NOTES: An answer to Sithlawyer (ChatNoir)'s challenge, which is
repeated at the end (just to maintain some element of
suspense).
DISCLAIMER: Hi, George, if you want to sue someone over this
try Sithlawyer: it's all her fault and she might put up a
better defence. After all, she may get some satisfaction out of
this story, but I sure ain't getting any money. And I don't
think I get the guys either, since they belong to you.
SPOILERS: TPM (but full-scale denial is going on here...)
FEEDBACK: Well, hmmm, oh if you really want to. To:
Gloriana.Reginata@virgin.net
SUMMARY: A year after his Knighting, Obi-Wan wonders why he
still hasn't bedded Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. The
Layotian uniform was too snug across his shoulders: he must
have put on some extra muscle since it was issued to him last
year. But at least the dress trousers still fit. They even made
him look taller, with the high waistband and long slashes of
gold on black from hip to ankle. Oiled black ankle boots shone
in the evening light. He had spent the last half hour cleaning
them up, and was quite pleased with the result.
The gold frogging on the jacket was just ridiculous, though; he
took it off and laid it carefully on the stool, together with
the gold-braided cap. He was warm enough in the crisp cotton
shirt, and it would never do to get a spot of oil on the cuffs
of the silly thing. He picked up the black gloves he would be
expected to wear to complete the ensemble and slipped them on.
Thin fine leather, they should have been soft against his skin,
but it had been a long time since he last wore them, and their
texture was somewhat papery. A bit more oil needed there.
He poured some from the bottle into the cup of one palm, then
stood there working it into the leather. Strange, that this was
the last time he would wear the uniform. A full year out on the
Rim, but in some ways it seemed like only a few months. Of
course, the pace had been incredibly frenetic, and he had
learnt so much...every day bringing fresh challenges. The young
man who looked back at him from the mirror had a few lines of
his own, now, to challenge his master's formidable collection.
He smiled briefly, thinking of Qui-Gon, but the smile soon
became a frown. He'd been back from the Outer Rim for nearly a
fortnight, but he was no closer to resolving the tension
between them than he had been for the six months previously.
Qui-Gon hadn't helped, using Ani's constant presence as an
excuse not to touch him, not to take him...
Obi-Wan shook his head in frustration, loose tendrils of hair
tumbling round his shoulders. He still missed the swing of his
Padawan braid sometimes, but at least the rest was now long
enough to pull into a semblance of a tail at the back, even if
bangs of hair were always falling into his eyes. He was
changing, the man he saw in the mirror told him that, but his
master still treated him as a sexless young boy. Was that what
Qui-Gon wanted? For him to stay the young padawan?
No, he couldn't accept that. His master was nothing if not
adaptable, absorbing new situations, new experiences and
constantly learning from them. For a man of fifty-three, he had
the most curious, inquiring mind Obi-Wan knew. He had taken
three padawans towards knighthood: the change from teacher to
equal probably held less surprises for him than Obi-Wan had
encountered as he, too, changed: from student to lover.
Lover. Hah! What good was the title without the reality?
Unconsciously Obi-Wan began to pace in front of the window,
ignoring the setting of Coruscant's sun as it painted the sky
gold. He could almost think that Qui-Gon was content at the
lack of physical contact between them. Perhaps he simply did
not feel desire for Obi-Wan: loved his heart, his soul, but not
his body. Or didn't need to demonstrate that love on a sexual
level.
The thought was a hard one, but Obi-Wan had to face it. Ever
since puberty, when he became explosively aware of his master's
strong sexual allure, he had never known Qui-Gon to exploit it.
To the best of his knowledge the man had no lovers at the
Temple, no lovers while they were on missions together. And had
never had, since Bandomeer. At one time he'd just accepted that
his master was celibate, vowed to the Force alone as some Jedi
were. The incredible sexual energy Qui-Gon exuded, almost
unawares, was fed back into his work, his enthusiasms, his
mastery of the Force. Did he now assume that Obi-Wan would take
the same path, and that they would live together in a chaste
monastic ideal?
He twisted his hands nervously together, still rubbing oil
between the fingers of the gloves. That made no sense either.
