Warnings: painfully contrived plot--painful like an
insufficiently chewed corn chip piercing your esophagus.
Summary: Obi-Wan gets a diplomatic word in edgewise and
acquires a gift meant for Qui-Gon. With a cameo appearance by
WORKEDTHROUGHHISCHILDHOODISSUES!BRUCK.
Disclaimer: righty-ho.
Feedback: yes, ma'am.
Notes: I'd like to take this moment to introduce a word that I
coined when I realized there wasn't a word for this particular
concept: Anagalism. Much like anachronism, except the
objects here aren't out of their proper time (chrono)
but out of their proper galaxy (the latin root of which is
galaxius from gala, which means milk, as in milky
way.)
Although this story does not include copious anagalism, be
warned. There are, for instance, carrots, which make any galaxy
a better place.
"Six down, eight to go," Obi-Wan said and fell heavily onto the
couch.
"They're banquets," Qui-Gon said mildly, "so perhaps it's
unnecessary to act as though someone's attempting to separate
your fingernails from your body." But he sat down with relief
as well, leaning his head against the back of the chair.
"It wouldn't be so bad, if someone," Obi-Wan said pointedly,
"hadn't managed to convince the chancellor of my deep and
abiding love for stewed ocalla."
"No more than you richly deserve, Obi-Wan, for informing the
chancellor that my favorite color is lavender."
"I didn't inform him. I merely agreed when he asked me whether
I thought that lavender robes would be appropriate for such a
momentous occasion as the coming together of the people of
Tratheum."
"Yet, I notice that your robes are quite a lot more brown than
mine."
"Not nearly so diaphanous either." Obi-Wan grinned as the light
breeze through their chambers sent the bifurcated outer layers
of Qui-Gon's robe into a small frenzy.
"Well. A Jedi cares not for his appearance."
"That's exactly what I told Master Windu when he asked why you
were tricked out like a Ovadi specialty dancer."
"I wasn't aware your relationship with Master Windu had reached
a level at which you felt comfortable exchanging holos,"
Qui-Gon said stiffly.
"It's hasn't; the holos were in the official report."
"You were such a quiet obedient child," Qui-Gon said. "I can't
even begin to imagine what went wrong."
"Exposed to bad influences, I expect," Obi-Wan said cheerfully.
Stewed ocalla and gaudy robes aside, they were both in good
moods; the negotiations to unite the upper and lower continents
of Tratheum were going well, offset by huge banquets and a lot
of the two sides beaming at each other. It had been a good
harvest, the first in which the two factions had cooperated,
and no one would go hungry this year. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were
as a gesture of good faith on the part of the Republic, but
hadn't, so far, had to do very much beyond appear at banquets
and look approvingly at dignitaries of various sorts.
Two days later, a series of terrorist attacks along the shore
of the southern continent tore the negotiations apart, and
Obi-Wan arrived back at their quarters to find Qui-Gon, wearing
his usual robes, packing a small bag.
"I'll get my things," he said.
"No need, you're staying here."
"But--"
"One of us needs to stay here to keep the negotiations going;
you'll do well." Qui-Gon checked the grip on his lightsaber and
hooked it to his belt. "It shouldn't take more than a few days
to ferret out the perpetrators. I'll try to check in once a day
at least, in case you're having any problems."
"Yes, Master."
"Weren't you just complaining that you never got a word in
edgewise at diplomatic summits?"
"I didn't mean you were supposed to go charging off alone."
"Someone has to go charging off alone, and the southern
continent is quite marshy."
"Oh," Obi-Wan said. He'd nearly flunked the marsh tracking
portion of the upper level survival course. In deserts, the
force came to him easily, but marshes, all that sickly soft
mud, all those insects and rats and amphibians, each with their
peculiar twitches of the force, tended to confuse him.
"I'll be back in a week," Qui-Gon said, clasped his shoulder,
and walked out the door.
The talks were nothing he couldn't handle, although they
weren't as congenial as they had been. He raised his voice when
he had to and found that forcing people to compromise wasn't
quite the magic trick it seemed when Qui-Gon did it, luckily,
as it turned out, since the com-links from the southern
continent were spotty, crackling with static. They couldn't
manage to relay any useful information, but he was glad of them
anyway, glad to know that Qui-Gon's search was progressing.
Then, for four days, there was nothing.
"Deep in the swamp, you can't get any tech to work, Ambassador
Kenobi," the chancellor shrugged. "I wouldn't worry; even if
Ambassador Jinn is alive, he wouldn't be able to contact us."
"I thank you for your words of assurance, Chancellor," Obi-Wan
said taking a careful breath and letting it out slowly. "If you
will excuse me, I have some proposals to go over."
"Of course."
On the fifth day, the leaders of the terrorist attacks were
apprehended by the Tratheum south army. There was no sign of
Qui-Gon.
On the sixth day, the chancellor knocked on the door of
Obi-Wan's quarters. Obi-Wan let him in and he fidgeted
nervously in the doorway for a moment before, saying
"Ambassador Kenobi."
"Tell me," Obi-Wan said. He could feel the dull thud of his
pulse in his throat and when he closed the door behind the
chancellor, his hand shook slightly on the doorknob.
"Oh. He's not dead."
"Oh," Obi-Wan said faintly.
"Yes, he's really quite well. He ran into a nest of those
terrorists and managed to get a superficial blow to the head,
but that's all."
"I see."
"Quite."
"Thank you for telling me," Obi-Wan said, surprised to find he
could breath again.
"He'll be back tomorrow."
"Just in time for the conclusion of the talks--he should be
able to make the closing remarks, if you'd like."
"There's just one thing," the chancellor said quickly.
"Yes."
"I want to emphasize, first of all, that he's really quite
fine." The chancellor waved him onto the couch and took a seat
opposite.
"You said that."
"There's just a little matter; are you familiar with the tribes
that live in the southern swamps at all?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, "They're fairly traditional,
tech-resistant."
"Yes, and they're quite skilled at mind conversion."
"I'm not familiar with that term."
"Technically speaking it's the superficial alteration of
certain notions of identity and--"
"It's a mind wipe," Obi-Wan said tersely.
"Yes; they're usually used for therapeutic intervention, but--"
"What did they do to Qui-Gon?"
"It was a mistake."
"I'm well aware that it was a mistake."
"It's completely reversible."
"They took away some of his memories," Obi-Wan hazarded.
"Not quite."
"Chancellor," Obi-Wan said quietly. Across the room a vase fell
off the mantel and bounced on the carpeted floor.
"The thing is," the chancellor said, putting out his hands
conciliatorily, "Ambassador Jinn was somewhat disoriented when
they found him. And apparently, the first time he woke up he
said your name."
"Oh."
"So they assumed that he was you, and since you're the only
Obi-Wan currently on Tratheum, it wasn't too difficult for them
to figure out who you were."
