by Destina Fortunato (destinaf@hotmail.com) and Rina
(RinaSHW@aol.com)
Series: Second in our "Twilight Burning" songfic series, based
on songs from
Depeche Mode's album "Violator". Sequel to "Halo".
Pairing: Q/O
Category: angst, drama, smut!, songfic, first times
Timeline: Set about one year before TPM.
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Master and Apprentice, SWAL, QJEB, and The Nesting
Place only; all others ask first please.
Disclaimer: They're ours, we can do what we want with them!
Oops, sorry. They belong to wonderful Mr. Lucas, we just play
with them and torture them a bit.
Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon give into their darkest, most
forbidden desires.
Authors' Notes: A darker version of the Q/O relationship,
brought to you by two 80's-music- obsessed, dark-storyline,
angst-ridden-plotline junkies. Enjoy! :-) Thanks for the beta,
Tracy.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated - heck, who are we kidding, we
live for it!
//The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone...//
Qui-Gon Jinn burned.
No amount of concentration, meditation or exercise could banish
the bone-deep sensation that clung to his body, igniting
reactions that had long been forced into dormancy by the strict
edicts of the Code. Forbidden, prohibited, banned, it mattered
not what words were used to describe it, the path he and
Obi-Wan had embarked on earlier this evening was not allowed.
Discovery would lead to the ruination of both of them.
Then you must make sure that this does not occur.
It was his place as the elder, the Master, the teacher, to
assure that his apprentice was protected -- at least in this
single instance. Certainly at this stage of his life Obi-Wan
needed shielding from little else. His weapons sense was higher
than most field-tested knights. It was only his feel for the
living Force -- or more correctly his sometimes erratic control
over it and his emotions -- that remained an obstacle to his
progression within the Order.
Imbued with a sense of restless energy that was totally foreign
to him, Qui-Gon pushed his chair back from the console and
paced the length of the room, an act that took all of fifteen
seconds, considering the size of his temporary quarters.
Staying in the rooms he shared with his Padawan was impossible.
Physical separation had been the only solution, albeit a
temporary and inadequate one.
Even now Qui-Gon felt the lick of Obi-Wan's mind against his,
communicating restive need and frustration, the touch grating
against his already shredded sensibilities. Lust flared and the
Jedi Master sought to block the link only to find it too firmly
entrenched to be totally shut off. Even after a concentrated
effort the effects lingered, bringing with them a painful
tightening of his body. He felt the desire to make done with
all this foolishness by returning to their rooms and laying
claim to that intoxicating mouth, to rip and tear until the
lithe body was free from its protective covering, to plunder,
to take...
Where are all your vaunted ideals now, Qui-Gon? he
demanded of himself, feeling close to suffocation by the close
quarters of his hastily procured sleeping space. The room was
even more spartan than his own quarters; there was nothing to
distract his mind from the siren's song of his need, and that
of his apprentice. Too easily he could picture Obi-Wan lying on
his bed, tossing from side to side in an effort to set aside
the violent emotions they had engendered in each other.
The vision of his Padawan twisting on his bed, his arousal all
too plainly outlined by the thin sheet, drew an answering throb
of anticipation from deep within Qui-Gon. What would it feel
like to be sheathed in the clinging heat of Obi-Wan's body? How
would it feel to be taken to the edge by the pressure of
Obi-Wan's length within him, or his mouth on him, or .. .
Another long-held restriction snapped under the pressure of
unrelenting lust and Qui-Gon threw himself on the narrow bed,
stripping off his sleep pants in the same motion, his hand
moving unerringly to his straining erection. As he took up a
hard, demanding pace, Qui-Gon reached for the newly deepened
link that had formed between himself and Obi-Wan. The contact
between their minds opened enough to let the younger man know
what he was doing, to give him a taste of what their union
would be like once the final restraints of duty and
civilization were stripped away.
//The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind//
There had never been a night so long, not in the entire history
of all the worlds of the Republic.
