Master Apprentice Archive Loopholes #2 - In The Dark Quick search:

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Archive: M_A. Others please ask. Also archived at http://www.jediphiles.com/index69.htm

Category: PWP, Angst

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: None.

Summary: In this AU the Jedi Order has a strict Code governing sexual conduct, but Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan find a few loopholes they can exploit.

Disclaimer: George Lucas is da man. He owns everything. We just play.

Warnings: M/m sex in case you stumbled onto this list from another planet.

Series: This is #2 of a series called Loopholes, with new fic to follow sporadically. See #1 here.

Note: This is my last-minute offering for the Merry Month. *G*

Qui-Gon had begun to doubt his own memory.

Several days had passed since he'd given his padawan that fatal footrub that had led to so much more. They'd arrived at the Temple, given their report, and returned to their normal routine while in residence: following the strict order of the day while catching up with old friends and studying -- Qui-Gon for his twenty-seventh-level Sigil in Political Xenopology, Obi-Wan for his certification as Master Mechanic in Quantum Communications. They glanced each other occasionally in the refectory where they partook of the common meals or in the gardens where all were expected to work the soil or tend the flowers and fruit-bearing trees. Qui-Gon sometimes heard his padawan's clear, high voice at evensong, though from his seat in the Master's section he couldn't see the choir.

In fact, they'd had not a single moment alone ... to find some solace in word or touch, to reassure each other that all would be well between them despite their momentary lapse in control. Qui-Gon found himself desperately craving that reassurance, and berating himself for risking what was to him the most wonderful thing he'd ever known -- the friendship and companionship of young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Not that they could have truly spoken their minds, not here, where every action was monitored and one was never alone except in one's own cell at night.

So it was that Qui-Gon had begun to wonder if what he remembered with such clarity had actually occurred -- or had been simply a feverish hallucination of some sort. Had he really pleasured himself on his apprentice's feet, watched the younger man shudder in his own release, licked the ejaculate from his skin? It hardly seemed possible, back here in the sanctity of Temple routine.

In the midst of his reverie, Qui-Gon heard the chime that signaled a comm call and rose from his fruitless midnight meditations to answer it.

"Matters are worse on Caerlon," Yoda told him without preamble. "Ready, are you?"

"Yes, my Master." he said with a slight nod.

"And your apprentice?"

"He has been sent the relevant status reports. He should be conversant with the situation."

Yoda grunted. "Awaits you, a transport does. Bay 327. Haste, you must make. Regret this, I do."

"It is my pleasure to be of service," Qui-Gon said gravely.

"May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master." Qui-Gon bowed as Yoda signed off. He reached over and keyed the comm for Obi-Wan's room.

A sleep-tumbled apprentice appeared in the holo field. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said softly.

Qui-Gon's hands itched to reach out and take the young man into his arms, smooth the ruffled hair. He cleared his throat and forced his tender feelings into a lockbox at the back of his mind where they belonged. "Caerlon is heating up. We're to leave at once. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes endearingly.

"Bay 327, right away."

"Yes, Master." The comm faded. Qui-Gon turned and picked up his travel bag, which always stayed packed for just such emergencies, and headed for the lift.

The only transport they'd been able to conscript at this late hour belonged to a worm-like Priopulin named Charza Kwinn whose ship was for the most part swamped in malodorous water and teeming with various clutches of his offspring which he had the habit of consuming as food whenever the mood struck him. Fortunately he was a great friend to the Jedi, and kept a small cabin dry in case of need. Apologizing that he did not have the larger room prepared for humanoid occupation, Charza showed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to the tiny space, a storage closet, really. The walls and ceiling were completely covered with cabinet doors, and the grilled floor was bare except for a rolled-up sleep pallet in one corner. After fetching them an armful of blankets and assuring himself that they had all they needed, the pilot swooshed his way back to the cockpit and got the ship underway.

At last they were alone. The late hour had begun to catch up with them. Qui-Gon's eyes felt sore and gritty. Obi-Wan looked as if he might fall asleep on his feet, but he stood, pack in hand, waiting patiently for his master's instructions.

Now that he had finally been given the opportunity, Qui-Gon found he had nothing to say. They'd said it all days ago. There was nothing to add, no reason to reopen the wounds.

Qui-Gon sighed, mentally switching channels. "We have fourteen hours until planetfall. Do you have any questions?"

