Archive: MA, WWOMB, anywhere else please ask first
Category: h/c, angst, first-time
Rating: NC-17
WARNINGS!!: implied rape (not described)
Summary: When all that you are has been taken from you,
sometimes the only response is give yourself away.
Feedback: Yes, please! Any and all feedback is desired, craved,
and appreciated (I mean it!) n_sanity75@hotmail.com
Author's Note: This was inspired by the opening scene of TJ's
"Revelations", although it takes a somewhat different turn. :)
Qui-Gon turned on the light in the main living area of their
apartment and carefully led Obi-Wan into the room. The young
man's shoulders looked taut under the thick brown folds of his
robe, although his smooth face betrayed nothing.
"Go have a seat," Qui-Gon urged gently, his heart aching. "I'll
get us something to drink."
"Yes, Master."
Obi-Wan's voice was toneless, hollow. Qui-Gon turned away with
a barely concealed wince and moved into the kitchen. His hands
found the glasses in the cupboard without any conscious
volition, and he stood there for a moment, leaning his head
forward against the smooth paneled wood of the shelves,
listening to his heart thunder in his ears. He felt dizzy for a
moment, light-headed, and he had to remind himself yet again
that this was real, that it had truly happened.
*His padawan, naked and trembling, hands bound cruelly behind
his back, thin gold line of the Force-suppressant collar a
stark outline against the pale skin of his throat...*
Qui-Gon drew in a tremulous breath and closed his eyes,
fighting against the wave of nausea that rose in him. It had
been a fairly routine assignment, mediating the civil dispute
between the inhabitants of the native Dreyela. Routine, that
is, until one of the local princes had taken it on himself to
kidnap one of the visiting Jedi delegates.
*Sweat-slick skin, bruised and marked with the signs of his
claiming, shuddering under the harsh, unforgiving light of the
overhead lamps. Sheets tousled and twisted around his trembling
body, accentuating the light, fleshy rose color of his skin...*
Woodenly, Qui-Gon moved to the cooler and removed a pitcher of
chilled palaia juice. He poured the blood red liquid into the
two glasses he had obtained, carefully filling them to exactly
the same height, barely aware of the movements his hands made
as they went about this extremely well-familiar task.
*He had shied away from Qui-Gon's hand as the Jedi Master
sought to calm him, had cried out in horror as Qui-Gon's
fingers touched the skin at his nape, seeking to remove the
detestable golden collar. The sound of his Master's voice had
soothed him, at least enough for Qui-Gon to pull the abhorable
object away from him, flinging it with a surge of rage against
the far corner of the room...*
He returned the pitcher to its place in the cooler and shut the
door, moving with carefully measured strides to where he had
left the glasses sitting on the counter. They felt pleasantly
chill under his hands, banishing some of the heat that coursed
through him, as he swore once again that he would *not* let any
of his furiously banked anger bleed over the bond he shared
with Obi- Wan. The young man had suffered enough without being
made subject to his Master's impotent fury.
*As the collar was lifted from his neck, he had given a low,
animal-like moan, and then a staggering explosion of Force had
whipped through the room, catching up every object not bolted
to the floor and immediately shattering them into a billion
star- crossed fragments, spilling in a rainbow of glittering
pieces to the floor...*
Qui-Gon banished the memories from his mind as he entered the
living room. His eyes found Obi-Wan immediately. His padawan
was sitting with perfect poise at one end of the couch, his
face carefully revealing nothing of the thoughts that swirled
like muddy water behind the blankness of his gaze. He looked
impeccably correct in his white tunics and dark Jedi robe,
seeming almost to find solace by hiding within their concealing
folds.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said gently, and it was a moment before the
young man's eyes moved to track the sound of his voice. Obi-
Wan's expression did not change as he met his Master's gaze.
Wordlessly, Qui-Gon held out the glass of juice to him. He
accepted it readily enough, although he made no move to drink
from it.
Qui-Gon sat down on the couch next to him, deliberately keeping
some distance between them, and took a pensive sip from his own
glass, barely tasting the sweet liquid as it slid down his
parched throat. He had devoted very little time to taking care
of himself recently, and his body was suffering for it;
realizing for the first time how very thirsty he was, he gulped
down more of the ice-cold liquid, making a vaguely pleased
sound in the back of his throat as he swallowed it down.
Simple pleasures like this, he could allow himself. His
enjoyment faded, however, as he watched Obi-Wan, who was
staring distractedly at the floor as if he meant to burn a hole
through it with his gaze alone. His hands were white-knuckled
around the curve of his glass.
"If you're going to break it, Obi-Wan, I would suggest you
drink at least some of the juice first. It will mean less of a
mess for us to clean up later."
Obi-Wan looked up at him, startled, and then turned a rather
shame-faced look to the glass in his hand. With a visible
effort, he relaxed his death-grip on it and slowly raised the
glass to his lips. A faint look of astonishment creased his
brows, echoed by a flicker of surprise through their bond, and
then he was drinking deeply, obviously savoring the cool,
familiar taste of the juice.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Thirsty?"
"Yes. I didn't think I would be." With a sigh, he leaned back
against the cushions of the couch, seeming almost to relax for
a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "This is harder than
I thought it would be."
"What is?"
"Coming home."
Qui-Gon didn't press for details. He was all too aware of the
tightly reined emotions that surged within his padawan,
spilling over the bond they shared despite Obi-Wan's best
efforts to shield them from him. The thought of what had
happened to make his apprentice feel these things sparked
another wave of anger in Qui-Gon's mind, forcing him to up his
own shields a notch lest Obi-Wan be made aware of it. The last
thing the boy needed was to sense any kind of violent emotion
from his Master, not now.
