WARNING: This fic is not for everyone. There is some definite
emotional distress involved here -- no rape or violence or
anything along those lines -- but still, I know from experience
that the direction this fic takes will not make everyone happy.
This isn't my usual type of fic, and it's a bit of a departure
from the way I generally write these characters.
Timeline: Obi-Wan is 18.
Pairing: Q/O, and some assorted "others"
Category: angst, drama, first-time (sort of)
Archive: Nesting Place, M_A and my page only.
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em. I use 'em. Lots.
Summary: A change in Qui-Gon's relationship with Obi-Wan
results in dangerous fallout
Notes: A big thank-you to Keelywolfe for looking this over and
giving me her feedback.
Inspiration: The story was inspired by two of my favorite
songs, "Torn Apart" by Stabbing Westward & Wink from the
Spawn soundtrack, and "Touched" by VAST. Gotta love those
themes of betrayal and loss... Feedback: Yes please!
destinaf@hotmail.com
Sated.
The word continued to rise to the surface of Obi-Wan's
consciousness, as he lay back against the soft pillows of his
rumpled bed. He watched as Qui-Gon's head moved slowly back and
forth over his belly, nibbling gently as the tremors from his
orgasm faded into peaceful bliss. Like a cat underneath its
master's hand, he stretched luxuriously, curling into the touch
of Qui-Gon's hand against his hip while a rough tongue caressed
him one last time. And that deep, erotic voice, saying his
name, over and over...
"Obi-Wan."
Startled, the young Padawan threw himself forward in his chair,
banging his injured hand on the table before him. "Sith!" he
shouted, as throbbing pain jangled up his arm and shoulder,
bringing tears to his eyes.
"Let me see." Qui-Gon settled on the edge of the table, taking
the injured hand gently by the wrist and unraveling the loose
bandage that covered the wound. "Did I wake you?" he asked,
probing the puncture with a feather-light finger.
"I wasn't quite asleep," Obi-Wan answered, feeling a hot blush
come to his cheeks. He bowed his head and pretended interest in
the raw, angry welt which covered his left index finger.
"I wonder if I managed to get the entire spine out," Qui-Gon
murmured. "Of all voyages not to have a healer on board..."
"It feels better than it did yesterday," Obi-Wan offered,
mesmerized by the sight of Qui-Gon's hand covering his own,
soothing him.
His master deftly re-wrapped the bandage and secured it with a
simple twist and tuck. Qui-Gon's gaze rested on him, making
Obi-Wan feel achingly hot in all the wrong places. "Perhaps
tomorrow, we should try a few one-handed lightsaber drills," he
said, as his large hand came up to cover Obi-Wan's flushed
cheek, absorbing the feverish heat there. "If you are feeling
well enough." His fingers hesitated, then slowly stroked down
the length of Obi-Wan's jaw before dropping away.
Obi-Wan's eyes closed, and in a weak voice, he answered, "I'll
be fine." His body ached to arch back into the touch it craved,
but he held himself still with an effort, waiting for Qui-Gon
to make the move.
"You should rest, Obi-Wan. Get some sleep." Qui-Gon gestured
toward the scattered datapads and charts. "Leave all of this
until tomorrow. You can prepare the mission summary tomorrow.
There's plenty of time."
"Yes, Master." For a moment, both men were silent, listening to
the pulsing hum of the hyperdrive, watching stars streaking by,
nothing more than winks of blurred light.
Qui-Gon roused himself. "Good night, then." With a quick smile,
he keyed open the door to his adjoining cabin and was gone from
view.
Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, watching the closed door with
fading hope. The entire mission to Entare was a fiasco, one
minor catastrophe after another. They'd failed in their
diplomatic efforts and had been hunted ferociously by a faction
of the local rebellion on that world. After five days of fierce
fighting to protect a local leader, they'd managed only to wear
themselves to a frazzle just before a spontaneous truce
occurred, solving the original dispute.
And then Obi-Wan had fallen into a patch of thorny ectachia
root, and a spine had become so deeply imbedded in his hand
that he'd lost the use of it for three days. Finally, the
purple striations of ectachia poisoning were beginning to fade.
It had certainly been the worst pain Obi-Wan had ever endured.
He winced to recall the scream he'd given off when the
seemingly innocuous spine was removed, and the gasping tears
he'd shed. It was humiliating, even after Qui-Gon's arms had
gone around him, comforting him.
That was when the miracle occurred.
A firm hand took hold of his chin, tipped his face up quickly,
and Qui-Gon's mouth closed on his with gentle pressure. The
kiss silenced his soft cries of pain, which quickly turned to
quiet, low sounds of need. Obi-Wan's lips opened slowly to the
questing mouth above, and for a moment, all else was forgotten
under the insistent sweetness of the kiss. He'd wanted the
kiss, wanted to be made to forget everything, anything besides
the warmth of the body so close to him...
Until Qui-Gon pulled back, eyes unreadable, and stared at him
for a long moment. The ghost of a reassuring smile flitted
across his face as he straightened, reaching for the small
medkit and needle. "Can you control the pain, Obi-Wan?" he
asked, and the rest was a blur - Obi-Wan diffusing his pain out
into the Force, the application of cremes and balms, and still
that pain, like pressure on a raw nerve, eating at him. He'd
tried to stand, and had fainted right into his Master's arms.
All that, over a tiny little thorn in his hand. It made him
cringe to think about his weakness.
What disturbed him most of all was Qui-Gon's careful avoidance
of touching him. There had been no mistake - the kiss his
Master gave was infused with craving, a longing which made his
knees weak when he recalled the sensation. Or perhaps...perhaps
that was the mistake, after all. Too much emotion given
away in the space of moments, and it would never do for the
Padawan to understand too much of the Master's feelings, to
know his heart.
Like any other Padawan, Obi-Wan had entertained feelings for
his Master, which just recently had turned to a sort of molten
desire. He had hoped that perhaps Qui-Gon understood that need,
and shared it...and he would have given a great deal to have
Qui-Gon be first to teach him in bed, as he'd taught him
everything else.
In any case, it was over now. Obi-Wan was certain Qui-Gon would
never speak of it again. With a sigh of disappointment, he
quickly removed and folded his tunic, belt and trousers and
crawled between the cool sheets, holding his hand away from his
body gingerly. He hovered on the edge of sleep, listening to
the noises of the ship dying down on third cycle as most
members of the crew retired to their quarters. Slowly, he
closed his own eyes, but the image which lingered was the
closed door between his desire, and his Master.
His mind responded to some subtle cue; perhaps it was a scent,
male and unique; perhaps it was the rustle of sheets across his
nude body as they slid away from him. Obi-Wan turned his body
as a weight settled next to him, bringing distinct warmth into
the chill of the room, warming his skin. A hand brushed gently
over his neck, across his shoulders, palm flat against his
skin, stopping below his hardened nipple for a thumb to press
across. A shooting pang of desire threaded through him, ending
in the tip of his cock, and he opened his eyes.
Qui-Gon lay there, hair unbound and falling across his
shoulders, brushing Obi-Wan's chest. At the question in
Obi-Wan's eyes, he moved closer, pressing the length of their
bodies together. His hand began to move, fingers clutching in,
touching, retreating, as the heel of his hand stroked across
the hipbone, and his wrist stroked over the erection which wept
against Obi-Wan's belly.
Obi-Wan's cry was quickly stifled by that mouth he'd studied so
often, and his breath began in his body and became life for
Qui-Gon, whose slow, methodical kisses were designed to bring
madness, a kind of sensual torture which would not end. He
licked frantically at Qui-Gon's lips, which opened to his
exploration, to the gentle sigh of contentment which came from
his soul. Qui-Gon's hand cradled the back of his neck, pulling
him closer, fusing their mouths together as his other hand
molded to the curve of Obi-Wan's thigh, urging it away from the
center of Obi-Wan's body.
With deliberate playfulness, Qui-Gon wrapped his hand around
the soft sac, working his fingers back and forth provoking a
sudden sound of surprise and delight from Obi-Wan. He pulled
away from the young Jedi's kiss, and began trailing his lips
down that torso, stopping to watch the muscles quiver under his
teeth.
Obi-Wan thrashed from side to side wantonly as he gazed down at
Qui-Gon, and his heart leaped as his Master took him into his
mouth a millimeter at a time, teasing him by withholding the
warmth and wetness of his mouth. Qui-Gon's tongue lapped at
him, punishing him every time he moved his hips by stopping its
motion and waiting for stillness.
Qui-Gon suckled at him, and the large hand delved down beneath
his ass, nudging his thighs wider insistently. Obi-Wan obeyed,
and felt the tip of a finger begin to work its way inside him,
patiently, persistently. He focused on his breathing, on the
burning of his lungs, on the green lights shimmering against
his closed eyelids. This has to be a dream, he thought,
a dream, and nothing can be this perfect, this
intense...
Just then, the finger inside him curved, finding the center of
his ecstasy instantly, and coaxed it from him. Once, twice the
finger curled, and Qui-Gon sealed his mouth around the jumping
cock, sucking, swallowing, allowing Obi-Wan to thrust deeply
into his throat as he came with a strangled, disbelieving cry,
surrendering to his body's need.
Dazed, Obi-Wan's breath hitched as he tried to take in enough
air to calm the tingling of every nerve in his body. Qui-Gon's
mouth descended on him once again, hard and possessive this
time, no mistaking it for anything else.
"Master..." he breathed, reaching down.
Qui-Gon stopped him with a swift motion. Reaching down, the
older man took his own cock between rough fingers and stroked
it brutally, bringing himself to orgasm within seconds. His
harsh growls of pleasure vibrated against Obi-Wan's teeth as he
bit gently at his Master's lips, finally reaching out to touch
the sticky fluid which coated his stomach.
Arms settled around Obi-Wan, settling the young Jedi against a
broad chest, and Obi-Wan snuggled there in comfort, closing his
eyes. This gift was too beautiful to spoil with words, and when
morning arrived, there could be discussion. Sleep claimed him
quickly.
The humming of the hyperdrive...
Ever alert, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The ship had just come out
of hyperspace; one of his peculiar talents was the ability to
sense a change in speed, no small feat in space.