"What did they do?"
"It was meant to be a gift, for Ambassador Jinn; it's only, you
see they had quite an outdated Standard lexicon."
"I don't follow you."
"When Jedi began coming here, there was some initial confusion
about the exact role of a Padawan. And it didn't really help
that Padawan sounds a great deal like P'doaen."
"Which means?"
"It's dialect. And it means." The chancellor winced. "It means
pleasure slave."
"What?" Obi-Wan yelped.
"Ambassador Jinn is under the impression that he's your. bed.
slave."
"Why?"
"I told you, it was supposed to be a gift."
Obi-Wan shook his head and gave up. "You said it was
reversible."
"Oh, it is."
"Where's the difficulty, then?"
"It's not reversible right away; it's too dangerous."
"How long?"
"10 standard days--easily by the time you return to Coruscant;
it's a relatively simple procedure. It shouldn't be any trouble
for your healers."
"Good."
"I have to say you're taking this quite well."
"Is there any other way that I can take it? Is he on a
transport back here?"
"Yes."
"And I take it the situation has been explained to him."
"Of course not."
"Why not?"
"Ambassador Kenobi, how much to do you know about mind
conversion technology?"
"Apparently not enough," Obi-Wan said, leaning back against the
couch and trying to look calm.
"The first few days, the recipient is unstable; if he starts to
doubt the implanted supposition, it can cause cascading
disintegration."
"He could die."
"Not die, exactly. It only interferes with higher brain
function."
"So what exactly am I supposed to do?"
"Take him back to Coruscant, keep him happy. I know Jedi aren't
in the habit of keeping pleasure slaves, but I'm certain you'll
work it out."
"When did you say he would arrive?"
"Tonight."
"Good. We'll leave tomorrow."
"As you wish."
After the chancellor left, he put the vase back on the mantel,
resisted the urge to hit something and to give in to hysterical
laughter and then sat down to try to memorize his closing
remarks. He fell asleep on the couch, notes on his stomach; he
hadn't slept very much since Qui-Gon had been missing. He only
awoke when the door to his chambers was opened.
"Oh, I'm sorry--I thought you weren't here. I just came by to
drop off--." he stopped abruptly and then said something, too
softly for Obi-Wan to hear, to the man who was hovering behind
him, who stepped around him and came swiftly across the room.
It was Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan started to rise to greet him, but
before he could, Qui Gon had slid down into a kneeling position
and buried his face in Obi Wan's thigh.
"Well, then, there," the Chancellor said, clearing his throat.
"I shall see you at the ceremony tonight, Ambassador Kenobi."
"Kneeling isn't necessary, you know," he said, trying to strike
a decent balance between kindly slave owner and a Padawan who
wanted to remain alive after things were set to rights. Qui-Gon
lifted his face then, settled back on his haunches and nodded.
"Would you like something to eat? Are you hungry?" Obi-Wan
asked.
"A little."
"Good." Obi-Wan got up with some relief and went and found some
bread and cheese left over from breakfast. Qui-Gon was still
kneeling when he got back.
"Thank you, Master," he murmured, and Obi-Wan winced and said.
"Perhaps it would be better if you called me Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon
looked doubtful. "You always call me that," Obi-Wan elaborated.
"We have, uh, a close relationship, and so, you see."
"I understand."
It was all very well, Obi-Wan thought, to have a pleasure slave
in theory. It wasn't, in fact, as though he hadn't fantasized
about having one in the past. It was quite another altogether
to have your master happily sprawled at your feet, watching you
read. Qui-Gon hadn't said much in the hour since he'd been
here, had only eaten slowly and neatly, watching Obi-Wan avidly
the entire time. It was unnerving. He got up and shrugged on
his ceremonial robes and said
"I'm going to the closing ceremony; will you be all right here?
Is there anything you need?"
Qui-Gon looked as if he almost didn't understand the question,
but then he smiled and shook his head. "I will await your
pleasure," he said, and stopped short, visibly avoiding saying
'Master.'
"My. um. Good evening," Obi-Wan said, and left.
The ceremony went well enough. Most of the company was quite
drunk by the time it was his turn to talk, so he omitted
several paragraphs in the middle about peace and brotherhood
and galloped on to the end bit about partnership between worlds
and the gift the future. After his speech there were only
various ceremonial items and some rather piercing children's
choirs. Before Obi-Wan could make his escape, the chancellor
sidled over and plunked himself in the next chair.
"I've taken the liberty of arranging a flight to Coruscant for
you."
"That wasn't necessary," Obi-Wan said politely.
"I realize that, but I wish to make an apology for your
difficulties here, and also to make the flight as easy as
possible for you and your master."
"In that case, I thank you."
The chancellor nodded along to the music for a few minutes and
Obi-Wan began to think the conversation was over, but then the
chancellor said, abruptly,
"You should watch for headaches; it's dangerous to allow him to
begin to question the situation he finds himself in, especially
at first."
"I see."
"We are trying very hard to make this type of mind tampering
illegal, but it's an uphill journey."
"I wish you every success," Obi-Wan said tiredly and looked
around for the wine.
"Here, by the way, are your papers."
"My what?"
"Ownership; the blue is his copy."
"But I don't--don't you think this is a little excessive?"
"Perhaps. But the crew of the ship you're on don't, for obvious
reasons, know that he's a Jedi knight, and there might be some
instance in which you needed to prove you owned him."
"Yes."
"And some slaves find ownership papers comforting."
"You might consider, Chancellor, trying to make slavery illegal
on Tratheum."
"Jedi Knights are both skilled fighters and skilled diplomats,
but I've found they do have a strange streak of progressivism,"
the Chancellor laughed, and clapped him on the back.
It was late when he got back to his quarters; he would get only
a few hours sleep before their transport left. Qui-Gon had left
one light on in the outer room, and he flipped it off absently
as he walked toward his bedroom, already slipping open the ties
on shirt. The door was slightly ajar, and as he opened it
further, he saw that the candles in special niches in the room
that he had never bothered with had been lit and were half
burnt down, casting gentle shadows across the bed, where
Qui-Gon was sleeping, breathing softly, hair down, and
completely naked. The candles smelled faintly of fresh hay and
plums and the flickering light they cast made Qui-Gon's skin
look like, look like--
All right, that's quite enough, Obi-Wan told himself. He stuck
his arms into the light and looked at them; they looked, of
course, creamy and smooth, muscles falling into sharp relief.
He shrugged his shirt back on and went to sleep in the other
room, where his arms looked as they always did.
Walking through the hallways to the transport the next morning,
he could almost imagine that there was nothing the matter.
Rising early had always made both of them surly, and it wasn't
unusual for them to carry out their last minute preparations in
silence. Qui-Gon walked slightly behind him, moving silently on
the stone floors. They were early; supplies were still being
loaded into the hold. A small man came out of an office behind
them and, consulting a datapad in his hand, said,
"You're Kenobi, Obi-Wan and slave?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said.
