Good - Interlude

by Binky ( BinkyTorture@IKillClowns.com )

Archive: M/A only, please.

Feedback: Sure! On or offlist is fine, constructive criticism welcome.

Category: PWP, Romance

Character pairing: Q/O

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None, except possibly for extreme schmoopiness.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em.

Summary: Winter fun!

This is a bridge piece between "Good" and its TBA sequel. It's not absolutely necessary to have read "Good" before reading this, but I recommend it, because, you know--I wrote it and stuff.

// indicates bondspeak.

The smell of something delicious brought Obi-Wan up from his blissful slumber. Something wonderfully rich and smoky, penetrating through the layers of furs and blankets under which he snuggled, warm and content and boneless.

He didn't need his sense of smell to tell him Qui-Gon wasn't in the bed with him. Their newly re-formed soulbond gave him an instant awareness of his lover's proximity, or lack thereof. He took advantage of the extra space and stretched, wriggling deeper into the pile of bedclothes, careful not to uncover his head. If the absence of sound was any indication, the fire in the bedroom had gone out, and it was likely to be just this side of freezing outside the cozy nest of the bed.

He smiled dreamily, picturing Qui-Gon rekindling the fire, then serving him breakfast in bed, hand-feeding him whatever was producing that lovely smoky smell.

//Lazy// came through the bond. //Get your pretty arse out of bed and come in here.//

Obi-Wan hmphed, stopping just shy of a full-blown pout. //You don't want me taking tempting treats from your hand?// He accompanied the thought with an image of himself licking Qui-Gon's long fingers, curling his pink tongue around each digit before sucking one deep into his mouth.

// . . . . //

Obi-Wan tucked his hands under his head with a triumphant smile.

"Padawan!" Half-bark and half-growl, it was his Master's most no-nonsense tone.

Obi-Wan obeyed it instantly and without thought, as he had been relentlessly trained to do over the years. Throwing back the covers, he leaped out of bed, yipping at the coldness of the pegged wooden floor beneath his feet, and was halfway into his leggings before realizing what he was doing. Yanking his leggings all the way up, he glared at the half-open bedroom door, through which deep, satisfied chuckling floated.

"Gods above, it's freezing in here," Obi-Wan muttered, temporarily setting aside thoughts of vengeance. He looked around for his tunic, vaguely remembered leaving it and various other garments strewn over the tiny common area of the cabin the night before. His gaze settled on the boots he'd grown so fond of and he dove into them gratefully. The boots, which came up to mid-shin, were made of chemak fur--thick, white, fluffy and incredibly warm.

He stuck his hands in his armpits to warm them and shuffled out into the kitchen, yawning. He was met with a blast of heat from the big woodburning stove and the sight of Qui-Gon setting a steaming plate of food on the table. "Good morning, my sleepy chemak cub."

Obi-Wan hmphed again, but didn't stop walking until he'd reached his Master and mate, leaning his head against the broad chest. Qui-Gon was wearing the silky blue thing he loved--or, more precisely, loved to peel off--and leggings, his feet bare. Obi-Wan didn't know how he could stand it.

Blue-clad arms wrapped around him, warm hands stroking the skin of his back. "I have larger veins in my feet than you do, Padawan. They don't get as cold as yours."

Obi-Wan untucked his hands and slid his arms around Qui-Gon's waist. "Next time the Council sends us on a retreat, ~I'm~ picking it."

"Could be worse," Qui-Gon murmured in his ear. "Could be Hoth."

"It might as well be," Obi-Wan grumbled, then lifted his head for a soft kiss.

"Nonsense." Qui-Gon rubbed his nose over Obi-Wan's cheek. "Hoth has much more disagreeable wildlife." He stepped back, turning to the stove. "Now sit down and eat before it gets cold."

Obi-Wan sat, thankful for the heat of the stove warming his bare back. He grabbed a fork and plowed it into the pile of food on his plate, thick slices of smoked meat and some sort of egg concoction. He let out a moan of pure pleasure. "This is wonderful," he said around a mouthful of food.

Qui-Gon set a plate of hot rolls on the table. "You needn't sound so surprised. I did manage to feed myself for several years before you came along."

Obi-Wan shot a suspicious look over his shoulder. His Master's face was set in a smug smile. "Have you been faking horrid cooking all this time? Just so I would make every single blasted meal for you?"