Obi-Wan flung himself over onto his back, resisting the urge to
reach between his legs and touch himself until the ache there
dissipated. His restless rolling around the bed had developed a
steady pattern over the last few hours. Turn to the left, stare
out the window. Turn on his stomach, groan at the pressure on
his aching cock, turn on his right side. Clutch the pillow and
try to focus his mind on the tasks of the day which refused to
arrive. Roll onto his back, kick the covers and resist the
incredible, growing urge to take his cock in his hands and...
The young Jedi closed his eyes and laced his fingers tightly
together beneath his head, controlling his breathing. He drew
down his lust into the very small space in his brain usually
reserved for purging anger and hatred.
And groaned as a sudden image of Qui-Gon leaped into his mind.
He saw his Master in the quarters he'd procured for the night,
nude, a sheet twisted carelessly around his muscular legs,
which were slightly spread across the bed, heels dug into the
soft mattress. His Master's body shone in the dim light, a
sheen of sweat glowing on him, as his hand worked mercilessly
up and down...
Obi-Wan's eyes popped open, wide and desperate. His own need
twitched on his belly, demanding attention. He vaulted off the
bed and moved as quickly as he was able toward the shower,
suddenly feeling quivers of desire like shooting pains in his
hips and thighs, drawn deep from his loins...and the sensations
were not his own. Carefully, he climbed into the shower and
slapped his hand against the control sensor, bringing a deluge
of cold water. He rested his hands and forehead against the
wall as the water shocked his body, cowing it into immediate
submission, and the terrible twinges of want eased in him.
This should not be happening! he thought fuzzily, as
images continued to press into his mind, his Master arching off
the bed, small growls and shouts of pleasure echoing in an
empty room. His name was on his Master's lips, a fierce sound
that sent Obi-Wan further under the cascading water, back to
the wall, open palms pressed against the cool tile, his heart
pounding with the shared force of unconcealed passion. Qui-Gon
wanted him to see, wanted him to know, wanted
everything... his Master was giving him a piece of the darkness
of his soul, a preview of what awaited them when they joined.
Obi-Wan tried to clip off the invading thoughts, determined to
pass this night without giving in to his desire. The edge would
be much sharper, the need much harder and focused, if he could
just stave off the building urgency, the extraordinary waves of
emotion that were pulling at him like coarse tethers. He tasted
the tang of his own blood and realized with some surprise he'd
been biting down furiously on his lip. He tilted his head
forward, dousing himself with water, lips parted, eyes closed.
Silently, he made a firm promise to himself.
He would more than repay Qui-Gon for the cost of this little
experiment in agony when finally they were together.
//I stop and I stare too much
Afraid that I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell would be broken//
Sleep had proven elusive, even after one of the most intense
orgasms Qui-Gon could remember - definitely the most
mind-shattering climax he had ever had while alone.
"What is happening to me?" The question echoed off bare walls
that a short time before had borne witness to the sounds of his
solitary pleasure. Swinging his legs off the bed, his elbows
resting on his knees and his long hair shrouding his face in a
sea of shadows, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, the better to restore
some kind of order to his thoughts.
A faint ghost of a chill washed over his skin, making him
shudder, and it was then the Jedi Master realized how his
apprentice had dealt with the situation. A cold shower --
perhaps that was the thing he needed also. If nothing else it
might purge his body of the parts of his desire that remained
unslaked, demanding nothing less than a total joining before
they would subside.
Shower, then exercise and food. Sleep was not a necessity.
Qui-Gon had survived on far less for greater periods of time,
although the circumstances were indeed unique this time. After
his morning meal would come a trip to the opposite side of a
planet. There was a small, private resort he had visited during
peace talks between two factions of a trade franchise that
would be perfect for what was to come.
Plan each step out and you will stay in control of the
situation. There was no room for error here, too much
depended on it. One wrong look, one stray thought and the
Council would become aware -- and they would not be forgiving.
Pushing his hair back out of his face, the Jedi Master rose,
his long body unfolding from the low bed with the feral grace
of a jungle predator that has caught scent of its mate and is
preparing to enter into the hunt. Now that he had a plan of
attack, Qui-Gon was able to settle his thoughts into more or
less a semblance of their normal, rational state. To
compartmentalize -- if only for now -- the damning need for his
apprentice that had possessed him.
