Archive: Yes to SWA-L and Master/Apprentice; all others please
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Summary: Qui-Gon gives in to his heart's desire.
It seemed, at times, as though he'd been waiting forever, for
one thing or another. Waiting to be selected as the Padawan of
a Jedi Master. Waiting to achieve a certain kind of calm and
serenity within himself. And waiting for his Master to fulfill
the promise he'd made with his lips, and his words. Obi-Wan
Kenobi seethed and chafed with a dozen rampant emotions as he
lay in his bunk on a ship bound for Coruscant. He reflected on
his Master's words.
//In time, young Padawan, I will touch you in any way you
desire.//
It had been four long weeks between that night and this, an
agonizing interval which stretched like a white-hot filament at
the breaking point. There was heat, and light, but neither he
nor his Master dared touch this thing which had blossomed
between them, for fear they would be burned. Obi-Wan knew he
would not make the first move. He could not. He feared
rejection, and worse, the criticism of his Master, something he
would not willingly bear.
These nights aboard ship seemed endless to Obi-Wan without
daylight to break the monotony of the darkness. At every portal
the view was the same -- stars which shone cold and remote,
offering no sanctuary from what blistered within him. He was a
fire kindled by his Master, with nothing to extinguish these
desires. He agonized, restless, tossing and turning against the
staggering weight of his longing.
Quickly, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and snuggled under the
blankets when he sensed his Master's approach. Of late, Qui-Gon
had a habit of entering their quarters long after Obi-Wan
should have been asleep. Obi-Wan knew the reason for this, and
decided to reinforce his Master's decision as best he could.
Tonight, however, he could not shield his thoughts from his
Master.
The door slid open as his Master strode into sensor range, then
closed behind him, obscuring his silhouette. Qui-Gon's subdued
breathing seemed to fill the room, and Obi-Wan fought the urge
to squirm like a small child. He was inflamed with a wordless
need he could never have given voice. His heartbeat quickened,
betraying his body, making a liar of him once again.
"Still awake, Padawan?" The resonant sound of his Master's deep
tones seemed to strike straight through to his loins, producing
a tremor of raw craving.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan gave up all pretense and sat up on his
bunk, bedding bunched around his hips. He watched his Master
intently. "You know I do not sleep well aboard a transport."
Qui-Gon's back was to his apprentice as he removed his
lightsaber from his belt and placed it on low table. "Your
body's natural rhythms are disrupted. A strange side effect of
space travel, I'm afraid." The words fell too lightly, too
easily. Qui-Gon hesitated near the table, his body a coiled
spring.
In that moment, Obi-Wan came to a decision of his own.
"Master." Qui-Gon's hands shot out and gripped the edge of the
table. Obi-Wan's voice was seductive, tempting, deliberate.
"You speak of the body's natural rhythms, yet you ignore what
exists between us."
"Ignore?" The word seemed choked, strained. "It is not possible
to ignore you, Padawan. I had hoped...to reach Coruscant
before..." Qui-Gon felt his rigid control stretched to the
snapping point.
"Master." The inflection behind the word was Qui-Gon's
undoing. Taking a deep breath, he turned to see Obi-Wan's eyes
fixed on him, a serious expression on the younger man's face, a
mix of love, curiosity and appetite. Obi-Wan swung his legs
onto the floor and stood, letting the blankets fall, a pool of
scratchy bindings at his feet.
Qui-Gon caught his breath to see his student's nude form. He
was beautiful. Slender, with lean muscles rippling at his sides
as he kicked away the blankets. Under his Master's scrutiny,
his chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes never left the
perceptive gaze of his Master. The slight scars left by their
most recent enemy were fading rapidly. "I'm healed, Master,"
Obi-Wan said reassuringly. "And you made me a promise..."
Qui-Gon felt an intimate, primal need to touch his student, and
gave into it without thinking. Quickly, before he could change
his mind, he crossed the short distance between himself and his
student, and slid his arms around the younger man. Obi-Wan
caught his breath at the familiar touch he'd yearned for so
desperately, and his arms enfolded his Master without
hesitation. There was no time to reverse his decision, as
Qui-Gon bent his head and caught Obi-Wan's lower lip between
his own, switching to the upper, then the lower lip again,
kissing so delicately that Obi-Wan ached to be bruised.