Qui-Gon set a glass of fessa juice next to Obi-Wan's plate, then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "It's a Master's perogative. Eat."

He did so with no further urging, taking simple joy in the taste and texture of the food. Qui-Gon sat across from him after a moment, and they ate in contented silence.

In the two tendays since the re-forming of the bond, they had discovered they could eat, bathe, make love--any number of things--all while carrying on a lively conversation through the bond. They had also discovered the need for silence, the opportunity to simply bask in each other's presence, the bond quiet but ever-present.

Healer Fetra had recommended to the Council that the two of them be sent away from Coruscant for a time, to a secluded place where they could get used to the bond without, as the purple-skinned healer had dryly phrased it, "further straining the Temple's maintenance and repair budget."

Qui-Gon had suggested the northeast quadrant of Erebassi, and Obi-Wan had not protested. He was so thrilled to have his life, his memories and his Master back, he probably wouldn't have cared if Qui-Gon proposed he be tied down while Kowakian monkey-lizards feasted on his eyes.

They had landed near a little town called Teswaba, where they made arrangements for the storage of the ship, then purchased all the supplies they would need for a cycle. The remote cabin halfway up the side of one of the mountains in the Melreth range was accessible only by snowspeeder, so they loaded all the supplies in their rented vehicle and took off, heeding warnings by the locals to be wary of the forecasted blizzard, due in three days' time.

That had been four days ago, and the two Jedi put their time to good use. They'd taken turns chopping and hauling wood, Qui-Gon insisting they do it the old-fashioned way--no lightsabres or Force-levitation. Obi-Wan spent the better part of one morning clearing the existing snow out of a rough circle next to the cabin, giving them a place to spar when weather permitted.

They explored the woods around the cabin, only yesterday surprising a chemak as it fished for food on the bank of an icy stream. Both men's hands had fallen to their lightsabres as the enormous ursine reared and roared at them, but the Force nudged them both through the bond, and they ended up convincing the chemak it had extremely urgent business on the other side of the ridge.

And they explored each other. By tacit agreement and a very strong hint from Fetra, no mention was made of Obi-Wan's ordeal of the past year or so. There would be time enough to deal with it once the bond had settled down. They'd had so little time together not tainted by the memories of Obi-Wan's abuse at the hands of others, or even before then, by the demands of the Council or the workload of a Padawan. To be able to simply ~be~ with each other, unfettered, unhurried, was a gift without price. And now, with the fresh soulbond singing between them . . . Obi-Wan decided he'd died and beome one with the Force, no matter how cold his feet got.

Qui-Gon drained the last of his fessa juice and contemplated the sight before him. Obi-Wan's hair, still longish from his year away, stuck out at various wild angles. Wearing those fluffy, ridiculously adorable boots really did make him look like a sleepy chemak cub.

Keeping in mind Fetra's suggestion that they work on shielding from each other, Qui-Gon sat back in his chair and took inventory of his Padawan. His weight was back where it needed to be, but his muscle tone could still use work. Old, badly healed scars peppered the skin of his torso, and his wrists bore matching sets from countless pairs of cuffs and manacles.

Qui-Gon tried to be dispassionate about what had happened to Obi-Wan, but his own memories of the ordeal were still too fresh. He'd experienced everything Obi-Wan had during the re-forming of the bond, every cut and bruise and humiliation, every--

"What are you thinking?" Obi-Wan set his fork down on the now-empty plate and narrowed his eyes. "I can't sense you very well."

Qui-Gon let go of the memories and jerked his focus back to the present. Here and now, old man, he thought wryly, letting a tiny smile curve his lips. "Guess."

Obi-Wan studied him with that suspicious gaze for a moment longer, then pushed his plate aside and propped his booted feet on one corner of the table. Qui-Gon felt a subtle touch against his shields and firmed them.

"You're thinking . . . you'd like to scoop me up out of this chair, carry me to the bedroom and ravish me senseless."

Qui-Gon snorted. "I'm ~always~ thinking that, my Obi-Wan. Try again."

Obi-Wan stretched and yawned, making a noise very similar to that of a rutting blegnart. Qui-Gon watched in fascination as the end of the Padawan braid brushed over one rosy nipple. Suitably distracted, his shields slipped the tiniest bit.

"Dishes?" Obi-Wan stared across the table in disbelief. "You want me to do the dishes?"