For a moment, Qui-Gon was caught by the stunning iridescence of
his padawan's eyes, so open and innocent despite the trauma
that had been inflicted on him. For the first time, Qui-Gon let
himself consider the word that described what his Obi-Wan had
been subjected to. Such an ugly, hateful little word, but with
such a power to hurt...
There were dark circles around Obi-Wan's eyes, giving him a
wounded, world-weary air. He hadn't slept much since the
incident had occurred, and what little rest he did manage to
get was filled with such nightmares and vague horrors that
Qui-Gon was left thinking he would be better off without any
sleep at all.
But all that would change now that they were home. The Healers
had examined the boy and declared him physically healed from
his ordeal, and Mace had even foregone the usual demand for an
instant post-mission briefing so that Qui-Gon could bring his
young charge home and see to his needs as best he could.
Qui-Gon could still see the haunted look in his old friend's
eyes as he led Obi-Wan out of the Healer's complex and towards
the aircar that would bring them home. Mace had understood,
perhaps better than Qui-Gon did himself.
Now all he wanted was for the demons that haunted his padawan
to be laid to rest. Obi-Wan held himself erect in the proper
Jedi posture, but there was a tension to his lean shoulders
that spoke of a bone-shattering weariness just barely held at
bay. Beautiful, Qui-Gon couldn't help but think, the way it
made him look so tender, almost fragile in his innocence. No,
not fragile, but simply...
...used...
With a sudden scowl, Qui-Gon put his empty glass aside and rose
to his feet in one fluid movement. Obi-Wan glanced up at him in
surprise. More gently, he turned to his padawan and said, "I
think you should get some sleep now, Obi-Wan. It's very late,
and I think some honest rest would do us both some good." He
tried not to sound as tired as he felt, but wasn't sure if he
succeeded.
Obi-Wan's lips parted slightly as if he were going to protest,
but then they pressed together into a thin line as he rose
smoothly to his feet, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of
submission. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon shadowed him to the bedroom, not quite willing to let
him go just yet. Obi-Wan's movements were smooth and seemingly
unhindered until he actually reached the door to the room. Then
he paused, and Qui-Gon felt something very like despair rise up
in him.
"What is it, Obi-Wan?" He asked this quietly, standing close
behind his wounded young padawan, so close that the boy had to
be able to feel his breath stirring the hairs at the back of
his neck. He wanted desperately to take the young man in his
arms but was unsure how the gesture would be interpreted, so he
held himself carefully still and just let himself share his
apprentice's pain.
It was a moment before Obi-Wan answered. His eyes were focused
on the cool, purple darkness of his room, which was illuminated
by the faintly shimmering lights outside his window. He was
obviously hesitant to step inside, although it had been his
haven for more than ten years now.
"I don't want to be alone," he said at last.
Qui-Gon felt another surge of anger at the man who had done
this to his padawan, had turned him into this frightened,
hesitant creature without any sense of self or autonomy,
locking him away inside the prison of his own fears. Unbidden,
his hands moved to his apprentice's shoulders, and Obi-Wan
leaned back against him.
"It'll be all right," Qui-Gon whispered roughly.
"I know."
They stood like that for a while, leaning against each other,
and Qui-Gon was struck with the thought that Obi-Wan was giving
comfort at least as much as he was receiving it. How was it
that Qui-Gon had been injured by this as much as Obi-Wan was?
He had not been the one victimized by the vicious lusts of a
hedonistic lordling. He had only had to stand by while the
search was underway, unable to locate his apprentice through
their bond because of the Force-suppression properties of the
collar that had been forced on him, frantic with worry and
impotent rage as he wondered at the reason behind this attack
on his padawan...
He took a deep, shuddering breath, releasing his increasing
agitation into the Force. Now was not the time to dwell on
these things, not when Obi-Wan needed him. "You need to get
some sleep," he urged, focusing on the clean scent of his
padawan's hair, which was pleasantly soft against the skin of
his face. He rubbed his cheek against it gently. Such a pure,
wholesome scent, so utterly Obi-Wan.
"Don't leave me, Master." This was a low whisper, haunted,
broken.
Qui-Gon's arms tightened instinctively around him. "I'm not
going anywhere." Slow surge of anger again, quickly suppressed.
"I'm not going to leave you."
A slow tremor passed through Obi-Wan at that, and he seemed to
fold into Qui-Gon, as if he were trying to become a part of
him. His head turned, sliding his cheek against the coarseness
of his Master's beard. His breath was warm on Qui-Gon's face.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice rough with the threat of
tears.
Qui-Gon forced a low chuckle, turning his padawan around to
face him. Resting his hands lightly on those silently trembling
shoulders, he said, "And what do you have to be sorry for?"
He had meant it as a rhetorical question, but Obi-Wan answered
him. "I should be stronger than this. I should be able to
handle it better. But I just can't seem to ... let it go..."
Wide eyes, staring up at him, the faintest glitter of unshed
tears fracturing their steady blue-green light. Qui-Gon kneaded
his fingers into the robes covering his padawan's shoulders,
trying to ease some of the hunted-animal tension out of the
lean muscles under his hands.
"Listen to me, Obi-Wan. You have nothing to be sorry for.
Nothing. It's going to take time, but I promise you we will get
through this." The swirling rage, never far from the surface of
his thoughts these days, rose in him again, and he tramped it
down hurriedly before Obi-Wan could become aware of it.
Despite his efforts, some of the Jedi Master's anger must have
bled over their bond to Obi-Wan, because the younger man tensed
slightly. Perversely, however, it seemed to comfort him.
Smiling faintly, he lifted one long finger and laid it against
Qui-Gon's lips. "My protector," he murmured.
Qui-Gon's lips parted in a soft exhalation. Before he knew
quite what he was saying, he asked, "Would you feel more
comfortable sleeping with me tonight?"