Quite suddenly, he remembered, and realized he was alone in the
small bunk. A contented, mischievous grin spread across his
face, and he swung his feet to the floor, wondering where
Qui-Gon was. It was nearing the beginning of first cycle on
board ship; Qui-Gon was an early riser and might be dressed for
the day.
He rose and padded across the cold floor to the door of his
master's quarters. One hand moved toward the keypad, but a
small sound stopped him, and he froze.
It was the sound of two voices mingled. In pleasure. The sound
of it was unmistakable; he knew it, had made those sounds
himself not long before. His master, speaking in low, guttural
tones, saying words he recognized but had never heard Qui-Gon
use...in or out of bed.
A red-hot pain filled his heart, and behind it spread the first
insidious tendrils of anger, flaring up like flames fed too
quickly. He keyed the door; it slid open silently, and he
watched without a sound as his Master thrust violently into
another man, a man he'd seen on board ship, a soldier for hire
who'd been fighting in the conflict on Entare. The muscles of
Qui-Gon's back rippled, and he was beautiful in his passion,
even as the other man bit savagely at him, more than a match
for his strength.
Obi-Wan keyed the door shut and stood motionless for a long
moment. With one hand, he reached out and touched the door,
fingertips splayed against the cold metal, before he sank to
the floor, burying his face in his arms.
Qui-Gon stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry with
brisk, businesslike strokes. He felt fluid, realaxed, for the
first time in a long time. Relaxed enough, perhaps, to attempt
to discuss some issues openly with Obi-Wan.
His guilt was nagging at him, and as he toweled his hair dry
and took a comb to its length, he fought off the feelings of
regret. It was too soon. Neither of them was ready for such a
drastic change in their relationship - he'd known, and still
he'd allowed things to go a step too far. His own need had
interfered with his judgment, and it was unlike him to take
such an ill-considered action. He should never have begun
something he was not prepared for - that Obi-Wan was not
prepared for - and should never have given the younger man even
the slightest hope that a relationship between them could come
to pass until Obi-Wan's training was completed.
Finished with his hair, he drew on trousers and tunic and
headed for Obi-Wan's room. With any luck, the younger man would
still be sleeping peacefully, and would benefit from the rest.
He keyed open the door. "Good morning, Pa-"
The room was empty.
Obi-Wan paced the confines of the practice ring, a predator in
search of a victim. He'd dressed rapidly and left the ship as
soon as it docked without notifying Qui-Gon; undoubtedly, his
Master was looking for him even now.
It was afternoon on the city world of Coruscant, and a number
of Padawans were absorbed in various exercises of concentration
and combat skill. The constant striking of lightsabers brought
a ferocious undercurrent of ionization to the training area,
and the charged atmosphere only added to Obi-Wan's agitation.
His shame and humiliation were complete. Doubtless, he'd been
meant to sleep peacefully through his Master's encounter with
the nameless soldier, but fate had intervened. He supposed he
should thank the Force that it was so. At least he knew what he
was facing.
"What are you doing out here by yourself, Kenobi?" Obi-Wan
turned in the direction of the voice, and found Tiran Sorro
grinning at him from the other end of the ring. "Lost your
master?"
The words carried an unintentional sting, and only added weight
to the pain Obi-Wan carried. He ignored the itching ache of his
left hand, and hefted his saber in his right. "He's busy,"
Obi-Wan answered flatly, body tensed into a fighting posture.
Tiran was a year older than Obi-Wan, and that much more
advanced in technique. He was a worthy opponent. In fact, he
would do quite nicely.
Tiran's grin widened as he shed his cloak and stepped into the
ring, lightsaber at the ready with an easy, graceful swing.
"Let's get to it," he challenged, taking note of Obi-Wan's
bandaged hand, his flushed face.
Obi-Wan set his jaw and leaped forward, swiftly pressing an
attack with surprising strength. Thrust and parry, and they
danced the exquisite dance of two warriors for several
minutes...until Obi-Wan began to gain a distinct advantage, and
Tiran began to tire. The dance became off-kilter, dangerous to
them both.
"Okay, okay, I give!" Tiran shouted breathlessly, laughing, but
the gleam of amusement in his eyes died away quickly as Obi-Wan
brought the saber down ruthlessly, repeatedly, pounding Tiran
to his knees, forcing him to grasp the handle of the saber with
both hands to keep from being struck by Obi-Wan's blade.
Tiran executed a quick roll away from the blade above him and
vaulted to his feet, with Obi-Wan directly on his heels.
"What's the matter with you?" he gasped, out of breath and
acutely aware that this was no ordinary sparring match.
Obi-Wan hurled his lightsaber at Tiran's head, neatly impacting
Tiran's lightsaber and knocking it from his hand. Within a
moment, Obi-Wan was on him, and a short, fierce battle ensued,
as each grappled for dominance.
Tiran fought off his confusion and threw Obi-Wan aside,
quick-crawling on hands and knees for his saber, but Obi-Wan
thought quickly and called his saber with the Force. In one
fluid motion, he dove forward, and Tiran fell back, eyes wide,
realizing too late that Obi-Wan was about to strike a killing
blow.
Obi-Wan's arm dropped, but he staggered back suddenly. As if
he'd been lifted by a strong wind, he was raised from the
practice ring and tossed like a rag doll. He flew high and fast
through the air, crashing down into a mass of practice mats and
safety equipment, and lay still.
Exhaling a deep gasp of relief, Tiran swiveled his head to find
Qui-Gon Jinn stalking forward. With a furious glance toward his
Padawan, who was slowly getting to his feet, Qui-Gon helped
Tiran up and said tightly, "Get out of here. Go and find Master
Yoda."
With one last look at his friend, Tiran nodded and headed for
the door at a slow jog. Qui-Gon motioned to the others, and was
met beside the practice ring by Master Bern, who said softly,
"I can feel his rage from here."
"It's not like Obi-Wan...something is terribly wrong," Qui-Gon
said. "Let me deal with it."
Bern nodded and stepped aside as Obi-Wan got his bearings and
located his saber. He turned toward his Master, and after a
moment, returned to the practice ring, saber in hand. His eyes
glowed a fierce, intense green, and were full of hurt and
resentment.
Qui-Gon's face was calm, but his cutting tone of voice matched
the anger in his eyes. "Looking for a fight, Padawan?" he
asked, slowly removing his cloak and stepping past the outer
border of the training ring. "Perhaps I've been neglecting your
training. You seem to have energy to spare today." He made no
move to ignite his saber, but stood at the edge of the circle,
his very presence intimidating. There was nothing of the
teacher in him at that moment. He looked every inch the Jedi
warrior he was, and it should have been enough to curb
Obi-Wan's temper. "You could have killed your friend. What in
all the Sith hells has gotten into you?"
"As if you don't know what it's about," Obi-Wan hissed, tossing
the saber from hand to hand in a complicated series of circles.
He walked first to one side of the circle, then the other,
feeling the red haze of rage descending over his vision. Like a
mantra, the words came automatically to mind. Fear leads to
anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads... "To revenge," he
muttered.
Qui-Gon watched the strange internal struggle, and his own
anger dissipated gradually as concern for Obi-Wan's state of
mind crept in to replace it. This behavior was far from normal,
and he knew he was partly to blame.
"Obi-Wan," he began, but his words were lost as with a howl of
rage, Obi-Wan flew at him, slashing with the lightsaber.
Qui-Gon easily sidestepped the blow, and his lightsaber was in
his hand in the space of time between thoughts. He called all
his skills to bear, and entered into a battle as serious and
potentially deadly as any he'd fought with strangers. Waves of
hostility stunned him as his padawan brought all his own
training into the fray.
Qui-Gon noted a trickle of blood running down Obi-Wan's wrist,
staining his tunic. The wound was bleeding. Time to end this,
to discover the reasons behind it. He executed a series of
simple, effective moves, enveloping Obi-Wan's blade and
flinging the lightsaber from his hand with quicksilver speed. A
short push with the aid of the Force, and the blade skittered
one direction while Obi-Wan was thrown another.
"How did you do that?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously, between
panting, heavy breaths.
"A good teacher never teaches all he knows," Qui-Gon said
simply, placing the saber back at his side. He stood watching
Obi-Wan for a moment, waiting, and was puzzled that the
negative energy had not diminished. So much anger...so much
pain.
"Why?" The word vibrated with rage, carrying the force of all
Obi-Wan's unspoken questions. "You used me, and threw me away.
I'm just another tool for you, aren't I?"
"Used you?" A frown flickered across Qui-Gon's face. "What-"
"I saw you this morning," Obi-Wan said, eyes narrowed.
Qui-Gon's guilt assailed him, even as the rational part of his
mind insisted there was much more to the violence in Obi-Wan's
heart. "I never meant to give you the wrong impression,
Obi-Wan. I should have been more open with you."
"Wrong impression," Obi-Wan echoed, his face contorted. "That's
all you have to say?"
"Obi-Wan, let me help you." Qui-Gon extended his hand, but
Obi-Wan scrambled sideways away from it, standing up only when
he reached a safe distance.
"I don't need help. Not from you. Not ever again." With a
strangely mournful look on his face, he turned and bolted from
the rear exit of the practice hall just as Master Yoda entered
from the main door.
Qui-Gon began to follow, but Yoda called to him. "Follow him
you should not."
Every instinct in Qui-Gon screamed for him to follow, but he
pushed away the impulse and turned to Yoda. "Did Tiran tell you
what occurred?"
"Spoke quickly, he did, and with much fear. Claimed, he did,
that Obi-Wan struck a killing blow." Yoda's piercing blue eyes
fastened onto Qui-Gon's, and he asked simply, "True, is it?"
Qui-Gon could only nod.
"What explanation have you for this violence?" Yoda pressed
him, seeking an answer Qui-Gon could not provide.
"I don't know, my Master. But I feel..." Qui-Gon hesitated. "I
am to blame in some way for this."
"How?"
"I made a gesture of affection toward Obi-Wan for which he was
not prepared. And...and neither was I." Qui-Gon wiped a hand
across his face, taking in a deep breath. "He's become
irrational, unbalanced. There is much hatred and hurt in him.
