thereafter, soft snores rumbling from the room. "My pleasure,"
he whispered. Jim heard him, as he'd meant him to, of course.
"Was it?" Jim asked softly, staring straight up at the ceiling.
Blair wasn't about to let him get away with that crap. Rolling
over and on top of him, Blair propped himself up on Jim's
chest. Ignoring the wince as his sharp elbows dug into firm
pectorals, he shot right back, "Wasn't it?
Jim finally gave in and looked up at him. Hope, a heavy dose of
fear, and residual lust all mingled in the crystal eyes. Blair
beamed at him.
"I love you, you idiot." Okay, so it wasn't the most romantic
declaration he could have made, but this was Jim. He would
understand.
The fear disappeared completely, beaten out by the hope and a
blossoming joy. "You, too, Chief," he whispered, his hands
coming up to cup Blair's skull, fingers twining in his hair.
"So shut up and kiss me."
Unable to protest that he hadn't been talking, due to the
tongue excavating his tonsils, Blair gave up the fight.
Happily. Wound his arms around his Sentinel, and finally,
finally came home.
Several centuries worth of kisses later, Jim tore his mouth
away to pant, "Bed?"
"God, yes," Blair answered, and they kissed all the way across
the loft, up the stairs, and into bed. Blair was quite
impressed that they managed to even get to bed without falling
and killing themselves. They certainly weren't watching where
they were going.
Halfway up the stairs, he paused, holding on to Jim with both
hands and nodding his head in the general direction of his room
downstairs. "Think we should invite him up?" Jim looked at him
like he'd lost his last marble. "I mean, in a way, he brought
us together. You know, like this." A glance down at their
bodies, plastered against one another and writhing gently, made
his meaning clear. "Sort of like Eros."
Jim gave him another speaking look. "Arrows?" he asked, tone
making it clear he thought the lack of oxygen had shut Blair's
brain down completely, because he was babbling pure nonsense.
Used to this reaction, Blair ignored it.
"Eros. Like Cupid, Jim."
Jim started nibbling along the side of his jaw, distracting
him. "Can't see him in wings and a loincloth, Chief," he
mumbled.
Blair shivered, and picked up the pace with the pelvic action.
After a moment of silence, he asked, "Seen Dogma yet, Jim?
I can see it."
Jim groaned against his skin, making him shiver. "Rather have
you all to myself."
That ended that discussion. Blair took the steps two at a time,
dragging a laughing Jim behind him. They hit the bed
mid-stride, and by the second bounce of the mattress, the
laughter had been replaced by moans, as they figured out whole
new ways to define the Sentinel-Guide connection.
~~~ Daniel Jackson had spent most of the night flat on his back
in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking.
Vortexes.
Passageways in the space/time continuum.
Alternate realities.
The first was a new one on him, the second was too Roddenberry
to seriously contemplate, and personal experience had made him
leery of the third. The only other explanations he could come
up with for his friend Blair's unexpected houseguest were that
he was a Gate traveler with a case of amnesia or a reporter
looking for a story.
If he was the first, then Stargate Command could try to get him
home. If he was the second, Daniel would have to head him off
at the pass before anything important ended up plastered across
the front page of the National Enquirer.
By the time dawn broke, he'd made up his mind to bring Kenobi
as far as Colorado Springs, do his best to ferret the truth out
of him, and only bring in the rest of the team if he turned out
to be legitimate. Daniel knew, intellectually, that he was an
integral part of the Stargate team, but his gut reminded him on
a regular basis that he was the duck in a flight full of geese.
He still felt too much the outsider to be sanguine about the
possibility of accidentally blowing their secret.
Hell, even Teal'c was more naturally an SG member than he was.
After all, Teal'c was a soldier, even if he was an alien.
Thoughts of Teal'c brought him close to things he didn't want
to think about, a complex wash of emotion tied up with the
Goa'uld and Sha're and desires for revenge and love he couldn't
balance against one another. So he got out of bed, updated his
journals until it was a decent hour to make a phone call to the
West coast, and determinedly didn't think about all the things
he couldn't have. And all the reasons why he shouldn't want
them.
By seven, he was happy to escape his thoughts. Dialing through
to Cascade, he was relieved when Blair picked up the phone on
the first ring. Since he'd been hanging out with the police,
Sandburg worked some truly bizarre hours. Not that Daniel was
much better.
"H'lo!" He sounded like a frog who'd fallen off the lily pad
and inhaled a quart of mud. Blair wasn't much of a morning
person. Although if Daniel remembered correctly, the mud might
not be far off the mark. Some of those algae shakes Blair had
favored for breakfast had smelled alot like a swamp.
"Hi, Blair, it's me. I've been thinking, can you bring Kenobi
up here to stay with me? I think I might have a way to get him
home." If he's not lying through his teeth about who he is and
why he's here.
"That's great, man! I had a feeling you might. Never do to
ignore vibes. They're nature's way of pushing people in the
right direction."
Daniel grinned into the phone. "You've always had good
instincts. And strange friends."
Blair's laugh went on a little longer than Daniel expected, and
he chuckled in response to his friend's happiness. "What's
going on, Blair? You sound excited. Is Kenobi really that much
fun?"
There was a pause, then another gurgle of laughter. "Yeah, in
more ways than one. But that's not it." A deep breath echoed
over the line. "Just ... really happy this morning, Danny. I'll
tell you later, okay? It's still pretty new."