Obi-Wan had spent quite a few years demonstrating that he was
no monk to his yearmates. Qui-Gon had dispensed avuncular
advice when it was called for, sympathetic understanding
otherwise - but with never a hint that he expected Obi-Wan to
stop bed-hopping. Even after the disastrous incident on Naboo
made their feelings for each other clearer, Qui-Gon had made no
demands of exclusivity; had even hinted that, with Obi-Wan so
far away, the young knight was free to indulge the needs of his
body without guilt. At least that was what Obi-Wan had assumed
from the guarded words on the page.
It was so hard conducting an affair over thousands of miles!
They'd given up holographic communications almost immediately,
both dismayed by the absence of the mental bond they shared
before. Instead they had resorted to writing long letters, as
regularly as other duties permitted. The first few had been
stilted, difficult, concerned more with the new routines of
life apart from each other. Slowly they had warmed, thoughts
and feelings emerging, intimations of love, of caring, of
missing, of loneliness smuggled into the details of daily life.
But when Obi-Wan had started to hint at the physical passion he
felt for his master, Qui-Gon ... simply ignored him. No mention
that he felt the same things, or even that Obi-Wan was wrong to
talk about them. Only once, that ambiguous comment, "You,
Obi-Wan, have always been free to take decisions about your own
body, and have always made the right ones. Nothing you do could
be worthy of my censure."
By the Force, the words were engraved in his mind, but what did
they mean?! One read so much into every precious communication,
worrying at the meanings behind the words, knotted together
like tangled threads. Perhaps Qui-Gon had been trying to say he
wanted Obi-Wan to find physical release elsewhere. Perhaps he
had been saying he had no passion to give with his love.
At any rate, they had immediately brought to a halt any attempt
on his part to greater explicitness. How could he write about
desire if Qui-Gon thought he would quench his desire elsewhere?
Or did his master take his silence on the matter to indicate
that he had done exactly that? Obi-Wan had tiptoed around the
issue from then on, resigning himself to patience. After all,
he would not be on the Rim forever, and maybe it was more
frustrating to write about what he could not yet have, just as
it was more frustrating to see an untouchable holographic image
than to keep the image of his love in his mind's eye.
Well, his tour of duty was over. Tomorrow's ceremonial
procession into the Senate building, when he would form one of
the guard of honour escorting the Layotian ambassador, marked
the end of it. And now to a new life, but of what would it
consist? Out on the Rim, he had pondered whether Qui-Gon had
any passion to give him, and decided he could live without it
as long as he had the man's love. Back here, it was all
different.
For one thing, he was realising that he had learnt to live
without Qui-Gon: not happily, not well, but he had coped over
the last year. Once upon a time, Qui-Gon had been his sun, his
centre of gravity. Now he was a man grown, and had defined a
centre within himself. He had learnt much that his master could
not teach him, of strategy and war, and had earned a rank in
the Layotian army through his own actions, rather than as a
Jedi representative. He had led men into battle, devised the
strategies under which they fought. He could contemplate a path
in the Jedi order separate from Qui-Gon's.
The second thing, which he had realised in an instant of seeing
his old master, was how much he had underestimated his own
lust. It was easy, light years of distance away, to forget the
intense physical presense of the man, how his big body
dominated anyone near him, how hot his blue blue eyes shone.
Enfolded in that warm embrace as he stepped from his shuttle,
he had to hide his face in the curve of his lover's neck, in
case everyone around him saw the raw desire there. But a moment
later broad hands were gripping his shoulders, holding him at
arm's length ostensibly to look him over. He had managed to
bring himself back under control, barely; but he had been kept
at arm's length ever since.
Yet it was neither of those issues that left him pacing in the
fading light of dusk. Despite the lack of a training bond
between them now, despite the awkwardness that inevitably had
cropped up between them in the first few days of his arrival,
he was increasingly sure of one last thing: Qui-Gon did want
him.
Oh, he tried to hide it. And a Jedi Master, trained ambassador,
diplomat and warrior could hide most things when he wanted. But
not this. It was the sideways glances, when Obi-Wan was caught
up admiring Ani's latest achievement. It was the odd intake of
breath, when he innocently licked his lips, or stretched in a
yawn. It was the way Qui-Gon would walk around a piece of
furniture, not to brush past his former padawan. It was the way
the older man refused to meet his gaze, if their hands touched
passing plates at mealtimes. His lover wanted him.
