Falling Further In

by Ruth Gifford (telesilla@worldnet.att.net)

Archive: yes to MA, anywhere else, just ask

Category: Q/O, POV, PWP

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

Summary: A curious, celibate Master follows his not so celibate Padawan to a mid-level club.

Feedback: on list or off, I welcome all comments.

Disclaimers: All things Star Wars belong to Lucas Films, Inc. Lyrics quoted belong to October Project.

Notes: I don't really know if I can claim any of this story as mine. It was originally inspired by this picture http://www.hawksong.com/~rahalia/fuckmenowdammit.jpg (taken by Herb Ritts and posted to ewan_daily by Rahalia) and Rahalia's challenge regarding Whore!Obi fic. Then Master Elayna gave me the appropriate Qui gesture to go with the image and I was inspired to sit and begin writing. Some Muse somewhere must have inspired me to put on October Project's "Falling Further In," which gave me my title. Finally a trip to Lori-1R's image gallery gave me this picture for the Master's civilian clothes: http://www.hawksong.com/gallery/liam/acn

About the whole lyrics thing.... Once upon a time (back in my TrekSmut days) I used to head all of my stories with song lyrics. They were not song fics (nor is this one); it was more of an ambiance thing. I'm doing it here because the chorus of this song fits the feel of this story.

For Rahalia in thanks for all the lovely Ewan pictures, my "the master" icon, and "Ne Plus Ultra." And for Master Elayna in thanks for the many movies, dinners, QaF sessions and saying just the right thing at just the right time.

I leave a life behind me
I feel myself begin
I'm reaching out to keep you
Falling further in

I feel the light inside me
You go beyond my skin
I'm reaching out to keep you
Falling further in

"Falling Further In"
October Project

Obi-Wan goes out to the mid-level clubs when we're in Temple for any length of time. Although I know he's going to find anonymous sex, I've never tried to stop him. While I have been celibate ever since I was 32, I don't expect him to follow my example in all things. My decision does not reflect any bad experience with sex or love, nor does the Code require celibacy; that I am celibate is simply the result of a two-year mission on a planet with a very strict moral code. Once I accepted that, as a single man, I would not have a chance to express myself sexually, I found that redirecting my sexual energies enabled me to commune with the Living Force on a higher level. Lacking that experience, Obi-Wan cannot be expected to have my comfort with a life free of the distractions of sex.

We talked of it when he was 17 and I realized that that he wasn't just going out to dance. After encouraging him to be mindful of the dangers inherent in the mid-levels, and warning him that he was not to let his extra-curricular activities to hinder his studies, I allowed him his recreation. It harms no one and seems to help him burn off excess energy.

But lately....

Lately, I seem to be having an excess of energy myself. After dreams I cannot remember, I find myself waking in the morning, almost desperately aroused. I haven't had this much difficulty since I was first assigned to Mi-oe all those years ago. I find myself looking at Obi-Wan, wondering if--having learned so much from this bright young man--perhaps it is time for me to learn his method of releasing sexual tension.

Tonight, after our evening meal he retreated into his room and emerged a little later, dressed for a night out. His clothes rarely vary; tonight's garb was quite typical. A sleeveless black pullover, a pair of charcoal trousers and simple short boots. He shrugged on a plain black cloak, bowed to me and then smiled.

"Don't wait up, Master." He always says that, and I always wait up anyway, content with a book or a report, sure that my padawan will return sated and relaxed, and yet almost melancholy. I remember this sense of vague loneliness that comes from not quite finding what you were looking for. As Obi-Wan's master, I can hardly talk to him about it and so I usually just make small talk and offer him tea.

But tonight? No, tonight I followed him.

Not right away, of course. I dug through my wardrobe, looking for civilian clothes of my own. I don't have much in the way of appropriate clothing--if Obi-Wan's clothing is any true indication of what is appropriate--but I located an old faded pair of blue pants and a black singlet. It would have to do.

Locating Obi-Wan without him finding me has been easy; I've done it many times during training exercises. And now....