"No problem," Daniel assured him, understanding the concept of
necessary secrets even when they were kept from him rather than
by him. "When you can, okay? It's just nice to hear you sound
so good."
"I'm great, man." Noise drew Blair from the phone for a
moment, his cop roommate from the sound of it. Blair answered,
and they talked for a short moment. "Damn," Blair returned to
the conversation. "Simon just called. Jim has to go in, and he
needs me with him. Look, can I put Obi Wan on a plane to you,
and have you pick him up on that end? It's not that I don't
trust him on his own," that gurgling laugh again, "just he's
not really from around here, and I'd hate for him to get lost."
"I can do that." He had two days off anyway. Might as well
spend it interrogating the supposed alien. "Call me with the
flight number when you drop him off, okay?"
The call ended in a flurry of promises to 'tell him all about
it' and details on the delivery of one lost stranger from
Cascade International to the Municipal airport there in
Colorado Springs. Daniel poured a cup of coffee and settled on
the couch, relaxing while he had the chance. He had a feeling
it was going to be a busy day.
Three hours later he revised his expectations. His first sight
of Obi Wan Kenobi took him aback. He looked like a mid-west
farm boy in Chinese peasant homespun. Suspicious turquoise eyes
peered around him as if he was behind enemy lines and expecting
an attack at any moment, but his facial expression maintained
an unnatural calm. It was an unsettling dissonance that wasn't
helped by his polite disinclination to respond to any of
Daniel's questions with more than monosyllables. Back on the
couch, all offers of refreshment graciously declined, Daniel
stared in outright frustration at Kenobi, who was currently
pacing the length of his living room like a caged tiger.
"I can't help you if you won't talk to me," he finally blurted
out. Kenobi paused, gathered himself with a visible effort, and
took a deep breath.
"I apologize for my apparent lack of cooperation," he said
formally. "I fear I'm distracted by worry for ... another. I
appreciate your willingness to help me find my way home."
"Then help me help you!" Daniel exclaimed. Kenobi looked at
him, puzzled. Daniel took a deep breath of his own, and tried
again.
"Where are you from?"
"Coruscant."
Never heard of it. "What sector of the galaxy is that?" He
didn't look like a reporter, more like a gymnast or a
kickboxer, but one couldn't be too careful. Especially when one
worked on an above top secret government project. Even more
especially when there had been leaks in the past.
Kenobi spouted something that sounded like units of
measurement, but they were completely foreign to Daniel. He
wondered if he was going to have to bring in Sam, at least, to
suss the guy out. His own instincts were telling him to trust
Kenobi, but Sam was the astrophysicist, and if they talked to
one another in mathematics maybe Sam could get some useful
information out of him. Before he could mentally admit defeat,
Kenobi startled him.
"Can we get out of here? Go somewhere ... outside?" He gestured
toward the window. Daniel looked at him, suspicious all over
again. "I feel the call of the Living Force, but it's muted by
the interference of so many unnatural structures."
Daniel rewound that, translated it based on previous
incomprehensible things the man had said, and decided Kenobi
wanted to take a walk. "Get some fresh air?" he hazarded a
guess.
An hour of pacing just as restlessly through the park down the
street from Daniel's apartment convinced him that this wasn't
exactly what the agitated man had in mind. Giving in to
impulse, he stopped the pacing with a hand to Kenobi's arm.
"C'mon." Wide, miserable eyes looked up at him. Daniel was
struck with a protective feeling as he looked down at the
smaller man. He had a feeling Kenobi could break him into
composite parts without working up a sweat, but there was
something so ... homesick about him. Plus, he was, well, cute.
Daniel shook off the thought before it could take root. "I know
a place, better than this for ... feeling the Force? Lots of
trees. Lots of animals. You'll like it."
Kenobi did.
"The Garden of the Gods?" he asked, breathing deeply before
hiking off the trail and making a beeline into the trees.
Daniel had to work to keep up. "Lives up to the name."
For the first time since Daniel had met him that morning,
Kenobi looked at peace. The mask of calm he wore relaxed, and
the serenity became real, not deliberate. Daniel smiled at the
broad shoulders as Kenobi pushed further back into the shadows
of the trees. He found himself relaxing in reaction to Kenobi's
calm. Almost as if the guy was radiating peace-waves.
Giving up on his admittedly fumbling attempts to cross-examine
the man, Daniel saved his breath for trying to keep pace as
Kenobi strode through the windswept red rock formations and
reached to brush his fingers against the more unusual plants.
Daniel could practically see him drawing strength from the
wilderness around them.
They hiked, or rather Kenobi hiked and Daniel scrambled after
him, for over an hour before Daniel stopped to breathe and
ventured a warning. "It's going to be dark in a couple hours."
Kenobi raised a brow at him as if asking why this might be a
problem, and Daniel shrugged. "I'm not good in the dark, and
you've never been here before. I'd like to get back to the car
before we can't find it again."
Kenobi stood perfectly still, staring at him, then smiled, a
blazing grin that lit up his entire face and shook Daniel down
to the soles of his hiking boots. "I'll take care of you," he
said, a surprisingly sultry note in his voice. Daniel found
himself unable to tear his eyes away from that radiant face.