"Is the suite satisfactory?"
The question drew Qui-Gon out of his reverie. He gave the
resort's proprietor a short nod that revealed nothing of the
turbulent thoughts churning beneath the smooth façade of
the Jedi's outer demeanor. Here outside the Temple, putting on
such a front was child's play, but Qui-Gon knew that things
would get much more complicated once he returned to the massive
tower.
All morning the pulse of Obi-Wan's emotions had pressed against
his thoughts, a steady barrage of intertwined lust, frustration
and impatience that at times made the hairs on the back of the
older man's neck rise due to their insistence. All morning
Qui-Gon had forced himself to ignore the sensations,
concentrating on the here and now instead of what was to come.
"Is there anything else you require?"
At the Jedi's negative head shake, the proprietor bowed and
swept out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him and
leaving Qui-Gon alone.
A soft, artificial breeze tugged at his hair, drawing his gaze
to the wide windows that dominated the outside wall of the
rooms. The scene projected on the forcescreen was of one of the
rural planets and was rendered in exacting detail down to the
sounds and scents carried on the wind.
This was good. The serenity of the setting would hopefully
prove to balance the violent emotions flaring between himself
and his Padawan and if not... well, the bed was at least large
and sturdy enough to withstand most anything.
Qui-Gon nodded again, then went to work unpacking the small bag
he had brought with him, setting the contents on the small
bedside table. He had barely placed the second item on the
stand when a sharp pain flared at the side of his neck, a
burning sensation accompanied by a spike in the background
noise from the link he shared with from Obi-Wan.
"By the Hells ..." Concern added strength to his own sending,
shoving against the shields in his apprentice's mind until a
hasty reassurance on Obi-Wan's part partially assuaged
Qui-Gon's worry, at least as to the other man's physical state.
His mental condition, however, was quite another story.
The knowledge that he had to get Obi-Wan out of the Temple --
and soon -- beat at Qui-Gon, bringing with it the gnawing sense
of self-doubt concerning this course of action. If Obi-Wan had
not been so adamant . . .
Putting aside the attempt to lay blame where none could be
assigned, unless it was squarely on his own shoulders, the Jedi
Master calmed himself with a moment's meditation and then went
back to his task.
The carryall was empty and Qui-Gon was making a last inspection
of the rooms to assure himself that all was in readiness when
the next assault hit. Towering waves of need, vivid, erotic
images that meshed with his own from the night before, a tight,
almost painful pressure at his groin . . . Obi-Wan was
broadcasting again with little notice or apparent concern that
his emotions had overrun the tight band of their private
connection and had spilled out onto a broader spectrum that
anyone attuned to the Force could feel.
The lust spiraled into a tight knot that begged for a single
touch to be released. The fine lines around Qui-Gon's eyes
deepened as he fought the temptation by striding out of the
room, stalking toward his transport and slamming it into gear,
rocketing back toward the central part of the city and his
apprentice. A lesson in control was indeed in order.
//When I need a drug in me
And it brings out the thug in me
Feel something tugging me
Then I want the real thing not tokens//
Yawning for the tenth time in as many minutes, Obi-Wan switched
his lightsaber to lowest power and set it aside. Ordinarily, he
might have tried to make up for lost rest by sleeping in that
morning - since Qui-Gon was not there to prod him out of bed -
but he had snatched only tiny, drowsy moments of sleep between
unsettled dreams. And then there were his Master's
fantasies...which had needled into him at various hours
throughout the night, creeping in like a slow, low fog and
enveloping him. Before dawn's faintest light had even begun to
take the sky, Obi-Wan was showered (for the third time that
night), dressed, had eaten some fruit for breakfast and was
stretching in preparation for morning exercises.
After a basic warm-up drill involving an hour of laps,
gymnastics and walking on his hands to hone his balance, he
prepared to go through a few katas. It would take up another
hour of what was going to be a very, very long day. And
then perhaps he'd train on a few of the flashier moves with the
lightsaber his Master often discouraged, moves he usually
practiced in his spare time.