I've never felt such intense emotions from Obi-Wan."
"Know, you do, that much more there is to this than gestures of
affection. Understand his feelings, we must. Found he will be,
and soon; other Jedi will bring him." Yoda scrutinized Qui-Gon,
his ears dipping forward as he reached out with the Force and
experienced the depth of his former Padawan's guilt and
concern. "Love him, you do."
"Yes." A simple answer, and all that was required. "But I
cannot allow my feelings to overrule my responsibility to him.
What he wants cannot be."
Qui-Gon stood quietly before the large transparisteel window in
his quarters, watching the sun sink below the horizon. For
several hours, three Master and Padawan pairs had been combing
the city for Obi-Wan, checking the places generally frequented
by Jedi, but there were so many...and now night was falling. At
this rate, it would take days to find Obi-Wan. Even then, he
would be located only if he wanted to be found.
The training bond between them resonated with intermittent
tremors of energy...much of it pure aggression, sexual in
nature. Qui-Gon shuddered each time he felt it. He'd been
instructed to remain at the Temple by Yoda, who seemed
determined that Obi-Wan not have any further contact with
Qui-Gon until everything was sorted out. The Council, in fact,
didn't seem to consider Obi-Wan dangerous.
Qui-Gon knew differently. He'd looked into his Padawan's eyes,
and what he saw there had sent his world spinning.
A soft beeping interrupted his thoughts, and he switched on his
comlink. "Jinn."
"Master Jinn, this is Healer Tema. If you have a moment, I'd
like to speak with you."
"What about?" Qui-Gon asked, making an effort to muster up some
interest in what she had to say.
"Your Padawan. I've read the mission debriefing, and I have
some questions for you regarding his injury. Might be
important. Could you stop by?"
"I'm on my way to you," he said, already moving down the
corridor.
The mission report. He'd written it hurriedly, without his
usual care. Over the past few years he'd grown accustomed to
delegating that task to Obi-Wan, along with many other mundane
duties, in order to teach the boy discipline. Boy. He reminded
himself once again - Obi-Wan was a young man now. If he'd never
been aware of it before, he'd become acutely focused on that
reality during their stay on Entare. Too focused...too aware.
And he'd made a costly mistake because he was weak and foolish,
and because Obi-Wan was too tempting to resist.
He reached the medical facilities and entered immediately, to
find Healer Tema waiting for him, poised over a databank screen
which glowed softly against her violet skin. She looked up and
smiled briefly by way of greeting as he approached. "Master
Jinn. I understand your Padawan has been experiencing some
emotional distress," she said. "Could you be specific about the
behavior he's displayed?"
"Killing rage," Qui-Gon said shortly. "Aggression far beyond
what he might normally show. Hurt, bewilderment. Jealousy.
Heightened desire and frustration. I also sense an intensified
sexuality from him."
Tema nodded. "You say in your report that you removed the spine
of the ectachia plant, native to Entare, from Obi-Wan's hand.
Did he experience pain?"
"Yes. A great deal of pain," Qui-Gon said, beginning to wonder
where she was headed with her questions. "He lost consciousness
when it was removed...I had intended to bring him to the
healers once we arrived back on Coruscant, but he disembarked
before I rose this morning, and now..."
"He's been infected with an organic neurotoxin," Tema said, and
Qui-Gon saw from the look on her face that she was concerned.
"It's very likely that you were not able to remove the entire
spine. Ectachia spines contain a type of poison that works in
stages on most life forms. First, pain. Second, heightened
emotion. The strongest emotions are the ones most
affected...fear, lust, love, aggression, anger. He will lose
track of right and wrong, and this will make him quite
chance to discuss what took place, he was involved in this
morning's incident."
"Jealousy?" she asked.
"This morning he made reference to me using him and throwing
him away. Which, I assure you, is not the case." Qui-Gon took a
deep breath. "What must I do?"
"Bring him back," she said simply. "Who is looking for him?"
"Doesn't matter. They won't find him," Qui-Gon answered grimly.
"But I can. I know where to look."
There were an infinite number of hiding spots on Coruscant,
tucked away beneath the rotting facades closest to street
level, where no sun ever touched the streets and few residents
ever walked. The sub-level avenues were too dangerous, too
riddled with street crime to appeal anyone but the most deviant
and disturbed. Many holes and cracks hid small establishments,
where darker pursuits could be indulged without so much as the
surprised blink of an eye from passers-by or patrons. Few Jedi
could have navigated their way through the muck of corruption
surrounding those tainted places.
Obi-Wan Kenobi found his way by instinct; there was a sort of
warm, dark familiarity slithering through him, and he was
flushed with knowledge, and power. His whole body pulsed with
anger in a way he'd never experienced before. Every nerve and
millimeter of his skin felt charged with electricity. His heart
was bleeding; he felt the deep scratches there, clawed in with
a single stroke of his Master's disregard for him. He fought
the hatred brimming over in those bloody welts, but there
seemed little point. It grew and festered so rapidly that he
was left with no option but to look for release.
That desire brought him to the sub-level, prowling the streets
like a hungry, dangerous animal, one without comfort, devoid of
concern for its safety. He was looking for a particular
doorway, one marked by a symbol he remembered from
conversations with other Padawans. He moved with a careless,
sensual stride, and crowds parted to make way for him without
any conscious gesture from the young Jedi. More than one
wistful gaze drifted his direction, dropping quickly when his
cold eyes caught their own.
Images continued to drift through his mind with frightening
intensity. Qui-Gon's body, moving sensually, quickly, as a
nameless stranger pulled him deeper, and the words he spoke in
passion...thinking of them made Obi-Wan's cock ache. He had
never seen his Master look more beautiful...except, perhaps,
when those dark eyes had fastened to his own as Qui-Gon's mouth
moved on him, bringing him to the edge of the sweetest ecstasy
he'd ever experienced.
Obi-Wan shuddered, staggered, tried to push the feelings of
rage and devastation away from him and into the Force, but they
seemed to be magnified when he drew upon the living Force. He
stumbled into a doorway and caught hold of the edges of the
wall, clinging to the solid mass of it, trying to anchor
himself. The images were coming faster, and with more detail
now, things he hadn't remembered, sounds and smells as clear as
though he were right there. He'd forgotten how Qui-Gon had
lifted him, taken him as he'd taken the soldier, thrusting
inside him until Obi-Wan screamed his pleasure, begging Qui-Gon
to fuck him, to mark him, to own him.
He clutched at the wall, trying to center himself. Only one
thing would ease this gaping wound in him, and it had to have a
body, and a face. It had to be willing to bleed, like he was
bleeding.
And if it wasn't willing, it would bleed anyway.
Qui-Gon's black robe clung close to his body, concealing his
weapon as intended. He'd dressed simply and inconspicuously in
black trousers, a loose white shirt and a black robe, more
common among ordinary citizens. He couldn't afford to be
immediately branded a Jedi, and time was running out. No one
would trust him with the necessary information if they felt he
had a hidden agenda.
He followed the trail of emotion his Padawan left behind,
almost as though hunting by faint scent, cautiously wandering a
path still warm and vital with Obi-Wan's presence. He grasped
at the thin threads of the Force tying him to his Padawan.
Shocking jolts of clear desire shot through his body; he pulled
at them gently, aiming himself, finding direction and moving
off toward the Force signature.
As for what he would say when he found Obi-Wan...there was no
answer good enough, no reason to have delayed discussing his
feelings for his student. Of course it was simple in hindsight
to say it should have been less complicated, but the damage was
done. He could only hope it could be repaired without causing
permanent harm to Obi-Wan.
With quiet, deadly grace, he stalked his Padawan through the
night.
Obi-Wan was absorbed in fantasy and full of restless
frustration when he finally stumbled across the threshold of a
deceptively plain residence. He looked up, and a black symbol
in the shape of a joined circle and square caught his eye. He
smiled in triumph. This would be the place he'd come to find.
He pushed the door open, and his senses were assaulted by the
rich smells of food and wine. Old-fashioned candles flickered
and guttered in holders all around the entryway, and the light
from their flames made him tremble. Determined, he moved
forward, seeking, assessing.
Men and women milled about, walking advertisements for their
particular need, sending out signals infused with lust and
apprehension. Obi-Wan caught their fear in the Force, drew it
into himself like an addict purchasing his drug. It was that
sensation which drew certain Jedi time and again, and had
resulted in the dismissal of many. Too much passion led to the
Dark Side. It was precisely that temptation which lured
Obi-Wan.
It didn't take long to find the one he'd come looking for. A
tall man, dark-haired, young and strong, with the look of an
athlete and a confidence which matched Obi-Wan's. No sense in
wasting time. He approached, insinuated himself between the man
and his companion, and drew his gaze up the man's torso until
it locked with curious, amused hazel eyes, set above a smile
made of surprise.
"Where?" Obi-Wan asked simply, reaching out to touch the other
man, hands dropping to hips to pull him closer.
The dark-haired man swayed into his touch, and bent his head to
take a ruthless kiss from Obi-Wan, a caress of tongue and lips
which tasted of smoke and alcohol. Obi-Wan pushed him away,
smiling, and allowed the stranger to take his hand and lead him
into a dim, curtained room.
Qui-Gon's head jerked up, his full attention snapped into place
by the murderous rage his Padawan was experiencing, mingled
with that same painful lust.
He reached out with the Force, and his feelings were confirmed.
He began to run.
Obi-Wan followed the stranger who held his hand, allowed
himself to be led until they were enclosed in darkness,
surrounded only by soft cushions and dim lamps.
The man before him turned, quickly tossing aside his vest and
shirt, exposing a muscular chest, tanned and smooth. "My name
is Aron," he said, blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Obi-Wan's eyes, illuminated by the faint light, shone with
emerald lust. He touched the vision before him, hard and
demanding, pushing the body back until they sprawled on the
floor, half-caught by plush pillows. Mouths met and were
bruised; blood was torn from tiny bites to willing lips.
"Why did you choose me?" Aron asked breathlessly, writhing
under the brutal, relentless touch.