So why, why, WHY wouldn't the man just take him! Obi-Wan's fist
slammed into his palm. He had tried going slowly: after all,
they both had a lot to adjust to. Then he had tried waiting it
out: surely Qui-Gon would finally act, as he had never failed
to in any situation before? But now he was getting angry - and
very frustrated. Qui-Gon was as slippery as a damp Gungan,
avoiding every effort Obi-Wan made to engage him in frank
discussion as agilely as he avoided Obi-Wan's hands. Well, Ani
was out tonight. Obi-Wan's mouth took on a grim set: it was
time to pin Qui-Gon down.
His eyes narrowed as he heard the door to the common room open.
Qui-Gon closed it again; then came the rustle of cloth as he
hung his cloak, and the thump of boots discarded onto the
floor. "Obi-Wan?" the deep tones travelled easily down the hall
to him.
"Here, Qui-Gon." He tried to keep his own voice level, banking
the anger that was building up inside him.
He heard footsteps coming down the hall, heard them slow as if
Qui-Gon were reluctant to come too close.
"I'm just getting this wretched uniform ready for tomorrow.
What do you think?" he turned back to the mirror and pretended
to stare at his reflection in the glass, but surreptitiously
checked Qui-Gon's progress from beneath his lashes. The man was
in the doorway now, leaning on the frame and staring at him.
Obi-Wan was reminded of nothing so much as a great grey wolf,
predator hungry to devour - but this predator kept his fangs
muzzled.
He turned quickly and Qui-Gon immediately averted his gaze.
"It's fine, if a trifle gaudy." The pretended nonchalance bit
at Obi-Wan's heart. "Do you want to change? I thought we could
dine in hall tonight."
Obi-Wan reached for the bottle of oil, poured some more onto
the gloves, then started to rub it in. "Hmmm, it's an idea." It
was hard to hide his anger now: so this was how Qui-Gon planned
to avoid any intimacy with him this evening.
"Can you hang the jacket up for me? I don't want to get any of
this stuff on it."
"You could just take off the gloves," Qui-Gon said mildly, but
he walked into the room and picked up the discarded jacket
anyway, turning to hang it in the bare cupboard by the bed. The
plain browns and creams of his customary tunic and leggings,
with bare feet protruding below, made the fancy garment seem
even more ridiculous in contrast.
"No, my hands are too rough. I keep fraying the braid: it's all
the calluses from handling the z-z guns. These army uniforms
may be old-fashioned, but Layotian weaponry is cutting edge -
literally."
Qui-Gon gave a wry smile at Obi-Wan's dry quip, but it was
wiped out when he continued, "See, you can even feel them
through these gloves," and held out his hands to the bigger
man.
At first he thought Qui-Gon would refuse, but then he reached
out and traced one fingertip along Obi-Wan's palm. The thin
leather was no barrier between them: he felt the pressure of
Qui-Gon's finger as it traced the raised ridges overlaying old
calluses from 'sabre practice. Obi-Wan closed his hand around
Qui-Gon's.
"Perhaps we could eat here instead?"
Qui-Gon snatched his hand away and began to talk quickly,
"Don't you want to see some of your old friends? I hear Bant is
ba-"
"No!" Obi-Wan roared, finally losing his temper. Qui-Gon stared
back at him, surprise overcoming his reluctance to look fully
at Obi-Wan.
"No, I do not want to see my friends," he hissed through
his teeth, advancing on Qui-Gon. "I want to see my
lover." He poked a finger at Qui-Gon's chest, as the other man
took an instinctive step backwards. "I want to see the
person who swore his love to me a year ago."
Qui-Gon's back was against the wall now, and Obi-Wan took the
advantage to block his escape. "I want to eat with him,
drink with him, make love to him. So what do you want,
Qui-Gon?"
He saw Qui-Gon's face tighten, and thought he had lost. But
then the big man closed his eyes, leant his head back against
the wall in a gesture of surrender, long throat bare and
vulnerable.
"Obi-Wan," the voice was urgent, desperate, "think before you
push this. You have made a name for yourself amongst the young
knights: I know the Council would willingly give you more
authority, while I am tied here with Ani. You have no binding
commitment to me." He swallowed convulsively before saying,
"And there are any number of others who would welcome you to
their beds."
"But what about you, Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan shot back at him. "Would
you welcome me to your bed?" He pressed his full length against
that long body, seeking its response. "Damn you, look at me!"
