Archive: MA, WWOMB, anywhere else please ask first
Category: First-Time, Drama, Romance
Rating: R
Status: complete
Summary: Sometimes love can be born out of the ashes of
despair.
Feedback: yes, please! Post on-list or mail to
n_sanity75@hotmail.com
It was times like this that Obi-Wan Kenobi really started to
question the Jedi tenet of being tolerant of other species'
religions.
The mob surged around him, a writhing mass of bodies clothed
in darkness. The acrid scent of torches mingled with the scents
of sweat and fanaticism and fear, thickening the air, choking
him, making it difficult to breathe. Harsh hands held his arms,
pulling him rapidly through the streets, so that he had to
nearly run to keep up. He stumbled, winded, and earned a sharp
blow to the side of his face. He tasted blood.
He and Qui-Gon had come to this distressingly backwater little
world with the intention of mediating a religious dispute that
was threatening to break out into full-scale civil war. The
populace had seemed honestly interested in finding an end to
their differences, at least at first. It soon became clear,
however, that the prejudices and obsessions that characterized
the worship of their god were just too deeply ingrained.
It was evident from the outset that the Vinshalins were
distrustful of the Force. After the first day, Qui-Gon had told
his apprentice that it would be best if they were to avoid
conspicuous displays of their power, as it was drawing the
attention of the High Priests. Obi-Wan had agreed readily
enough. These people made him nervous, and he had no desire to
offend their rather ambiguous sensibilities.
The talks had not gone well, and Qui-Gon had admitted to
Obi-Wan privately that they would be returning to Coruscant by
the week's end. Neither side was willing to concede anything to
the other, and full-scale conversion of either faction to the
religion of the other was a highly unlikely event. There was
nothing further that the Jedi could do here.
Obi-Wan was relieved. There was something about this culture
that gave him the creeps, even as he tried not to be
judgmental. All sentient creatures were entitled to practice
whatever religion they saw fit, in as fanatic a way as they
chose. It was not like him to be so critical, and he tried very
hard to suppress such negative thoughts. But the feeling
remained.
It was only two days before they were to leave Vinshala when
Obi- Wan made his mistake. He had been walking through the
garden outside the high temple, meditating, when he heard a
sharp scream. Looking up, he'd seen a young Vinshalin girl,
hanging from the upper branches of a tall tree where she had
been playing across the glade. She had slipped from her perch
and was even now clutching precariously at the limb, her
expression one of absolute terror. A fall such as this would
injure her horribly, as there was nothing beneath her to break
her fall except the rock-strewn ground.
There were several ways he could have handled this. He could
have run with Force-assisted speed to catch her. He could have
shouted for help among the natives, hoping that one of them was
close enough to assist the girl. He could have used the Force
to hold her where she was until someone could come rescue
her.
There was only a split second between the time he looked up
and the time she lost her grip, and he reacted instinctively as
she started to fall. Reaching out with his senses, he wrapped
her in a gentle cocoon of Force and gently eased her fall to
the ground, setting her down lightly on the rocks under the
tree. Her expression was awed as she shakily caught her
balance.
An instant later, one of the female Vinshalins appeared at the
child's side (too late to have saved her had she fallen freely,
Obi-Wan noted), and scooped the girl up in her arms, sobbing in
relief. Obi-Wan held his ground, watching, which in retrospect
had been the wrong thing to do. But he doubted that even a
hasty retreat would have saved him at this point.
Immediately, he had been surrounded by a half dozen of the
locals, all of them looking at him with expressions bordering
on loathing. He was at a loss for a moment, not understanding
their reaction, before he remembered their extreme dislike of
any conspicuous show of the Force. Feeling a faint tingle of
alarm, he called mentally for Qui-Gon.