Qui-Gon forced his gaze away from the tempting bud. "Why not? I cooked."

"You never do the dishes when ~I~ cook."

"Ah, but that's only one of the many joys of having a Padawan, my Padawan." Qui-Gon stood. "When you're finished, we can work more on our shielding." Their shared perception had led to a few embarrassing moments before they left the Coruscant temple, including an awkward moment in the Council chamber when Qui-Gon had sneezed on Master Piell because Obi-Wan, back in their quarters preparing dinner, had got pepper up his nose.

"Shouldn't we hold off on that sort of thing until the storm hits?" Obi-Wan rose and began gathering the plates and utensils. "I mean, we'll be stuck inside for at least a week, according to the rental agent--might as well enjoy ourselves outside while we can."

Qui-Gon gestured to the window over the sink. "While you're busy scrubbing and rinsing, you can tell me what you think of those clouds to the east."

Obi-Wan set the dishes in the sink, then studied the horizon before letting out a deep sigh. "If you helped me with these, we could at least get outside for a short time." He picked up a scrubber and waggled it in Qui-Gon's direction. "I'll make it worth your while," he said in a seductive purr.

Qui-Gon laughed, surrendering. "If you make it ~too~ worth my while, we'll never get outside." He rolled up the sleeves of his robe and joined his Padawan at the sink. "You wash, I'll rinse."

Obi-Wan concentrated as he plied the scrubber around the egg pan.

"A jurberry," Qui-Gon said immediately, and Obi-Wan sighed. He hadn't been able to shield a single image from his Master since they'd started the dishes.

"You haven't had any difficulties shielding from others since the bonding, have you?" Qui-Gon asked as he took the pan from Obi-Wan.

"No." He sighed again, looking at out the clouds piling up in the east. "Just you."

"Why do you think that is, my Padawan?"

Obi-Wan felt a flash of irritation at the "lesson" tone, knew his Master felt it too, and that only made it worse. "I don't know!" He threw the scrubber down in the sink and turned away.

Qui-Gon shut the water off. "Obi-Wan . . . ."

He heard surprise and concern in the tone of voice, but no reproof, which just made him feel guilty and somewhat miserable. "Maybe . . . maybe it's because I don't ~want~ to shield anything from you. It just--it feels wrong." He turned back, utterly unsurprised to find his Master's arms open and waiting. He glided into them, resting his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "You're my haven," he whispered, slipping his arms around the narrow waist. "You always have been." He tipped his head back, looking up into the eyes he trusted above all others. "I don't want to give that up, not even for a second."

"My Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was low and hoarse, and Obi-Wan felt a surge of love along the bond that almost overwhelmed him. He raised his head to meet the mouth lowering to his own, savoring the smoky taste of the tongue slipping past his lips.

Qui-Gon made a soft noise, deep in his throat, and Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, sending an image through the bond of himself, moaning and naked.

Well. Not entirely naked.

Qui-Gon chuffed laughter into his mouth and broke the kiss, nuzzling Obi-Wan's neck. "I thought you wanted to go outside."

Obi-Wan leaned his head back, exposing more of his throat to his Master's silken lips. "I think I want this more," he breathed.

Qui-Gon's mouth seared a path down to Obi-Wan's collarbone. "You 'think' you want this more? What can I do to help convince you?"

Obi-Wan hissed in a breath as warm fingertips found a nipple. "You're--aahh--off to a good start." Sudden, sharp lust spiked through the bond--Obi-Wan couldn't tell if it came from him or Qui-Gon, and didn't truly care. All he wanted at the moment was to revel in the bond, wallow in it, submerge himself in Qui-Gon and be consumed by him. He arched against his lover's long body, driven by an urgent need to touch him everywhere at once, wanting to scream in frustration when he couldn't.

With a deep, rumbling growl, Qui-Gon lifted him bodily and deposited him on the sturdy wooden table. Obi-Wan wrapped his legs around his Master's hips, pulling his head down for a fierce, relentless kiss. //Bedroom?//

In response, Qui-Gon sent an image of the darkened bedroom fireplace as he plundered Obi-Wan's mouth. //We'd have to stop and build the fire up again.//

//No stopping.// Obi-Wan sent, plunging his hands into the thick fall of hair. //Stopping bad.//

When Qui-Gon broke the kiss, Obi-Wan leaned back, bracing his hands on the table, thrusting his hips up to meet the throbbing heat that matched his own. His head fell back, his spine arching, a helpless moan escaping as Qui-Gon's lips brushed a nipple before latching onto it with hot, wet suction.