Exercise was addictive for Obi-Wan. He craved it when he was
prevented from indulging in it, when sick or injured, and could
not remain inactive for very long. As a child, he was
constantly in motion, to the exasperation of his teachers. Many
lectures and rebukes had been his to endure in his earliest
years at the Academy, due to the simple fact that outer calm
and inner peace were difficult states for him to achieve.
He began his first kata, focusing absently on the movements
which were very familiar and needed little active
concentration. His thoughts immediately returned to the
situation with Qui-Gon. Sighing, he allowed them to flow
naturally, even as his muscles moved in a synchronous rhythm
dictated by the Force.
Obi-Wan mused that something unexpected was happening to the
bond he'd always shared with his teacher. He was starting to
understand things his Master had held back from him and might
never have chosen to reveal, had their mutual desire not become
so ungovernable. For one thing, there was unbelievable passion
locked behind those knowing, stoic eyes. If Obi-Wan felt any
less certain of his feelings, he might have been almost
frightened by the danger of seeing that passion fully,
violently released. The truth was, Obi-Wan knew his own desire,
and knew he was capable of inflicting just as much damage,
should he choose not to keep himself in check. The thought made
him shudder, and he completely lost track of where he was
within the kata.
Swearing in three different languages, Obi-Wan began the kata
again. He wondered where Qui-Gon was, and what he was doing. He
considered reaching out with the Force, but snorted at the
notion. If Qui-Gon was doing anything even remotely like last
night...well, Obi-Wan didn't want to know what he was up to
that badly. Besides, little hints of emotion were tingling at
the base of his brain anyway, like electrical arcs, suddenly
sparking into blue bursts of clarity. Obi-Wan was disconcerted
by how easily his Master was communicating his private
feelings. He sensed bursts of frustration, flaring and
retreating, chasing merciless self-examination and worry. And
beneath them, a gripping need was tearing at his Master.
Much like the need which was arising once again in Obi-Wan,
causing him to shift uncomfortably and lose his place within
the kata once again.
"Hells of the Sith!" he shouted, and was immediately ashamed of
his outburst. Seething, he stood with his hands on his hips,
irritated beyond belief. His glance fell on his lightsaber,
which he instantly called to his hand. Once he'd ignited it, he
swung into patterns he'd been taught by other, more advanced
students, spinning the glowing blade end over end until it
seemed he supported a lighted orb rather than a luminous stick.
As he began dipping the blade in fancy maneuvers which wasted
energy in actual battle, he pictured the look he expected to
see on Qui-Gon's face as he went down on him for the first
time...
Before he was even conscious of the fact that it had gone
astray, his lightsaber was out of his hand and descending on
him from the air above, narrowly missing his face but glancing
across his neck before hitting his tunic and then the floor,
extinguished. He shouted again, this time with pain, and tried
too late to avoid broadcasting his distress. He felt Qui-Gon's
push at his mind, even across this distance, demanding and
concerned. He let his Master know he was all right. It stung,
to be sure, and was a nasty burn, but it could be healed
quickly. He'd sustained far worse.
Obviously, it was not a good time to practice anything too
complicated.
He picked up his lightsaber, glared at it, and attached it to
his belt. He looked up, suddenly realizing that several pairs
of eyes were on him. Other students had stopped, disturbed not
just by his erratic control during the practice drills, but by
what he was projecting with his emotions. He could feel their
curiosity, and disapproval. A chilling wave of anxiety dropped
his stomach into his boots, bringing worry that he'd somehow
given away the secret. If he'd broadcast too much, and someone
went to the Council...even a suspicion of impropriety between
Padawan and Master would be enough to ruin Qui-Gon. He met
their stares defiantly, until one by one, they turned away.
It was too much. He was overloading like a hot hyperdrive
without coolant. Qui-Gon wouldn't be back until the evening. He
wasn't going to last that long.