The two of them were barely able to escape the village with
their lives. The Vinshalins were a fiercely passionate people,
and now that intense zeal was directed against the blasphemers
in their midst. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan retreated into the hills,
but it wasn't long before they were being chased even further
back into the wilderness outside the city. The Vinshalins
hunted them mercilessly, and they were equipped with speeders
that allowed them to cover far more ground than the Jedi could
ever hope to traverse, leaving them to scramble like wild
things through the thicket.
For six long days, Obi-Wan had been an animal on the run. He
was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and his body was
battered and bruised by the harshness of the terrain. Qui-Gon
offered what comfort he could, but slowly, Obi-Wan felt himself
start to slip into despair. The hatred and anger of the
Vinshalins was like a physical presence around him, battering
away at his shields, a constant reminder of the foes that
sought to find him. Qui-Gon tried to find places where they
could rest, but before Obi-Wan could get any true sleep, the
high-pitched whine of the speeders caused him to jerk back to
wakefulness, and the chase was on again.
The days molded together in his memory, little more than one
long nightmare of exhaustion and pain and fear. Qui-Gon was a
steadying presence through all of it, the one thing that gave
him hope in the depths of his despondency. Qui-Gon was an
island of serenity amongst the turmoil, a rock to which Obi-Wan
tied his unfettered emotions. As long as Qui-Gon was with him,
he could still believe they would escape this place.
Then, on the sixth day of the manhunt, he was separated from
Qui- Gon. It had been an unexpected attack, and he could still
hear the angry hum of his Master's lightsaber, driving back the
figures that sought to apprehend them. But there were too many
of them, and Obi-Wan found himself cut off from his Master
during the battle. A rage such as he had never known rose in
him at this, but soon all thoughts save that of his own
survival were lost to him. He was quickly overwhelmed, his
weapon taken from him, his wrists wrenched back behind his body
and secured with cord. They had beaten him then, and he thought
he remembered his Master's fury exploding through the bond they
shared, but it was tinged with a helplessness that brought
tears to his eyes. //Go, Master,// he had sent. //Save
yourself.//
They had brought him back to the city then, and his one
comfort was the fact that Qui-Gon had evidently evaded capture.
This was an enormous relief to him; he could not have borne it
if his Master had been taken prisoner, too.
Now the darkness of the Vinshalin night surrounded him,
mirroring the bleakness inside of him. The mob surrounded him
like a great leviathan, writhing and undulating with horrible
life. His body ached unbearably, and the cord cut into his
wrists. He struggled to remain on his feet, terrified that if
he fell, he would be trampled. It was all so unreal, a
nightmare from which he could not awaken.
The torchlight blinded him. The priests were chanting,
shouting praise to their god, and the words echoed in Obi-Wan's
skull as if they possessed malevolent life of their own. He
could see nothing, nothing expect a writhing panorama of
hate-distorted faces that closed in from all sides. The sheer
power of the hatred these people felt for him was nauseating,
and he shrank back from it, trying to wall himself away inside
his mind where it could not touch him. Frantically, he groped
for some touch of the Force, but it slipped through the
grasping fingers of his mind like water, unobtainable. He was
too tired, and his fear was too great. He could not focus,
could not center himself enough to draw on his power.
The crowd ahead of him thinned suddenly, and he caught his
first glimpse of the pyre. Instant horror struck him like a
blow to the stomach, and he gasped for air, disbelieving. The
mob refused to let him slow, however, and he was drawn
inexorably toward the tall wooden pole that had been hammered
into the ground, surrounded by a small mountain of kindling.
Citizens of the town were flocked around the pyre, eager to see
the blasphemer brought to justice. Eager to watch him
burn.
So he was going to die here. The thought filled him with stark
terror. He fought now, heedless of the blows that fell on him,
willing this to be a dream, a nightmare, it couldn't be real,
couldn't be happening, no! He was going to die here, horribly
and painfully, and his only consoling thought was that Qui-Gon
had not been taken, that he would be spared this fate. He
struggled madly as they shoved him toward the stake, dry wood
crackling underfoot, but it did no good. He was wrenched around
to face the crowd, and thick ropes were wrapped around him,
binding him securely to the pyre.