Kenobi took a step toward him.
Another.
Abruptly, the paralysis broke, as Kenobi's hand reached up to
trace along his jaw. "I can't," Daniel whispered shakily.
"What's troubling you?" Kenobi asked. His voice was liquid
silver, mesmerizing Daniel, and he answered before he could
edit himself.
"There's someone else. A couple someones, actually."
Kenobi's other hand came up, and he was cupping Daniel's face
between his palms, staring into his eyes as if he could see
clear through to Daniel's soul. "You're unhappy."
"She's gone." A flash of understanding in those clear sharp
eyes, and Daniel knew, somehow, that Kenobi knew all about
Sha're without Daniel having to explain. "He's ... a friend.
Hosting an enemy. I can't hate the enemy he hosts. But I can't
balance my desire for him with my loathing for what he
carries." He knew that nothing he was saying could possibly
make any sense whatsoever to Kenobi, but there was a strange,
piercing light in those blue-green eyes, and Daniel had the
weirdest feeling that even without knowing why, Kenobi
knew precisely what he felt.
That bone-deep understanding was the only reason he could give
for opening his mouth when Kenobi reached up, pulled his head
down, and kissed him. Nothing else made sense. But for the
first time since he'd initially landed at Abydos, Daniel felt
completely accepted. Completely understood.
Completely safe.
A dam broke deep inside him, and his arms wrapped around Kenobi
with a ferocity of need he didn't even try to contain. Kenobi
met the rush, strength to strength. Daniel gave up the control
he'd held so tightly for the last four years and let himself be
carried away by sensation. Kenobi was more than up to the
challenge.
Lips on his, mouth moving over his skin. Hands tangling as
buttons were slipped and zips were lowered. Laces caught, then
slithered apart, and fabric was tugged away until he found
himself naked, lying on the bed made of their clothing, with an
equally naked Kenobi straddling his waist.
Those homespun clothes made a great bed.
Strong square hands ghosted over his face, followed by
whisper-soft kisses to his temple, his eyelids, the tip of his
nose, the corner of his mouth. His face turned blindly to
follow, needing more of the gentle touch, but Kenobi had other
things in mind. The busy hands and soft mouth swept down his
chest, dawdling at his nipples, then over his ribs and down to
his hips.
Heavy thighs sidled down his legs until Kenobi was barely
resting on Daniel's ankles, giving him free range over the
front of Daniel's body. He took full advantage. Daniel was
twisting under the knowing hands, keening softly deep in his
throat, needing more of that touch, always a heartbeat away
from where he needed it most. When every inch of skin was
sensitized and he was certain his brain had boiled away to
oblivion, Kenobi finally took pity on Daniel and took his
erection into that too-talented mouth.
At that point, any brain cells that hadn't boiled imploded.
Daniel thought he might have screamed, but he wasn't hearing
very well, so he couldn't be sure. He wasn't seeing anything
but lights flashing behind his eyelids. Everything except his
cock was offline, and the suction at his groin was the center
of the known universe. He felt his orgasm gather from the back
of his knees and the base of his spine, felt his fingers and
toes tingle, all a background to the impending explosion of his
personal universe.
When the sky finally stopped spinning, he realized that the
earth was still moving. Daniel gathered the remnants of his
mind and forced himself to open his eyes. Several things became
apparent at once.
The trees were also moving.
He could see his knees. They were pressed against the hollows
of Kenobi's shoulders, and they were moving, too.
His feet were locked behind Kenobi's back.
His hands were gouging up the dirt to either side of him.
Kenobi was balls-deep in him and ... oh, so that's why the
trees were moving.
His nerve endings chose that moment to explode back to life.
Daniel made appropriately encouraging noises, too enervated to
participate in any more active way, too hypersensitive to
everything Kenobi was doing to him to ever want him to stop.
Kenobi's eyes snapped open, and Daniel was caught up in them,
the pupils so enlarged they had nearly swallowed up the irises.
Kenobi was grinning again, and Daniel found himself grinning
back.
He'd needed this. Much more than he'd realized.
Unclenching one clawed hand from the grass, he wrapped it
around Kenobi's neck and drew him down into a kiss. The angle
forced Kenobi as deeply as possible into Daniel, and Kenobi
moaned into the kiss as he came. Daniel kept him there through
the final spasms, enjoying the heavy body grinding into his.
For an instant, it wasn't Kenobi. It was Teal'c, and Daniel
moaned at the thought.
Daniel finally broke the kiss when Kenobi collapsed against
him. The strain against his trapped legs was painful, not to
mention what it was doing to his back to be doubled over like
that for too long, and he pulled his knees back, his legs
falling limply to either side of Kenobi's own sprawled legs.
"You should tell him," a soft voice drifted up from under his
chin. Daniel closed his eyes.
"We better get moving." He avoided the suggestion with the ease
of long practice. His internal voice had been telling him that
for months. Daniel didn't listen to that one, either. "Somebody
could come along and see us. Get us arrested for indecent
exposure."
Kenobi rolled off him, rose to his feet with an agility Daniel
envied, and extended one hand to help Daniel up. "Think about
it."
Daniel took his hand but avoided his eyes. They dressed in
silence and started home. He was unable to restrain a few
winces as muscles that hadn't been used that particular way in
a long time protested. The silence held all the way down the
mountain and back to the apartment. Kenobi seemed perfectly at
ease in it.