He framed Qui-Gon's face with his hands, feeling the prickle of
beard even through the thin leather, and pulled it down towards
him. Azure eyes met his, burning with unknown emotions. Obi-Wan
could feel patterns of Force lines swirl around the pair of
them, but he could not interpret them. Never had he wished so
desperately for the resumption of their training bond.
"Do you want me? Have you ever wanted me?"
"Yes!" Qui-Gon's fierce affirmation was spat back at him. "I
have always wanted you! Since you were sixteen, I wanted you."
Obi-Wan's jaw dropped. He had steeled himself for whatever
Qui-Gon would say - but not, apparently, for that.
Questions flooded his brain, vying to be uttered. How on
Coruscant had his master hidden this, even in the closeness of
their training bond? Why had he said nothing before, after
Naboo? What did the man think, that Obi-Wan was such a baby he
couldn't handle Qui-Gon's needs? Had he been planning to
mention it at all? Indignation allied with the remnants of his
earlier anger to swamp all other emotions.
"You weren't going to tell me, were you?"
Qui-Gon sighed and leant back out off Obi-Wan's grasp, staring
at the ceiling. He was calm and measured once more. "Obi-Wan,
this decision is yours to make. My wants are not material here.
I have lived with this for a long time; I would not rush you
into - "
"Rush me?" Obi-Wan interrupted incredulously. "Qui-Gon, I know
you are always saying I should be patient, but even you cannot
think we haven't waited enough."
"I-"
But Obi-Wan had heard enough. "Shut up. Just shut up," he
growled, putting his mouth against Qui-Gon's throat to still
the words forming there, then following through with all the
weight of his body to pin him against the wall. The hot flesh
burned against his lips, as he plundered down the vee of the
tunic. When the cloth got in his way, he summarily ripped it
open, knocking away Qui-Gon's hands as they sought to
interfere.
Brusque fingers stripped belt and undertunic from him, Obi-Wan
none too gentle as the gloves slightly hampered his nimble
fingers. Qui-Gon made no move to stop him after that initial
resistance, but his breathing quickened, the movements of his
chest drawing Obi-Wan's attention to the hardening nipples
bared from the tunic's cover. He bent his head to suck at one
swiftly, red-gold hair tumbling to hide his face. Qui-Gon
gasped, then again as Obi-Wan stroked a thumb across the other
nipple, leather leaving an oily smear. The hands at his side
became fists.
Obi-Wan pushed himself away slightly, using the distance
between them to haul Qui-Gon's leggings down his hips. His
penis was revealed, impressive even in its semi-flaccid state.
After one long look, Obi-Wan returned his attention to
Qui-Gon's face. Its expression was almost dazed, but Obi-Wan
was having no mercy tonight.
"You are going to do exactly what I tell you. Do you
understand?" His tone would have been recognised by any of the
junior officers who had tried his patience too far in the last
year.
Qui-Gon visibly gathered his wits together. "Obi-Wan," he
began, "listen to me - "
"No. Now, shut up, lie down, and get hard."
Qui-Gon shook his head and half-smiled, half-sighed in
capitulation, but his body was obeying even more quickly, his
cock rising up against the cloth of Obi-Wan's shirt. He stepped
out of the puddle of clothes at his feet and lowered himself
onto the bed beside them, watching Obi-Wan as Obi-Wan watched
him.
The young knight was beginning to tremble a little himself,
lust and the adrenaline of anger combining to bring everything
into sharp focus. The astounding sight of his master,
stretching out naked on the bed before him, his to touch, to
take, was almost more than he could cope with. But he wanted
more.
"Touch yourself. I want to see you stroke yourself." Qui-Gon
hesitated for a moment, then brought one of those big hands
down over his cock, smoothing it up the shaft in a practiced
gesture, round the blunt purple head then back down again.
Obi-Wan crouched down beside him in fascination, captivated by
the slow movements.
"Obi-Wan, please." Qui-Gon's voice was a hoarse rasp.
"What, my love? What do you want?" Obi-Wan tore his gaze from
the spectacle, to meet his lover's eyes. He was shaken by the
eager hunger he saw there.
"Touch me."
"Yes, oh yes." He reached out and stilled Qui-Gon's hand,
replaced it with his own. The gloves bothered him, but as he
thought to pull them off he remembered the roughness of his
hands, calloused by the heavy fieldguns. He would tear at
Qui-Gon's flesh if he removed the soft leather. So he left them
on.