Within five minutes, Obi-Wan was back in the privacy of the
quarters he usually shared with his Master. One look at
Qui-Gon's bed was enough to send quivering impulses to every
nerve ending. He flung himself on the bed and bounced a few
times, yanking off his leggings. He lay back, closed his hand
around his hard, angry erection, and allowed his mind to take
him back to the night before, to the picture of Qui-Gon rocking
up against his hand, inviting Obi-Wan to be voyeur to his
pleasure. He forced a breath, which emerged as a frayed,
grating sigh, and began to touch himself, stroking as cruelly
as he dared, unyielding pressure tightening with every
movement. What he saw on the private viewing screen on the mind
threw him into a helpless frenzy...Qui-Gon on top of him, as
Obi-Wan bit and scratched, and Qui-Gon showed him the beauty
and power of being possessed... and Qui-Gon beneath him,
accepting that power in return. He felt his muscles lock in
position as he came, unable to breathe, to see, to think, to do
anything but allow the vibrations which wracked him to move
through him, unstoppable.
Spent, he dropped his hand and lay gasping on the bed, mind
numb. Within a few seconds, he became aware that once again,
his reactions were not simply his own...he could feel the
disturbance he had caused, and that same worry overcame him.
And then, he felt it...Qui-Gon's mind, seeking his.
His Master was on his way to Obi-Wan, and he was burning with
anger, and fear. And an unveiled, irrevocable lust.
//Things you'd expect to be
Having effect on me
Pass undetectedly
But everyone knows what has got me//
Qui-Gon moved through the open terrace of the entryway to the
Jedi Temple, fluidly passing through the crowds of people
there. On any given day, Qui-Gon's presence would have caused a
stir; his powerful, graceful movements were eye-catching. On
this day, however, he was met with a number of curious stares,
and his jaw tightened fractionally with each step.
"Qui-Gon," a voice called from behind him.
Pushing aside the urgency which had brought him back to the
Temple, Qui-Gon turned and acknowledged the speaker. "Good day,
Master Arka."
"Master Qui-Gon, a word with you?" The request was pleasant
enough, but there was an undercurrent of firmness in the tone.
Qui-Gon frowned slightly as he met the man's eyes. A young girl
caught up to Arka, stopping at his left elbow. Qui-Gon
recognized her as one of the many new Padawans, just selected
by Masters within the last few days. As his gaze rested on her
momentarily, she flushed deeply, and her eyes flickered to her
Master, then down to the ground. Qui-Gon's frown deepened.
Arka placed his hand on Qui-Gon's elbow and steered him a few
paces from the girl, just out of earshot. "Qui-Gon, something
seems to be...troubling...your Padawan. He seems to be in need
of -"
"I'm well aware of what he needs," Qui-Gon said curtly, cutting
off the suggestion.
Eyebrow raised, Arka looked at his old friend. "Yes, I believe
you are," he said archly. "Know this, then. His repressed
sexuality has taken a toll on my Padawan, although she doesn't
understand the nature of her unease. I would suggest that you
take steps to prevent your Padawan from influencing others
around him."
"Your point is taken," Qui-Gon answered, growing more impatient
with every word.
"Very well. I shall not speak of it again." Arka bowed slightly
and retreated, guilty-looking Padawan in tow.
Qui-Gon resumed his brisk steps toward the interior of the
Temple, but had gone only a few paces inside the building
before hearing his name once again. Seething inwardly, he faced
the second challenger.
"Ah, Master Qui-Gon. Some business has kept you from the Temple
this day?" Master Ess Siala approached him smoothly, her
Padawan remaining in the background, expression neutral.
"Errands elsewhere," he answered.
Siala nodded. "Your apprentice was injured today at practice.
Perhaps you'd heard?"
"I was aware of his injury," Qui-Gon said truthfully,
disconcerted by the fact that she felt the need to point it
out. Perhaps the injury was worse than Obi-Wan had allowed him
to know.
Qui-Gon's all-too-apparent concern jarred Siala, who chose her
next words carefully. "Master Jinn. His injury was a small
burn, nothing serious. It was self-inflicted due to his
carelessness. He was distracted by other matters. His focus was
not on his drills, as it should have been. Jao was present, as
were other Padawans...all is not as it should be with Obi-Wan."