Daniel wasn't, but he didn't break it. It was easier that way.
If he talked about it, he'd have to think about it, and if he
thought about it, he might do something about it. He wasn't
quite sure he was ready to do anything about it,
although he had to admit, with the sheer physical need somewhat
muted by the rousing bout of sex, he could think about the
possibility of a relationship with Teal'c without getting
immediately lost in blinding lust. So he didn't think
about it. He really wasn't ready for that yet.
As soon as they got in, he called Sam. She was quick as always,
intuiting what he didn't want to say over an open line, and
within fifteen minutes he was ushering her in the front door.
"Now what was all this you couldn't tell me over the phone?"
she asked, then stopped stock still as Kenobi wandered out from
the bathroom, water drops glistening on his skin from a quick
shower, a towel draped low on his hips. Sam's jaw dropped. So
did Daniel's, but he'd had prior intimate knowledge of just how
damned beautiful Kenobi was, so he managed to control it a
little better. Kenobi stopped toweling his hair and stared back
at both of them.
"Hello," he finally offered, perfectly at ease. Sam made a
sound that reminded Daniel of early morning gargling, and
Daniel cleared his throat.
"Captain Samantha Carter. Obi Wan Kenobi. Kenobi, Sam." Sam
gargled again, and Kenobi gave her a courtly bow. The towel
shifted. Sam gulped.
So did Daniel. Then he shook his head to clear it of vivid,
recent memory, and said determinedly, "What were those
coordinates for Koreskat, again?"
"Coruscant," Kenobi corrected him softly, then repeated them.
Sam finally shut her mouth, stared wildly over her shoulder at
Daniel for a moment, then stared back at Kenobi.
"Hm?" she managed. Daniel explained.
"He's from off world. I think he's a stranded Gate traveler, or
it's another one of those alternate universe situations, and I
really hope not, because he doesn't remember a mirror. And if
there's another mirror out there, I don't think I want to know
it. Especially if people are falling through it without
remembering it." Sam was now glaring wildly at him, and
Daniel hurried on. "Anyway, those are the coordinates of his
home planet."
Sam stared at Daniel. Daniel looked hopefully at Sam. Kenobi
stared at both of them in turn, then sighed.
"I'm not going to get home any time soon, am I." It was more a
statement than a question.
"We'll get you home," Daniel promised rashly. It was Sam's turn
to clear her throat.
"Those coordinates aren't any I recognize. Perhaps you can give
me others? We might get lucky."
Daniel smothered an inappropriate, mildly insane comment about
already getting luckier that day than he had in months, and
urged everyone to sit down while he went to the kitchen and
returned with coffee. Kenobi started to sit as he was, and the
towel shifted again.
Sam gargled again.
Kenobi looked at her, glanced down at the towel, and actually
blushed. Without a word, he went into the bedroom and came out
dressed in his rumpled, grass stained, linen leggings and robe.
Sam stared at him. Gulped. Grabbed up a pen and legal pad from
the coffee table and asked, as professionally as possible,
"What other coordinates can you remember?"
A little after midnight, they hit pay dirt.
Kenobi had lines between his eyebrows and was talking through
clenched teeth by then. Sam had covered half a legal pad with
calculations, and Daniel was catching himself dozing off
regularly. When Sam yelped, "Yes! Shit hot!" it was so unusual
Daniel started and nearly rolled off the couch. Kenobi was
sitting forward, rubbing his forehead with one hand and gazing
blankly at Sam.
"Wha-?" Daniel got out, when Sam interrupted him.
"I recognize these coordinates! It's one of the planets Jack
input when he was, er, under the influence of the Ancients."
She glanced quickly at both men, and Daniel shot Kenobi a look.
Kenobi had an utterly clueless look on his face. Daniel
believed him.
"Ancients?" he asked, and Daniel waved it away.
"Not important. What is important is that we just might have a
way to get you home."
"To Coruscant?" A disbelieving look from tired, somewhat bleary
eyes. Sam shook her head.
"No, to the last one ... you said it was Rim, or something?"
Kenobi perked up. "Not Rim, it's on the Rim. Very
remote. Not even a name, that I know of, but it's on the long
range surveyor route for the Republic. Too far out for much,
but they do sweeps for smugglers out that way. I can get word
back to the Temple. If not through a Republic ship, then
perhaps I can contact one of the locals, ransom myself to the
Hutt, whatever I have to do." He looked determined. This time,
Sam looked clueless, and Daniel had a feeling he looked as lost
as she did.
"Oookay," Sam conceded defeat. Daniel looked askance at her.
"Time to call Jack," she told him. He nodded. Kenobi tried his
best to look expressionless, but relief was bleeding through
the cracks in his calm.
It took an hour of face to face cajoling and a night's sleep --
on orders -- before they got Jack to bring it up with General
Hammond. The fact that Kenobi knew the coordinates of a planet
only those intimately connected with the Stargate project
could know, yet was patently unaware of the Gate itself,
finally convinced Jack. Hammond, by comparison, was a soft
sell.
"General, we have a little bedtime story for you." Jack,
smiling beatifically, pushing Kenobi gently into Hammond's
office.
"It's 0625, colonel. I'm not in the mood for bedtime stories."
