The Sleep of Long Dreams

by Hth, at hth29@hotmail.com



Series: Surrender to the Light

Descriptors: SW:The Phantom Menace, NC-17 for explicit m/m slash -- Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon. Romance.

Summary: Qui-Gon struggles to accept the changes that lie ahead for himself and his grown apprentice. Takes place roughly ten years after "Conquest," and roughly twelve hours before the start of TPM.

Disclaimers: George Lucas created them, and for that we will always be grateful. I owe him a favor, but until he calls it in, I'm stealing his men.

Permission Granted: to archive and otherwise circulate with all notes and credits intact. If you want to link to it, "SoLD" will be housed at my Surrender to the Light page, http://members.tripod.com/HthW/tpm.html

Feed Me: Hth needs you! Write her at hth29@hotmail.com





The boy was lying face-down on the reclining chair in their quarters, as though he were being ministered to by an invisible masseur. He didn't respond to the sound of the door, nor to the sound of Qui-Gon's boots hitting the floor, though normally he would have protested, in that sly, too-polite way that Obi-Wan had, at his Master's untidiness.

It was the Master's prerogative to ignore his padawan, and thank the Light for that, because Obi-Wan would nag him to death, given a thread of a chance.

//never pick your things up//

//this dependancy on routine could be dangerous for you one day, my young apprentice --you cannot, and neither should you, control your environment at all times//

//steal the covers//

//I am larger than you are; a fifty-fifty division of the bedclothes would hardly be consistent with the spirit of justice//

//flirt terribly//

//jealousy is beneath you, my Only One//

//do it all on purpose!//

//beautiful in all your moods....//

//change the subject//

//I will break you of this stubbornness someday//

//You never will//

//No. I never will.//

And so their dance went, one mission, one year, one priceless kiss following the last. The Force held the stars and planets and moons in their unfathomably complicated, interlaced orbits, and so Obi-Wan Kenobi orbited his Master, and so the Force held Qui-Gon Jinn to his apprentice.

Oh, but they were blessed. Oh, but luck was on their side --for all that Obi-Wan would snort at that idea.

The Light Side was demanding. It was satisfied with nothing less than complete submission, and its methods of recompense were not always quite to Qui-Gon's liking. But there was some power in the universe, Force or Fortune, Qui-Gon did not care, that had given him, in one lovely body, son and partner, brother and lover, Master and apprentice.

Cautiously, moving with Jedi-trained subtlety, Qui-Gon ran the thin braid in Obi-Wan's hair through his fingers. "I hate the Trade Federation," came Obi-Wan's voice, muffled against his sleeve.

"An unbecoming sentiment."

"I do."

"Cranky pup. Go back to sleep."

"Don't patronize me."

"Well, you sound foolish. And unprepared for this negotiation."

He turned his head, and the rough warmth of his hair scrubbed against Qui-Gon's palm as he resettled his hand, cupping it more closely to the shape of his padawan's skull. "It hardly matters, does it, Master? You're the finest negotiator in the Republic; what do they care if I say anything or care to?"

Qui-Gon frowned, as much at the lack of irritation in Obi-Wan's voice as at the thoughts he expressed. Shouldn't he be more ambitious at this age, more interested in making his own reputation? Were they too closely bound for Obi-Wan to reach his potential as a Jedi? "You won't learn the art of diplomacy by ignoring your lessons."

A thin, sweet smile touched his mouth, and his voice dropped silkily. "I'm the fighter, Master, and you the clever one. That's why we pair so well."

With effort, Qui-Gon kept himself from wincing. "And when you are a Jedi Knight, who will be clever on your behalf?"

*You, love.* The voice of his apprentice was barely a voice at all in his head, just meaning, just knowledge. *You will never leave me. You never could.*

And as much as Qui-Gon knew that the sentiment was all wrong, that he had somehow done Obi-Wan a disservice by his very devotion, something in him prevented Qui-Gon from arguing. Could he, almost two decades after Obi-Wan had come into his life, set him free to wander his own way as a Jedi Knight should?

Damn. The boy was right; even the idea was beyond him. Qui-Gon turned away, disgusted with himself. Charged with teaching Obi-Wan to be a fully functional, self-reliant Jedi, he had only succeeded in teaching them both to need each other much too desperately to face anything alone. If he could scarcely imagine his life without Obi-Wan living at his heels, then how much harder must it be for the boy who had hardly known any other kind?