"That him?"
"Yes."
"Not bad." He nodded approvingly and leaned back against the
wall. "Interested in selling?"
"No."
"You're sure? I could pay you quite a bit." He waved the
datapad expansively, "Good home, and all that, of course."
"Isn't he a little old for you?"
"Isn't he a little old for you?"
"But I'm--. He's not for sale, Obi-Wan said firmly.
"All right. No need to get excited," the man said, and
disappeared, miffed, into the office.
Obi-Wan risked a glance at Qui-Gon, who was looking at the
ground, hands tucked into his sleeves. Before he could look
away, Qui-Gon glanced up, and gave him a half-sly smile,
quirking an eyebrow. It was Qui-Gon's smile, no different, and
Obi-Wan returned it, suddenly amused at the consternation he'd
felt. Qui-Gon was perfectly all right, and he certainly didn't
seem to be particularly affected by the mind wipe--only a bit
disoriented.
All this was short lived, because when they got to their cabin,
Obi-Wan went to get a glass of water in the kitchen nook and
returned to find Qui-Gon pulling his shirt over his head. His
robe was already neatly folded beside him on the couch.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking off my clothes."
"Well, put them back on."
"Why?"
"Why? What Why?" Obi-Wan said, flustered. Qui-Gon turned placid
eyes on him and said,
"The pleasure slave is required to maintain himself in a state
of readiness for his master. A state of readiness includes, but
is not confined to, nudity, appropriately anointed skin--."
"Yes, thank you," Obi-Wan said, holding up a restraining hand.
"What, there are rules?
"There's a handbook."
"A handbook," Obi-Wan repeated. Qui-Gon took off his pants.
"Not a great deal of leeway on this is there?"
"No," Qui-Gon said.
"Put on your robe," Obi-Wan said, with as much authority as he
could muster.
"Inappropriate."
"You wore it yesterday."
"That was the first day."
"That makes a difference?"
"Of course."
"I'm your, um, owner. And so, if I tell you to wear clothes,
can't you just wear clothes?"
"I don't follow meaningless orders," Qui-Gon said, fixing him
with a stern gaze.
"You don't," Obi-Wan said.
"No," Qui-Gon said, and settled himself comfortably on the
couch, arching his back in a stretch and then running one
finger across his left nipple.
"I have some things to attend to," Obi-Wan said and all but
fell out the door.
He leaned against the wall in the hallway outside his room and
mumbled as much as he could remember of the meditation on
unexpected events, which wasn't very much since he couldn't
stop thinking about Qui-Gon, or, rather, Qui-Gon's body and how
it had looked arranged against the couch.
He should have known, really; they had studied mind wipe
technology in ethics and the reason that it had been abandoned
by all but a few cultures several hundred years ago was that it
barely worked. It was possible to alter perception, but not
basic nature, which explained the reason that Obi-Wan, instead
of having a intractable, insubordinate Master, now had an
intractable, insubordinate pleasure slave. That 'meaningless
orders' comment was only the beginning of a diatribe he had
heard Qui-Gon direct at the council under six weeks ago. He
took a deep breath and went back inside.
"Let's compromise," he said. "You wear your sleep clothes."
Qui-Gon looked skeptical.
"It'll be just like you're about to go to bed all the time,"
Obi-Wan said persuasively.
"All right," Qui-Gon said grudgingly.
"Good."
Qui Gon only wore the shirt for the first few hours, but since
he seemed to be managing to keep the sleep pants more or less
on, Obi-Wan said nothing. Tratheum was a warm planet, so they
were, unfortunately, the thin summer weight pants issued by the
temple, and Qui-Gon's were worn and soft, threads gone pale at
the knees and crotch. Obi-Wan knew this because Qui-Gon was
fairly insistent on curling up with him on the couch. At first,
he tried moving, but the minute he began to concentrate on
anything again, Qui-Gon would be back, half in his lap, or
pressed up against his back, sighing comfortably into his
shoulder, and finally he just gave up and let Qui-Gon stay
while he worked. It was really nothing they hadn't done before,
on cramped transports, or the time he'd caught a blaster shot
in the chest and lost quite a lot of blood and had repeatedly
passed out in Qui-Gon's arms. The ship wasn't very well heated,
either. And Qui-Gon's hair was very soft.
There was only one bed.
"Of course," Obi-Wan mumbled to himself, standing in the
doorway.
"Are we going to bed?" Qui-Gon asked, standing so close that
Obi-Wan could feel the heat from his body.
"I guess," he said weakly.
At that, Qui-Gon ambled off enthusiastically to the bathroom
and he changed, bitterly regretting not replacing the buttons
on his sleep shirt that had fallen off. He was already in bed
when Qui-Gon came in, still wearing his sleep pants at least,
and
"Did you do something to your skin?" Obi-Wan asked
"You don't like it?"
"It's shiny," Obi-Wan said, wondering if he was going to spend
the rest of the trip saying idiotically obvious things. He
raised his hand almost instinctively and before he could put it
down, Qui-Gon was under it, sliding down to lie on the bed,
Obi-Wan's hand skidding across his waist, and his skin wasn't
shiny so much as glistening, warm. He snatched his hand back.
Qui-Gon's eyebrows came together slightly, but he only said
"Good night," and curled in on himself, closing his eyes.
Obi-Wan extinguished the light next to the bed, lay in the dark
and didn't allow himself to smell his hands.
He awoke to find Qui-Gon's mouth on his nipple, sucking softly,
with a hand beneath the waistband of his pants, stroking firmly
on his cock. The stars in this part of the galaxy didn't throw
enough light for him to even see a shadow above him, and he
grasped Qui-Gon's wrists and flipped him over onto his back
entirely by touch.
"What are you doing," he said, realizing that his neck was wet,
that there were delicate trails of moisture all across his
torso, that his other nipple was hard and very wet and that
Qui-Gon was naked. He could feel Qui-Gon's thigh against his
knee.
"I was--" Qui-Gon stopped, gave an irritated sigh, "You were.
In your sleep, you--"
"Yes, that's quite, that's enough," Obi-Wan said. He let go of
Qui-Gon's wrists and reached over to flip on the light. "Put on
your clothes, please."
"Are you sure you don't want me to--"
"Yes."
It was a reasonably enough hour to be awake, so he got up and
went to make some tea. Qui-Gon followed some minutes later
wearing his sleep pants and looking annoyed. Obi-Wan handed him
a cup of tea and cleared his throat.
"Qui-Gon. In the future, please don't. erm. do anything while
I'm asleep."
"All right."
"And you really shouldn't be sleeping in my bed; I don't see
why--"
"It is the duty of a pleasure slave to share his master's bed
in the event that--"
"Right, right, yes," Obi-Wan said, forestalling any further
elaboration. "You can sleep there if you don't do anything else
like that."