I walk into the dance club, following the faint pull of the training bond to a wall opposite the bar. He is there, leaning against it casually, his elbows propped on some sort of railing, a drink cradled loosely in one hand. The club's lighting casts shadow on half of his face and the thin leather of his belt gleams on one side. His expression makes him look almost bored and yet somehow challenging--not at all like my calm reserved padawan. But in truth, I notice all of this almost as an afterthought, my main focus on one thing only.

Above his belt buckle, a small strip of skin is exposed, shockingly pale in the middle of all that black and dark gray. Without pausing to think or to ease my shields, I approach him, already reaching my hand out. Our eyes meet and if he is surprised to find me here, dressed as I am, he gives no indication of it.

Slowly almost all of my attention focused on my hand, I let my fingers graze that tantalizing strip of skin. I can't believe I am doing this, can't believe that I'm touching another man like this; my few prior sexual encounters have been with women. And this ... this is most certainly a sexual encounter. Even after 27 years of celibacy, I know why I am reaching out to him.

Warmth. Silky smooth skin marred only by a thin line of hair. Firm muscles, hardened by years of training, much of it under my tutelage. And something more ... elusive. Something that I can only describe as Obi-Wan, pure and concentrated, as if all of him could be represented by a few centimeters of skin under my fingers.

I feel a faint quiver ripple across his stomach and I look up, worried that I might be tickling him. But no, he meets my eyes with that same look of challenge and promise.

"There's a lot more of me to touch if you'd like to go upstairs."

He is treating me as if I were just another stranger approaching him in this crowded, smoky bar, and for some reason I don't find that as comforting as I had expected. My distress must show on my face, for he frowns slightly, his mind brushing mine ever so gently. Realizing that I am still heavily shielded from him, I relax my hold on my own mind, suddenly aware of him as a fellow Jedi. The surreal nature of the situation breaks over me and I feel like a complete fool.

What am I doing here dressed in the clothes I practice in, touching my padawan? There is no way I can offer this beautiful man the things he's come here looking for. I begin to pull my hand away, startled when he reaches out swiftly to grab my wrist, forcing me to remain in contact with his skin.

"Qui-Gon," he begins, so softly that I can barely hear him above the music and conversation.

I shake my head mutely and try again to pull my hand away. His grip tightens and he frowns.

"Qui-Gon, I'd offer to take this home, but I know you too well. You'd close up on me, just like you're trying to do right now, and I don't want that. Neither, for that matter, do you." He spreads his hand over mine, sliding his shirt out of the way and flattening my palm against the firm flat planes of his stomach. "Come upstairs."

For a moment I fight ... well everything. However, his grasp, his voice, and the look of concern and caring in his eyes all work to defeat me. With a faint catch in my breath, I surrender, letting my hand go loose in his. His response is breathtaking, a swift smile of relief and happiness. My own relief washes over me in a wave, and I truly let go, trusting that Obi-Wan will somehow see us through this.

My attention is so focused on Obi-Wan that I scarcely notice our surroundings as he takes my hand and leads me to a small staircase. A moment later we are in a small room that contains nothing but a bed and a sink. I only vaguely notice the surroundings, however; I'm too busy noticing Obi-Wan.

The minute the door is closed, he brings my hand back to that same patch of skin, once more flattening my palm over it. I can't help it, my fingers curl slightly, stroking as I marvel at how soft his skin is. It's almost surreal, all I've done is touch his stomach and I'm painfully aroused, even breathless.

"Is it that difficult?" Obi-wan asks.

"The last time ... Obi-Wan, you hadn't even been born yet." I'm stammering, but I want him to know what he's getting himself into. "I ... and never with a man."

His eyes go wide and he reaches down to curl his fingers over mine. "I had no idea. I just thought you were discreet. You're so sensual, the way you move, the way you dance...." He smiles a wicked little smile I've never seen before. "I'll just take the edge off then."

Suddenly he's all over me, unfastening my pants with practiced ease as he slides his other hand under my shirt to pinch a nipple. I'm gasping, forced to lock my knees for fear of falling as his hand cups my erection. "Oh yes," he murmurs, " as lovely as I'd hoped." Then he's going up on his toes, his mouth finding mine as he strokes my cock hard.