Obi-Wan turned and dropped his pack into the corner, then bent to unstrap his boots. "What exactly is our mission, Master?"

Qui-Gon watched, his mouth dry at the sight of the flex and pull of fabric over Obi-Wan's muscled thighs. "Fact finding. We're to ensure the impartiality and the safety of the local holography team charged with providing proof of renewed Latroskian atrocities to the Senate."

Obi-Wan stood and unbuckled his belt. He was facing away from Qui-Gon. He half turned his head and seemed to notice that his master had not moved. He said softly, "We can sleep in shifts if you like ..."

"That won't be necessary," Qui-Gon said quickly. Too quickly. He wondered what was going through his apprentice's mind. Was he repelled by the thought of sharing a pallet? Could he sense Qui-Gon's uncertainty? Was he afraid his master might take advantage of him in a vulnerable moment ... again?

"We both need our rest," Qui-Gon went on hastily, his tone apologetic. He unclasped his own belt and set it aside.

Obi-Wan nodded slightly and stripped off his clothes until he wore nothing but his trousers. He _seemed_ wholly comfortable. Perhaps it was only Qui-Gon who felt awkward. Obi-Wan bent to the task of unrolling the sleep mat.

Qui-Gon had to force himself to look away. He took a slow, deep breath. If Obi-Wan could act as if nothing had changed, surely Qui-Gon could as well. He pulled off his outer tunic and, after a split-second's hesitation, the inner one as well. He folded them into a bundle to use as a pillow, then could not decide where to put it. Obi-Wan had already stretched out on the floor on his side, facing away from his master. Would it be better to lie facing the young man's head, or his feet? He opted for the head; that was, after all, how they had always slept together before. Besides, after their last encounter, Obi-Wan's feet could never again be considered neutral territory.

He toed off his boots, set them neatly in the corner, and laid himself down with his face to the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, but he was aware of every shift in the air as Obi-Wan breathed, every subtle sound, the heat of the young man's body behind him. He attempted to damp down his awareness and calm himself for sleep, but the feel of Obi-Wan rolling toward him and a soft voice in his ear thwarted him.

"Do you want the light, Master?"

"No."

He felt a tiny tremor in the Force, and the light faded out. They lay in complete darkness, the subliminal hum of Charza's hyperdrive vibrating the deck. Qui-Gon had spent many nights under very similar conditions -- more than he could possibly count -- but never before had he felt so unsettled.

"Obi-Wan," he whispered.

He felt his apprentice roll onto his back and look at him, though he could see nothing. "Yes, Master?" a sleepy voice replied.

"You are not ... uncomfortable?"

Obi-Wan chuckled softly. "I have had worse beds."

"I meant ... with me."

There was a short silence, then a sigh. "I'm used to it, Master."

Qui-Gon rolled to his back, turned his head to stare through the blackness in the direction of his padawan's suddenly weary voice. "Used to what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

The silence was much longer this time. When Obi-Wan spoke at last, Qui-Gon had to strain to hear him. "To being so very close and knowing I can never have what I want."

Qui-Gon's heart seemed to skip a beat and settle into a new, faster rhythm. The inference that Obi-Wan had apparently been lusting after him far longer than for the last few days both humbled and enflamed him. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say, though he hardly knew what he was apologizing for.

Obi-Wan's fingers brushed against his hand lightly and then withdrew. From the sound, Qui-Gon deduced he'd rolled over to face the wall again. "Good night, Master."

Sleep was a long time in coming for Qui-Gon that night.

He awoke to total darkness. His internal time sense told him it was the hour for morning meditations back at the Temple. He listened for a moment to the regular breathing beside him and relaxed. They had several hours yet until they would have to debark and face the strife-torn surface of Caerlon. He would let the young man sleep.

Both of them lay on their backs, the darkness so complete that Qui-Gon literally could not see the hand he held up in front of his face. He let his hand drop, and his fingers brushed Obi-Wan's. The young man's hand twitched reflexively and grasped his fingers. Qui-Gon allowed it for a moment, feeling tenderness grip his heart. Such an innocent touch. His heart yearned for the chance to hold the young man in his arms, even chastely, and tell him how much he was loved. Unfortunately that could never be.

He started to draw his hand away. Obi-Wan made a small, querulous sound and gripped his fingers harder. The young man's callused thumb caressed the back of his hand. Suddenly what had been innocent comfort flared into a sharp pang of desire. Qui-Gon bit back a moan, but he could not bring himself to let go. Not yet.