Time seemed to freeze then, for a moment. He was acutely aware
of the ropes that cut into him, the light breeze that touched
his hair, the ocean of faces that spread away beneath him in
the thickening dark, charry dark circles for eyes, round faces
pale in the darkness. The chanting of the priests continued to
undulate through the air, but it was secondary to the fierce
pounding of his heart, which seemed unaccountably loud in the
stillness. Obi-Wan met the gazes of his tormentors steadily,
drawing himself up as best he could, refusing to look away from
the heat of their gazes. He could not save himself. What he
could do was die with dignity, and that was something that
could not be taken away from him.
The priests came forward, bearing their torches. Obi-Wan
tensed as flame was touched to the dry kindling under his feet,
and even as he broke out into a cold sweat, he refused to look
away.
He sensed the presence behind him before he felt the cool
touch against the fevered skin of his hands. Before he knew
quite what was happening, the ropes binding him were being
severed, and he almost fell forward as the pressure holding him
prone was released. Strong arms caught him, pulled him close to
a sheltering body that smelled faintly of sweat and spice.
Familiar smells, comforting smells, and he looked up into the
sternly dark countenance of his Master. Disbelief warred with
wild joy in his mind, but then he was being scooped up into
those arms, held tight against that strong body, and he let
himself be carried, even as the angry muttering of the crowd
rose up around him, threatening retribution for this
interruption of their god's justice.
Qui-Gon leapt from the pyre with an elegance that warred with
the tightly reined fury in his mind, removing them from the
rapidly encroaching circle of flame. He held his precious
burden tightly to his chest, and Obi-Wan relaxed, letting his
Master bear his weight. A surge of Force exploded out of
Qui-Gon then, cutting like a blade through the crowd, and the
mob scattered, blown aside as if by a fierce wind. Qui-Gon took
advantage of their confusion and darted past them, toward the
hangar where their ship was berthed.
Obi-Wan drifted in and out through the chase toward the
hangar, and afterwards he could never quite recall how they
managed to get there, or how long it took. The next thing he
was aware of was the sensation of being strapped into the
copilot's chair on their little bridge, and at his questioning
glance, Qui-Gon sent a tendril of reassurance over their bond.
It was tinged with apprehension, however, and Qui-Gon's
attention was soon fixed firmly on the controls as he eased
them out of the hangar. A cloudiness fell over Obi-Wan then,
and as much as he wanted to stay aware of what was going on
around him, he felt himself slipping into sleep once
again.
Qui-Gon gazed down at his sleeping apprentice and ran his hand
idly over the bristled hair at the top of the young man's head.
Stars streaked by outside the viewport next to the bed.
Vinshala was far behind them now, and they were on a direct
course for Coruscant. Their mission had been a complete
failure, which was something he had sensed from the start. What
he had not anticipated was the violence of the Vinshalins'
reaction to the Force-users within their midst.
And that miscalculation had nearly cost Obi-Wan his life. He
could still remember the sight of his padawan being manhandled
up onto the pyre, his strong form lashed to the wooden stake,
as the mob jeered and cried their hatred of him. To see his
apprentice as the focus of such sentiment was almost more than
Qui-Gon could bear. But even through all of this horror,
Obi-Wan had faced his tormentors with rare courage. Qui-Gon,
for all of his years at Obi-Wan's side, had never been prouder
of him.
Beneath his hand, Obi-Wan stirred. A crease of agitation
appeared between his brows, and his arm jerked, once, under the
sheet. He was dreaming. Qui-Gon immediately moved to soothe
him, bending low to whisper softly in the young man's ear,
assuring him that he was safe now, that the nightmare was over.
He had sent Obi-Wan into a Force-induced sleep while they were
escaping from Vinshala, knowing that having to deal with his
padawan at that point would have made their escape even more
impossible. Obi-Wan had been at his wits' end, exhausted both
physically and mentally, and having him lucid then would have
done more harm than good.