He almost winced once the words left his mouth, not sure how
Obi- Wan would react to them. But his padawan looked relieved
and nodded slightly, leaning into him once again. Qui-Gon
closed his arms around the younger man and hugged him close,
amazed at the tension that was strung through that small frame.
"Thank you, Master." The words were thick with warmth and
gratitude.
It had been years since Obi-Wan had shared his Master's bed.
Certainly not since he was a child, and Qui-Gon found himself
wistfully remembering those long-forgotten days. Obi-Wan, young
and fierce, bright and bold, burrowing close against his
Master's side like a werecub seeking to shield itself from all
the unknown terrors of the world. Qui-Gon had never let on how
much he enjoyed those quiet evenings, basking in the love and
trust of the child in his arms, awed all over again at the fact
that they had been brought together. Obi-Wan, his light.
Obi-Wan, his heart. Had he ever truly known happiness before
this man came into his life?
He helped Obi-Wan out of his boots and then removed his own,
but he made no suggestion that they remove any clothing to be
more comfortable. Obi-Wan seemed quite content to curl up
inside the voluminous folds of his robe, and Qui-Gon followed
suit, not wanting anything to disturb the fragile peace that
seemed to have fallen over his apprentice. The bed felt
remarkably good under him as he settled his length onto it, and
he was reminded again of how long it had been since he'd had a
good night's rest. Obi- Wan was already curled up on his side,
his back to him, a wealth of anxiety evident in the curve of
his spine. Qui-Gon could sense his desire for further comfort,
as well as his reluctance to ask for it.
Ever so carefully, he eased Obi-Wan back into his arms, keenly
looking out for the slightest sign of discomfort, of recoiling
from his embrace. But Obi-Wan turned at his touch, folding into
his arms with a sigh of contentment, and the ever-present
tension in his shoulders actually seemed to ease slightly. He
nuzzled into Qui-Gon's body like a newborn kit seeking its
mother's milk, and Qui-Gon held him close, giving him what
comfort he could.
Slowly, the younger man's breathing evened out into the uniform
rhythm of sleep. Qui-Gon lay there for a long while, holding
him, watching the play of lights outside the window in the
night- darkened Coruscant sky. He was very much aware of the
feel of Obi-Wan's breath on his neck, hot and moist, and the
steady pulse of the heart beating against his chest in tandem
with his own. A slow, sweet ache was beginning to radiate out
of his groin, and he shifted his hips back slightly, trying to
distance himself from the ardent heat of his padawan's body.
Obi-Wan made a small, dissatisfied sound in his sleep and
burrowed closer to his Master, and Qui-Gon acquiesced with an
aborted sigh. He would just have to cope with his entirely
inappropriate arousal and hope that it wouldn't bleed over
their bond to disturb his padawan's rest.
Too weary to meditate, too anxious to sleep, Qui-Gon lay in the
darkness and watched the moonlight as it played across his
sleeping padawan's body. For a moment, he allowed himself to
bask in the pure, unadulterated relief that his apprentice had
been returned to him, relatively unharmed and relatively whole.
It would be a long time before the healing process was
complete, but for now he was content merely to have his padawan
home.
Steadfastly, he refused to think about how good it felt to hold
Obi-Wan in his arms. It was a long time before he fell asleep.
He woke suddenly, shocked to wakefulness by the violent tremors
that were wracking through Obi-Wan's body. Frowning, Qui-Gon
threw off the last clinging vestiges of sleep and tried to calm
his padawan's vehement trembling.
"Noooo..." Obi-Wan moaned, his brow creasing. His eyes were
still closed in sleep, and he pushed weakly against Qui-Gon's
chest, trying to extricate himself from his master's embrace.
Immediately, Qui-Gon released him. "Shh, Padawan," he murmured,
sending a flood of reassurance over their bond. Obi-Wan's
thoughts were a morass of violent emotions, a tangle of low
pulsing fear coupled with a memory of heat, of dreadful
pressure, all of it mingling to choke the breath from his
lungs. Sweat stood out on his brow, glistening in the
moonlight, and Qui-Gon struggled to keep his own rampaging
heartbeat under control as he fought to still his padawan's
frantic thrashings.
"Shh, it's only a dream, my Padawan, my Obi-Wan, shh, you're
safe now..." He continued to murmur nonsensically, and after a
few moments his words began to have the desired effect, as
Obi-Wan calmed under the soft, soothing touch of his hands.
Warm blue eyes blinked slowly open to gaze up at him. Obi-Wan
took a deep, quivering breath, and then burrowed into him,
seeming to seek the comfort of his presence instinctively out
of the confusion of half-awake impressions that still clung to
him. Qui-Gon closed his arms around him and stroked his hair
gently, feeling Obi-Wan's emotions quiet under the caress.
"It's all right, Obi-Wan," he said, very much aware of the
tremors that still vibrated through the young body in his arms.
He moved his hand in slow, soothing circles over the young
man's back, and was pleased when Obi-Wan relaxed slightly into
his embrace. "You're home now. It's over. You're safe."
"I always feel safe with you." The words were spoken so softly
that Qui-Gon could almost believe he'd imagined them.
He smiled slightly, feeling a rush of affection for this brave
young man. "We're going to beat this, Obi-Wan." Low, fierce
words, brooking no room for argument. "You're not alone. What
can I do to make it easier for you?"
Silence then, punctuated by a moist exhalation against the skin
of his neck. Then Obi-Wan seemed almost visibly to pull himself
together, and he whispered, "Make me feel."
Qui-Gon wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly. Obi-Wan's head
was bent under his chin, effectively shielding the young man's
expression from him. "Make you feel?" he echoed. "Feel what?"
"Something else."
There was something about the softly spoken phrase that sent a
shiver of arousal down Qui-Gon's spine. Obi-Wan's voice rasped
like sandpaper across his skin, low and sensual. Force help
him, the boy couldn't have any idea how erotic his voice was.