Qui-Gon's mouth tightened, but he nodded his agreement.
"Right."
"But now that you're awake, I could maybe--"
"No, you could not."
"You could punish me for incorrectly anticipating your wishes,"
he said, and Obi-Wan blinked at the faintly hopeful gleam in
his eyes.
"No."
After that, he spent as much time as he decently could doing
katas in the hold. If it had been heated, he would have worked
on his official report down there as well. As it was, he did it
in their rooms, usually with Qui-Gon sprawled across him.
Qui-Gon, unfortunately, was increasingly insistent as days went
by, and had somewhere picked up a habit of twisting himself
nimbly, presenting his face for a kiss, at every opportunity.
Obi-Wan hadn't kissed him yet, but he thought about it: thought
about dragging Qui-Gon up from his lap and licking his lips,
the curve of his neck, resting his hand in the hollow of his
back, about how Qui-Gon's thighs would slide apart for him.
Thought about how Qui-Gon would look at him when this was over.
"What's a synonym for appease?"
"Placate," Qui Gon muttered sleepily, rolling to his side,
nudging his face into Obi-Wan's stomach.
"Doesn't work."
"Propitiate."
"Better."
Qui-Gon approached it as he would any other problem; Obi-Wan
had seen that considering look before. He'd narrow his eyes and
stare out at space, absently petting Obi-Wan's knee and then
his face would clear and he'd do something startlingly
provocative. This morning, he had touched himself through his
pants and then licked his fingers, and Obi-Wan had pulled away,
averting his eyes. Qui-Gon face fell and he got up and went
into the bedroom, shoulders held stiffly back, and slid under
the covers. Obi-Wan made himself leave before he apologized.
It was distracting, he reflected, wiping at his forehead with
the back of his sleeve and starting the twenty-ninth part of
the exercise. Qui Gon lying in his bed like some enormous--bed
slave. There ought to have been something funny about it; he'd
seen bed slaves before and they were nearly always slender,
small, lush asses and lush tits, soft pink mouths and cheeks,
and so it ought to have been funny: Qui Gon's scarred massive
body curled on his bed, hard mouth, hard hips: but it wasn't.
And fine, yes, he had thought about it before, but only
briefly, only in passing, and he hadn't ever really gotten
beyond Qui-Gon pressing him up against a wall and kissing him;
he hadn't thought about how it really might be, how Qui-Gon's
body would feel pressed eagerly against him at night, how many
times he told himself that a few kisses wouldn't make a
difference. He knew that they would.
On the eighth day, Obi-Wan came back to their quarters after
practicing in the hold and found Qui-Gon in the arms of a crew
member. They were kissing, just inside the door, Qui-Gon
pressed up against the wall, gasping eagerly; neither of them
noticed him until he'd pulled them apart, and even then Qui-Gon
looked startled.
"You wait here," he ordered, and hustled the crewman out the
door. "Just what do you think you're doing," he said.
"I was dropping off some supplies for you," the man shrugged.
"And what does that have to do with, with kissing my--"
"You're obviously not using him."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"It's practically mistreatment, a slave like that."
"Meaning?"
"He needs it; it's one thing that you can't get it up, but do
you really need to make him unhappy, too?"
Obi-Wan clenched and unclenched his fists, then pinned the man
against the wall and said, levelly, "If you touch him again,
I'll kill you."
"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said, almost immediately when he walked in
the door. He was still flushed, and there was a mouth mark on
his shoulder.
"Yeah," Obi-Wan said shortly, not looking at him. "Just don't
do it again."
"I was only--"
"I know what you were doing."
"I can't imagine why it bothers you."
"Oh, you can't?" Obi-Wan said, snapping his head up and taking
a step towards Qui-Gon.
"You don't want me, you won't fuck me, you barely touch me,"
Qui-Gon glared at him suspiciously "you don't really have the
faintest idea what to do with a pleasure slave."
"Well, I suppose I didn't realize that pleasure slave meant you
try to go down on everyone you meet," Obi-Wan sneered.
"I haven't gone down on anyone, thanks to--," he stopped,
wincing and going pale.
"What's wrong?"
"My, um. My head hurts," Qui-Gon admitted.
"Sit down," Obi-Wan said and tried to steer him towards the
sofa, but Qui-Gon shook him off.
"you just don't act very much like someone who owns a pleasure
slave--and, look at you, you're so--"
"That's it," Obi-Wan said, and shoved him roughly down on the
couch, following him down, knees on either side of Qui-Gon's
thighs, and yanking his head up for a kiss. Qui-Gon struggled
for a moment, but Obi-Wan had him by the hair and was forcing
his mouth open, kissing him fiercely. Qui-Gon moaned beneath
him, opened his mouth, brought tentative hands up to rest on
Obi-Wan's hips and Obi-Wan kissed him until he was squirming,
acquiescent, and then he stopped, ran a soothing palm along
Qui-Gon's bare shoulder, and said
"You're my," licked his lips, hesitated, "mine. All right?"
Qui Gon nodded hastily.
"Any doubts?"
"No."
"How's your head?"
"better."
"Good. Why don't you go lie down," Obi-Wan said.
"Are you going to come--"
"Why don't you let me worry about that." Obi-Wan kissed him
again, this time gently, and stood up. Qui-Gon looked at him a
moment, and then stood and walked slowly into the bedroom.
Obi-Wan fell back onto the couch and sighed. He scrubbed at his
face with his palm, touched his lips, slid a hand down his
torso to touch his cock. Then he got up and went to meditate
until he knew Qui-Gon would be asleep.
Unfortunately, the next morning, bygones were bygones. He woke
up on top of Qui-Gon, who had worked one hand under his sleep
shirt, was stroking his waist gently.
"What are you doing," he asked, catching the hand.
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"It's not as though I was touching any erogenous zones,"
Qui-Gon said patiently.
"Fine," Obi-Wan said and rolled off the bed, changing quickly,
back to Qui-Gon, trying to conceal his erection.
"Would you like me to make breakfast?"
"You can do that?"
"A pleasure slave shall be well versed in the niceties of
domestic duty, so as to provide a tranquil setting in which his
master may better enjoy his talents." He took a breath,
obviously ready to go on, and Obi-Wan said,
"Breakfast: why don't you go make breakfast?"
He wasn't entirely certain what to expect, since Qui-Gon was
really more of a "here's a bag of oats, what do you mean all
the milk's gone sour?" sort of person; Obi-Wan usually did the
cooking, such as it was. He half expected Qui-Gon to present
him with a ration bar cut into tasteful pieces and insist on
feeding it to him, but Qui-Gon, in a half an hour, produced a
group of risen sweet biscuits, fruit salad, tea and juice. Then
he sat down and watched Obi-Wan eat.