"Why do you laugh at me when I'm feeling moody and sulk when I tell you I love you?"

"When you are a Jedi Master, you may develop your own personal habits." He didn't have to feign the hardness in his voice, although in truth it was directed squarely inward. That time was sooner than Obi-Wan had any inkling of; Qui-Gon would have known that simply out of common sense, even if he hadn't been able to see it coming by more esoteric means.

Obi-Wan was so long past ready for the tests in some ways, and so far from ready in others. Damn this difficult boy; why couldn't he be like every other padawan apprentice in the universe?

Because he was Qui-Gon's gift, of course, Qui-Gon's dream and his reward, and as the Jedi Council would be quick to agree, anything for which Qui-Gon Jinn was responsible was by necessity irregular in one way or another.

He considered meditating in order to gather his thoughts and perhaps even decide how to approach this issue with his apprentice, but....

But too soon, he would have to be the Jedi Master again, the ambassador, the sage. In order to convince all parties involved in the trade dispute that he was simultaneously completely impartial and working in their best interests, he would have to believe it himself. Serene, balanced, benevolent, patient --the mask of years, as much the Jedi's tools as his lightsaber.

Only Obi-Wan would know that he flung clothing haphazardly on the floor, that he accepted the Code only grudgingly, that his sense of humor inevitably erupted at the worst possible moments, that the wise old Jedi Knight fucked and fell in love with as much passionate abandon as any other man. Sometimes Qui-Gon wondered if that wasn't the whole secret behind their relationship --that Obi-Wan was not fooled by his Master's clever misdirections and ability to mimic others' expectations.

Whether or not that had motivated Qui-Gon to love him, it certainly made his apprentice's company pleasurable. He ran his hand over the thick pelt of hair that Obi-Wan was wearing shorter now than he ever had before, then let his thumb trail down the back of the younger man's neck. "Are you asleep, my young apprentice?"

"Yes." His voice was not petulant, though. In fact, he sounded a little as though he were coaxing Qui-Gon along into some game.

"I see. Are you dreaming?"

"I never dream."

"Of course you do. Even the Dillkhu dream at least once in their lives, although certain rather obtuse linguists insists that they have no words in their language for 'sleep' or 'dream.'"

He turned his head to look at his Master with one green eye. "So they do, then?"

"Sleep? Or dream?"

"Have those words."

"No."

The single green eye rolled upward dramatically. "I take back what I said."

"About sleeping?"

"About you being the clever one."

Qui-Gon couldn't help but laugh richly. His pup was a wolf cub, and he played with claws and teeth. Fortunately Qui-Gon, like a wolf, had a thick hide. "They do not normally sleep; although their brain waves do mimic human brain waves in various sleeping states, they remain more or less aware of their surroundings at all times. Except for the time of the Ht'htesoo Hse, when they veil themselves heavily to block sensory input and induce a kind of trance state, through various drugs and meditations, that triggers rapid eye movement --and dreams. A Dillkhu must undergo the Ht'htesoo Hse before being allowed to retire from his career and take his place among the elders."

Obi-Wan rolled onto his back, shifting his foot to bend one knee and placing a hand lazily behind his head. "'Ht'htesoo Hse' means 'dream'?"

"No, no. It means 'recalling the tale.' But the ritual's culmination is a celebration in honor of the person's life and contributions to that point, and at its end he tells those gathering with him about his tsfai-deru, which has no exact translation. But when forced to translate it, the Dillku say that it means 'long, dreaming sleep.' It is believed that a person's tsfai-deru will remind them of the thing they were born knowing but have forgotten over the years. The poet Hallo Ranart once wrote an epic about the Dillkhu that is most famously known, thanks to another poor translation, as 'The Sleep of Long Dreams.' As poetry it's quite good, but his understanding of Dillkhu culture was horribly contaminated by his tendency to project his own--"

"I think I have the gist," Obi-Wan interrupted drily.

Qui-Gon wrapped his hands lightly around his apprentice's leg, just past the upward jut of his knee. "Extracurricular knowledge only. No examination." The white fabric of his breeches was rough against Qui-Gon's palms as he eased his hands down slowly, but it was much easier to be attuned to the hard muscle of the leg underneath.

"Thank the Light."

"Nothing to do with Light. You should be thanking my undisciplined carnal nature."