Obi-Wan's thumb stroked him again, slowly, almost too softly to detect, but Qui-Gon's body responded as if the young man were stroking his penis directly. The master's hips undulated. His mouth dropped open, his eyes closed, his throat convulsed as he swallowed a cry of need. Of its own volition, his hand began to return Obi-Wan's touches. Soon their hands were rubbing against each other like two silkrats in heat, thick pads of fingers meeting, running down across sensitive palms to wrists and back again to scrape lightly with fingernails, twining, grasping, stroking, undulating in a sensual dance. At some point he realized that Obi-Wan could not possibly still be asleep. The rustling of the mat told him the other's body was shifting restlessly as well, but neither of them acknowledged the other with so much as a word. Harsh panting filled the cool, moist air, along with the scent of musk and the dry whisper of skin on skin.

Qui-Gon began to feel as if something inside him might burst, yet what could he do? So much of what he wanted was forbidden by the Code, or by his own good judgement. In a frenzy of desperation he grasped the hand beside him and pulled it to his lips. His fingers intertwined with Obi-Wan's, and the contact of palm to palm sent a shiver through him. This was not forbidden. He pressed a hot, wet kiss against the soft skin on the back of Obi-Wan's hand. His apprentice let out a very low moan.

Qui-Gon froze, holding his breath for an instant, the hand still pressed against his mouth.

Obi-Wan rolled to his side and brought his other hand over, very lightly exploring until he touched Qui-Gon's cheek. He ran a finger along the edge of Qui-Gon's beard, over the earlobe, along the shell of his ear.

Everywhere he touched started another jolt of lightning along Qui-Gon's painfully enflamed nerves. Qui-Gon reached up with his other hand to stop the wandering fingers, grasped each of Obi-Wan's hands in his own and pressed them to either cheek, trembling hard and willing himself not to cry out in the depth of his wanting.

Obi-Wan tugged at one of his hands, pulled it to himself, and suddenly Qui-Gon felt the hot, wet pressure of a kiss pressed to his palm. He heard himself moan as from very far away. Though he could not see, he could sense that Obi-Wan was only a few centimeters away. It would take nothing at all to roll over and cover the lad with his own body, envelope him, grind himself against him ...

_You must not,_ he told himself fiercely. Obi-Wan was now kissing his fingers, one by one, the young man's other palm pressed firmly against Qui-Gon's suddenly damp cheek. Qui-Gon asserted his will, moved his hand slightly away from that teasing mouth, but could not help stroking his thumb along the lad's plush bottom lip before pulling completely away.

He did not get far. Obi-Wan made a greedy sound and lunged, sucking Qui-Gon's thumb completely into his mouth and clamping it lightly in his teeth. The feel of that slick, scalding flesh enfolding him nearly caused him to lose control completely. He shuddered and groaned, and as if encouraged by the reaction, Obi-Wan grasped his hand tightly and began to suckle his thumb in earnest, using tongue and teeth and palate to stimulate the rich field of nerve endings in a convincing parody of fellatio that might have looked ridiculous if anyone could have seen it, but that had the effect of searing Qui-Gon's mind into a white-hot blaze of desperate arousal.

Enough rational thought was left to keep him from simply diving on top of his apprentice. Instead, he lifted Obi-Wan's other hand, the one held captive hand against his cheek, and began to lick and kiss the fingers, one after the other.

Obi-Wan stopped teasing his thumb long enough to moan long and loud, "Ohhhhhhh ... "

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's first finger into his mouth, eliciting another loud groan from his apprentice. He curled his tongue about the salty digit, drew it slowly out, letting his teeth scrape the length of it, then sucked it in again.

"Oh, yessssss ..." Obi-Wan hissed in pleasure, then grasped Qui-Gon's hand and, turning it, did the same for Qui-Gon's finger.

The sensation of a part of him filling his padawan's mouth, the heat and wetness, the slide of silky tongue and the delicate scrape of teeth, threatened to undo him. He thrust his finger gently into Obi-Wan's mouth again, taking control of the motion even as his padawan yielded to him and pleasured him with the most erotic sensations.