"You can eat," Obi-Wan said. "These are really good," he added,
waving a biscuit vaguely in Qui-Gon's direction. Qui-Gon took a
biscuit and sat down on the couch next to Obi-Wan, tucking his
feet neatly underneath him.
"Can I rub your feet?" he said, through a mouthful of biscuit.
"Let's not get carried away," Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon nodded,
finished the biscuit, produced Obi-Wan's datapad from somewhere
behind him and then slouched bonelessly down next to Obi-Wan,
nuzzling into his side.
And the next day they were back on Coruscant, Qui-Gon sent off
to the healers, Obi-Wan making their report to the council. It
was routine, except for the last bit, in which he gritted his
teeth, stared just to the left of Yaddle's shoulder and managed
to say 'pleasure slave' only twice. There was a long silence
when he was finished. Finally, Mace Windu said
"Very well, Padawan Kenobi."
"Is that all?" he said.
"Unless you have something further to add."
"No," he said, bowed, and went off to the infirmary, where he
was firmly told that untangling an amateur mess like this one
took time, and that yes, Qui-Gon would be fine, and that no, he
couldn't stay. He went to dinner, although he didn't feel
hungry.
"Heard you were in a compromising position with your Master,"
Bruck said, sitting down across from him. Obi-Wan poked
studiously at his dinner and said,
"Who isn't, at some point?"
"True enough," Bruck shrugged.
"What'd you hear?"
"Nothing really; all very vague, Kenobi and Jinn up to their
usual hijinks."
"What's that? We're never up to any hijinks."
"Who knows how these rumors get started? Cruzo was doing
offload on that ship you came in on and he said one of the crew
claimed you were hauling some hot pleasure slave around and
that you threatened to cut off his hands if he came near him."
"Ah, yet another blow struck for the public image of the Jedi,"
Bant said, joining them, stealing a piece of bread off Bruck's
plate.
"Yup. All a lot of insane violent whoring nutjobs," Bruck
grinned.
When he got back from dinner, Qui-Gon was in their quarters. It
was startling to see him wearing clothes again. Obi-Wan smiled,
with an effort, and said,
"So you're well."
"Yes, I'm well."
"I'm glad to hear it. Oh. I have your." He went into his room
and retrieved Qui-Gon's lightsaber."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I meant, um, just. Thank you."
"Oh. You're welcome."
He hadn't realized before how much he thought about. He and
Yoda were monitoring the unrest on Wn'tha and he had agreed to
teach an seminar on emerging despots on the Outer Rim, his left
high guard was weak, Obi-Wan wouldn't know a logic precept if
it hit him in the face, and, for that matter, really needed
work on hand-to-hand, and Mace Windu had designed a new
training droid which he'd agreed to help test. All very
interesting things: his job, no, rather, his vocation, his
life's work. He found himself, however, almost wistful for
having only two things to think about: when Obi-Wan would be
back, and whether Obi-Wan would kiss him. Not, of course, that
those thoughts didn't cross his mind now, but he did make an
effort to squelch them. Obi-Wan was not often in their
quarters. He looked tired when he was. Qui-Gon said nothing
about it, knowing that Obi-Wan needed to get the taste of him
out of his mouth, needed to touch someone he actually wanted to
touch.
Lately, Qui-Gon mostly meditated on self-pity.
Perhaps it would have been easier if he didn't remember it in
such great detail. They'd somehow rearranged him so all he
could pay attention to was how Obi-Wan looked and felt; it
wasn't that he couldn't remember being a Jedi or, for that
matter, emerging despots on the Outer Rim, only that compared
to getting Obi-Wan to fuck him, other things had seemed
unimportant. In the night, he had waited until Obi-Wan fell
asleep before inching across the bed, pressing himself close,
sometimes grazing his lips against Obi-Wan's neck. During the
day, he remembered, Obi-Wan had usually flinched from his
touch. He still watched Qui-Gon guardedly across the breakfast
table, and when Qui-Gon had told him that Knight Elbar would be
handling his hand-to-hand training, Obi-Wan had looked faintly
relieved.
"Bant's worried about you," Bruck said, swinging his lightsaber
towards Obi-Wan's ribs.
"How do you know?" Obi-Wan parried and they exchanged a flurry
of blows before locking sabers.
"She woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me," Bruck
panted.
"Woke you up? Wait a minute. You're," Obi-Wan lost his
concentration and stumbled, dropping his lightsaber.
"Yes," Bruck said, waiting for Obi-Wan to get up.
"But why?"
"Because I'm, um, a little. in love with her."
"Since when?"
"Six months ago. Where have you been?"
"She loathes you," Obi-Wan said accusatorily.
"She used to loathe me. Things change, I guess. Ready?"
Yes, let's keep that in mind, he told himself. Things
change. Qui-Gon appeared for an hour in the mornings to
complain about his poor grasp of the lightsaber and dump
increasingly difficult logic reading in his lap and then
disappeared until the evening. He was barely ever without his
robe in their quarters--even though he had often complained
that the temple was overheated, remarking that Yoda should
really be removed from the living conditions committee. Obi-Wan
remembered the last time Qui-Gon had decided that hand-to-hand
had been neglected long enough, when he'd spent a fair amount
of time ambushing Obi-Wan and sitting on him, lecturing him on
the virtues of vigilance until he fought his way free. Now he
reported to Knight Elbar every day, who flipped him onto mats
until he was a mass of bruises, and then let him go.
"Nothing happened, Mace."
"I know."
"Nothing happened."
"Can you hand me that spanner?"
"This one?"
"The one with the red--yes."
"You're sleeping with Bruck," he said to Bant, leaning in her
doorway.
She shrugged, one shouldered. "His homeworld is humid," she
said. "He doesn't give me a hard time about the climate control
in my room." But she gave him a small secret smile.
"You couldn't have told me?"
She sighed. "You've been gone."
"It would have hurt you to send me a short message: *'Am having
it off with Bruck. Fondness for moisture quite overrides the
fact that he used to regularly beat the shit out of you.'*?'"
"Perhaps I didn't tell you because I, completely erroneously I
see, thought you might disapprove."
"Well--"
"And you're such a prude."
"I'm not a prude."
"You are a prude. I couldn't very well tell you I'd finally
found someone who enjoyed having sex in a bathtub, could I?"
"I almost had sex with Qui-Gon," he blurted.
"In a bathtub?"
"Bant."
"That's what's wrong, then."
"Yeah."
"He didn't," she said slowly, "try to make you."
"No, of course not."
"Are you--"
"Perhaps it would be better if I just made a few more insulting
comments about Bruck," Obi-Wan said.
"All right," she said gently.