With an effort, Qui-Gon threw up a hasty shield around the slow
spike of desire that rose in him, hoping desperately that
Obi-Wan hadn't noticed it. He was angry at himself for feeling
this way, for thinking of his apprentice in this light when it
was obviously the last thing that either of them needed right
now.
There was no change in the slow, steady breathing under
Qui-Gon's chin, and he let out a pent-up breath he hadn't even
known he'd been holding. His reaction had apparently gone by
unobserved.
"I don't know what you mean," he said at last.
When Obi-Wan spoke, his voice was low and even, with a
distracted quality to the words that suggested he might have
been talking about someone else entirely. "I can still feel his
hands on me," he said. "Touching me. Making me feel..." He
trailed off, unwilling to continue.
Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat, and he hugged Obi-Wan
closer to his chest, nuzzling the bristled hair at the top of
the young man's head. "It's over now, Obi-Wan."
"No, it isn't." Obi-Wan's voice was cold. "I want it to be, but
it isn't. It's like a part of me never left that place. Or like
a part of it never left me..."
Not knowing what to say, Qui-Gon simply held him and let him
talk, knowing that even this was a healing of sorts.
"I want to forget it, erase it, pretend it never happened. But
I can't. I can't, Master."
He sounded vaguely self-deprecating. Qui-Gon frowned and
tightened his arms around his apprentice's shoulders. "It's not
your fault, Obi-Wan. Do not blame yourself for this, any of it.
I could not bear it if you blamed yourself." And again, softly,
"What can I do?"
Obi-Wan repeated his earlier plea. "I need to feel something
else, Master. Please. Give me something to think of other than
... what happened to me."
Something like ice coiled in the pit of Qui-Gon's stomach.
"Obi- Wan..."
"Please, Master." His voice had roughened, and with a start,
Qui-Gon realized that he could feel the soft warmth of tears
where Obi-Wan's face was pressed against his neck. "Please."
This was barely a whisper.
Qui-Gon was stricken. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around
the concept of what Obi-Wan was asking of him. "Obi-Wan, I
don't know if I-"
"Make love to me, Master."
With those gentle words, all of Qui-Gon's careful defenses blew
away like dust in the wind. He bit back a low moan, fiercely
glad that Obi-Wan could not see his face, and deliberately
unclenched the fists that his hands had become. A sudden
roaring filled his ears, identifiable after a moment as the
thunderous pounding of his heart.
"Do you want to make love to me, Master?" Small, timid voice,
barely audible. Warm breath against his skin.
*I have never wanted anything more.* But the words caught in
his throat, choking him. He felt as if he were being ripped
open and remade all at the same time, as the feelings spun
through him, dizzying.
Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's silence as a negative. His voice had
cooled considerably when he spoke next. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't
want to ask. I know it would be difficult for you. But if you
could find it in yourself to ... I mean, if you could make the
sacrifice ... please..." He was losing whatever tenuous control
he had won, and the tears were starting all over again. His
shoulders shook gently with quiet sobs.
It was too much for Qui-Gon. That this beautiful, passionate
young man should feel the need to debase himself like this, to
beg his Master to make love to him out of pity, that he would
crave Qui-Gon's touch at all after the horrors that had been
done to him... "No." He felt Obi-Wan flinch under his hands,
and he hastened to add, "It would be no sacrifice, my Obi-Wan.
I would be ... honored ... to do this for you. But it is not
necessary. Never doubt that I care for you, that you are
beautiful and wonderful and deserving of love. This experience
has taken nothing away from you."
Slow shifting under his arms, and Obi-Wan pulled back slightly
so he could look into his Master's face. Qui-Gon caught his
breath as he met his apprentice's eyes. Moonlight pooled
between Obi- Wan's lashes like tears, fracturing the color in
them, and Qui- Gon found himself drowning in the
shattered-crystal beauty of that gaze. The raw need in them
burned him; he would almost swear that the air he breathed in
was scalding his lungs, and it tasted faintly of Obi-Wan.
"Do you truly want this, my own one?" he asked softly, trailing
his hand lightly across his padawan's cheek. The tears felt
slick under his fingers.
"Yes, my Master." Light sigh of breath against his hand, softly
pleading. Obi-Wan turned his face into the caress, eyes half-
closing at the feel of Qui-Gon's fingers against his skin.
And Qui-Gon knew he was lost. There was nothing he could deny
this man, nothing, and his body was clamoring at him to accept
what was being offered, practically writhing with its own wild
need as he fought the urge to rub himself against his padawan's
willing body. "Be very sure," he whispered, unable to keep the
low growl of arousal out of his voice. "I would not do you
further injury."
"I'm sure, Master." Obi-Wan cupped his hand over Qui-Gon's and
rubbed his face cat-like against his Master's palm. Qui-Gon
gave into the temptation to brush his thumb across the thinly
veined softness of the young man's lips, hardly daring to
breathe. Obi- Wan's eyes drifted shut with a soft sigh.
Very carefully, Qui-Gon leaned forward and pressed his lips
against the skin above his padawan's left eye. Obi-Wan was
trembling, like a frightened colt getting ready to bolt, and
Qui- Gon slid the backs of his fingers down the side of the
younger man's face, trying to ease the tension out of that
beloved form. He very deliberately did not let any part of his
body touch Obi- Wan's except for those fingers, and he could
feel his padawan's whole attention focus on that one point of
contact between them.
"Relax," Qui-Gon whispered, smoothing back the hair at the side
of Obi-Wan's face with light, sure touches. "If this is what
you truly want, what you need, then let me do this for you. But
never doubt that you are in control, Obi-Wan. If you want me to
stop, you have only to tell me. Do you understand?"