Pale blue eyes raked over them all, lingering on Kenobi. "Want
to tell me why an uncleared civilian is on the grounds of this
facility without my knowledge, Colonel O'Neill?" Quiet, even
tone, thirty years of military steel behind the words.
The door slid shut. On its own. A star chart, sitting to the
side of Hammond's desk top, moved out from under two folders
without unsettling either one. It hovered in the air, rotated,
folded itself until a sector to the far left of the chart was
highlighted, then floated over to hang, suspended, under
Hammond's nose. Nobody in the room breathed, except Kenobi.
"I would very much like to go home," he said quietly. "From the
best of our calculations, this planet," one of the dots on the
chart pulsed, causing Hammond to jump slightly in his chair,
"will get me within range of my people. Will you help me?"
With that, the chart settled soundlessly onto the desk. The
star on the surface of the paper continued to pulse regularly.
Hammond stared at the chart. Stared up at Kenobi, and stared
back at the chart.
"ET, go home," Jack intoned solemnly. Daniel fought the insane
urge to laugh, loud and long. From the choked sound coming from
Sam, he had a feeling she was right there with him. Hammond
stopped staring at the chart to glare at Sam. Kenobi kept his
eyes on the general.
"Sit down and talk to me, people." They did. Half an hour into
explanations on both sides, there was a knock on the door.
"Enter!" Hammond said impatiently. Teal'c came through the
door, shutting it firmly behind him, and immediately focused on
the new face in the crowd. Daniel swallowed, making the
introduction before Teal'c could ask.
"Obi Wan Kenobi, this is Teal'c. Teal'c, we're trying to get
him home." Brief, to the point. Daniel was feeling a little
exposed, knowing what he'd done with Kenobi, knowing what
Kenobi knew about Teal'c. Happily, during the exchange of
information about the Republic and the Goa'uld, Sha're hadn't
come up, and neither had the identity of the object of Daniel's
unrequited lust. He'd just as soon it didn't come up now.
Kenobi bowed as courteously to Teal'c as he had to Sam, Jack
and Hammond. "Greetings, Teal'c." Then he dipped his head
again, and addressed the Jaffa's pouch, to everyone's silent
surprise. "Greetings to the child, as well." Kenobi raised his
head and noticed that everyone was looking at him. He raised a
brow. "Is it not polite to address all the beings to whom one
is introduced?"
Jack's face scrunched up. "Guess we're just not used to people
talking to Junior," he admitted. Sam shrugged.
Teal'c smiled at Kenobi, an unusual expression of approval.
"The larva appears to be pleased to make your acquaintance," he
said. "It is sending impressions of pleasure to me."
"Yes," Kenobi answered, prompting another surprised silence.
"The Force is woven strongly between the two of you. The Living
Force of host and symbiote are unique in my experience;
separate, yet so closely aligned it's obvious the one would die
without the other."
"You can see that?" Hammond broke in. Kenobi looked, if
possible, even more serene.
"All beings are surrounded and penetrated by the Force. It
manifests differently in every living thing. It's not a case of
seeing so much as recognizing."
Daniel looked around at the various people listening to Kenobi.
It was obvious not one of them had any idea what he was talking
about. "It's a way of sensing and manipulating primal energy,"
he offered. He'd gathered that much from talking with Kenobi
the previous day.
"Could it be used as a weapon against the Goa'uld?" Hammond
pressed the point.
Kenobi shook his head. "The Force isn't a weapon. We fight to
defend ourselves-"
"So do we!" Sam broke in.
Kenobi paused for a moment before continuing with some
reluctance. "I can't speak for the Republic. The planet you're
sending me to is very far from Coruscant, in an area of space
generally left to the pirates and criminal organizations. The
Republic is large, diverse, and I fear mired in bureaucracy. I
don't believe they will be eager to assist in a large scale
defensive effort so far away-"
"Sound like the Asgard," Jack muttered.
"-from a threat they've not yet encountered." Kenobi looked
distressed, his calm momentarily evaporating. "I'm sorry. I
will ask, but I'm afraid the probability of assistance isn't
high."
Hammond looked understanding as well as resigned. "Can we try?"
he asked.
"Yes," Kenobi agreed. Daniel could tell from his expression
that Kenobi knew it would be a futile effort, but would be
willing to try to help those who had helped him. Daniel had a
gut feeling he'd try even if they hadn't been able to help him,
if there was any way he could. In an instant, the hopeless look
disappeared behind Kenobi's usual calm mask.
An hour later, SG-1 was given clearance for an unusual,
off-rotation mission. Sam and Jack led the way, and Daniel
lingered, glancing over his shoulder. Kenobi was talking softly
to a fascinated-looking general. Daniel smiled to himself, and
turned to join his team.
Once in the Gateroom, he watched Kenobi trying to see
everything at once without being obvious about it. Then the
Gate came online, chevrons locking and activating, and the
event horizon shot out before stabilizing. Kenobi stared at it,
rapt, a smile playing on his lips. Daniel grinned at him.
"Welcome to my world," he said softly. Kenobi tore his eyes
away from the Gate long enough to grin at him.
"Thank you, Daniel." Kenobi looked at him, then glanced back at
Teal'c. "You should tell him," he said under his breath. Daniel
gave him a startled look.