The worst thing was, it was all Qui-Gon's fault. He had
underestimated the impact that their flight through the
wilderness was having on his padawan. Obi-Wan, whose connection
with the Living Force had always been somewhat tenuous, was
suffering from both the grueling pace and the lack of adequate
meditation. Qui-Gon had been so focused on keeping them away
from the hunters, and finding a way to circle back around to
reclaim their ship, that he had completely overlooked the
extent of his padawan's exhaustion.
And the price for this lapse had been high. Qui-Gon shuddered
as he thought about how the mission had almost turned out.
After Obi-Wan had been taken from him, he had fled the scene
and then shadowed the Vinshalins back to their city, knowing he
was no match for the entire mob. Obi-Wan had been a bright
point of fire in their midst, easy to track through the
deepening night. His light had shone forth like a beacon, bold
and beautiful, even among the darkness that sought to
extinguish it.
He had been furious at their treatment of Obi-Wan, but there
was nothing he could do. One man could not fight an entire city
of hate-driven fanatics, no matter how masterful in the Force
he may be. Subduing one of the stragglers in the throng, he had
stolen one of the dark, hooded cloaks that were popular among
the Vinshalins, and had been able to move among the crowd
unobserved.
Then he had seen the pyre. The thought of what the crowd
planned to do to his Obi-Wan was almost enough to send him into
a blinding rage, and the Dark Side had never been closer to him
than it was at that moment. But he had resisted, had waited
calmly for his chance, making his way steadily nearer to the
deplorable stake where they were even now binding his padawan
with coarse ropes that must be cutting cruelly into the young
man's flesh.
What he remembered most about that moment was the look in Obi-
Wan's eyes. There was no hatred there, no anger, although both
emotions would have been understandable given his predicament.
There was no fear, either, although Qui-Gon could feel it
writhing like a captive beast inside his apprentice's mind.
Obi- Wan had made the determination to face his death with
dignity, and Qui-Gon almost wept with pride and love as his
padawan stood bravely to face his execution.
It had been an easy matter to slip up behind the stake - a
slight brush of Force against the minds of the surging masses
who thronged there, and he was where he needed to be. Their
minds were brimming with hatred, easy to influence. He was not
challenged as he stepped up behind his padawan and removed the
small knife that was always sheathed under the sash at his
waist.
Obi-Wan had been stunned when the knife cut loose his bonds.
The flames were even then rising up through the kindling at his
feet. Qui-Gon used a judicious touch of Force to keep the
deadly flames at bay, catching his padawan in his arms as
weakness overcame him. //Sleep,// he had instructed the young
man, brushing feather-soft fingers of Force against his mind.
//Trust in me, my Obi-Wan.//
And Obi-Wan had trusted him, because he fell under the light
Force-suggestion with ease. Qui-Gon removed them both from the
deadly firetrap with one well-timed jump, and then he was
clearing a path through the crowd, opening the way for them to
make their escape.
It had not been an easy matter to reclaim their ship, and he
suspected it was something that would haunt his own dreams in
the future, when he had time to be concerned with his own state
of mind. Fortunately, the majority of the inhabitants of the
city had been at the high temple, eagerly anticipating the
burning of his padawan, and the city streets were all but
deserted. The hangar had been guarded, but he had dispatched
the guards with a minimum of effort, although he had had to
leave Obi-Wan unprotected while he did so. Qui-Gon picked him
up again as soon as he was able and made his way to their ship,
which thankfully appeared to be intact. He had been half-afraid
that the Vinshalins' hatred would have driven them to destroy
the vessel.
He had to fight their way out of the airlock, and only a last-
minute reprogramming of the central controls of the flight deck
had allowed him to remove their ship from that accursed hangar,
and then they were airborne. What little pursuit there was he
easily avoided, although they did take a searing blow to the
aft end of the ship. Nothing serious, Force be praised, and
then Vinshala was far behind them.