"Yes." This was little more than a hiss, and Qui-Gon could feel
the small pulse of the vein in Obi-Wan's temple, beating
rapidly under the pad of his finger, quick as a bird's.
"Relax," he said again, sliding his lips across his young
lover's brow, feeling as if he were leaving a trail of fire in
their wake. "Just relax, Obi-Wan, and let me love you."
Obi-Wan trembled, a sustained, bone-deep shudder that almost
broke Qui-Gon's resolve, but then his hands were clenching in
Qui-Gon's robes, refusing to let him pull away. "Please." He
dipped his head forward slightly, as if he were ashamed of his
need.
Qui-Gon saw the submission inherent in the gesture and felt a
dull ache claw at him, as he recognized the loss of self that
it entailed. Obi-Wan had been brutally molested, his body useds heart
would break just looking at him. So beautiful, his padawan was.
So beautiful, and so very desirable.
"You are exquisite," Qui-Gon breathed, trailing his lips across
his padawan's face until he was nuzzling at the tender curve of
his ear. The shivers in Obi-Wan's body were becoming more
pronounced now, but he did not release his stranglehold on Qui-
Gon's robes. "Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?
The way the moonlight caresses you, worships you? It is all I
can do not to fall to my knees in your presence, my love. You
are everything to me. My life, my heart, my soul..."
Oh, whatever had possessed him to bear his emotions this way?
Bad enough that he was giving in to the temptation to use his
padawan like this; did he really have to frighten the boy with
his own long-buried feelings? Maybe it was the full, pale-
crystal glow of the moon, which covered everything in such a
beautiful light, giving the room a dream-like quality, as it
were being viewed underwater, leaving him to drown in the
emotions that blazed like banked fire within him. Or maybe it
was merely the fact that Obi-Wan was here in his bed, wanting
him, needing him, clutching at him in a frenzy of need and
want, his every emotion laid bare. The thought of it rose in
Qui-Gon's head like wine, only it was more heady, more
seductive, and he found himself panting in small shallow
breaths of longing.
He had to slow down, had to gain some measure of control. Obi-
Wan was trembling like a storm-tossed leaf beside him, his eyes
pressed tightly shut. The anxiety rising off of him practically
thrummed in the air between them.
"Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon immediately focused on his padawan's
distress, cursing himself inwardly. "I'm sorry. Please, Obi-
Wan, forgive me. I never meant-"
"Don't." Obi-Wan's voice was fierce. "Don't tell me you didn't
mean it. Please." He was crying again. When his eyes opened to
meet Qui-Gon's, they glittered like diamonds behind his tears,
catching and fragmenting the light that pooled there. "I want
you to love me. The way I love you..."
Qui-Gon felt flushed, feverish, as he felt the words sink in.
He had never been put through such a gamut of emotion as he had
over the past few days, and it was wearing on him. He felt
wrung out, stretched beyond his endurance, his very soul pulled
taut and sensitive to the slightest touch. Obi-Wan's softly
spoken words burned through him like heated brands.
"Obi-Wan," he breathed, unable to think of anything else to
say. A part of him was actually amused by this; to think of the
formidable Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, reduced to speechlessness
by a simple declaration of love from his padawan. He would have
laughed if he wasn't so very near tears with gratitude.
"I love you, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan's voice was steady as he said
this, although it was underlaid by a soft tremor that betrayed
his nervousness at making this admission. "I think I've always
loved you."
The words hung in the air between them, begging some response
but asking for nothing else in return. It was a moment before
Qui- Gon could speak.
"My Obi-Wan," he murmured, cupping the young man's chin in his
hand and running his thumb possessively along the gentle slope
of his jaw. "Know that I love you, with all my heart. No Master
has ever had a padawan such as you. So beautiful, so clever, so
graceful and strong. I am filled with pride for you, and I
cherish the day that you came into my life. I love you."
He bent to kiss the soft skin in front of his padawan's ear,
and this time, Obi-Wan did not flinch away from him. With the
faintest moan in the back of his throat, the younger man leaned
into the touch, his hands flexing where they clenched in Qui-
Gon's robe.
The faintest vibration of laughter caused Qui-Gon to pull away
and gaze down at his padawan quizzically. Obi-Wan had freed one
hand to wipe at the tears on his cheeks. "I seem to be doing
this an awful lot lately," he said by way of explanation,
indicating the tears.
Qui-Gon smiled and cupped the back of his lover's head with one
hand, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his
padawan's. "I would say you're allowed."
Obi-Wan chuckled again and breathed out deeply, nuzzling
forward against his Master's face. "Would you kiss me again
please?" he whispered.
Catching his breath slightly, Qui-Gon complied. He slid his
lips across Obi-Wan's skin, carefully skirting his mouth,
taking the opportunity to taste every millimeter of that
beloved face. He had yearned to do this for so very long, ached
for it, and now the reality was so much more satisfying that
the fantasy could ever have been. Obi-Wan titled his head up in
subtle invitation, and Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to his throat,
holding himself there for a moment, feeling the tender beat of
the pulse under his lips.
When he finally let himself move to Obi-Wan's mouth, he
couldn't bite back the low moan that rose from him. Lightly at
first, the barest brush of lips, and he could feel the desire
and heat radiating off of Obi-Wan's body with the force of a
small sun. Deeper then, barest flicker of his tongue, and
Obi-Wan was opening to him, silently bidding him to enter. He
slid his tongue reverently into that warm chasm, sweeping along
the hard planes of his lover's teeth, tasting the tender skin
inside his lips. Obi-Wan had gone very still under him, every
sense attuned to the delicate torment of his Master's kiss.