There were things he'd been taught to notice: Obi-Wan's hands
and mouth and skin, the way he moved his shoulders when they
were sore, the slight frustrated pinch of his lip--all things
he had noticed objectively before. He'd known for years the
tight look around Obi-Wan's eyes when he was on the edge of
exhaustion, not admitting it, the tremor in his hands when he
was trying to rid himself of anger, but he hadn't been in the
habit of relating those things to himself, to how he ought to
slip in under those hands and touch the skin, how the anger
might feel forcing him to the ground and fucking him, holding
his wrists, choking him with cock, all things he'd been waiting
for, that he'd wanted.
"You may have some. let's say--left over impulses," the healers
had said. "It shouldn't last more than a few days."
But instead of disappearing, they faded, transmuted, and he was
left with how Obi-Wan might feel lolling against him in bed,
slipping in between his thighs, kissing his stomach, whispering
against his throat.
Residue, he told himself. Left-overs. Side effects. But
watching the back of Obi-Wan's neck as he made tea, he knew it
was a lie.
He made an effort not to be in their quarters when Qui-Gon was
there, mostly because of the way Qui-Gon looked the first
morning when they passed each other, half-dressed. He timed his
stops--to shower, to get new clothes--as carefully as he could
to avoid Qui-Gon, and he came as late at night as he decently
could. Sometimes he failed, which was the reason he was at home
when Qui-Gon limped in with a raw red burn across his cheek.
"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan said, already on his feet.
"I had a run-in with that new droid of Mace's."
"What happened?"
"It went berserk," Qui-Gon said shortly. "Do we have any of
that burn ointment left?"
"I don't think so."
"There's some new the cabinet, top drawer." Qui-Gon went into
the bathroom and dabbed gingerly at his cheek with soap. The
top drawer was Qui-Gon's, the division left over from when
Obi-Wan had first moved in and been too small to reach the
upper drawers in the cabinet. Inside were some spare lightsaber
parts and an old cloak that needed repair, a tangled ball of
twine, a broken communicator, the floorplans of the Shupani
embassy, several packets of seeds, a stash of ration bars, a
flare gun, a crumpled box of holos, and Qui-Gon's slave papers.
Obi-Wan took a shocked breath and turned around to see Qui-Gon
watching him from the bathroom door.
"You kept these, why did you keep these?"
"Didn't you?"
"No. I. I got rid of them. Where did you get them? I didn't
give them--"
"They were in my bag."
And Obi-Wan remembered: he'd carried them on the ship, but
thrust them carelessly, embarrassed, into one of the bags, both
of which had been, of course, in the one bedroom.
"Oh."
"I--"
"Wait, I'm sorry, it's none of my business," Obi-Wan said,
suddenly certain he didn't want to hear.
"Your business more than anyone else's," Qui-Gon said, calmly.
"Don't."
"I find I need a reminder of humility, occasionally."
"I see."
"Does that bother you?"
"That I humiliated you?" Obi-Wan said, starting to feel a flush
creeping up the back of his neck. "Why would it?"
"Obi-Wan--"
"It was humiliating for me, too."
"Oh, I'm sure it was," Qui-Gon stalked across the room and
plucked the papers out of Obi-Wan's hands, tossing them back
into the drawer. "Perhaps, Obi-Wan, you should be working on
accepting the odd humiliating situation with a little more
grace, and a little more thought for those who are trapped in
it with you."
I didn't mean, I never wanted--" you, Qui-Gon thought,
as Obi-Wan floundered for words. I never wanted you.
Before Obi-Wan could say it, he said,
"I know. I'm aware of that."
"I--"
"Burn ointment," Qui-Gon said harshly, finding it quickly and
slamming the drawer shut. He took it into the bathroom and
closed the door. When he came out again, Obi-Wan was gone. He
hesitated, then went to the cabinet and found the papers. He
sat down on the couch and unfolded the thin blue pages,
smoothing out the creases. He stared at them for a long time
before putting them away.
"Is this where you've been spending your time?" Qui-Gon said,
coming around a large shelf. The library was in one of the
earliest parts of the temple, which had taken so long to
construct that it was an odd combination of architectural
styles, full of unexpected corners and windows, of which
Obi-Wan had found himself one, uninhabited except for a table
and great shelves of books that had not been deemed important
enough for the climate controlled vault.
"Yes."
"You can study in your room."
"I wanted to let you alone for a while; I thought you might
like to be alone."
"What's wrong?" Qui-Gon said, coming around the table and
sitting down next to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan angled his chair out to
face him.
"I should think that would be pretty obvious by now."
"Well. Yes." Qui-Gon smiled at him wryly. "But, Obi-Wan that's
no reason to--"
"You wouldn't say that if you knew."
"If I knew what?"
The entire time," Obi-Wan faltered, "I was worried that they
wouldn't be able to put you right, that you'd be stuck and I. I
wondered how long it would be before I began taking what you
offered. Before I had you naked all the time, before I--,"
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and said, sickly, "I enjoyed it.
When you touched me, I couldn't." he shook his head and
stopped, pinching his lips together.
"You wanted to?"
Obi-Wan laughed shortly. "yeah. I wanted to."
"Oh."
"That surprises you?"
"I guess, I thought if you wanted to, then," Qui-Gon stopped,
and made an indeterminate hand gesture.
"I wouldn't do that. You think I'd. do that?"
"Unusual circumstances--"
"You think I'd rape you," Obi-Wan said flatly.
"It wouldn't have been rape."
"Of course it would have been rape. That's what--. It's bad
enough that I even touched you."
"Is that why you're upset?"
"Yes. What did you think?"
Qui-Gon hesitated. "I thought you were perturbed. um. offended
by my behavior."
"Well, this day is just getting better and better."
"Obi-Wan--"
"No, let me see if I have this straight. Not only do you think
I'm a rapist, you think I'd hold it against you, how you--when.
that I wouldn't understand it wasn't your fault?
"I think you're taking this entirely too much to heart."
"No, that's fine," Obi-Wan slapped his hand on the table,
"You're right. I'm a pervert and I wanted fuck you like
nobody's business and I was afraid to tell you because I
thought you liked me. respected me, I don't know. But since you
think I'm." He took a breath that was not quite a sob and began
to gather the things he'd been studying. "I have to go."
"You do have an unfortunate habit of burning your bridges,
Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said from the doorway of his room.
"I know," he said, and Qui-Gon came in and sat down on the end
of his bed. The bedroom was dark, but Obi-Wan made no motion to
turn on a light.
"I don't think you're lacking in self-control," Qui-Gon said.
"I know."
"You did well; did I say that?"
"Yes, but I thought you were lying."
"Obi-Wan, have I ever hesitated to tell you about your
substandard performance?"
"No. In fact, you usually manage excruciating detail."
"Am I a gibbering idiot? Am I staring blankly into space and
drooling?"
"No."
"So you did your job."
"Is that what would have happened?"
"So I'm told."
"About what I said earlier."
"We both said things we oughtn't to have."
"True."