The silky blue robe fell to the floor, and Obi-Wan felt a moment's regret that he hadn't been the one to remove it, regret that was quickly dispelled as Qui-Gon's hands found the waistband of his leggings. Obi-Wan lifted his hips and the leggings slid away, whispering past his weeping erection.

Qui-Gon disappeared from view, and Obi-Wan felt strong hands on his calves and ankles, tugging at the chemak-fur boots. He opened his mouth to protest, then felt suppressed amusement through the bond as the boots came off, only to be promptly replaced when his leggings were clear.

//You didn't really think I'd be able to resist that oh-so-charming picture you sent me, did you?// Qui-Gon asked as he divested himself of his own leggings.

Obi-Wan laughed in delight, slipping his furry feet over Qui-Gon's freshly bare backside. His laughter dissolved into a sort of gasping grunt as the heavy, velvet heat of Qui-Gon's erection slid against his. Qui-Gon leaned in for another breath-stealing kiss, and Obi-Wan's hands glided over the broad shoulders to the heavily muscled back, tickling his Master's flanks with the boots.

//Tell me what you want, my mischievous cub.//

//You. Only you, always you, inside me, all around me, everywhere.//

Qui-Gon raised his head, and as Obi-Wan gazed into those blue, blue eyes, he marveled anew that this man wanted him, needed him, loved him. He loved Qui-Gon with all that he was, and was always faintly surprised to have that love returned.

"Mine," Qui-Gon whispered, his mouth descending to Obi-Wan's again.

//Yes.// Obi-Wan sent. //You are.// Coherent thought vanished when he felt long, strong fingers brushing the length of his shaft, pausing to stroke the crown before dipping into the silky fluid seeping from the slit. He let out a soft cry, only to repeat it when the fingertip touched his nipple, the fluid collecting on the peak like a trembling dewdrop.

Qui-Gon studied the picture he'd painted in seeming fascination for a moment, then feasted on it. Obi-Wan writhed beneath him, his mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Far too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, Qui-Gon abandoned his prize, his lips trailing down the planes of Obi-Wan's abdomen, his beard tickling the skin. //Scoot back// he instructed, and Obi-Wan did so, having vague thoughts of splinters.

Such thoughts disappeared as Qui-Gon lifted his legs, draping them over his shoulders, then even the capacity for thought was stolen as a hot, slick tongue invaded him. A garbled shout escaped him, and his fingers scrabbled over the surface of the table, seeking purchase, something, anything to hold onto as that tongue licked and swirled and thrust.

Just when he thought he might actually go insane, the tongue withdrew, leaving him panting and trembling and mourning its loss. "Qui-Gon," he gasped, "oh gods, ~please.~"

He heard a faint slapping sound that left him momentarily confused, then remembered they were in the kitchen and sent a silent litany of thanks into the Force. After a moment, one of Qui-Gon's oil-slick hands found his unbearably hard cock, and he screamed, arching up off the table. "Please," he panted. "Pleaseplease~please~--ah, gods!"

He forgot how to breathe, his mouth formed into a perfect O as Qui-Gon pressed into him, strong hands gripping his hips gently but firmly, and through the bond, he ~felt~ it, felt the hot, unbelievably tight heat of himself, felt the love and desire and awe, felt chemak fur tickling his back.

A strangled groan tore from his throat when Qui-Gon began to thrust, and he knew he wouldn't last long, knew Qui-Gon wouldn't last, didn't care, couldn't care as they locked together, body and soul, an endless cycle of incredible pleasure and love, such love, oh how did we ever survive without each other, how could anyone survive without this, and then he was screaming, a hoarse, ragged scream echoed by Qui-Gon, and liquid fire filled him, spurted from him, consumed him, consumed them both.

An eternity later, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. By some miracle, he was sitting up, his boneless form draped over Qui-Gon's, who was still standing, leaning against the table, stroking Obi-Wan's hair. //How can you still be upright after that?//

A soft snort tickled his ear. "My knees are locked. I may never move again."

"Mmmm." Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, his eyes drawn to the swirl of white light outside the window. "It's snowing. I guess we're stuck inside now."

The strong arms around him tightened, and he heard the smile in Qui-Gon's voice. "Good."

The End