This was rapture. Obi-Wan tasted delectable, a heady
combination of sweetness and spice combined with something else
that was uniquely Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon found himself drowning
in it. His tongue plunged further into that willing mouth,
tasting the faintest residue of the juice they'd shared, and he
slid his palm down Obi-Wan's shoulder, smoothing over the hard
lines of muscle and flesh. He felt dizzy, breathless, and after
just a few moments of this he had to pull back, groping for
some measure of equilibrium.
Obi-Wan's face was flushed, his pupils dilated to opaque swirls
of darkness in the shifting half-light. His breathing was
shallow as it ghosted across Qui-Gon's face, torturing him with
the stirring of arousal it caused in him.
Qui-Gon took a moment to assure himself that this was still
what Obi-Wan wanted, and then he was very gently running his
hands over his lover's shoulders, massaging deeply at the base
of his neck. Obi-Wan went boneless under the caress and shifted
closer, straining for any increase in contact between them. But
Qui-Gon refused to rush this.
"May I touch you?" he asked quietly.
The look in Obi-Wan's eyes said he knew exactly what his Master
was asking. He nodded slightly, the arousal in his eyes
deepening.
Very gently, Qui-Gon drew the robe back off of his padawan's
shoulders, and Obi-Wan did what he could to help his Master
remove the heavy piece of clothing. The faintest flicker of
unease traveled across their bond as it was laid aside, and
Qui- Gon froze, watching him closely. "Obi-Wan?"
"I want this," Obi-Wan said, touching Qui-Gon's face lightly.
It was the first gesture he'd made to actually instigate
contact between them. "It's hard for me to let go, but I do
want this."
Qui-Gon leaned forward to kiss him softly, marveling at the way
the young man yielded under his touch. "My brave, beautiful
padawan," he murmured, gently drawing Obi-Wan's lower lip into
this mouth and suckling lightly. Obi-Wan gasped and moved
against him, the gentle friction of his body increasing the
sweet ache in Qui-Gon's groin. With growing urgency, Qui-Gon
slid his hands under the fabric of his lover's tunics and
spread his fingers across that smooth flesh, feeling the
whisper-soft brush of silken hairs against his palms. Obi-Wan's
skin was warm under his seeking touch, almost feverish.
Qui-Gon's hands skimmed down the smooth flanks, drawing forth
an appreciative shiver, and then he was unwinding the sash from
around the younger man's waist. He dipped his head to lap at
the side of Obi-Wan's neck, tasting salt and arousal in equal
proportions.
The tunic fell open to reveal the dusky expanse of Obi-Wan's
chest, nipples dark against the paleness of his skin. Qui-Gon
moaned faintly and bent to taste one of them, circling his
tongue lazily around its contour without quite touching the
pebbled nub.
Obi-Wan's hands fisted in his hair. "Master, please..."
Qui-Gon smiled and exhaled lightly, feeling Obi-Wan tense as
the warm air contacted his moistened skin. He was pressing
himself against his Master's body now, all hesitation gone, the
urgency of his need thrumming across their bond, fueling
Qui-Gon's own desire. Without thinking, Qui-Gon slid out of his
own heavy robe, shoving it aside, all attention focused on the
small patch of skin under his lips.
He took the nipple into his mouth, applying gentle suction, and
felt the sensation arc like lightning through Obi-Wan's
trembling form. Slow seduction, this, giving his padawan ample
opportunity to pull away, to tell him it wasn't what he wanted,
to ask to be let go. But Obi-Wan responded to each of his
touches with increased yearning, pleading with every movement,
every breath, for Qui-Gon to give him more.
How long had Qui-Gon been dreaming of this? Too long, it
seemed, and it took all of his considerable control not to rush
this, reminding himself that Obi-Wan's comfort was paramount
here. It was difficult, however, harder than he'd thought it
would be. He wanted this, more than he had ever wanted anything
else in his life, and the blissful torture that he was causing
was far from one-sided.
He moved to the other nipple now, giving it equal attention,
feeling Obi-Wan go weak under him, losing himself to the
sensations even as Qui-Gon's hands unbuckled the belt around
his waist, sliding it out from under him so that the tunic fell
fully open, baring all of his torso to his Master's loving
touch.
Qui-Gon felt slim hands at his waist, struggling to unclasp his
own belt, and he pulled back slightly to give them better
access. His eyes found Obi-Wan's, held them, as his sash and
belt were lifted from him. The young man's gaze was focused as
he tentatively touched his fingers to Qui-Gon's chest. The
absolute love and trust in them was searing.
"I am humbled by you," Qui-Gon said quietly, holding Obi-Wan's
head in his hands and bending to kiss him first on one corner
of his mouth, then the other. "Shall I tell you what I see when
I look at you?"
"Yes." Soft voice, warm as honey against his skin. Obi-Wan
arched against him, moaning softly. "Tell me."
Qui-Gon curled his tongue slowly along the curve of Obi-Wan's
ear, earning a sharp gasp and another shifting of that sensuous
body against him. "There is a light in you," he said softly,
"so bright, it burns. It's blinding. I am awed by you, by the
purity of your light. You complete me, my Obi-Wan. You fill all
those distant, lonely parts of me that I once thought would
never be free of the darkness." As he spoke, his hands lifted
the tunics away, smoothing down the naked plains of Obi-Wan's
back until his fingers dipped just under the waistband of his
leggings. Obi-Wan hissed and arched into him, hands scrabbling
at his Master's strong arms, trying to draw him closer.
"What do you want, my Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked hoarsely, sliding
his fingers over the sensitive patch of skin just below the
small of his lover's back. Slow, repetitive circles, making
Obi-Wan tip his head back at the sensations coursing through
him, baring the pale curve of his throat. Unable to resist,
Qui-Gon bent his head to taste that tender skin, closing his
lips over a chosen spot just below his padawan's jaw, sucking
at first lightly and then with increasing pressure, drawing the
blood up to the surface.