A slow stroke up, and the oil from the glove glistened over
Qui-Gon's cock. The man reared up below him, moaning quietly.
Obi-Wan pushed his hips back down with his other hand, then
smoothed the flesh of belly and chest, leather stark black
against the pale skin. Delicately he slid back down the
newly-slicked member. Through the leather he felt the ridges of
veins and loose skin shifting beneath his hand. As he repeated
the caress, Qui-Gon began to speak in a voice so low Obi-Wan
could hardly register it.
"I used to watch you - you have no idea. You were so beautiful,
so innocent. I didn't think you could become more beautiful,
but you have, my Obi-Wan, you have. So beautiful, standing
there tonight with the last rays of the sun behind you - aah!"
He gripped the bedclothes with his fists as Obi-Wan's mouth
found the tip of his cock. A sobbing breath later he continued,
"You used to do that kata - do you remember, when you were
twenty? The Gliding Bird. You would spread your legs and fly
through the air above me, and I wished, how I wished I could
freeze that moment, you suspended there, so much grace and
power, and please please Obi-Wan, go lower..."
In obedience, he took his mouth from the head of his master's
penis, moved down to envelop his scrotum with his lips, then
licked the delicate flesh below. Qui-Gon twisted on the sheets,
raising his legs to give Obi-Wan easier access.
"Put your fingers inside me, love, I need that so badly."
Qui-Gon's brogue was stronger now, more pronounced than Obi-Wan
had ever heard it. He brushed the tip of his gloved fingers
against the puckered opening below, heard the short sob the
movement elicited.
"Wait, wait," he soothed the older man. "Just a bit more oil -
I don't want to hurt you." The intensity of Qui-Gon's response,
after his elusive behaviour of the last two weeks, was a little
unnerving. Obi-Wan fumbled as he reached for the bottle he'd
left beside the bed, spilling some on the sheets before he
could coat the fingers of the glove with it. "There, now," he
crooned as he smoothed the oil around the sensitive ring, and
began to push in with one finger.
"Gods!" But Qui-Gon didn't pull away: if anything, he pushed
his body down onto Obi-Wan's hand, until Obi-Wan stopped him
with a touch to his belly. Then he lay quiescent, breathing
harshly, until Obi-Wan breached that first ring. "Yes, love,
not so slow," but Obi-Wan ignored him, pushing in very
gradually till one knuckle had entered.
"Oh, Obi-Wan, you are so good to me, yes my young one. I knew
you would be amazing at this. When you came home those nights
you were seeing Felixia - that ambassador's daughter, the one
from Nigera. You would smell of sex, and in the corridors next
day she always looked so satisfied...Please, another one, don't
stop now." Qui-Gon's body was tight round his finger, but he
slipped the tip of another in beside it, feeling the muscle
spasm briefly, then relax again. After a moment the voice
continued, dry and strained now.
"And that evening before we went to Naboo, the hurt on your
face when I told you to get on board the shuttle. I am so
sorry, my love, I can't forget how you looked then -"
"Hush, we've talked about that, Master," Obi-Wan hastened to
say, rattled by the mention of those terrible weeks. Watching
Qui-Gon fall to the Sith's blade, fighting to close the gaping
wound...he still flinched from the memory. This was no time for
such thoughts. To divert Qui-Gon he twisted his fingers inside,
found the prostate and flicked a fingertip against it. The
results were gratifying.
"Are you ready for another, Qui-Gon?" But he already knew the
answer, from the loosening of the muscles around his fingers
and the rocking of Qui-Gon's hips. A long groan of pleasure
filled the room as he inserted a third finger, the thickness of
the gloves adding to the width of his own fingers. Obi-Wan
began to move in and out, stroking the prostate as he went. His
own groin was now uncomfortably constrained by the tightness of
his trousers, but he didn't want to break into this rhythm to
free himself.
"Ah, ah, again." Qui-Gon brought his knees up towards his
chest, a gesture so vulnerable and trusting that Obi-Wan felt
tears prick at his eyes. "Whuh. And that day on Malastare, when
you won the swimming competition, and your body was shining
with water in the sunlight, and I could only wonder when you
had developed all those muscles, and everyone was looking at
you. I wanted to say, he's mine, he's mine, he's mine,"
Qui-Gon's voice had faded to a whisper, as he repeated the
litany on each thrust in of Obi-Wan's fingers, but then he
stopped, drew a great breath. "The fourth, Padawan."