Opened his mouth to say no, ask Kenobi how he knew, if it was
that obvious, how he'd given himself away. Found that he
couldn't say anything that made sense on the subject, and
closed it again. Changed the subject to the MALP and why it was
a good thing that they didn't see anything on it other than
trees, mist, and mud. Through his ramblings, Kenobi just ...
looked at him.
Didn't the man understand that he couldn't say anything
to Teal'c? Couldn't take the risk, again, of admitting that he
cared about someone? The last time that had happened, the
Goa'uld had taken her away and turned her into someone she
wasn't. Teal'c was already carrying one inside him, and as
helpful as Junior had been, it didn't change the fact that once
the larva matured, it was going to need a host.
A stray thought that Teal'c would make a great Tok'Ra hit him,
but it was too close to wish-fulfillment for him to hold it
long. He wouldn't fall in love again. He most especially
wouldn't fall in love with someone carrying a Goa'uld. He just
wouldn't.
The MALP finally, finally gave them an all clear, and
they headed up the ramp. Kenobi was looking pretty calm, but
then, he looked calm all the time unless he was actually
engaged in sex. Daniel knew this couldn't be easy, no matter
how hard the other man was trying to make it seem so. He
reached out, took Kenobi's hand, and led him through the Gate.
Once on the other side, Kenobi knelt, laid a hand flat on the
ground, and closed his eyes. Daniel hovered, concerned, and
Jack circled back to them.
"Checking to make sure you really made it?" he asked, grinning
slightly. Kenobi looked up at him, his face a little pale.
"There's ... during transit, I was completely cut off from the
Force. That hasn't happened in ... that has never happened."
Jack lost his smile at the shakiness in Kenobi's voice, and
Daniel patted the slumped shoulder under his hand comfortingly.
"Is it coming back now?" he asked, ordering his fingers not to
linger. Teal'c came over to join them, and Daniel drew back,
feeling oddly uncomfortable, as if he'd somehow been cheating
on Teal'c. Kenobi smiled up at him, regaining his color as he
straightened from his crouch.
"Yes," he started to say, then startled everyone by suddenly
grabbing a cylinder from his waist, somersaulting over the top
of them, igniting what looked like a stable blue flame, and
slashing at incoming weapon fire none of them had seen coming.
"Down!" he screamed.
Daniel dropped. Sam and Jack dove to the side, rifles coming up
and firing as they fell. Teal'c went to one knee, staff
powering as it raised. Kenobi leapt and parried, blue flame
weapon dancing as he deflected one energy charge after another.
Jaffa. A lot of them. They were dressed strangely, in a
combination of the rough-woven linens Kenobi wore and the usual
metal alloy armor of the Goa'uld guard. Daniel let out a
stifled, "shit!" as he recognized the symbol on their armor.
Apophis.
How the hell did he manage to be everywhere they went? Even,
literally, to the ends of the galaxy? Daniel dug out his pistol
and burrowed into the sand, aiming carefully, making his shots
count.
Weapon fire rained down on the trapped team, and they fought
for their lives in the sand. The questions would have to wait
for later.
If there was a later.
They were outnumbered, out-gunned, and too soon, out of
ammunition. A deflected energy bolt got through their defensive
fire, and Teal'c fell, spinning with the force of the shot, to
land close to where Daniel was dug in. He didn't make a sound,
but Daniel could see his dark eyes widen, tearing over with
pain. Helpless.
Something deep within Daniel snapped, something he'd only felt
a few times before in his life, when his parents died, when
Sha're was taken. Always when someone he loved was threatened.
With a guttural scream, he flung himself over Teal'c's body,
protecting him with his own, balancing his gun with both hands.
Taking out every last one of the sons of bitches he could.
The only way they were going to get Teal'c was to go through
him.
~~~
Q slouched behind his captive on the low settee, idly playing
with the ends of Qui Gon's hair. He'd finally convinced the
Jedi Master to sit down and relax, after a fashion, and he'd
planted himself behind Qui Gon. Perhaps if nothing else worked,
he could wear the man down with sheer affectionate persistence.
Qui Gon allowed the grooming -- not that he had much choice in
the matter -- even if he didn't encourage it.
The conversation ranged far and wide, over philosophy, poetry,
strategy, religion ... even fashion, at one point, when Q was
trying to coax Qui Gon into something a little more flattering
than the dull brown and beige robes. He had a wonderful number
in blue satin that would really highlight Qui Gon's eyes. Qui
Gon stared at the shimmering fabric with much the same
expression Q got when he looked at Worf.
So much for dress up. So much for conversation, as well, which
had started out dominated by Q and ended up practically a
monologue. Qui Gon was either meditating or in a coma with his
eyes open, and Q had had quite enough.
"You idiot mortal!" he finally thundered. "What will it take to
get through to you? I'm offering you everything! I'm offering
you me! What more could you want?" he demanded,
exasperated beyond bearing at Qui Gon's intransigence.
"To go home," Qui Gon answered without opening his eyes,
blatantly unimpressed with Q's tantrum.
"WHY?!" Q bellowed.
At that, finally, Qui Gon opened his eyes and stared back over
his shoulder at Q. "Enough. You can force me to remain here,
but you will never earn my affections. They are already given."
He paused, swallowed, and said firmly, "Given freely. Not
coerced, or kidnapped, or extorted, or bribed. Given."
Q scoffed at him. "To whom? That boy, Obi Wan?"