He stirred as Qui-Gon's hand found the warm center between his legs and curled around it, his eyes half-closing and his spine half-arching. "Oh, I am. But that doesn't--"

Swinging one leg across his apprentice so that Qui-Gon stood straddling the chair, he braced his hands on its back and leaned down to kiss Obi-Wan's warm lips. Even if kissing Obi-Wan were not one of the great pleasures of Qui-Gon's life, he might have taken up the habit just because of the welcome respite it provided from Obi-Wan's unsolicited commentary.

When he had his apprentice drugged and placid with nascent arousal, Qui-Gon eased back and tucked Obi-Wan's leg under his arm, the better to work the boot off his foot. He straightened up and, looking directly into Obi-Wan's eyes, tossed the boot behind him. It thumped noisily on the wall, and then again on the floor. "Break me of stubbornness?" Obi-Wan managed, visibly torn between bewilderment and laughter, but all of that cleared away like clouds before the wind when Qui-Gon pressed his mouth gently to the ball of his apprentice's foot.

The negotiations were twelve hours away, and there was not one thing to do and not one place to go in the meantime. Obi-Wan's breathing was steady and deep, and he held perfectly still, with a Jedi Knight's supernatural control, while his Master covered the inner curve of his bare foot with the wet calligraphy of his kisses. He dragged his teeth slowly around the heel and nipped at the tendons at the back of Obi-Wan's ankle, feeling the muscles shift all up the back of the boy's leg as he curled his toes and extended them again. Obi-Wan set the heel of his other boot behind Qui-Gon's shoulder, but he continued to make no sound as Qui-Gon let his tongue flicker back and forth, in a pattern like bolts of lightning, up the center of his foot.

But he stopped before sucking Obi-Wan's toes inside his mouth, which he well knew would have driven his apprentice into a fit of pleasure, writhing and flexing under his Master's big, light hands. Instead, he traced his hand from Obi-Wan's chest down to his pelvis, a gesture both affectionate and proprietary. "Come to bed, my Heart."

"The young need less sleep than those of advanced age." He was propped up now, with his elbows behind him, changeable eyes glittering with lust and mischief.

Qui-Gon backed away, unslinging his outer wrap as he did so. "Do a doddering old man's nerves a little good, young padawan: come to the bargaining table well-rested and refreshed tomorrow. However would I defend myself if you were not in peak condition, slow and clumsy in body as I am? You are my legs, my eyes, my hands, and I your head and eloquent tongue."

"Eyes, legs, hands --and your heart, as well?" One agile move brought Obi-Wan from his back to his feet on the floor, the heedless spring a thousand times the more telling because it was so unconscious. The power in him --body, mind, and spirit --could still make Qui-Gon's mouth go dry with want. "What a valuable package I am."

"Useful...." There was a joke in there somewhere, but Qui-Gon was in no shape to verbalize it, with his young lover prowling inexorably closer to him.

He was just quick enough on the uptake to disappear when Obi-Wan leaned in with eyes all but closed, falling back so that Obi-Wan had to chase onto the bed after him to claim his kiss. Ten years, and he could still make Obi-Wan jump to his command, as long as he didn't voice the command in so many words.

The curve of each muscle and joint was familiar to Qui-Gon as he snuck his fingers between skin and cloth, nudging Obi-Wan this way and that in order to rid him of his robes. He had composure enough to do that much, but once his apprentice was kneeling over him, deliciously naked, there was no more seduction left in Qui-Gon --only love and need and confident surety, the thundering of their hearts in tandem and the feel of Obi-Wan's hot skin under his kneading hands, the welcome intrusion of his tongue inside Qui-Gon's mouth and the way Obi-Wan rocked above him, anticipating the rhythm of their fucking. In the name of the Light, he never would be ready to surrender this. The Council had learned to tolerate Qui-Gon's eccentricities before, and they would have to do it again; whether Knight or padawan, he would have this man as his companion.

Obi-Wan's hand cradled his Master's cheek and chin, while the fingers of his other hand fluttered tantalizingly over the fine skin of Qui-Gon's eyelids, lips, and ear. He tipped his head back, letting Obi-Wan's starving-tender kisses roam his throat as those strong, compact fingers dug painfully into his beard. "Gently, little one," he breathed, caressing Obi-Wan's hair.