"Are you sure? I know you are not a small man, but that's a lot
to take..." Obi-Wan's brows knitted in consternation, but
Qui-Gon gave a soft laugh.
"And you are no small man either, love. I would rather be
prepared for you. Please."
Now Obi-Wan began to shudder in earnest. He hadn't been sure
quite where they were going, content to satisfy Qui-Gon's
hunger before his own. Now he knew, and his own stomach
tightened unbearably. But there was this to complete first.
Slowly he pushed a fourth finger in, the tip only, and felt
everything clench around him again. "oh" Qui-Gon's reaction was
virtually wordless. They stayed frozen like that for a long
moment, and then Qui-Gon said, "Enough." He withdrew his
fingers with equal care, then sat back, sucking air into
tortured lungs.
/Hurry./ The shock of Qui-Gon's voice, echoing in his mind
after so long bereft of it, robbed Obi-Wan of thought, but his
body responded to the urgency emanating from his bondmate. No
time to strip off his clothing: he undid the trousers and freed
his aching erection, kicking the restrictive garment down to
his ankles.
Grabbing at the bottle of oil, he poured a generous amount
along the length of his cock, then spread it with one hand. The
unaccustomed sensation of the soft leather made him start: he
had almost forgotten the gloves, they were so like a second
skin. But on his own flesh, he felt the slight roughness of the
seams, the smooth warmth that was like but unlike the touch of
human skin. He thought of that within his master, and nearly
came in his own hand.
/Obi-Wan!/ The command startled him, and he looked up into
Qui-Gon's piercing gaze. //Yes, Master.// his response came
instintively. Crouching between Qui-Gon's legs, he put his
oiled cock against the tight anus. Qui-Gon reached down to
spread himself wider with his own long fingers. Slowly Obi-Wan
began to push in, and felt the incredible heat envelop him as
he breached the first ring.
/More, Padawan! Fuck me now./ The unexpected profanity sent
such a jolt of arousal through Obi-Wan that he lost control and
surged into Qui-Gon, pushing all the way in with one powerful
thrust rather than the gentle penetration he had intended. His
lover cried out, a deep reverberating cry that tore into
Obi-Wan. //Oh no, I didn't mean to hurt you!// But Qui-Gon was
wrapping long legs round his waist, stopping his retreat.
/No, stay with me, stay./ Again they were still, until Obi-Wan
felt the painful tightness around his cock ease. His master's
hands were stroking his hips now, wordlessly asking for his
movement. Slowly he obeyed, stretching down to kiss his master
first. A gentle withdrawal, a tortuously slow re-entry. Qui-Gon
hissed with impatience, and swivelled his hips higher, hooking
one leg over Obi-Wan's shoulder.
/I said, fuck me, Padawan! I'm not a china doll./ The
irritability of that mental tone almost made Obi-Wan laugh: it
was so like the Qui-Gon of old. His breath caught in his throat
and he started to move faster, picking up a punishing pace at
his lover's urging. He couldn't spare a hand to reach down
between them and touch his master, but he felt the hard flesh
rubbing against his belly on each downward thrust. Qui-Gon
groaned beneath him, hands clutching at the pillows above his
head as every sinew in his body strained up to meet Obi-Wan.
His body opened to allow Obi-Wan's cock to plunge deeper, then
closed again around him as he withdrew, reluctant to let him
go. This couldn't last, Obi-Wan was so close now, sobbing in
frustration when he pulled out too far once and had to breach
the entry to Qui-Gon's body anew. The spiralling sensation in
him was more than he could control, but a moment later he felt
Qui-Gon spasm around him, felt the deep voice like a gong
echoing around him. Giving up of himself, he thrust one more
time into his master, and let his own release take him at last.
It seemed like hours later, that they lay in the gloaming
watching the reflection of passing airship lights move across
the window. Obi-Wan had finally shed his clothing in a careless
pile by the bed, and crawled back into his master's arms. He
had been shaken to see traces of blood on his softening cock,
but Qui-Gon had shushed him.
"Don't worry, love, it's just been a long time."
Now Qui-Gon's fingers traced lazy spirals on Obi-Wan's back,
soothing, but Obi-Wan did not want to sleep just yet.