Qui Gon nodded and answered with quiet dignity, "That
man."
"Does he know that?" Q asked snidely. "He's fucking
everything in reach. Are you sure you want him?"
"He'll know I'm his, if you ever let me go home again," Qui Gon
answered, just as quietly as before. "As for his sexual
activities, trust is more important than monogamy. I trust Obi
Wan to follow the will of the Force, to act in the service of
the Light." He paused, and looked up once more at Q, sincerity
shining in his eyes. "I trust him with my soul."
Q stared down at him. "More fool you," he snapped, and waved
his hand in disgust.
The world blinked out of existence then blinked back in, and
they were in the aftermath of a battle scene. Bodies littered
the sand, and a ragged squad of soldiers surrounded a group of
five prisoners. One woman and four men, one of whom was sagging
in the hands of his captors, obviously wounded. A second man
was snarling and trying to get to the wounded one. The third
man was challenging the leader of the victors.
The fourth was Obi Wan.
Qui Gon started forth instinctively, hand reaching for a
lightsaber that wasn't there. Even as he thought it, the weapon
appeared in his hand.
"If you're going to take on the world for love, I suppose you
should at least be armed," Q's sarcastic voice rang out behind
him. Qui Gon nodded his thanks, and kept on going.
As they neared the group, they could hear the leader, gloating
over his captives. His voice echoed strangely. "You should have
made certain I was dead before giving me to my enemies! They
will not follow me here, and you should not have. It
will be my great pleasure to kill each one of you, as slowly as
he would have killed me, and for you, there will be no return!"
Qui Gon ignited his saber and took out the first four guards
behind the man before he'd finished his oration. With a cry of
anger, the figure whirled on them. He raised his hand, and a
stream of energy lashed out at Qui Gon.
Dimly, he heard Obi Wan screaming defiance, heard the struggle
erupt as the captives attacked their guards. He couldn't help.
Every ounce of energy he had was taken up in fighting back the
pulses of lightning that were threatening to rip him to pieces.
He was losing the battle.
Through the crackle in his ears, he heard the strange, hollow
voice demand, "Bow down before your God!"
Too busy fighting for his life to pay much attention, he was
vaguely aware of Q saying disgustedly, "Oh, please. Teach your
grandmother to suck eggs."
There was a flash of light.
The lightning stopped.
The fighting stopped.
Q stood over a pile of ash, blowing in the slight wind, arms
crossed over his chest, one foot tapping, a look of utter
boredom on his face.
For an instant, there was stillness on the scene. Qui Gon
looked at the dust that had, moments before, been a living
being threatening to kill him -- and very nearly succeeding.
"Thank you," he whispered to Q.
Q smirked at him.
Pandemonium broke out. One of the deceased's troops ran for a
mushroom-shaped device and began slapping at it. The metal
circle in the background glowed, then a field like a waterfall
suspended in a bowl appeared, and the troops ran through it.
The erstwhile captives moved as well, the defiant man and the
woman staggering toward Q, the snarling man kneeling over the
wounded one, attempting to give succor to him. The wounded man
touched the other's face with a gentle hand, and the snarling
man gathered him up in an embrace.
One of the soldiers screamed words in an alien tongue, and the
wounded man roared a response. As the defiant man neared Q, Qui
Gon heard him tell the woman, "Well, they won't be coming back
thisaway any time soon."
"Proscribed?" she asked, wearily. The man nodded.
Before they could reach Qui Gon, another figure moved past them
with Force-enhanced speed. Obi Wan literally leapt into Qui
Gon's arms, clinging to him like a leech, mouth fastened on
his, hands tangled in his hair, arms wrapped around Qui Gon's
waist.
The world disappeared again, consumed by the reality of Obi Wan
in his arms and the warmth of Obi Wan's love bathing his soul.
From very far away, he heard a disgusted snort, then a resigned
sigh.
"I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, Stargate command. Thanks for coming
to our rescue-"
The man's voice was cut off by Q's impatient, "As if it
matters." Qui Gon opened one eye and angled his head to peer
around Obi Wan without actually breaking the kiss. Q was
ignoring the newcomers, who were looking at one another, at a
loss. Qui Gon looked at Q.
Q looked at Qui Gon. "True love," Q sniped. "How touching." He
waved his hand.
The world tilted, colors running together into a rushing tunnel
of light.
Qui Gon's eyes snapped open, and he looked down to see himself,
nude, wrapped around Obi Wan, also nude, in the middle of a
familiar bed, in a familiar room, in the heart of the Jedi
temple at Coruscant. He looked down at Obi Wan.
Obi Wan took one look around, sent out a tendril of Force to
lock the door, and dove under the covers. Qui Gon took a deep
breath, shook under the impact of the things Obi Wan was
doing under the covers, and gave thanks, in a very tiny
mental voice, for the short attention spans of omnipotent
beings.
~~~
Q turned toward the annoying little Humans whom he'd
accidentally saved in the course of keeping the even more
annoying specimen with the delusions of grandeur from killing
Qui Gon. Prepared to blast them into nothingness, he was
disconcerted to feel his corporeal body dissolve. In the space
of a thought, he found himself back in the midst of the
Continuum.
All of whom were staring at him with extreme disapproval on
their faces.
"What?" he asked defensively.