"Well, then," Qui-Gon said, and wandered out.
Things changed after that, small things and large: summer came
early and Qui-Gon left off his robe, Obi-Wan learned how to
make several new, rather palatable, breakfast foods, which
Qui-Gon ate happily and deliberately didn't comment on, and
they went on a short but disastrous mission in which they had
to fight their way off a congressional floor and hijack a ship
and it was sometime during the return trip, trying to work out
how to actually fly the ship because they were both getting
headaches from force-guiding it that Obi-Wan saw they were very
nearly as they had been.
"I think I just jettisoned the landing gear," Qui-Gon said.
"Why'd you do that?"
"I don't want to erode any sort of hero worship you might still
be harboring, Obi-Wan, but I don't know very much about flying
ships."
"Oh."
"Also, I think jamming your lightsaber into the security
mechanism damaged some subsystems," Qui-Gon said, poking
cautiously at several unlit buttons.
"It damaged the security subsystem, Master," Obi-Wan said.
"Enabling us to steal the ship."
"There is that," Qui-Gon said. "Do you think that's the aft
thrusters?"
And Obi-Wan stopped feeling guilty about the time on the ship
because he realized that he hadn't really enjoyed it: Qui-Gon
in his lap, in his bed. He'd been too worried, too annoyed, too
busy trying to do the right thing; he hadn't actually wanted
it. Because it came to him now, this new thought, that he
wanted Qui-Gon, and it was exotic and not entirely comfortable,
and perfectly, terrifyingly unfamiliar.
It would come upon him unexpectedly; he'd look up to see
Qui-Gon tapping meditatively at his datapad and think--realize,
really--that Qui-Gon had once touched him, slid fingers into
his pants. The night they were sitting in the dining hall
eating a hasty dinner, Qui-Gon actually had to snap his fingers
in front of Obi-Wan's face to catch his attention. He had been
watching Qui-Gon snap off a bite of carrot and forgotten to
even chew, somehow amazed, as he hadn't been at the time, that
Qui-Gon's mouth had touched his neck, his nipple, his mouth.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said, eyebrows raised.
"What? Yes?" he said.
"It's generally considered polite to close one's mouth when one
chews," Qui-Gon said.
"Not on Kolvidas 3," he said, a little too late.
Remembering how Qui-Gon had moaned at his kiss made Obi-Wan's
stomach hurt. Not even a real kiss, not the way he would kiss
him now. He found himself wondering how it might have come out
between them before, if he would have eventually kissed Qui-Gon
anyway. Circumstances had rendered it impossible, and although
he allowed himself to think of Qui-Gon when he touched himself,
he knew he would have to stop soon. He hoped he'd grow out of
it, but when he looked in the mirror now, he looked tired and
hard, fully formed.
A small thing, a kiss. And not even really a kiss, not
affectionately meant, but part of an act. It had been his
experience that small things generally lead to large, an unsaid
word, a caught thread. It takes only fifteen hours for a piece
of meat to be falling to pieces, infested with squirming
maggots, seemingly from nowhere, from a chance insect landing.
And he had waited, made contingency plans, spent time leaning
against the railings of the practice areas, looking down,
figuring out who else could teach Obi-Wan.
Habits are hard to break, on the other hand; ripples in a pond
disperse quickly enough, replaced by the skittering business of
water bugs and frogs and Natural History, Qui-Gon thought, is a
thoroughly uninformative analogy for personal relationships.
They weren't forgetting about it, but it was smoothed over,
averaged out by the sheer weight of their years together.
Obi-Wan had taken to napping on the couch again and reading
aloud, in a sarcastic voice, precepts of logic he found
pompously reductionist. Ten days couldn't change what he was to
Obi-Wan. This was mostly a relief.
A small thing, that kiss. Obi-Wan had bitten his lip.
"I need some friends," he said to Bant across her kitchen
table.
"There's me. There's Bruck."
"Does he count?"
"Default."
"I don't think he likes me much."
"Well, you're sort of a goody-two shoes, Kenobi," Bruck yelled
from the bedroom.
"Are you here all the time?"
"I live here."
"Congratulations," Obi-Wan said sourly. "I'll get you a
housewarming present."
Bruck came into the kitchen, gave him a snarky smile and
hoisted himself up to sit on the counter.
"And wait," Obi-Wan said. "You don't live with your master?"
"Who does?"
"I do."
"Yes, but hadn't you noticed that when the rest of us turned
nineteen or so our masters said that they could train us in the
deep and mystical ways of the force even if we lived on another
floor?"
"I hadn't really thought about it."
"What about my room?" Bant asked.
"I just thought you had it because of the. your. the
temperature."
"There's plenty of extra room in the temple these days, and I'm
fond of my master and all, but I didn't want to spend the next
five years cleaning her wet socks off the bathroom floor,"
Bruck said. "Whereas you're still holed up happy as a clam with
Master Jinn, learning the formal forms of address in Huttese,
or whatever it is you two do in your spare time."
"What's your point?"
"You can't exactly moan about not having any friends when it's
perfectly clear that anyone who wants to be your friend will
have to go through your master first."
"He doesn't stop me from having friends," Obi-Wan said.
"Of course not," Bant said. "It's just you spend all your time
together."
"We're off-world a lot."
"He doesn't even call you padawan anymore," Bruck said. "You
don't have friends; you have friend."
"Qui-Gon is--. I mean."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Bant said.
"He enjoys working all the time; you enjoy working all the
time," Bruck said. "You have similar interests." He leaned
precariously off the counter and touched the back of Bant's
neck with two fingers. She hunched her shoulders briefly,
shivered, and poked her elbow into his kneecap.
The first time Qui-Gon had called him padawan after they
returned, he'd stumbled over the word and then blushed
painfully. He hadn't done so since.
Their next mission was cold and damp, but otherwise
unremarkable. After seventeen days of sodden boots, neither of
them were in the best of moods. Qui-Gon negotiated passage with
the first ship he found,
"I'm telling you, it's a cargo ship," the captain had warned
nervously.
"Does it have hot water?" Qui-Gon had said tersely.
"Yes."
"Good," Qui-Gon nodded and credits changed hands.
Their room was an enormous corrugated metal bin that jittered
with the faint deep hum of the engines, but it was such a
relief to be dry that neither of them cared. Obi-Wan had made
Qui-Gon take the first shower, and when he got back from his,
Qui-Gon had spread out the blankets they'd been given on the
floor and unearthed a somewhat sticky packet of fruit bread.
"Worlds with good weather never have political unrest," Obi-Wan
said, sitting down and taking a piece of the fruit bread.
"Mace actually teaches a class on that," Qui-Gon said. "The
exigencies of the something something climate correlation."
"Sounds awful."
"There's a field trip to Ravabe."
"That's the one with the weather. and the. um. everyone with no
clothes."