"I liked the way you smiled at me," Obi-Wan whispered, allowing
a smile of satisfaction to show through. He stilled his hands,
rubbing his cock against the Aron's groin, supporting his
weight over the body beneath him. "I could feel myself inside
you, your heat around me," he added, moving then to jerk open
his trousers, hand clutching at the hard length pressed to his.
No pretense, just need and lust and bared souls, and both were
satisfied that it would be what was wanted.
A soft moan echoed against his ear, and with a growl of pure
animal instinct, Obi-Wan shoved at the willing victim he'd
cornered. His partner, already conquered, sprawled onto his
stomach underneath Obi-Wan, hips thrusting insistently back at
the young Jedi.
Obi-Wan stripped away their trousers with sure hands and
positioned himself behind the taller man, rocking back and
forth with a guttural keening sound. "All alike...so much
alike..." he panted, and with a sudden violent motion, he
buried himself deeply inside the tight passage presented to him
with such abandon.
Obi-Wan reached out with a strong arm and caught his Aron
around the chest, pulling him up and back, upright against the
consistent pulse of their joining, hips never ceasing their
rhythmic movement. Both rocked slowly on their knees as Obi-Wan
steadily pushed up and forward, going deeper, sheathed to the
base. He used one hand to steady the hips in front of his own,
as the other hand stroked purposefully up the long torso,
pausing to pinch a nipple with vicious glee, waiting for the
moan of submission before moving on.
Fingers closed around the long, arched throat, caressed the
curve of the neck and fastened there, tightening slowly as
Obi-Wan thrust harder, holding Aron's hips hard against his
own, burying himself inside his lust, irrevocably lost.
"Beautiful," he whispered, teeth fastened to the delicate,
small earlobe, biting.
"Touch me," begged his partner, as Aron's head fell back
against Obi-Wan's shoulder, long dark hair like quality silk,
sensuous, inviting .
"I will," Obi-Wan promised, and his hand tightened as his cock
pulsed and he came, growling a ragged sound of satisfaction,
his entire body locked into the pleasure and empty pain of his
victory. He channeled the Force through the swelling edges of
his orgasm, allowed it to magnify and acquire a primal power,
and dropped his hand, content to allow the Force to do what was
required.
Aron choked, and began to thrash, head tossing from side to
side, trying to escape the invisible restraints. Obi-Wan
laughed softly, savoring the last splinters of ecstasy as they
pierced him, licking at the back of the man's neck, tasting
fear. "Where are your fantasies now?" he asked softly,
disengaging and fastening his trousers, watching as the
unimportant victim fell forward, clawing at the phantom fingers
choking him. "It's no more than you deserve," he whispered,
looking down at the form of Qui-Gon before him, the corners of
his vision bright and wavering.
Deep crimson scratches appeared on his neck as Aron struggled
against the strangling pressure, scratching to remove the
obstacle squeezing the life from him. He looked up, pleading
with wet, confused eyes.
"You should have told me the truth," Obi-Wan said, rocking
forward on his heels, burying his head in his hands. He howled
then, a scream of pure outrage and betrayal, and the room
exploded with Force energy without direction, without a means
to dissipate.
Aron's eyes fluttered closed, and he gasped for air.
"Stop!"
The voice rang out from behind him, and Obi-Wan pitched
sideways, concentration interrupted. Aron heaved a deep,
grateful breath before losing consciousness.
Qui-Gon stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his large frame
obscuring the tiny bits of candle light sparkling in from the
other room. It seemed dark suddenly, cold and damp. "You cannot
continue this," he said softly. His voice was steady, but his
eyes betrayed his fear for Obi-Wan.
"Haven't you done enough?" Obi-Wan asked simply. "Or is there
still something you could do for me? How many times do I have
to kill you before you stop... hurting... me!" His voice rose,
spiraling into a plaintive wail, angry and resentful and
wounded down to the core.
"You don't understand, Padawan," Qui-Gon began, knowing it was
useless to reason with his apprentice but unable to simply
restrain him. "None of this is your fault."
"My fault?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously. "It's your
fault, Master..."
Suddenly Obi-Wan was in his arms, mouth pressed against him,
devouring, and his world spun and burned and became the body in
his arms. His desire became everything, tied to the sensation
of tongue sweeping sensuously through his mouth, and the taste
of passion both forbidden and expected.
"No," Qui-Gon gasped. "Not like this." He shoved Obi-Wan away,
knocking him down, and held him there with grudging use of the
Force. He felt Obi-Wan's resistance beating at him, like fists
against tender flesh, and he cringed.
Obi-Wan pushed back with the Force, but the gesture was
unfocused, pointless. Great, heavy waves of rage reached
Qui-Gon.
"I'll kill you when you release me," Obi-Wan said through
gritted teeth, every muscle in his neck and face distended. He
was an animal, untamed, without comprehension.
Sadly, Qui-Gon bent and extended one hand. "You will not oppose
me," he suggested, and behind the words, he applied all the
power he could bring to bear.
Obi-Wan went limp. His head dropped back, and he lay senseless
on the floor.
Qui-Gon sank to his knees beside the still form, head bowed. He
rested one hand lightly against Obi-Wan's chest, over his
heart. Comforted by the steady beat, he sat without moving,
listening to the silence, feeling the emptiness, wishing for
things that could never be.
Long known for their discretion, the Jedi came quickly and
quietly when summoned. They invaded the small seedy club,
silent soldiers in dark robes, clearing the establishment
simply because of their presence, exchanging serious glances
before bending to their tasks. They whisked away young Aron,
who was clearly in distress, after briefly examining his
injuries at the scene. The grave look in their eyes told
Qui-Gon a great deal, much more than he might have wished at
that particular moment. He remained with Obi-Wan, keeping him
unconscious, resting a protective hand on his padawan's chest
as he waited patiently for Healer Tema to arrive.
Obi-Wan looked young and untroubled with his eyes closed, all
burdens lifted from him in dreamless sleep. Qui-Gon unwrapped
the bloodied bandage covering the infected hand and stared at
the welt at the root of all the trouble. Unbelievable so much
damage and pain had come from a simple injury, one he'd done
his best to cure. Now irreparable harm had been done. Qui-Gon
stroked a gentle hand through Obi-Wan's tousled hair, soothing
himself more than Obi-Wan, who could not feel or appreciate the
comfort the touch provided.
A hand descended on his shoulder, and Qui-Gon looked up into
Tema's gray-blue eyes, which shone with understanding and
compassion. "You've done what you can, Master Qui-Gon. Now
leave the rest to us. We will restore him; he will be well
again in no time at all."
"What is done cannot be undone," Qui-Gon said heavily, standing
and moving away with reluctance. "All that remains is to deal
with the aftermath."
"A difficult process, but one you can guide him through," Tema
remarked, wrapping a clean bandage quickly around Obi-Wan's
hand and gesturing to her team to carry him out. "Master Yoda
tells me this one shows much potential as a Jedi. Much is owed
you as his master, Qui-Gon. Don't think for a moment he won't
need you when the reality of his actions becomes apparent."
Qui-Gon said nothing. He watched as Obi-Wan was lifted onto a
small stretcher and carried to a waiting groundcraft. He
followed a few steps behind, eyes fixed to the vehicle as it
sped away to a clear area, then lifted into the sky, turning
gracefully in the direction of the Temple.
/ /How many times do I have to kill you before you stop...
hurting... me!/ /
The words drifted through Obi-Wan's consciousness, bringing a
familiar ache, a raging horror, and he whimpered against the
strength of the memories.
"Remember, Obi-Wan, what you are. You are a Jedi," instructed a
female voice near his ear, firm but kind. "There is no passion.
You must reach for serenity. Reach for it and find it,
Padawan."
/ /Passion...that hot, talented, inexorable mouth moving over
his.../ /
"No, Obi-Wan." Sharper, but still patient. "Try to focus.
Center yourself in the Force. Open your eyes."
Slowly, Obi-Wan dragged himself up from the confusing mass of
images. He did as he was asked, and squeezed his eyes shut
tightly again as bright light cascaded into them, searing his
mind. Alarmed, he flung one arm across his eyes, wincing as he
moved his throbbing hand. All the nerves in his body seemed to
ache in sympathy with the agonizing pain somewhere in his
finger...
"I've dimmed the lights now. Look at me." The insistent voice
compelled him.
He blinked slowly, carefully opening his eyes for the second
time, allowing them to adjust to the light. His head pounded,
making his eyes feel huge and exposed. A female Rurarian came
into view before him, her violet iridescent skin shimmering.
"Finally," she said, sounding pleased. "You've been unconscious
for quite some time."
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said hoarsely. The word could have been
interpreted many ways - a plea, a question, a request.
Tema took it as a question. "Your master is nearby, young man.
Rest now. The hard part is over."
"What did I..." The jumbled pictures in his head began to sort
themselves out. Qui-Gon making love to him. Qui-Gon betraying
him. Tiran crawling away from him, stark fear written on his
features. A strange, beautiful man, whose life rested in his
hands as he rutted into him like a beast...His heart began to
race. "What have I done?" he asked frantically.
"Be calm, Obi-Wan. Some of the things you are remembering did
not actually happen. They are illusions, brought on by poison
from the plant spine Qui-Gon extracted from your finger. There
will be plenty of time to sort it all out later. Rest your
mind," she said reassuringly.
"Illusions?" Obi-Wan repeated dubiously.
"Yes. Now rest." She tugged Obi-Wan's arm down from its
position above his head and tucked it under the sheet. Tema
could feel his struggle to understand, but it eased with every
breath as he brought his mediation techniques to bear, blanking
his mind and achieving a kind of uneasy peace.
She turned her head and looked for a very long moment at the
covered body of the young prostitute. Sadness overcame her as
she tugged back the sheet and observed the unmarked face,
angelic in contrast to the livid welts on the neck, preserved
there in their mottled ugliness by death. Her eyes wandered
back to Obi-Wan, whose chest rose and fell steadily in
exhausted sleep. He would have many demons to confront, much
anguish to absorb, before his ordeal was over.