"Oh..." Obi-Wan was nearly incoherent with need. He repeated
the word in a soft litany of desire, over and over again, each
word punctuating the steady suckling at his throat.
"What do you want?" Qui-Gon repeated, soothing the newly formed
passion mark with his tongue. His hands slid lower, finding the
firm curves of Obi-Wan's buttocks, and the feel of that smooth
skin under his hands made the Jedi Master moan in ecstasy. He
pulled those willing hips tight against his own, feeling Obi-
Wan's erection slide against his with delectable friction
through the fabric of their leggings. His teeth bit lightly
into the curve of Obi-Wan's shoulder, muffling his cries.
"You," Obi-Wan whispered, and the word speared into Qui-Gon's
brain with the force of a nuclear explosion. "I want you. Only
you, always..."
Qui-Gon's mouth met his padawan's in a searing kiss, taking his
breath away. He slid a finger into the crease of Obi-Wan's
buttocks, swallowing the resulting groan this caused, and
pressed gently at the tight opening there until just the tip of
his finger had slipped inside. Obi-Wan shuddered, his tongue
plunging into Qui-Gon's mouth, stroking, pleading, demanding.
His hands pushed at Qui-Gon's tunics, trying desperately to
remove all barriers to further intimacy, and Qui-Gon removed
his hands from Obi-Wan's pants long enough to shrug out of the
long sleeves. Panting, he found Obi-Wan's lips again and
drowned in them.
Amazing, some small rational corner of his brain thought, that
he could feel such urgency at his age, after everything he had
experienced in his life. His hands once again slid under the
waistband of Obi-Wan's leggings, tugging gently, and he bent to
suckle at a soft bronze nipple, laving it with his tongue.
Slowly, he pulled Obi-Wan's leggings down over his hips,
exposing more of that smooth milky skin to his vision, and he
found himself entranced by the sight of the reddish-gold curls
that he found there. He couldn't resist the impulse to touch
those short silky hairs, drawing a sustained hiss from his
lover, and he smiled, rubbing his beard just barely across the
sensitive skin of the young man's stomach.
Further down then, revealing the head of the younger man's
cock, thick and red in the half-light that filled the room.
Qui-Gon made a small, strangled sound, dipping his tongue into
Obi-Wan's navel, rubbing his thumbs in slow circular movements
over the hard bones of his padawan's hips. "So beautiful," he
breathed, smelling the sharp musky scent of his lover's
arousal.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said with a quivering breath, his hands
fluttering helplessly at his sides for a moment before coming
to rest on the back of his Master's head. "Oh, Qui-Gon.
Please..."
Qui-Gon pulled the leggings further down, at last freeing Obi-
Wan's erection from the constraining fabric. He let his eyes
drink in the young man's beauty, hard cock curving proudly
against his belly, hips thrusting up into his Master's hands,
silently crying out for more contact, more stimulation, more
loving touches. Qui-Gon complied, bending to flick his tongue
at the weeping tip, closing his eyes at the sudden taste that
flooded his mouth. It was addictive, consuming, and he almost
didn't notice when Obi-Wan arched his hips up off the sheets
with a searing cry, so caught up was he in the sensations that
were racing through him.
Further down, exposing the strongly muscled thighs. He smoothed
his hands over them, soothing the urgency that peaked in them
both, giving just the faintest scrape of his nails at the
inside of one thigh. Obi-Wan gasped, his knees falling open,
and Qui- Gon took the opportunity to nuzzle the heavy balls
between his padawan's legs. Sliding his tongue over them,
reveling in the feel of the smooth textured skin, the tickle of
soft hairs against his face, the smell of sex and need that
enveloped him.
"Let go, my love," he murmured, feeling Obi-Wan's hands fist in
his hair. "Trust in me. Let me do this for you..."
"Yes, my Master," Obi-Wan answered him, his voice a tremulous
whisper. "My Qui-Gon. Beloved..."
The word sent a shiver down Qui-Gon's spine, a spark of
electrifying energy that went straight to his groin. He removed
the leggings from Obi-Wan's lean legs and tossed them aside,
hands moving immediately to the laces at his own waist, pulling
his trousers down over his hips and squirming out of them
without a thought, mouth closing as if of its own accord over
the tender skin at the inside of his padawan's thighs, hands
reaching, grasping, making love with fingers and tongue and
lips, his heart racing. He had never felt so out of control,
never thought he could love the feeling this much. He wanted to
be consumed, devoured, and his need roared in his ears with a
sound like thunder.
He licked his way up his lover's body until he found that hot,
wet mouth again, and Obi-Wan met his kiss, passion for passion.
Strong arms closed around his shoulders, crushing him down onto
that lean, graceful body, and their erections slid against each
other, slick with sweat and precum, a delightful, charged
friction that sent Qui-Gon's mind swirling into the oblivion of
desire. He reached down with one hand, groped between his
padawan's legs, and rubbed his fingers with deep, sure strokes
over the skin of Obi-Wan's perineum. Obi-Wan cried out, hips
bucking, and Qui-Gon swirled his tongue into his ear with a
groan.
Obi-Wan was trembling beneath him, his thoughts an agony of
need, his hips grinding up into Qui-Gon's with the force of his
arousal. Heat rose off of him in waves, thickening the air,
making it difficult to breathe. Panting, Qui-Gon pulled back
enough to gaze down into his eyes. The irises were a thin
circle of color around the gaping blackness of his pupils,
dilated to impossible size with desire, framed by thick, dark
lashes like brushstrokes in a painting. Again, Qui-Gon was
struck by how very beautiful Obi-Wan was, how lovely, and the
hands smoothing over his back were the sweetest sensation he
had ever experienced, as his padawan touched him with love and
want and need. Qui-Gon bent to kiss those lips again, softer
this time, almost humming with the intense happiness that
washed through him.