I gasp and as his tongue takes advantage of my open mouth, its suddenly all too much. With a shout muffled by his lips, I thrust into his hand, my orgasm slamming into me hard.

"Oh yes," he moans against my mouth. "That's right, Qui, let it go."

His strong arms are around me then, holding me up as my body sags against him.

"Force," I hear myself whisper. "I ... Obi-Wan ... I'm sorry...."

He guides me to the bed and helps me sit. "None of that, please." His voice is both gentle and slightly amused. "You have no need to apologize. That was very flattering."

He drops to his knees in front of me, tugging my pants all the way down, pulling my boots off as well. Then my hands are grasping at his hair almost helplessly as his tongue begins lapping at my skin, cleaning me off. He's moaning as his mouth moves over my cock and I'm growing hard once more, as aroused by his evident pleasure as I am by his undeniably skilled mouth.

I feel as if I'm falling, a feeling so real that I'm forced to lean on my hands to keep from literally falling onto my back. Surely this isn't me; this man sitting on a bed in some mid-level club, moaning loudly as another man sucks his cock? But it is and that other man is my Obi-Wan, my own padawan as I've never imagined him. I force myself to sit up and look down at him, only to see him roughly tug his pants off.

"Need you..." he mumbles, his words and warm breath flowing over my erection. "Want you...." He pulls away then, almost angrily kicking his boots off.

Almost immediately, he is in my lap, straddling my thighs and bringing his mouth up to meet mine. I taste myself on his lips, a faint bitterness that only serves to arouse me more. I can't help but wonder what he tastes like and if I'll have a chance to find out tonight.

Then I can't think at all.

With nothing more than a quick grasp of my cock to position it, he is sinking down on me hard, gasping against my mouth as he takes me all the way in all at once.

Hot. Tight. Slick. Ready. And all I can think is that this is Obi-Wan. I'm buried inside him and he's moving over me and before I can stop myself, my hands come up to grasp at his hips.

"Don't want ... to hurt you..." I managed to gasp as I struggle not to just slam into him.

"Want it rough..." he moans, tilting his head back to look me in the eyes. "Want you to fuck me, Qui-Gon. Wanted it like this for so long...." His hands rest on mine briefly, pressing them into his hips. "Fuck me ... just fuck me, damnit."

He forestalls any further protest I might have by leaning in to kiss me hard. I can't help it; I'm thrusting into him with all my strength, biting at his lip as we quickly find a hard pounding rhythm.

Just when I think it can't get any better, he reaches down and begins to roughly stroke himself, pulling away from my mouth.

"All those times ... I did ... this," he gasps, glancing down at his hand as it moves on his cock. "Alone ... with you in ... the other room ... wanting you ... so much...."

"You have me ... love," I stammer though my own moans. "Now ... always ... oh ... Obi-Wan!"

One more thrust of my hips, one more stroke of his hand, and we're both falling, yelling each other's names as bright ecstasy washes over us.

His weight is pressing me into the bed, solid, but not oppressive. I wrap my arms around him, as much to ground myself as to hold him close.

When he speaks, his voice is hesitant, almost small, a far cry from the brashly confident young man who leaned against the wall downstairs. "Always?"

"If you'll have me," I reply, a little hesitant myself. "I'm not exactly a prize...."

He sits up at that, placing a hand over my mouth. "A prize? No, you're not." He chuckles to take the sting out of his words, but quickly looks solemn again. "Anyone can win a prize with just a little luck. You, Qui-Gon Jinn, are the man I love." His eyes, as serious as I have ever seen them meet mine.

I can't help responding to the almost ritualistic words. "And you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, are the man I love." I reach up to curl his braid around my fingers as we look at each other in silence for a time.

Then I shake my head and smile, unable to remain so serious in the face of such joy. "I should warn you, however...." I let my voice trail off and he raises and eyebrow.

"What?"

"I feel a need to make up for lost time."

"Oh good," he all but purrs. "Maybe this time we can take our shirts off."

And we do and he teaches me that it's as good, if not better, to be taken and then later, back in our rooms, lazy and sleepy, we simply stroke each other and again, it's like falling.

I hope I never stop falling.

The End