Turning, she caught the eye of Qui-Gon Jinn, who stood framed
on the opposite side of the observation window. Inscrutable, he
nodded to her, but his eyes strayed back to Obi-Wan after only
a tiny interval of distraction. He had not moved from that
place since Obi-Wan arrived, and she knew he would not go until
he was satisfied he would not be needed. The connection between
the two men seemed alive and sensitive, even across the short
distance between them. Tema's heart ached for them both. There
was a great deal of pain ahead for each of them, pain she would
not be able to heal.
"The prostitute is dead, Master Yoda. He died during transport
to the Temple." Qui-Gon's voice wavered ever so slightly as he
delivered the news to Yoda, and the rest of the Council,
bringing them up to date on the situation.
Yoda's expression reflected his sadness. "Unfortunate. Notified
his family, have you?"
"We don't know if he had a family. There are no records at the
establishment, and the boy had few personal belongings."
"And Obi-Wan?" asked Master Windu. All the Council members were
concerned for the young Jedi; he was a favorite among them, and
all were horrified by the turn of events.
"He sleeps. The healers have assured me he's in no danger; the
toxin has been neutralized, and his hallucinations should stop.
What remains is to assist him with sorting through what he's
seen these past few days."
"Difficult, this is. Not responsible is he." Yoda stopped
speaking, as if little else could be said.
"There will be no discipline for your Padawan, Qui-Gon,"
Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "His own guilt will be penance enough. He
was not in his right mind, and his irrational needs were
heightened by the toxin."
"He was an agent of Darkness, Masters, even if he was not aware
of it. His need to revenge himself against me was so great that
he killed another in my stead." Qui-Gon's face appeared
haggard; he lifted his head even higher. "I succumbed to my
impulses, and this is the result of my foolishness."
"Knew, you did, that physical relationships between Masters and
Padawans are forbidden. Consequences there are, more grave than
you imagined." Yoda's words carried no sting; the lecture only
reinforced what Qui-Gon already knew. The blame was his, for
triggering the jealousy which sent Obi-Wan into a killing rage.
"Qui-Gon. Your apprentice had feelings for you prior to this
incident. His reaction to your...to the private activities he
witnessed you engaging in...might have been the same regardless
of your choice to kiss the boy. Yours was an impulsive act, one
you corrected by refusing to pursue the relationship. This is
not your fault." Master Billaba shot an impatient look at Yoda,
frowning at his words, hoping her opinion would soothe
Qui-Gon's heart. "You have done well by your apprentice, and
the fact that you located him so quickly may have saved him,
and many others."
"Too late for that dead boy," Qui-Gon said sharply. No one
spoke, and the silence lengthened.
Finally, Master Windu sat back in his chair, fingers steepled.
"We can deal with this later. The important thing is the health
and well-being of your Padawan. Go to him now, and report to us
regarding his state of mind."
"Crucial, this is," Yoda added. "Confront his behavior, he
must. Understand it, accept it. Forgive himself."
"As you must forgive yourself," Billaba said.
Qui-Gon bowed low. "I do not deserve forgiveness," he answered
softly.
One day. One short span of hours between the twice-risen sun,
and he'd destroyed his life, his plans for the future, his
relationship with Qui-Gon. Everything was over.
Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. Someone from the
Council would be coming for him now that he'd healed
sufficiently to be released from the care of the healers. Tema
had assured Obi-Wan his fears were groundless, but he was numb,
as dead inside as the boy he'd...as the boy.
He still hadn't come to terms with it. His punishment would no
doubt assist with that process. He'd allowed himself to give in
to his rage, to want and take revenge, to use and destroy
another sentient being. Toxins or not, he found his own conduct
inexplicable, so alien to his thoughts and beliefs that it was
as though he'd been possessed by another. Of all the things he
might have done, all the actions he could have taken, he'd
chosen sex with a total stranger, and had punished that
stranger for pleasing him by choking the last bits of life from
his body.
When he'd asked to see the boy's corpse, he was flatly refused.
He had persisted, but Tema would not be moved. Now he was
obsessed; the pictures in his mind refused to tell him the
truth. His memories were colored by a haze of obscene passion,
and he could no longer see the boy's face...Aron, that had been
his name. Aron. Not a nameless victim, but a man with a life
and a heart and feelings...Obi-Wan shuddered.
Qui-Gon had not been to see him since he woke from his healing
trance. Tema recounted how his master would not leave his side
until the danger had passed and the toxin was reversed, but
Obi-Wan understood far better than anyone that duty kept his
master there, obligation to a padawan who would no longer need
his care. He reached out through their training bond, only
once, and found his master's mind impervious to his soft probe.
Crushed, he'd withdrawn, and from that moment on, he harbored
no illusions about his fate. He would be asked to leave the
Jedi, he was sure of it.
"Ready to go, Obi-Wan?" Tema appeared in the doorway, smiling
at him.
He looked at her with a gravely serious expression. "Thank you
for all you've done," he said. "It could not have been easy for
you, knowing what I am."
"What you are is a Jedi," she reminded him. "Don't judge
yourself too harshly. Leave that to those wiser than you, who
understand the way of things."
Without responding, Obi-Wan slid from the bed and picked up his
lightsaber. It amazed him that no one had taken it away while
he'd been unconscious. They would want it now, no doubt. He
offered it to Tema. "Perhaps you should take this to them."
"Them?" Tema echoed. "I'm sure your master has no use for your
lightsaber. He has one of his own."
Startled by her words, and unreasonably hopeful, Obi-Wan looked
beyond her into the hallway. As if anticipating the question,
Qui-Gon moved into view just behind Tema, arms folded, waiting.
Green-gray eyes, their color darkening rapidly, locked on deep
blue, and they looked at one another for a long moment. Obi-Wan
thought of all the similar occasions his master came to collect
him from one injury or another, promising him a hot bath and
some tea and later torturing him with harsh, demanding drills.
There was none of that this time, no solace at all. Only his
presence, and it was not enough. It would be ripped away from
him anyway, soon enough.
"Where will I go?" Obi-Wan asked finally, feeling a raw, empty
sense of relief once he'd asked the question.
"I've come to take you home," Qui-Gon said quietly.
Home. Obi-Wan tilted his head, opened his mouth to speak again,
closed it. Not possible. He looked down at the floor, then up
at Tema, and she was stunned to see the beginnings of tears in
his eyes. "Am I dreaming this, again?" he asked faintly.
"No, Obi-Wan," she answered, moving swiftly to him to place a
hand tightly around his wrist. "I told you all would be well.
This is no dream. Your master will take good care of you."
He nodded, wiping a hand briskly across his eyes, and looked
again at Qui-Gon without weakness. "I want to see the body.
Please."
Qui-Gon studied him, measuring his readiness, and after a pause
he nodded. "I will take you there."
"Are you sure that's wise, Qui-Gon?" Tema's voice remained
even, but the question was a pointed one.
"He is a man, capable of deciding how best to deal with this.
It will give him closure," Qui-Gon answered, and held out a
hand. "Let's go."
Obi-Wan moved forward slowly. Physically, he was fine; there
were no detectable aftereffects of the toxin, no weakness or
brain damage, and his hand was healing nicely. Still, he felt a
little unsteady, but his spine seemed to straighten as
Qui-Gon's hand rested on his shoulder, supporting him.
Together, they rounded the corner into the hallway, neither
speaking. After only a few short steps, Qui-Gon stopped in
front of a plain door, keying his code into the panel to open
it. The door slid back, and Qui-Gon's hand tightened measurably
on his shoulder for a moment, then released him.
"I'll wait here," his master said, stepping away.
Obi-Wan nodded. As the door slid closed behind him, he moved
forward into the cluttered, tiny room, brimming with equipment
and monitors. The thing he sought was to the right, pushed
against the wall, shrouded in thermal sheets and cold shadows.
A few steps more, and he was close, hand poised to pull away
the covering.
I did this, he thought, and grasped a corner of the sheet,
yanking it back before he lost his courage. One glimpse was all
that was required to burn the image permanently into his mind.
A mass of dark hair, soft, gently falling across a blue-tinged
face. Full lips, straight and severe, where a mercurial smile
had been. Eyes closed, as though in sleep. And a mass of dark,
angry, brutal markings across the slender throat, screaming
their protest at him, njoyed the
sensation of a life being snuffed out in his arms, how
satisfying and erotic it had been, and he couldn't seem to push
it out of his head. He heaved a breath that seemed too shallow,
not enough air to survive on, and another, and his lungs
refused to cooperate. He let go of the table and slipped to the
ground, palms flat on the cool floor, back arched as he tried
to breathe, tried not to think of it. If only he could
breathe...
A touch to the back of his neck, warm fingers against his skin,
and Qui-Gon's voice, anchoring him. "Obi-Wan," he said. "What's
done cannot be undone. You must move forward. No amount of
self-torture will give the boy back his life, and you were not
responsible."
Obi-Wan reached for words to explain his heart. "With my bare
hands," he cried, bending closer to the floor until his head
touched the tile.
Qui-Gon understood all too well. So young, to learn such a
horrible lesson about the nature of the Darkness in every
being. He gently raised Obi-Wan until he could see the younger
man's face. "Obi-Wan, please," he said, his voice rough. "None
of this was your fault. Accept what has happened. Let me help."
Obi-Wan's face seemed to crumple inward as he tried to restore
the stoic calm shielding him from exposure of his feelings. His
inner strength tried to reassert itself, and failed.
Qui-Gon took hold of his padawan and pulled him into an
embrace, something he had not done since Obi-Wan was much
younger. He held the younger man, arms tight around him,
offering wordless comfort, and a measure of momentary safety
from the dark.
"I'm all right," Obi-Wan said softly, after a time. He lay
curled in his master's arms, tightly embraced, and he didn't
want to move, but the small circle of protection his master
offered could not last forever.
Qui-Gon made no move to release him. "Obi-Wan, what you've
endured, and will still face, is something difficult to
understand. I will expect you to take your time sorting things
out. When you are ready to ask questions, I will answer them."
His master tipped his chin up with two fingers, searching his
eyes to make sure he was understood. "All of them."
Obi-Wan nodded. Slowly, he pulled away from Qui-Gon, who stood
and helped his padawan to his feet while he got his bearings.