"You've managed to disrupt several timelines in four alternate
universes during your short exile. We've been contacted
by a civilization nearly as advanced as our own state of being,
calling themselves the Ancients, and a metabeing known as the
Gathering, along with a noncorporeal collective of animal
spirits, all clamoring about your activities. Granted, they
haven't seemed particularly angry, merely upset, but it is
still a measure of your tendency to dabble in the affairs of
subspecies that we've had to deal with them at all."
"So what are you saying?" Q asked impatiently. One of the less
verbose manifestations of the Continuum answered him shortly.
"We pulled you out before you screwed up a whole new
galaxy of humans. What is it with you and your pets?"
"You never let me have any fun," he protested, in a tone that
in a lesser being would definitely have been called a whine.
"I'll never find anyone to love me at this rate," he continued
mournfully to himself.
The rest of the Continuum, en masse, rolled their eyes and
winked out of existence. Q sighed. Oh, well, at least he was
home. Even if he was bored out of his mind. Again.
Glancing around the galaxy, he wondered idly if Kathy was as
bored as he was. After all, there wasn't that much to do
out in the Delta Quadrant. And as bad as she was, she wasn't as
hard a sell as Qui Gon had been. At least he'd been able to get
a kiss from her. Even if it was via a sneak attack. Maybe by
this time she'd be more open to his advances.
With that happy thought, he fixed himself on the pinprick of
life force that was the Voyager, and went in search of a little
fun.
~~~
Daniel glanced up, the sudden silence striking him as eerie,
and pulling his attention momentarily away from Teal'c. Noting
that Sam and Jack were some distance away, he took the
opportunity to cuddle Teal'c against him. Not much, just a
little.
Teal'c snuggled back.
Daniel froze. "Uhm, Teal'c," he ventured, "you feeling
alright?"
"I am recovering, Daniel," Teal'c answered. He made no move to
leave Daniel's embrace.
Taking a deep breath, wondering how much he'd given away,
Daniel started to withdraw. A big hand came up over his arm,
holding him in place. He looked down. Teal'c was staring up at
him intently.
"We have much to discuss, Daniel Jackson," he said softly. His
eyes gleamed in the sunlight. Daniel tried to swallow and found
that his throat had gone bone dry.
"We do?" he croaked. Teal'c nodded once. Reached up and took
hold of his collar. Tugged his head down.
Kissed him.
A whisper of a kiss, over too soon. A promise of more. He broke
away before Jack and Sam got close enough to see what was
happening. "We do," Teal'c said solemnly.
"I guess we do," Daniel agreed somewhat hazily.
Then Jack came up beside them, punching in the code as Sam
manned the DHD. The Gate opened. Daniel slipped his arm around
Teal'c's waist and steadied him as they headed for home. He
glanced up, and was caught by Teal'c, glancing down. That
glance promised ... everything.
Later.
~~~
In a place out of time and science, a woman and a youth sat
side by side, staring down at the shifting scenes reflected in
her hand mirror. A tall, slender man sitting on the deck of a
barge anchored on a river in the most romantic city of their
universe, beside a swarthy, laughing man, passing a bottle
between them and brushing fingers as it passed.
A hunter, a quiet man, smiling down at the sleeping face of
another, one hand idly caressing wild dark curls, in a room at
the top of the world, with the sound of the jungle crying
around them.
An intense young man with a worried expression, being soothed
wordlessly by a warrior with gentle eyes and strange markings
on his body. The worry eased as they drew closer, and faded
completely when they touched.
The youth sighed and leaned back, bumping shoulders
affectionately with the woman. "Congratulations, Mother," he
grinned at her.
"Well done!" she responded, smiling delightedly back at him.
"But what of our messenger, Eros? A reward for his service to
us?"
He winked at her, and pointed at the mirror. The scene shifted
again, taking longer to form, further away as it was from the
place of Gods and Dreams. The woman extended a fingertip and
touched the reflection of their messenger.
"Enjoy your reward," Aphrodite whispered sweetly. "In peace and
love."
~~~
Obi Wan felt the strangest eddy in the Force, the lightest of
touches on his face. He stilled, drawing a protest from Qui
Gon, who'd been relishing the movement of their bodies against
one another. Obi Wan smiled down at him, and rocked firmly
again, rewarded with Qui Gon's gasp and moaned plea for more.
Leaning forward, he kissed Qui Gon gently, thoroughly, then
broke the kiss to rest his forehead against Qui Gon's. Qui Gon
stilled, closed his eyes, and smiled in return.
"Do you feel it?" Obi Wan whispered.
"The Darkness is gone," Qui Gon answered in a hushed voice.
"All that is left is the Light."
"And the love," Obi Wan added. Qui Gon moved under him, and his
thoughts scattered. The warmth spread from the top of his head
down the length of him, returned and redoubled by Qui Gon.
Biting down on the muscled shoulder below his mouth, Obi Wan
gave wordless thanks to whatever Deity watched over lovers for
bringing them home.
Dimly in the distance he thought he heard laughter. Then Qui
Gon shifted them and moved over him, forcefully, and he stopped
thinking at all.
FIN
Ps -- The line about trust being more important than monogamy
is pulled directly from Savage Garden's Affirmation compact
disk (song - I Believe). Excellent cd, incredible music,
fantastic group. Qui Gon would approve.
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