Her dark eyes were inscrutable. "Caution would seem to be most
prudent now, Qui-Gon," she advised softly.
Two old friends warning him within minutes of one another.
Qui-Gon felt a surge first of anger, then dismay, then
resignation.
"Thank you, Siala." A short nod, and he was again off in the
direction dictated by his heart.
As he walked, his emotions simmered in turmoil. The criticism
of other Masters mattered little, but the distraught
expressions of the young Padawans drove home the true reason
why these types of relationships were forbidden. Hidden within
those cautions was a subtle rebuke - he had not taught Obi-Wan
sufficient control. But how could he have known? He could
barely control the storm raging within himself, with all
the experience and techniques available to him. Obi-Wan could
not have been expected to, either.
But he would learn to do so. Qui-Gon would see to it.
He stabbed at the keypad outside the door, gaining entry to
their quarters, finding Obi-Wan on the bed, curled up around a
large pillow, waiting for him. The younger Jedi slowly sat up,
radiating desire and worry. Qui-Gon felt the emotions enter
him, charring his heart, melting him slowly from within. "Come
with me, Obi-Wan," he said tightly.
Without a word, Obi-Wan stood, dropping the pillow, and
followed his Master from the room.
//Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Teaches so deeply
I know that nothing can stop me//
The elder Jedi's blue eyes burned like balefire as he watched
Obi-Wan enter their accommodations ahead of him. Their return
trip from the Temple had passed in silence.
"Close your eyes, Obi-Wan," he stated as the door slid shut
behind them.
Obi-Wan half-turned to look back at Qui-Gon, a questioning
expression on his face.
"Close your eyes." The command was repeated in the same
patient, implacable tone the Jedi Master delivered all his
lessons in.
Reflex took over and Obi-Wan obeyed though he felt a bit of
mutiny stir within him. What the hell was this? He had
expected to be dressed down for his lapse, had almost
anticipated it as the catalyst that would lead to the
dissolution of all barriers between himself and Qui-Gon. But
this? A child's exercise? It made no sense.
Attention to the Moment Gives Knowledge - but not the knowledge
he was seeking, not at this juncture. Awaiting the next
command, Obi-Wan concentrated on his breathing, allowing it to
center him in a kind of fragile peace.
"Tell me what you see." The voice came from over his left
shoulder, whisper-soft against his ear, but demanding.
"Images of Ganvala trees outside the windows, Antillian lace
curtains, mosaic tiles on the floor done in patterns of navy,
maroon, green and gold . . ."
Nodding to himself, Qui-Gon placed his hand on the younger
man's shoulder, the heavy clasp anchoring Obi-Wan more firmly
into the here and now.
A faint sheen of sweat blossomed on Obi-Wan's skin and he
swallowed audibly, striving to keep his mind on the exercise
and not on the pressure of Qui-Gon's hand - or the way it was
now sliding under the neck opening of his tunic, moving gently
over the healing burn.
"Small metal sculpture on the table nearest the windows, navy
couch at the eastern edge of the area rug, two armchairs
opposite it. Doors on the western and southern wall, both
closed."
The weight on his shoulder vanished and Obi-Wan tracked the
quiet rustle of his Master's robes as Qui-Gon moved to stand in
front of him.
"Open your eyes, Obi-Wan," the voice was still stern, still
unrelenting. "Now tell me what you see."
The younger Jedi complied, raising his eyes to meet his
Master's, his gaze holding both wariness and a challenge. "I
see my future. I see that which I most desire. I see you,
Qui-Gon."
The words hung between them with a delicacy the moment did not
deserve, vibrating tensely, while Qui-Gon Jinn felt the
uncaring madness of desire slowly sear away everything else.
Obi-Wan's eyes closed for a moment; he swayed, losing his
bearings within sensation as his Master quite deliberately
unlocked the hidden places he'd never shown, exposing every
feeling. Into this raw awakening came a kiss, punishing, hungry
lips which pushed at Obi-Wan's, coaxing him open, invading him.
Ragged breathing tore at them both as Qui-Gon pulled back, for
the last time, clinging to one slender shred of coherence.