His body felt like a mass of Deneterian jelly, unstable and
volatile, completely boneless. He could not recall the last
time his body had been so disobedient. He ordered his hands to
stop shaking, but they trembled in spite of him. He focused
calming energy on his mind, but the frightening array of images
persisted, albeit with less intensity. Aware that Qui-Gon was
watching him closely, he sighed, unable to manage any words but
the ones he most wanted to say. "Let's go home."
The journey to their quarters seemed unbearably long. Obi-Wan
had no idea how he'd managed to move that far. His entire body
felt spent, and he was dizzy with grief and remorse. Qui-Gon's
hands never left him - a squeeze to his shoulder, a quick
ruffling of his hair, a firm pressure in the middle of his back
guiding him steadily through the corridors. Obi-Wan felt the
curious stares of other Jedi as he passed by, but he was too
tired to care, and his master's protective presence kept the
majority of onlookers from watching him for too long.
And then they'd arrived, and Qui-Gon tucked him into a
comfortable chair with a small hot meal and threats to eat or
be fed, and it seemed so...normal...but it was anything but
normal, and Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon felt it, too. His master was
being very careful, very cautious, and there was much left
unsaid.
Or perhaps there were questions, left unasked.
He ate, staring out the window at the city, watching the parade
of traffic and clouds crossing the sky. With his spoon, he
stirred the food around absently, making patterns in the bowl.
It had little taste, and he wasn't terribly hungry. He felt
restless, uncomfortable in his own skin. "Master?" he called,
and was gratified when Qui-Gon materialized beside him almost
instantly, as though he'd been waiting to be summoned.
Qui-Gon took the bowl from his hand, examining the contents. "A
bit is better than none," he remarked. "Would you like to rest
for a bit, or perhaps talk awhile?"
"I'm not sleepy," Obi-Wan answered, dodging the other
alternative. "Am I allowed to walk about the Temple? Or am I
restricted to quarters?"
Qui-Gon settled in a chair near him. "There is to be no
punishment of any kind. You will not return to regular duties
or studies until I am satisfied that you have worked through
what has happened within your own mind and come to terms with
it."
"But I murdered someone, without provocation. I can't...I
deserve anything they want to do to me, anything they think it
just," Obi-Wan said hollowly. "And I...I...I used him..."
"Take each thing in turn, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon interrupted gently.
"There are a number of things to be addressed. All of them will
be painful for you." He leaned forward in his chair. "The sex
was consensual. There was no abuse of his body, until you
became violent. The young man was a prostitute, not unused to
such things. In your rage, you took things a step too far, and
were unwilling to stop."
Qui-Gon's calm, rational explanation of things took the edge
off Obi-Wan's agitation. It made things seem a little less
awful, in a strange way. "I was punishing him," he said, and
stopped. Avoiding Qui-Gon's eyes, he added, "No, I was
punishing you."
Finally, it rested between them, out in the open. Qui-Gon took
a deep breath, and waited.
"I thought...you had used me. I didn't understand why you would
make love to me, and then turn to another. I was hurt, and
jealous, and..." Obi-Wan's voice trailed off as Qui-Gon stood
abruptly and walked to the window, back to his padawan.
Every muscle in Qui-Gon's tall, broad back was tight; he was a
straight wire, tense and taut. Obi-Wan could feel some sort of
immense struggle taking place beneath the surface of that
barely controlled tension.
"Master?" Obi-Wan said, voice faltering.
"I should not have kissed you," Qui-Gon said without turning.
"I wanted you in that moment, Obi-Wan, but such things are
forbidden, and I knew it could not be as you wished between us.
As...as I wished," he amended. "I had intended to speak with
you about it the morning the poisoning took its full effect on
you, that morning you entered my quarters without my
permission."
"So the rest of it was...you never..." Obi-Wan found he
couldn't ask the question. He swallowed. "Did you come to my
room that night, and...touch me?"
Qui-Gon turned then, with a strange, half-wild expression on
his face. It passed quickly and was gone, too soon for Obi-Wan
to read. "No, Obi-Wan."
"Oh." Obi-Wan could not decide if the odd feeling in the pit of
his stomach was relief, regret or a strange mixture of the two.
"It seemed so real, Master. I'm sorry."
"This is, all of it, my fault to begin with," Qui-Gon answered,
returning slowly to the chair and sitting on the edge of it.
"That simple action...a kiss... started a great number of
things in motion, and your rage was the result of it all."
Obi-Wan watched his master's face; something was there, hidden,
like a light under an opaque glass. It burned, but its source
was unseen. With only the slightest note of apprehension in his
voice, he asked, "Did I attack Tiran? Did I...try to kill him?"
"Yes."
The simple response produced a flinch from Obi-Wan, who looked
down at his hands where they lay folded in his lap. He nodded.
"And you?" he asked.
"I don't know that you wanted to kill me. But I do know you
wanted to transfer your pain into me, and were using various
methods to accomplish that." Qui-Gon leaned forward. "I did not
want to hurt you, but by the same token, I could not allow you
to hurt me, or anyone else. I had not yet learned about the
neurotoxin, and I knew only something was very wrong."
"I have never felt such anger before," Obi-Wan marveled. "I
didn't know I was capable of it."
"We are all capable of it. Now you understand, perhaps better
than any other Padawan, and many Masters, why we cannot give in
to our passions. The Dark Side is seductive, and very powerful,
and lies in wait just beneath the control we exert on our
emotions. You gave into the darkness, not because of any
weakness, but because all the controls were removed and you
could no longer choose between right and wrong. There was
nothing you could have done, Obi-Wan. You did not want to
control your passion, because you did not understand the need
to control it any longer, and so it controlled you."
"I caused so much harm," Obi-Wan said, and pushed his hands
into the wide sleeves of his tunic to hide their trembling from
Qui-Gon.
The subtle action caused Qui-Gon to move; he knelt beside the
chair and caught hold of Obi-Wan's arms, coaxing his hands out
and taking them in his own. "In time, you will forgive yourself
for what you did. Hold yourself accountable if you must, but
recognize that you are only accountable for those things you do
of your own free will, where you choose and can understand
consequences. Obi-Wan," he said urgently. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan looked down at his hands again, small
compared to the large, gentle hands which enclosed them, and a
wave of fresh, bright sadness washed over him. "I need time to
think," he said. "Would it be all right to practice a kata?
Most of the classes will be done for the day by now...there
won't be many people to ask me questions."
Qui-Gon released his hands and stood. "If that is what you
wish. Be sure to listen to the Force, and be guided by it;
don't do too much."
Two steps forward, hands out and to the side, drawn gracefully
down in a sweeping arc. A lunge to the side, and the hands fall
to the hips. Fluid motion, deep breaths, concentration. Exhale,
inhale.
/ /Touch me./ /
Obi-Wan moved faster in response to the thoughts springing
suddenly into his mind. A greater focus was required to do it
well, to keep track of every minute movement of hands and feet,
of the curve and tilt of the hips...every muscle quivered with
exhaustion after so many hours of exercise, but he persisted.
/ /Where are your fantasies now?/ /
He moved his legs one at a time in a strong line through the
space in front of him, as he pushed away the memories and tried
to concentrate. Ever more rapid movements, increasing
desperation to remain in the moment. His muscles screamed their
complaint; it was more than he'd ever attempted, more than he
could accomplish, but still he moved...
/ / ...he channeled the Force through the swelling edges of his
orgasm, allowed it to magnify and acquire a primal power, and
dropped his hand, content to allow the Force to do what was
required...//
Without a sound, Obi-Wan dropped into an exhausted, huddled
heap in the floor. He rolled onto his side without attempting
to rise, listening to his own harsh breathing, feeling every
cramp and twinge and spasm his body threw at him by way of
rebuke. He welcomed every individual pain, for together, they
shielded him against all other thoughts save the momentary
agony. He lived inside the pain; he'd sought it, and found it.
Pain was becoming familiar to him. It was what he deserved.
Five days in a row, Obi-Wan worked himself into a state of
pure, total exhaustion through drilling, practicing and
meditating until he was too weak to stand. Twice his master
came and collected him off the floor of the practice ring.
Every effort to broach the subject of Obi-Wan's feelings was
rebuffed, by silence and excuses. Qui-Gon stopped asking, but
his presence near Obi-Wan grew more frequent, never intrusive
but always there. In truth, Qui-Gon was afraid to leave him by
himself, and that fact became more apparent to Obi-Wan with
every day that passed. He understood it, and did nothing to
contradict his master's worry.
Daily, Qui-Gon went before the Council and made his report
regarding Obi-Wan's progress, which was minimal. Yoda's
expression grew more thoughtful, more troubled, but he
refrained from speaking his mind, as did the rest of the
Council. There seemed little point. Some things could not be
hurried, and much depended on Obi-Wan's strength of character.
It became a routine: Qui-Gon rose at dawn, only to find Obi-Wan
showered and gone, and not to return until ushered out of the
practice hall long after sunset. Which is why on the sixth day
of that routine, Qui-Gon was surprised to find his padawan
waiting for him when he rose and moved out into the common room
on his way to the shower.
Delicate rays of sunshine, the earliest and most tender of the
day, whispered into the room and touched Obi-Wan's face and
hair, lending a golden tint to both. He sat in the same chair
near the window, his favorite, nursing a cup of something warm
and watching Qui-Gon's bedroom door like a wary bird of prey.
Qui-Gon smiled at Obi-Wan, earning a brief smile in return,
before settling into his own chair, long hair covering his bare
shoulders. "Getting a late start today, aren't you, Padawan?"
he asked lightly.
"I was waiting for you, Master," Obi-Wan said, well aware that
his master already knew, and was waiting for the reasons.
"You've been wearing yourself out these last few days," Qui-Gon
chided gently, his first gentle scolding since the horrible
chaos which followed the poisoning. "It's just another way of
avoiding what must be confronted."
"I know," Obi-Wan said, taking a sip from the cup and setting
it down. "Master, one thing you said...has troubled me
greatly."
"What is it, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked, touched that the younger
man felt able to speak freely.
A small hesitation, and Obi-Wan said, "You wished for more
between us." He lifted his head and locked eyes with Qui-Gon,
and something sharp and sparking with energy passed between
them. For the first time since that night Qui-Gon sent him to
bed aboard ship, Obi-Wan could sense his master's emotions
through the training bond. He sensed no effort to hide, no
turning away.