"Sorry." His voice was pulled as taut as the muscles in his arms, held firmly in check as he waited for his Master's word. He would wait forever if he had to, Qui-Gon knew; for all that he had never learned the subservience of a proper padawan learner, Obi-Wan lived under the shield of his Master's limitless love, and he repaid Qui-Gon's loyalty with a devotion that was as all-consuming as it was unspoken. In bed as in life, they met one another halfway and held fast until both were ready to move forward.

As they were now. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, calling on his Jedi training to distract him from the feel of his lover shifting over him, readying himself; knowing too lucidly what it signified was not in anyone's best interests. He let the world become a distraction, a backdrop for the flame behind his eyelids that was Obi-Wan's Force, his shimmering, alluring presence. Only when he felt Obi-Wan enveloping him in tightness and fire did he shock back into reality --the spartan passenger quarters of a Republican transport, where Qui-Gon's unforgivably handsome apprentice was slowly rising off and descending onto his cock, his hands braced against Qui-Gon's chest and his head lowered in concentration until the tip of his braid brushed tantalizingly over Qui-Gon's stomach. Between the crushing weight on his breastbone and the way his throat closed up when he thought of all the years, all the days and nights and fights and orgasms and missions and confessions and gifts and things forgotten and remembered, and all of the same yet to come for them, Qui-Gon could barely draw in enough breath to sustain himself. He would die unless Obi-Wan met him, mouth-to-mouth, and kissed him back to life.

Which he did, of course, because they had never failed one another and never could. He gripped Obi-Wan's penis, lightly enough that Obi-Wan could slide easily in and out of his hand; his rhythm became shorter, sharper, and more efficient, forcing himself back down on Qui-Gon, then up sharply into the curl of his fingers. Fascinated, Qui-Gon watched the flutter of his apprentice's eyelashes, felt his thrusts become smoother as Qui-Gon's fingers streaked pre-come along the length of Obi-Wan's slender shaft, groaned in false protest as Obi-Wan's fingers climbed his chest, snagged on his shoulders, slipped back to press into the back of Qui-Gon's neck. Flushed and sparkling with a light film of sweat, Obi-Wan's body was all desire while his features were shadowed with a frown that Qui-Gon knew not to take seriously, except as a sign of his intense concentration.

"So beautiful." The words gusted up from his parched throat, so skeletal that he wasn't sure Obi-Wan could hear him. With his free hand, he touched Obi-Wan's lips, his jaw, his dimpled chin, and when Obi-Wan threw his head back at the pinnacle of his arousal, Qui-Gon's hand was there to support his neck. He kept his hold on his lover, strength and Force flowing from body to body as Qui-Gon's pleasure fed on Obi-Wan's and found its hunger sated in return.

He eased Obi-Wan down to the bed, careful to hold him in the crook of one arm, while the other hand toyed gently with his padawan's braid and his lips tickled lightly along Obi-Wan's jawline. The younger man sighed deeply and rolled to wrap his own arms around his Master, one hand soothing Qui-Gon's broad back as the other vanished into his greying hair. "Love you," he murmured against his Master's chest, as though they were ordinary men, not Jedi who could feel emotions like solid, colorful things as they formed inside strong-willed minds.

"I know," Qui-Gon said simply, knowing that Obi-Wan knew as well, and knew how he knew, and what was there between them if not knowledge, confidence, recognition. True, tangible things, as physical and as ineffable as the Force. Love --which was, of course, the Light Side, nothing more and certainly nothing less. "Obi-Wan."

"Hm?"

"In the arts of war, I have never seen your match. Don't let your genius in one arena blind you to your skill in all others. You are easily the match of any new-made Knight I have ever known."

*The trials?*

*Soon.*

*After that?*

*You would know what I see?*

*Yes.*

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and let his eyes unfocus. The soft radiance that always ringed Obi-Wan when he looked out of the corner of his eye pulsed gently, absorbed Obi-Wan into its field, until Qui-Gon could see him only indistinctly, and yet at the same time more vividly than natural eyes ever could. *Trouble. Guilt. Obi-Wan, disappearing into himself, lost....*

*Master?*

Softly, he kissed his apprentice's forehead. "You know I have never liked to foretell. I never did learn to trust what I see."

"I felt--"

"All I saw was some great labor, some heavy responsibility. It will weigh on you."

"Am I ready?"

"We are. We are."

*You saw that, too?*

*I know it. I swear it, Only One, Obi-Wan, mine.*