"Popular class," Qui-Gon nodded resignedly.
Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, which was a little warm,
and scrubbed his feet against the blanket.
"Why didn't you have me move out?"
Qui-Gon stopped chewing. "Move out."
"Isn't it usual for apprentices to move out of their master's
rooms? Something like five years ago?"
"It is."
"So why didn't you?"
"It never occurred to me. We seemed to suit." He looked down at
the blanket then back up. "I'm sorry Obi-Wan, I should of
course have realized. Would you like to have your own
quarters?"
"No."
"You won't hurt my feelings by saying yes. Believe me, I
understand--"
"I don't want to move out," Obi-Wan interrupted. "I like.
living with you."
"I see."
The water dripping from their cloaks made tinny sounds on the
floor. Qui-Gon put one hand flat on the wall and made a faint
pleased sound at its warmth, then leaned back against it as
well. The engine rumbled and murmured. Qui-Gon closed his eyes.
"Bant's sleeping with Bruck," Obi-Wan said.
"Hasn't that been going on some months now?"
"You knew?"
"Was it a secret?"
"No," Obi-Wan said glumly.
"Is this? Were you and Bant, er."
"Bant? No, of course not. She's--salty."
"Ah."
Obi-Wan drew up his knees and rested his elbows on them. "She's
so happy."
"That bothers you?"
"No. A little. It's all right."
"What's all right?"
"Just. Not everyone is cut out for great sex in bathtubs."
"I don't follow."
"It's. They want each other and it's. It's stupid. I just. I'd
like to be wanted."
"You are."
Well. Before we left I did overhear someone in the third level
practice room say he'd do me," Obi-Wan laughed mirthlessly,
"But it's not really the same."
"I meant, I do." Qui-Gon sounded as though his throat hurt. "I
want you."
Obi-Wan turned to look at Qui-Gon, who looked as startled as he
felt, who leaned over and kissed him, fisting one hand in his
shirt and licking his lower lip. When Obi-Wan didn't object, he
jerked him forward across his lap and kissed him harder,
sliding a hand down his back. Obi-Wan clutched at his shoulders
and opened his mouth and fell backwards, pulling Qui-Gon down
onto the blanket. Qui-Gon slid his leg between Obi-Wan's thighs
and cupped his jaw, kissing him wetly before tilting his head
back and kissing his neck. Obi-Wan moaned, long and low,
tilting his head pliantly, but when Qui-Gon nuzzled
appreciatively at his collarbone, Obi-Wan stiffened and grabbed
Qui-Gon's shoulders, pushing him away.
"You're not fixed. They didn't fix you," he accused.
"What are you talking about?"
"You're still, you're," Obi-Wan tried to struggle out from
underneath Qui-Gon, who grabbed his arms and said, loudly,
"They fixed me; there's nothing wrong with me."
"You have Stockholm Syndrome!"
"Maybe you're the one with Stockholm Syndrome."
"What?" Obi-Wan said, confusedly, partly because Qui-Gon was
still mostly on top of him, holding one of his wrists gently
against the ground.
"Hm," Qui-Gon said, and kissed him again. Obi-Wan slid a hand
under his hair to touch the back of his neck.
"I love you," he said, when Qui-Gon lifted his mouth.
"I thought you might."
"When?" Obi-Wan said, vaguely outraged.
"Just now, really."
"So. You?"
"What?"
"Do you, uh,"
"I'm not going to make any declarations of love if you're going
to insist that I'm still brainwashed."
"I won't," Obi-Wan said, sliding his thumb around to stroke
Qui-Gon's throat.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
"In that case, it's been brought home to me, rather forcefully
I might add, that I'm in love with you."
"Oh good," Obi-Wan said. "Oh," he said again when Qui-Gon
reared up over him and clumsily pulled his shirt off. He
dropped it and slid a hand under the small of Obi-Wan's back
and peeled his shirt up over his head. When Obi-Wan's arms were
free, he reached up and caught Qui-Gon's head, kissed him on
the mouth, pressing his mouth open, arching at the feel of
Qui-Gon's hands tracing restlessly over his shoulderblades,
down his back.
"We should take off our pants," Obi-Wan gasped, pulling his
mouth from Qui-Gon's. Qui-Gon nodded, and rolled off him,
pulling off his own pants and watching Obi-Wan's shaking hands
slide down his pants down his legs.
"I'm thinking," Qui-Gon said, when Obi-Wan was back, wrapped
around him and busily licking his neck. "I'm thinking you could
fuck me." Just saying the words made his cock harder. Obi-Wan
didn't answer, but slid down Qui-Gon's body, kissing his
sternum, biting his hipbone, sliding a heavy hand up his thigh.
He mouthed Qui-Gon's cock and then put a firm hand on it and
said,
"I don't know. Maybe--"
Qui-Gon reached down and caught his arm, pulling him up until
their faces were level. He traced the stubborn arch of
Obi-Wan's forehead with a finger.
"I've been waiting a long time, is all." His hips rolled,
involuntarily, pressing into Obi-Wan's stomach.
"Me too." Obi-Wan slid a thumb across his lips, and replaced it
with his mouth.
"I told you the first-aid kit was worth the extra weight,"
Qui-Gon said, panting, one hand grasping Obi-Wan's shoulder for
balance. He moved impatiently above Obi-Wan, who was sitting
against the wall, knees bent, one hand between Qui-Gon's
buttocks.
"Mm." Obi-Wan removed his hand and scooped at the small
container of anti-bacterial ointment, moving lazily as Qui-Gon
slid his hand down to play with his nipples.
"Can I-- "
"No. Wait a minute." He replaced his hand, "Isn't this good?"
he asked, wiggling his fingers a little, sliding them deeper,
holding Qui-Gon's hip with one greasy hand.
"Good," Qui-Gon agreed. His hair was still damp, sticking to
his shoulders and Obi-Wan's face. He pinched Obi-Wan's nipples
a little more aggressively, until they were pink and hard,
until Obi-Wan said,
"Now, I think," and clutched at his hips as he slid down
Obi-Wan's cock.
"You were, by the way, a terrible pleasure slave," Obi-Wan
said, letting Qui-Gon curl closer around him.
"I thought I was rather good."
"You were pushy. and grumpy."
"I made you breakfast."
"Twice. The rest of the time you mooched around and quoted that
awful handbook every time I tried to get you to do something.
Or, rather, not to do something. Ow," he said, as Qui-Gon bit
him on the shoulder. Qui-Gon kissed the back of his neck in
apology.
"How long do you think it would have been?" he asked, quietly.
"What?"
"Before you had me naked all the time."
"Oh. Not very long," Obi-Wan said, voice serious.
"Would you have then touched my ass when you were actually
awake?"
"I didn't--"
"Yes, you did."
"Often?"
"Repeatedly."
"I wouldn't, um. expect that to change, if I were you."
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