"I did. Were things different between us, I would have pursued
a relationship with you in a way that would leave no doubt of
that," Qui-Gon said, and the tone of his voice caused erotic
shivers up and down Obi-Wan's body. "The Council and Code do
not permit such things, and so...regardless of what I may
want...it cannot be."
"And if I want it as well?" Obi-Wan's voice acquired an edge
suddenly, laden with possibilities, with the readiness of
persuasion. "My first experience was with a total stranger,
under circumstances I will spend the rest of my life trying to
forget. I had hoped it could be different." His voice had the
hollow echo of a wish already dying as he added, "Forgetfulness
might be possible, with you."
Qui-Gon could not speak. He felt Obi-Wan's love, mingled with
confusion and doubt, threading through their bond, and he
reached for it, drank it in. Still, he made no move, and could
not find the words.
Moments passed, and Obi-Wan went to him, kneeling in front of
his master. His hands rested lightly on Qui-Gon's legs. "I am
not a boy any longer," he pointed out with a small grin. "There
are things I want, things I need, and I have the right to
choose." He leaned forward, hands sliding down the hard,
suddenly tense muscles of his master's thighs, and tilted his
head up, determined, willing, needing.
Mistake, thought Qui-Gon, as he gave himself the inches
required, slacking the leash on his heart just enough to permit
his lips to touch Obi-Wan's, to close the distance and capture
that mouth with his own, answering the demand with reluctant
willingness.
Obi-Wan pressed up, taking more, greedy for the contact, for
some sort of surrender, but he found himself pushed away, and
held at bay with one of his master's extended arms.
"I am not fit to be your master," Qui-Gon said, with a degree
of vehemence and anger Obi-Wan had never heard before. "If I
cannot control myself, how am I ever to teach you what it means
to be a Jedi?" The question was rhetorical, and Qui-Gon rose,
stepping past his padawan, who turned on his knees as his
master set distance between them.
"I know what I want, my master," Obi-Wan said stubbornly,
seeing that same strange expression of savage abandon flitting
over Qui-Gon's face, touching his eyes with a predatory,
dangerous desire.
"What you want, you cannot have, and you must try to harness
those passions, Padawan. You will make this much more difficult
on us both if you do not," Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes
briefly. "I will have all I can do to get control of my own
desires. This cannot continue."
Obi-Wan bowed his head, recognizing the tone of voice signaling
obedience at all costs. There was no point to further
discussion; all was at an end.
"I understand, Master," he said, rising. "I never meant to
cause you pain in this."
Qui-Gon looked up, a frown causing his face. "Padawan," he
began, but Obi-Wan gathered up his robe and was gone.
He walked for quite some time, without much of a sense of where
he was going, or what he would do when he arrived. Everything
had become distorted. Even the things he was sure of were
cloudy. He knew only that his master should no longer be
subjected to his passions; he felt sure Qui-Gon had enough of
that, and he'd given him more than enough cause to be
disappointed and angry. Obi-Wan had never felt such a crisis of
confidence in all the years he'd been Qui-Gon's padawan.
His master had never given him cause to doubt himself. In fact,
just the opposite was true. He would never have reached his
current level of skill, or understood what he was truly capable
of, were it not for his master's faith in him.
Faith. He'd reached the end of his blind belief in the power of
unseen emotion to conquer every obstacle. It shouldn't have
taken so many years, he supposed, but he'd never doubted
Qui-Gon's love for him. It was a constant truth, a signpost.
Once removed, he would have to find his way alone, but at least
Qui-Gon would no longer be slowed by an apprentice always
seeking direction. Always putting his needs before his master's
wisdom. Always a burden.
He reached the door he'd been unwittingly seeking and stopped
before it, suddenly unsure, but unable to think of another
alternative. He turned his back on it and pressed against its
solid, cold weight, sliding down until he was seated on the
floor before it. He rested his head on his arms and waited.
"Padawan Kenobi. What are you doing here?" said a deep,
surprised voice from high above him. He looked up into that
dark face, felt the genuine concern behind it, and opened his
heart.
"Admit Padawan Kenobi," Mace Windu said, nodding at the Knight
whose job it was to control entry and exit at the door of the
Jedi Council Chambers.
The door slid open and Obi-Wan moved into the room, striding
with the self-assured movement of a man whose mind is firm on a
course of action. He went directly to one knee, a gesture of
immense respect and deference not lost on the Council.
"What business have you to bring before us, Padawan?"
Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
"I have come to speak of my own weakness, and my relationship
with my Master," Obi-Wan said, head still bowed. "As I told
Master Windu, this is a matter which cannot be delayed."
"Rise then, and speak," Yoda instructed.
"I desire a deeper bond with my master," Obi-Wan said, rising
gracefully and standing with his hands buried within the robe.
"This cannot be; he has been quite clear about the will of the
Council and the Code. Nevertheless, I will persist in this
until I am rewarded with what I desire. It is my nature,"
Obi-Wan said.
"You speak frankly, Padawan," Depa Billaba said, admiration in
her tone.
Obi-Wan inclined his head toward her in thanks and resumed
speaking. "For these reasons, my continued presence near my
master is difficult for him, and for me as well," Obi-Wan said.
"It would be better for both of us if other arrangements could
be made."
"Speak plainly, Obi-Wan. What is it you wish?" Ki-Adi-Mundi
asked.
"I have disappointed my master, and I can never regain that
which has been lost. I cannot be Qui-Gon's lover, for that is
his decision, but I will not deny I have hopes that will
someday change. My foolishness led me to jealousy, which in
turn led me to anger, and because of my weakness I found it
within me to kill. " Obi-Wan looked into Yoda's knowing eyes.
"We are locked into a cycle which must be broken."
"A serious issue, this is," Yoda said. "So sure are you, no
compromise can be reached?"
"I do not think it would be wise to try," Obi-Wan said. "I do
not wish to cause my master further pain, and I must be sure my
actions are correctly motivated." He bowed his head, gathering
his resolve, and looked up again, first at Yoda, then Master
Windu. "I request my apprenticeship be severed, and I be
assigned to another Master."
On a planet shaped into one continuous city, with billions of
people and no privacy, there was only one place to find a Jedi
Master. Mace Windu knew that place. He'd shown it to dozens of
Knights close enough to their Trials to crave the taste of
solitude, swearing them to secrecy as he'd been sworn to it
decades before.
He took the lift to the tallest spire of the temple, then
stepped out onto the service platform, savoring the bitter
sting of raw atmosphere and biting cold wind on his face. The
sensations combined made him smile with remembrance. With four
quick, shallow breaths as reserves, he placed his hands on the
rungs of the ladder and climbed for what seemed like forever,
finally reaching the solitary platform at the very top of the
Jedi Temple.
Mace stepped out, staring at the tableau before him. Qui-Gon
knelt in the center of the small platform, long hair unbound
and whipping around him in a frenzy, tossed by an uncaring wind
which spared no structure its ravages. His torso was bare, as
was his custom during meditation, and his posture perfect as he
tilted his face to the mid-morning sun, drinking in its golden
perfection.
"I see you still come here," Mace shouted, breaking Qui-Gon's
concentration. "Still for the difficult problems, or is it more
than that now?"
Qui-Gon chose not to respond at first, finding the sun and sky
more pleasant than what might await him on the other end of
Mace's question. He reached for his tunic, secured under one
knee, and tugged it on quickly as he rocked back on his heels
to bring him to a standing position.
Mace watched as Qui-Gon approached him with the fluid movements
of a man well satisfied within his own body. He turned and
descended the ladder, down into the protected but tiny
observation deck which partially sheltered the lift. When he
touched bottom, Qui-Gon was just behind him.
"I had a suspicion you'd be coming," Qui-Gon said, patting his
old friend on the shoulder briefly before moving off to stand
before one of the tall, porous windows. The breeze caught that
mass of graying hair, tossing it about, giving the appearance
of something wild, untamed.
"Obi-Wan has gone before the Council. He'd requested another
Master. He seems to feel you would both be better off if you
were separated," Mace said quietly.
Qui-Gon stood very still, facing the wall. "If that is his
wish."
Mace's smooth face was instantly marred by a thunderous frown,
but he set aside his confusion and reached out again. "I found
Obi-Wan waiting outside the Council chambers, and I spoke with
him at length. There is a great deal involved in his decision.
Much of it involves his feelings for you, and what he's done
because of them." He watched Qui-Gon for reaction, for
recognition, but received only a small nod in return.
"He told you, then. All of it." When Mace confirmed his
suspicions with an affirmative nod, he sighed, jaw set, and
looked back at the drifting clouds enveloping the tower. "I can
no longer be the kind of teacher he requires. Perhaps...I hope
he will be happy with the choice he's made."
Mace's temper finally got the better of him. He took an
impatient step forward, taking hold of Qui-Gon's shoulder and
twisting the other man to face him. "What's the matter with
you?" he asked angrily. "The boy needs your guidance. You have
his trust. No one else is better able to guide him through
this! He thinks he's sparing you from something by doing this.
Will you let him believe it?"
"His instincts have always been better than mine," Qui-Gon
pointed out, in a tone so low he could barely be understood.
"It's the best decision he could have made, because I wasn't
strong enough to do so."
"You're not making sense," Mace said, frustrated, searching
Qui-Gon's impassive face for some sign of what he was thinking.
"I thought it would be easier for Obi-Wan, to believe it never
happened, but I deluded myself. It was easier for me, not to
face him, not to pursue something so dangerous, not to accept
my responsibility for the death of that boy." Qui-Gon's eyes
were dark, full of a deep self-loathing. As if looking inside
himself, he paused, and his face contorted with an odd
expression of sadness and longing.
Mace stared at his oldest friend, as comprehension slowly
dawned. "You slept with him. You...slept with him, and you've
let him believe it never happened. What...why in all the Sith
hells would you do such a thing?" he hissed furiously. "You'll
let your padawan go on believing he wasted his first encounter
on a stranger, someone who meant nothing to him - you'd let him
carry that around on top of all else he has to contend with in
this disaster?"