"I love you, Obi-Wan," he said softly, curling his fingers
around the braid at the side of the younger man's face, running
its silken length against his palm.
"Love you, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was hoarse, breathless, and
Qui-Gon smiled. He was very far gone now.
"Tell me again that you want this, my love," he urged, unable
to bring himself to take the next step until he was sure of his
lover's thoughts in this matter. He was well aware of the
memories that Obi-Wan was fighting against, and he had no wish
to compound his padawan's misery, despite his body's own rather
vehement opinion on the matter.
Obi-Wan smiled up at him, and it was such a sweet, trusting
expression that Qui-Gon felt it wash through him like rain,
cleansing any last remnants of guilt he had about indulging in
his padawan's love tonight. Obi-Wan lifted one hand to his face
and trailed delicate fingers across his cheek, tracing his lips
lightly. "I'm sure," he said. "Make love to me, Qui-Gon. I want
this, want you. I've never wanted anything as much."
Qui-Gon dipped to kiss him again, fingering lightly at the
entrance to his lover's body. Very gently, he slid one finger
inside, feeling the tight warmth grip him, drawing him further
in. Slick with the fluids of their arousal, it went in easily,
and Obi-Wan's hips pressed onto him wantonly, without
hesitation or fear. Qui-Gon thought again about the man who had
forced his padawan to this act, but instead of the familiar
rage there was only a deep, soul-deep sorrow, and he ached to
think that his beloved Obi-Wan had had to endure the torment of
an unloving touch. It wasn't fair; there had never been a man
more deserving of love than his padawan, more deserving of
admiration and respect.
A second finger now, and Obi-Wan was writhing beneath him,
hands clutching at his shoulders in a gesture of absolute
abandon. His neck arched, and Qui-Gon bent to taste it, nipping
gently at the tantalizing beat of his pulse. A third finger,
opening that silken channel for him, scraping lightly across
his lover's prostate, earning a sharp, indrawn breath as the
smooth body convulsed beneath him. Hardly able to breathe, his
chest constricted with need, Qui-Gon pulled his fingers out to
a deep groan of protest from his lover, and he kissed that
sweat-sheened face comfortingly as he took the heavy length of
his own erection in his hand, positioning it at the entrance to
the young man's body.
Tight, supple heat around his cock, burning him, and he threw
his head back with a deep-voiced groan, fingers clenching
spasmodically at Obi-Wan's body. Liquid ecstasy, washing
through him, and he shuddered as he drove himself further into
that velvet warmth, his thoughts fragmenting as he was consumed
by pure sensation. Obi-Wan's lips found his throat and suckled
softly, sending him into a riot of pleasure that disavowed any
pretense at rational thought, and then there was only the long,
slick movements of their bodies together, bound by love and
ecstasy.
He rode the pleasure as he would a wave in the sea, letting it
carry him, enfold him, take him where he needed to be. His mind
reached out for Obi-Wan's, seeking affirmation, and the fingers
of their thoughts intertwined until they were as inextricably
joined as their bodies, molded into one bright point of light
between them. His hands smoothed over Obi-Wan's skin as they
moved, cupping under one knee and lifting the leg up onto his
shoulder, angling his body to strike deeper with every heated
thrust. Obi-Wan raised his hips to meet him, fingers tangling
in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, opening his mouth to
Qui- Gon's and thrusting his tongue deep inside him, mimicking
the movements of their bodies.
It was too much. Already, Qui-Gon could feel the warm, liquid
tingle of his orgasm coiling at the small of his back, begging
release. His hand slid between their bodies, found Obi-Wan's
erection, and began pumping it in time to the rhythm of his
thrusts. Obi-Wan gave a hoarse cry, practically lifting his
body off the bed in his pleasure, and Qui-Gon sank his teeth
deep into the soft juncture between shoulder and neck, biting
back his own wild cries. Too much, it was too much, the heat
was going to consume him, and this was Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan,
who loved him and needed him and wanted to make him come...
Qui-Gon gave a deep, heartfelt groan as his orgasm hit him, and
his entire body shuddered as the sensations washed over him,
spilling his passion into his lover's body. A moment later,
Obi- Wan arched under him with an inarticulate cry, and liquid
warmth was spilling over Qui-Gon's hand, the evidence of the
younger man's pleasure. For one harsh second they were locked
together in the throes of their passion, and then they both
collapsed onto the bed again, sated.
Obi-Wan's arms and legs were wrapped around him, head pillowed
on his Master's chest. Qui-Gon stroked his hair lightly,
twirling his fingers around the slim softness of his braid.
"Better now?" he asked softly.
Obi-Wan gave a surprised laugh and shifted to look at him,
resting his chin on his Master's sternum so he could meet his
eyes. "Yes, Master," he said with an impish smile. "Thank you."
Qui-Gon chuckled and stroked one finger down his cheek fondly.
"Any time, my love."
His apprentice stretched out cat-like against him, arms wrapped
possessively around his torso, molding to his body as if they
had been made to fit together like this. Qui-Gon held him
close, marveling once again that they had found each other,
that the Force had seen fit to bring them together. He savored
the memory of those eyes as he had just glimpsed them, so full
of love and trust, completely unshadowed by any lingering
doubts or fears. There was no tension whatsoever in the younger
man's quiescent frame, and Qui-Gon hugged him close, daring to
hope that his padawan would finally find the rest that he
needed. Fatigue washed over him with an insistent pull, making
him realize that Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had been
missing out on his sleep recently.
"I love you," Qui-Gon murmured, breathing in the warm scents of
love and spent passion that swirled around him. Obi-Wan made no
reply, his breathing already locked in the deep, even rhythm of
sleep. One last touch, proving to himself that this was real,
and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, giving into a similar compulsion.
They slept, wrapped in each other's arms, and neither of them
dreamed.
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