"How long, Qui-Gon?" His tentative question stilled the moving
hand.
Qui-Gon kissed his brow, stirring the soft locks of hair.
"Since a day, ten years ago, when I looked at you and saw the
man in the boy." Soft, husky tones, his throat still raw from
his earlier cries. They must have woken up everyone within the
tower, Obi-Wan thought muzzily.
"Why didn't you say? You knew I was totally infatuated with you
then."
"You've just answered your own question, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon
chuckled, much as he had at the end of many lessons when he
brought Obi-Wan round to finding his own answers by patient,
guiding questions. "And anyway, what would your reaction have
been, hmm?"
Obi-Wan stretched, smiling ruefully. "I would have been
terrified. You know that."
"So."
"But later? When I was twenty?"
"When you were twenty, young Padawan, you had discovered the
delights of half the young Knights in the Temple. How could
your hoary old master hope to compete?" Qui-Gon's tone was
drier now, and Obi-Wan glimpsed underneath traces of an old
pain.
"Qui-Gon, Force knows I never meant to hurt you." Obi-Wan
raised himself up on one elbow, straining to make out his
bondmate's features in the gathering dark. "They were just
games, you knew that. No-one ever took my heart," he added
fiercely. "It was always with you."
"Ah, I knew, love." Qui-Gon reached up to stroke his hair,
obviously still unaccustomed to the longer tresses. Soon
Obi-Wan would be wearing a tail as long as his own. "There were
just days when it seemed - less secure."
He moved to pull the young man's body up onto his own, rolling
him till he lay flat on Qui-Gon's chest.
"Oomph. You weigh a bit more than you did when we used to sleep
like this on missions."
"I was only thirteen then, Master. I had a lot of
growing to do," Obi-Wan reminded him cheekily.
"Yes, and certain other - ah, attributes - have grown as well."
They shared a grin of remembered pleasure, before Obi-Wan
sobered again.
"And when I was twentyfour? I loved you so deeply then, and it
seemed as if, when I finally got the goal of my life and became
a Jedi Knight, I would lose the only thing worth living for.
Why did you hide it from me then?"
Qui-Gon's answer was slow and considered. "You were so near
your knighthood, Obi-Wan. To distract you from it, for my own
selfish gratification, would have been anything but the action
of a loving master. We seemed to have reached a good balance,
too. You weren't sobbing into your pillow every night, as you
did at fifteen, or sleeping on someone else's, the way you had
at twenty."
He stroked down Obi-Wan's spine, smoothing out unseen knots.
"And I suppose," he continued after a hesitation, "I was
beginning to realise that your knighthood would not change our
situation. I still couldn't charge into your life, demand your
devotion. You needed time and space away from me. Time to
become your own man."
"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" It was the second
time this evening he had made that accusation, but now it was
laced with empathy and gentle regret. "Until Naboo. You'd have
let me wander off across half the galaxy, not knowing."
"Yes. Or, at least until you'd had a chance to build a life of
your own. But Naboo changed all that."
Together they lay, letting memories of that dark time occupy
their thoughts. After death had come so close, and Obi-Wan had
shown so much of his heart to Qui-Gon in his desperate struggle
to pull him back into the world of the living, they had had to
acknowledge the love that lay between them. But Qui-Gon had
been three months in the infirmary, at first too weak to even
speak. And as he grew stronger he had urged his bondmate to
take up the duties of knighthood, even if it meant they were
separated. After all, Qui-Gon would be recuperating for a long
time, and Ani would need his undivided attention.
So Obi-Wan had gone, against his wishes but respecting his
master's wisdom. And Qui-Gon had been right: he was more
mature, more capable of standing beside Qui-Gon as an equal
now. Thank the Force he had not realised the older man's
willingness to let him go: he would have been on the next
shuttle back!
Qui-Gon chuckled again. /Stubborn, you are, I always said it./
//Contrary, you are, I always knew it.// They repeated the old
refrain from missions past.
/So - you will stay?/
//Do you need to ask?//
Qui-Gon's face took on a smugness it usually only wore when he
beat Master Yoda in a debate of logic.
/Not so. But, my Obi-Wan/ and there he paused, and the tips of
his ears went a little pink. /When you give back the rest of
that uniform after tomorrow, do try and keep the gloves./
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