"Better for him to believe he took a stranger, than to
know he was taken by his master, who then took another,"
Qui-Gon said ruthlessly. "He would never have known about the
lover I took that morning. He's never entered my quarters
without permission, but he was looking for me, after..."
Mercilessly, refusing to shy away from the horror and grief in
Mace's eyes, he went on. "I needed something I was unwilling to
take from Obi-Wan. I used another for that purpose."
"You took the easy way out," Mace said, disgusted. "You
assuaged your guilt by using the neurotoxin to disguise the
overtures you made to Obi-Wan. And now you're punishing
yourself by denying your love for him. "
"He deserves better than my love," Qui-Gon said flatly. "He
deserves better than a master who tried to erase the only
memory he wanted to preserve."
"He's punishing himself by cutting off his ties with you this
way. And I won't allow it," Mace said through gritted teeth. "I
don't give a damn how guilty you feel, or what you want. If you
have to suffer to make that boy better, you'll suffer until you
rot. But you will give your padawan the attention, and the
training, and the love he deserves. And you won't deprive him
of any of those things simply because you were too weak and
cowardly to face the truth of what you offered him, before you
lost your courage." Mace shoved Qui-Gon hard enough to knock
him to his knees, and his hand touched the haft of his
lightsaber, fingers caressing it with something akin to
longing. "Get up."
Qui-Gon obliged, despising the part of himself that was glad
he'd been spared the choice.
"Get down there and stop him, before the Council decides he was
correct in his request," Mace ordered.
"No matter the consequences?" Qui-Gon asked simply.
Mace locked eyes with his friend, held his gaze. "No matter
what."
Qui-Gon reached out, waited. Mace took his hand and clasped it
in his own. He keyed the lift, hanging back only a moment
before stepping in and allowing it to carry him down.
*
Obi-Wan felt old. There was weariness in his soul, the kind
wrought by experience and time, and the tragedy of living.
One at a time, he folded his clean tunics and trousers. He
stuffed them into the bag he'd used to hold his possessions a
hundred times or more on various missions. Once the clothes
were packed, he scoured thetal, seemingly fragile but hard enough to cut the
strongest metals. And a tiny, quivering leaf imbedded in living
mana rock from the moons of Endor...it seemed so green and
alive...more alive in its tiny space than he'd ever been in his
life. He stared at the small plant, remembering.
"Many things are not as they appear to be. Some are stronger,
and have wisdom beyond what is apparent."
Obi-Wan turned and saw his master in the doorway. With a sad
smile, he placed the living thing inside the bag and closed it,
sealing the essence of the plant inside. "True," he
acknowledged, setting the bag on the floor near the bed.
Qui-Gon watched for a moment as Obi-Wan collected his books,
datapads and scrolls from the low shelves over his study desk
and stuffed them into a carton. "You've been assigned a new
master," he said, anguished at the stark reality implied by the
words.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said, pausing for a moment as he placed the lid
on the box.
"Before you go, there's something I must tell you," Qui-Gon
said slowly. He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting
on his knees, head down.
"I'm due to meet-" Obi-Wan began.
"It can wait," Qui-Gon insisted, catching Obi-Wan's arm. "I
didn't tell you the truth. About that night you remember us
together. I...we...I did come to you that night," Qui-Gon said
haltingly, flinching away from what he expected to see in
Obi-Wan's eyes.
His padawan didn't speak, and Qui-Gon lifted his head to see
Obi-Wan's face. What was written there was a revelation, a
piece of the young Jedi's soul, brilliant and faceted like a
clear, perfect gem.
"You were the first," Obi-Wan breathed, and the relief and joy
that flooded their not-yet-severed bond was enough to bring
Qui-Gon to his knees. "The first."
"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon began, thinking of a thousand things to be
said, a thousand arguments to be made for being together, but
Obi-Wan's mouth was pressed against his, hot and sweet and
urgent and exultant.
"There's an old outworld saying," Obi-Wan whispered against his
parted lips. "Never pay death with love alone." Qui-Gon's arms
slowly folded around him as Obi-Wan sealed the kiss, creating a
fire out of ashes.
Obi-Wan's hands cradled his master's face as he settled to his
knees before Qui-Gon. Face tilted up, he received the steady,
relentless exploration of his master's tongue, stroking and
seeking until Obi-Wan shivered with the desire this man had
forbidden him.
"Not on your knees," Qui-Gon said, voice hoarse, and Obi-Wan
tasted salt beneath his tongue, realized Qui-Gon's silent tears
had slipped between them. "What I did to you..."
"Was what I wanted," Obi-Wan reminded him, hands tugging at
Qui-Gon's tunic, baring patches of skin for him to touch, for
his fingers to memorize and map with feathering strokes.
"I lied to you," Qui-Gon persisted, haunted eyes disbelieving
the forgiveness they saw in Obi-Wan. "I could not break the
Code, but I wanted you, and I..."
"Wanted me," Obi-Wan repeated low, in a voice which caused
Qui-Gon to harden instantly. "As I wanted you."
Now the tunic was removed, and with it, the last threads of
control Qui-Gon had to cling to. "I could not take you...it was
too soon, I did not wish to hurt you, and I used another... "
he explained, desperate to be sure he was understood.
"Then take me now," Obi-Wan demanded, rising up on his knees to
press slow kisses against the bared, chilled skin of his
master's torso. He suckled at a sensitive nipple, and Qui-Gon
threw his head back, a growl of pleasure rumbling in his
throat.
With strength he'd not dared to use before, he caught Obi-Wan
in his arms and lifted him from the floor to the bed, raking
his teeth across the tempting arch of neck as it passed by him.
Obi-Wan sprawled across the bed beneath him, looking up at his
master with a desire so obvious it took Qui-Gon's breath away.
His padawan's hands were on him again, surprisingly tentative,
brushing across shoulder, muscle, belly, stopping short of the
fastening of the trousers.
Obi-Wan felt his world give way to the surreal fantasy of
Qui-Gon's mouth covering his, warmly giving and unbearably
sensual, taking his kiss a millimeter at a time, marking him
forever. No confusion this time, but real and free, felt down
to nerve and bone.
His clothing was shoved aside with impatience, baring him to
Qui-Gon's frank, adoring gaze. Obi-Wan felt the palpable touch
of his master's dark eyes on his body as his trousers were
unfastened and tugged free. He flushed with pleasure as a large
hand traced his long, curving erection, palm cupping him. And
then the soft words, searing him: "If we do this, you will
belong to me."
Obi-Wan's hands rose, twined in Qui-Gon's hair, pulled him back
for a savage kiss. "I already do," he murmured, feeling release
as the power of that admission swept over them both. "Take me,"
he begged again. His arms fell back over his head, signaling
his surrender.
Boots and trousers were tossed to the floor, revealing
everything, and then Qui-Gon drank in the sight of Obi-Wan's
nude form, waiting to be possessed. His padawan's stormy eyes
were shadowed with lust, and those slender hips rose
impatiently, thrusting up, irresistible.
Tongue to flesh, and harsh gasps of ecstasy as Obi-Wan's hips
were steadied by bruising fingers, and his cock was licked,
circled and painted with cruel patience. Those same fingers
probed for entry below the base of his need, stretching and
preparing him even as that careful mouth manipulated him to the
brink of joy, then gentled him back again.
Qui-Gon swung himself over Obi-Wan, who parted his legs wide to
give his master room to move, but Qui-Gon shook his head and
turned the younger man onto his stomach. Instantly, Obi-Wan
rose up on his hands and knees and offered himself, resting his
head on his arms.
The tip of Qui-Gon's cock pressed for entry. He nudged forward,
and Obi-Wan felt the Force flowing through him, relaxing his
muscles, opening him even as Qui-Gon said roughly, "I have only
this to ease the way."
"Now," Obi-Wan whispered, and cried out as Qui-Gon thrust
inside, slowly working his way in with rhythmic, even motions,
hips rotating in an oval as he sank deeper. Obi-Wan felt every
movement, and he bit down on his lip as each thrust brought
mingled pain and pleasure, a burning which gave way to tingling
heat. He felt his master's hand on him, stroking him in time to
the rapid thrusts, and he pushed back, eliciting soft moans
from his master.
Obi-Wan heard himself speaking, nonsensical words, and was
hushed by his master, who was licking and biting a trail up his
spine. And then his mind imploded, a star collapsing in on
itself, white hot and heavy and full of joy and darkness. He
knew there were tears on his face, and he shouted Qui-Gon's
name as he came into the hand enclosing him, and his master
found his own release... two halves of the same being.
*
They lay intertwined for many hours, not speaking, drawing
comfort from the touch of skin on skin, the feel of dual
heartbeats. No more need for apologies.
Night was falling over the city-world when finally, Obi-Wan sat
up and reached for his clothes, pulling them on slowly, almost
regretfully.
Qui-Gon turned on his side and watched, propped up on one
elbow. "You know, your master will forgive you if you remain in
bed today. It's late, after all."
The teasing tone produced a tense line in Obi-Wan's shoulders,
and the younger Jedi turned to his lover. "I don't think she'll
appreciate it much at all," he said, eyes locked on Qui-Gon's.
"You're not actually going through with this," Qui-Gon said,
stunned.
Obi-Wan sank back down on the bed, belt in hand, and sat still
for a moment. "There has to be a choice, and you know it as
well as I do, better perhaps." He turned, looked at Qui-Gon.
"This is what I want, with you."
"The Council may still permit me to train you...given the
circumstances," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"No. It's done." Obi-Wan fastened his belt, but could not bring
himself to stand.
Qui-Gon pulled the younger man into his arms, devoured his
mouth with a bittersweet kiss, then released him, brushing a
hand lightly across his face.
Obi-Wan nodded, and after a moment, rose from the bed. He
picked up the small bag, and the box, and without looking back,
he was gone.
Qui-Gon lay in the darkness, listening to the stillness,
feeling the emptiness of the room. A hollow loneliness settled
in his heart where the training bond should be. He knew the
love he'd given expression to that day should have eased the
separation, but oddly, it did not.
He suspected a great many things would never be the same.
End.
10/27/99
Well, everything can't have a totally happy ending! (points to
title)
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