Enough to ask, just once more.
"Are you certain, Obi-Wan?"
In answer, Obi-Wan's hands ripped open Qui-Gon's tunic, tearing
it heedlessly as it was pulled free. Those same hands strayed
with purpose up the muscles of his back, palms climbing,
fingers digging, pulling, as Obi-Wan's lips touched the hard
muscles of Qui-Gon's chest. Teeth bit not at all gently, as
Obi-Wan abandoned all pretext of gentleness.
Qui-Gon felt no need to leash his strength any longer. With a
muted rumble deep in his throat, he closed his hands on the
sides of Obi-Wan's face, contacting those lips below him,
breaking open something primal in them both. He drew one hand
down, locking it around Obi-Wan's throat, feeling the pulse
which hammered beneath his fingertips, feeling unreasonable
pleasure at the power he felt as he tipped the younger man's
head back. Obi-Wan's mouth was free beneath his, willing and
wanton, as Qui-Gon crushed those lips furiously with his own.
Obi-Wan arched into Qui-Gon, pulling frantically at his own
tunic, shredding it in his attempts to throw it aside, to make
sure no obstacle remained between them. He succeeded as
Qui-Gon's hand shifted, carefully avoiding the wound on
Obi-Wan's neck with surprising restraint, brushing down his
torso, finding the waistband of his leggings. Those large hands
settled on his hips for a moment, then shoved the pants
downward. The force of the shove sent them both staggering
sideways, and Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan in a strong embrace,
steadying him, lifting him, taking him with dizzying speed to
the huge bed.
So quickly, the pants and boots disappeared, as Obi-Wan raised
up and marked his Master with a savage nip just above his left
nipple. He was left shuddering from the absence of touch as his
Master pulled away and drew off his own remaining clothing.
Climbing onto the bed beside him, Qui-Gon rolled quickly and
pulled the younger man on top of him, manipulating the slender
body until their legs slid into place, Obi-Wan almost astride
the larger man's thigh, his erection pressing into his Master,
near enough to his Master's cock to cause a sympathetic twitch.
Qui-Gon pulled his Padawan down, long arms wrapped about him,
cradling his head as he brought Obi-Wan's lips to his yet
again, feeling Obi-Wan's hands exploring the subtle angles of
his face, pulling the hair tie free and burying themselves in
that glorious hair. He tore his lips away as his fingers
splayed across Obi-Wan's ass, pushing the younger man into him,
listening with unthinkable pleasure to the sounds of wild
ecstasy his Padawan made, watching through lust-glittered eyes
as Obi-Wan's neck curved back, his face transformed by
elemental eroticism. Obi-Wan tossed his head to the side, then
clutched at Qui-Gon with spasming fingertips, throat
constricted, and Qui-Gon understood what was needed.
Rolling once again, he positioned Obi-Wan beneath him, reaching
to the bedside table and scooping up the bottle he'd left
there. For the first time since all this had begun, he spared a
moment of gratitude that Obi-Wan was not a virgin, that no
preliminaries were needed. He did not have the patience that
would have been needed, nor the control. It was too late for
that. With quick motions, he opened the bottle and spread the
oil sensuously across his cock, fingers dipping lower as he
touched Obi-Wan in the same way.
Obi-Wan reared up into his hand, unsubdued, frighteningly
passionate, as Qui-Gon's fingers stroked lower. Qui-Gon
supported himself over the younger man and licked slowly across
the hard brown nipples, tongue and teeth making war against
flesh. Then, with one hard thrust, they were joined to each
other, and a scream built in Obi-Wan's throat, as Qui-Gon's
hand closed over him, moving in time to the ever-increasing
throbbing inside him, which seemed to echo in his heartbeat.
Qui-Gon stopped moving suddenly, gritting out a harsh command.
"Look... at... me, Obi-Wan..." Those exquisite, radiantly
blue-green eyes, brighter with the light of love, wandered
aimlessly as they opened, fixing slowly on the face above him,
incapable of seeing. Qui-Gon pushed forward slightly, watching
as those eyes clouded with bliss.
