Qui-Gon padded around the room, the thick carpet soft enough
that his feet sunk into it. He took a deep breath, enjoying the
way the air moved around his skin to accommodate the expansion
of his chest. Reaching out with a small tendril of the Force,
he ensured that the door was indeed locked and that he was
alone, before running his hands up and down his body.
There was a decadent sensuality in the air, fostered by the
lush colours and materials of the guest rooms and the very air
itself seemed redolent with the hedonistic mores of the Vupine.
Giving in to its silent seduction, he finally surrendered his
control.
Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon ran his hands across his chest,
sliding his fingers over the hard points of his nipples. The
faint touches made him hiss, the pleasure slicing through him
like shards of glass. The sounds slid into a gasp as he let one
hand move down to his belly, the other stroking along his
shoulders to caress the length of his arm.
Pleasure coursed violently through him now as his hands met at
his groin. He by-passed his erection, burying his fingers in
the crisp curls that surrounded his phallus before cupping his
hips and letting his fingertips tease the creases where they
met his thighs.
He dropped to his knees with a sob. It was the first pleasure
he has allowed himself since Xanatos has turned; the first time
his hands had touched his body in several long years. Until
this moment, he had left this locked tightly in a box with his
heart, controlling his responses, controlling his body's needs
like the vaunted Jedi Master he was supposed to be. Some
master, loosing his apprentice, loosing his own way. He didn't
deserve another padawan, didn't deserve the pleasure he was
bringing himself. The weight of his second apprentice's
defection settled across his shoulders, bending his back. He
knelt there, amid the plush finery, knees splayed, hands on his
thighs, supporting his bent frame, supporting the weight of his
hurt, of his anger, of his heart long denied existence.
Another sob tore from his chest as Xanatos' image formed behind
his tightly closed lids. The long slender body spread out
beneath him, milky white skin almost translucent against the
deep red of silk. The angular face framed by short, shockingly
black hair, the long thin braid a black scar marring the softly
muscled chest. Xanatos' body slid along the silk sheets as
Qui-Gon pounded into him, his hard penis disappearing into the
eager body. He hooked his arms under the bent knees, pulling
Xanatos to him with each thrust.
Xanatos mouth was open, his throat working to release the
sounds of passion, his body straining, muscles flexing as he
arched and writhed beneath Qui-Gon. The white, slender hands
were flung out to his sides, long, thin fingers twisting the
red silk in their grasp.
Qui-Gon's breath came in harsh grunts that tore through him,
one hand moving to pump his erection roughly as the images
played out behind his lids. Unbeknownst to himself, sobs tore
painfully from his throat as though babes torn from their
mother's arms. The remembered pleasure of the act playing out
in his mind, the present pleasure of his hands on his own body,
and the barren years in between crashed over him, crushing him
with pain and too-long denied pleasure.
As he watched, Xanatos' eyes opened, the crystal blue depths
starring at him like twin shards of ice deep in the heart of a
glacier. Controlled, calm, they mocked Qui-Gon as they
revealed, in this unguarded moment, his apprentice's
manipulation and his triumph as his master pounded, out of
control, into his body.
"Master." The single word was softly spoken, mocking, holding
derision and laughter in it's depths where only love and
respect should have resided. Xanatos had never loved him, that
much was clear now and it was time to exorcise this ghost that
still held him in its thrall. He continued to stroke himself,
determined to release the negative emotions he had held onto
all these years, locked behind defensive barriers, growing in
size and strength, choking him, pushing out the love and hope
and joy that tried to grow in his barren heart. His hand moved
over his penis, pulling at his pain with each stroke.
He watched as deep, changeable grey eyes, large and wide in a
sea of golden skin, replaced the cold blue and white ice-field
of Xanatos' face. The body beneath his shifted, changed before
his very eyes. Growing shorter, but more compact, the smaller
body was wiry with muscles. The pearly white skin turned
golden, softest dusting of hair replacing the smooth chest.
"Master." Obi-Wan's voice filled him, surrounding him and his
pleasure peaked.
"Master!" Urgently spoken this time and Qui-Gon's hips jerked
forward as he squeezed his penis harder, his eyes tightly shut
as he held onto the image of what had never been replacing the
painful reality of the memory. His orgasm exploded from his
body with the power of years of enforced celibacy. He screamed.
"Master!" Almost sobbed this time and accompanied by warm hands
grasping his shoulders. Qui-Gon's eyes flew open in horror.
Obi-Wan knelt in front of him, eyes wet and filled with
concern. The warm hands kneaded his shoulders, soft except for
the line of calluses worn across the top of his palms by a
lifetime of training. Over Obi-Wan's shoulder he could see the
door, hanging slightly off-kilter.
Qui-Gon dropped his head and his shame was complete as he saw
the wet evidence of his own semen staining the pristine white
of Obi-Wan's tunic. He sobbed, the sound anguished, his
shoulders hunching in on themselves, and realised, for the
first time, that his cheeks were already wet with his own
tears.
Obi-Wan's arms reached around his back and drew him forward. He
resisted a moment, but in his loss of control his apprentice
was stronger than he and he began to sob in earnest, letting
his head fall onto Obi-Wan's shoulder and sliding his arms
around the slender body as Obi-Wan tugged him closer. He
clutched the material of Obi-Wan's tunics, holding on as if he
were a drowning man.
They knelt there together as he continued to sob, releasing the
pain and anguish he had held locked deep inside for so long.
Obi-Wan's voice was soft and murmuring, gentling him with quiet
words while the gentle hands soothed along his back.
"Sh, Master, it's okay. I have you now, it's okay."
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