He felt Obi-Wan duplicate his motions, thrusting his own finger into Qui-Gon's eager mouth. They fell into a rhythm, gently, slowly, sliding their fingers in and out, caressing, nipping, sucking. Qui-Gon had never in his life found anything so arousing. He felt as if he might come from this alone. With each breath, he heard Obi-Wan emit a low hum of contentment, echoed by his own sounds of need. Soon the tone of their mutual exhalations began to build in pitch and volume. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up without something inside him shattering. He was dangling on the edge between pleasure and pain.

Suddenly Obi-Wan withdrew his finger. At the same time, his stimulation of Qui-Gon's finger stopped. But before Qui-Gon could think to protest, Obi-Wan's other hand touched him, finger extended. It brushed against Qui-Gon's mouth; he sucked it in eagerly, even as he felt it own finger again encircled by a wet tongue. Obi-Wan's groans grew louder; his body had begun to shake. Through their bond, Qui-Gon felt an exponential increase in Obi-Wan's level of arousal. In a burst of insight Qui-Gon realized Obi-Wan was using his free hand to pleasure himself. The thought almost sent him over the edge.

He fumbled at his own waistband, took himself in hand, and stroked himself to the pulse of Obi-Wan's movements. Their hands bumped into each other, then began a mutual rhythm, stroking roughly, urgently. Their hips moved against each other in a parody of lovemaking. Qui-Gon concentrated on the sensation of his finger thrusting into that wet cavern, imagined how it might feel if it were his penis. Oh, but that would be bliss ...

With a strangled cry Obi-Wan came, spilling his seed over both their fists. The spurt of hot liquid sent Qui-Gon tumbling over the precipice as well. After a moment he became aware that he was biting Obi-Wan's finger, and with a kiss to the tip let it go, withdrawing his own finger from his padawan's slack mouth at the same time. He brought his other hand up to his mouth and tasted their mingled seed, savoring the mild bitterness. He ran his finger over his belly, gathering their semen onto his finger, and placed it against Obi-Wan's lips. The young man sucked it in and hummed with pleasure. They began to feed each other, scooping up their ejaculate and offering it to eager mouths amid much sighing and kissing of fingertips.

At last Obi-Wan rolled onto his back, groaning. Qui-Gon sidled down and began to lick his belly clean, feeling a renewing erection poke at his throat.

"Master ..." Obi-Wan protested feebly.

"I can't get enough of you," Qui-Gon said, and slid his tongue into his apprentice's navel.

He felt Obi-Wan's hands slide into his hair and tug him upwards. "Kiss me, then," his apprentice said.

Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan's throat, his cheek, the corner of his eye. Obi-Wan's head turned with him, his mouth seeking a true kiss, but Qui-Gon wouldn't allow it. "You know we cannot," he murmured against the skin of Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair. "I know you will not."

"And you know why."

Obi-Wan sighed. He sat up, shoving Qui-Gon away, and reached out with the Force to bring up the lights. He stood, and Qui-Gon stood with him.

"Are you angry?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan smiled slightly and shook his head. "Only at circumstances." He reached down and tugged at his trousers, fastening them and adjusting them to accommodate his still-interested penis. He reached for his tunics, the looked up at Qui-Gon. "I understand, Master. For us, love must stay in the dark."

The words hit Qui-Gon like a slap. All his life he had dedicated himself to fighting the darkness. How could he then relegate something so important, so essential to his very heart and soul, to a furtive, guilt-ridden existence far away from the light?

He reached out and grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder. The young man turned, and Qui-Gon cupped his face in his hands, drew him up, pressed their mouths together, giving himself completely over to the sweet longing and love that flooded through him. Obi-Wan's arms came up around his waist to press their bodies together. The kiss went on and on, not so much urgent as earnest, honest, open. Their lips explored each other with tender pressure, their bond sang with light and joy. Qui-Gon felt tears gathering in his eyes.

He drew back and lay his forehead against Obi-Wan's. "I will not hide in the dark."

Obi-Wan gave him a shaky grin. "As if you could."

"But we will be discreet. We must still follow the Code."

Sounding amused, Obi-Wan murmured, "Yes, Master," and kissed the tip of Qui-Gon's nose. He turned and went back to getting dressed, saying casually, "I've been making a study of the subject, and it seems to me there are quite a few loopholes that can be exploited."

"Does it, Padawan? I'll look forward to hearing your ideas ... as time permits."

Obi-Wan stopped winding the obi about his waist and looked up. "We have another two hours until planetfall, Master."

Qui-Gon gave his apprentice one of his rare, mischievous smiles. "So we do, Padawan. So we do."
 

END - for now