It was all he needed. Still moving in time to the rhythm he
felt in his soul, Qui-Gon thrust and touched, feeling every
movement of Obi-Wan's hands and lips on his body like a
branding iron, cutting through him, marking him. He pushed on
ferociously, feeling Obi-Wan twist and smash upwards beneath
him. He was deaf from the roaring in his ears, could feel
nothing but the fire in his blood, as he came with a
devastation which was complete, a wholeness which could not be
measured, feeling Obi-Wan's answering astonishment, as their
minds fused and burst together, becoming nothing but pleasure,
nothing but joy.
//Sweetest perfection
An offer was made
An assorted collection
But I wouldn't trade
Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Teaches so deeply
Nothing can stop me//
"I am sorry, Master."
The words cut through the air, breaking the silence that had
descended, allowing the harsh light of reality to lay bare
their actions and the possible consequences inherent in them.
Flesh was still pressed against flesh, cooling now as synthetic
breezes gusted across smeared beads of sweat and other, more
viscous, fluids.
There was no need for Qui-Gon to ask why his Padawan was
apologizing. The explanation was easily plucked from the top
layer of the younger man's thoughts. Guilt -- not associated
with what had just happened, but centered on the incident which
had brought the Jedi Master back to the Temple.
"The lapse was unfortunate, but also unavoidable. We shall both
be required to work to strengthen our shields and control." As
he spoke, Qui-Gon trailed a single finger tenderly down the
half-healed burn that marred the perfection of Obi-Wan's
throat, tendrils of the Force following the progress and
leaving unblemished skin in their wake.
The absence of the pain of the burn made Obi-Wan more aware of
the various other minor injuries he had acquired during the
course of their savage lovemaking, and he allowed himself the
luxury of remembering how each ache had come about. He accepted
the pain as he had been taught but did nothing to ease it, not
wanting to give up anything that would remind him of this
moment. Their desire had been building for so long, held in
check by the fragile bulwarks of conscience and duty - it was
small wonder the loosing of the flood gates had overwhelmed
both of them. Still, it gave him a small amount of perverse
pleasure to know that in this one case, the master was almost
as undisciplined as the apprentice.
Qui-Gon's voice held a combination of laughter and resignation
-- the tone that of a man who has given up fighting the
direction his life was being swept in - as he spoke in response
to the younger man's thoughts. "This is unknown territory for
both of us. The challenges and tests will be many, Padawan."
"Bu the rewards are worth it, are they not, Master?" Pushing
himself up on one elbow, Obi-Wan gazed down at Qui-Gon, noting
with satisfaction the many small marks he had left on the older
man's body. Midnight blue eyes went half-lidded as Obi-Wan ran
his hand down the center of Qui-Gon's chest, skimming over skin
that was suddenly a mass of hyper-sensitive nerve endings.
"The rewards are more than worth it, my Obi-Wan," the older
Jedi said roughly. "But...as I was reminded today...caution
would be most prudent now. There will be time - we will
make time, but we cannot allow what has occurred to
affect our work or any future missions. You will be a Knight. I
will accept nothing else."
"There are things in this life that I want more than being a
Knight, Qui-Gon." Saying this, Obi-Wan reached for the Force
and harnessed a bit to roll them both over so that he was
looking down at his Master, looming over him, pushing his
determination against the other man's mind much as his
awakening body pressed against Qui-Gon's hard thigh. "Do not
seek to tell me my feelings in this matter. If the Council made
me choose between the Order and you, there would be no choice."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue, to deny his Padawan's words,
but instead found his lips covered and claimed by Obi-Wan's
hungry kiss. The discussion would wait. For the moment, the
only thing that mattered was the strong, lithe body atop his,
the long, dexterous fingers that were bringing him to full
arousal once again, the familiar, addictive touch of Obi-Wan's
mind as the younger man showed Qui-Gon what was to come next
and the ache deep inside him that only one thing could ease.
It was madness. It could lead to disgrace for both of them, but
it was too late to retreat. Whatever the outcome, this path
would be taken to its ending. What a glorious, perilous trip it
would be.
End. 7/10/99
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