Qui-Gon's hands traveled every inch of the body he'd learned so
well, seen so many times exposed in battle or practice,
stroking with delicacy, without finesse, luscious but dark. His
touch seemed to pull on his young apprentice's unprepared
senses, eliciting gasps and guttural words, emotion without
control. Obi-Wan reached blindly to regain command, but Qui-Gon
subdued him. "Be still, Padawan," his Master soothed. "There is
still so much for you to learn..."
With infinite care, Qui-Gon ran his hands across his student's
torso, feeling Obi-Wan tremble under the gentle touch. His
thumbs traced the deep scars where recent wounds were healed by
his hands through the Force, then slid upwards, tracing the
small dark nipples, alive and aware. Obi-Wan again raised his
hands to touch Qui-Gon, but was firmly stopped. He yielded to
his Master's superior strength almost without thinking, as he
had so many times in training, but this was different...the
ripples of power coming from his Master were dangerous, almost
exotic, and he was astonished by them. He gave himself over to
his Master's will.
Obi-Wan's skin was acutely sensitive, and he shivered with an
overload of sensation, his breath coming in gasps and pants. He
breathed his warmth into his Master's waiting mouth, his lips
settling and retreating, awkward hesitation and joyful abandon
warring within that small space, tongues and teeth sliding at
once into new but familiar patterns. So carefully, Qui-Gon
pushed his Padawan back onto the bed, his arm catching and
supporting their combined weight as they tangled together, a
mass of jangled nerve endings and unlocked desires. Obi-Wan
tugged at Qui-Gon's cloak, the movement growing more insistent
with every passing second, and together they managed to divest
his Master of his garments.
Qui-Gon paused, to capture Obi-Wan's eyes with his own,
declaring something so desperately needed that Obi-Wan felt his
heart rising. "Master," he murmured, earnestly, implying a
thousand shades of significance with the throaty utterance.
Qui-Gon was completely destroyed. He bent his head low over the
precious body of his student, his lips tracing a velvet path
down the torso, to the mass of dark golden curls which nestled
just below his hips.
Obi-Wan cried out as the sharp pangs of ecstasy consumed him,
while his Master's mouth drained every objection, tongue
swirling and cresting over waves of buoyant joy. His hands
flailed and were braced by the strength of his Master's hands,
which pressed him down against his muffled objections, as his
hips left the cot and he was swallowed in a warm haven of
acceptance. His Master's strength flowed into him and around
him, as the living Force surged and sparked, and his soft cries
of unbearable rapture became his Master's cries where they were
molded together as one.
Teeth raked across defenseless flesh, resulting in a primitive
growl of unleashed, heedless wanting. Obi-Wan was finally
permitted to raise his hands and he twined them in the silky
strands of his Master's hair which fell across his stomach,
deadly in their light caress. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's fingers
tighten securely around his waist as he roared his affirmation
of his love, bucking and lunging toward the hot, tight cavern
which welcomed him.
Qui-Gon pulled his Padawan into his arms and calmed the tremors
which coursed through the slender form, transferring his own
energy and will into the younger man to still Obi-Wan's
clamoring nerves. Obi-Wan nestled his face into Qui-Gon's neck,
biting gently there, his eyes closed against a feeling too
powerful to be borne, or conveyed with the nakedness of a look.
Recognizing his apprentice's vulnerability, Qui-Gon reached
down and retrieved one of the discarded blankets, wrapping it
around them smoothly.
"Master," Obi-Wan said with a shudder, as if speaking gave him
pain.
"What is it, Padawan?" Qui-Gon's words were fraught with such
tenderness that Obi-Wan could not suppress a surge of devotion.
"I am truly healed," Obi-Wan said softly, and nestled further
into the embrace of his Master, who welcomed him.
"As am I, Obi-Wan, " Qui-Gon said softly. "Rest now."
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