But it seemed the nightmare was far from over. Obi-Wan's sleep
now was a natural one, but it was populated by fierce dreams
and horrified memories that were keeping the young man from
achieving any real rest. Qui-Gon held his padawan's hand
tightly and remained by his side, not knowing quite what to do.
His padawan was injured, beaten and terrified, but he suspected
the emotional damage was far worse than the physical. He
clasped Obi-Wan's hand tightly, trying to reassure him that he
wasn't alone.
Almost without thinking about it, he lifted himself up onto
the bed beside his padawan. Gently, he eased Obi-Wan back into
his arms, holding him close to his chest, and whispered a soft
endearment in the young man's ear. Almost instantly, the
tension soothed out of Obi-Wan's tautly held form, and he let
out a tender sigh, the lines in his face easing. Qui-Gon smiled
and snuggled close behind him. If his presence would hold back
the demons that plagued his padawan's rest, then that was more
than enough reason to give into the temptation to hold the
young man in his arms. It was a temptation that had long been
growing in him; he sighed in contentment and nuzzled the back
of his padawan's neck, breathing deeply of his rich,
distinctive scent.
Slowly, the need for sleep stole over him, and he willingly
gave into it.
Obi-Wan woke with the faint memory of flames flickering at the
edges of his thoughts, but the image quickly faded. He realized
that he was in a bed, and almost immediately, it occurred to
him that he wasn't alone. Qui-Gon's arms were tight around him,
the older man's breath warm against his ear. Obi-Wan smiled
slightly to himself and snuggled further back into his Master's
embrace.
He remembered very little of their flight from Vinshala, but
it appeared that they had successfully made their escape.
Qui-Gon had rescued him. The thought filled him with a warmth
and gratitude that he knew he would never be able to express,
and he shivered as he thought about what might have happened if
his Master had not been there.
Qui-Gon stirred behind him, as if sensing his shift in mood.
The man stretched lazily, cat-like, and a moment later he was
propped up on one elbow, gazing sleepily down at his
apprentice. "Obi- Wan," he said with a small smile. "You're
awake."
Obi-Wan gazed up at him, very much aware of the strong body
that was pressed tightly against his side. He sensed that his
Master was not deliberately trying to arouse him, but the
nearness and heat of that well-loved form was definitely having
an effect on him. It was an effect that he was noticing with
increasing regularity lately, and he took a moment to just
drink in the sight of his beloved Master, leaning so
provocatively over him.
Qui-Gon's hair was sleep-tousled, his blue-jeweled eyes half-
lidded with contentment. There was an air to him of lazy
complacency, something that Obi-Wan did not usually associate
with his Master, and he wondered if it had something to do with
waking up with him by his side. Qui-Gon looked utterly alluring
and beautifully relaxed, and Obi-Wan could not resist the
temptation to lift one hand and run his fingers lightly across
that beloved face, lingering over the full bottom lip.
The ardent blue of Qui-Gon's eyes deepened to something more
like dark sapphire, but he gently reached for Obi-Wan's hand
and drew it away from his face. His smile was compassionate as
he held his apprentice's gaze. "You've been through a great
deal, Obi- Wan," he said softly. He had obviously fully
understood the implications of his padawan's touch.
He did not let go of Obi-Wan's hand. Obi-Wan smiled slightly.
"I love you, Master."
Something flickered in Qui-Gon's eyes. They were such
fascinating eyes, so very expressive. Obi-Wan felt that he
could stare into them forever.
"You've been through an ordeal," Qui-Gon repeated. "You almost
died, Obi-Wan." His voice caught on those words, ever so
slightly, but he continued without pausing. "You've been hurt,
both physically and emotionally. You need time to heal, to find
your equilibrium again..."
Obi-Wan was not interested in equilibrium. It was true that he
had almost died, and the memory would haunt him for some time,
but if nothing else, the experience had taught him that life
was short and unpredictable. He had no intention of letting
another moment pass by without expressing his feelings for his
Master. Even if those feelings were not returned, Qui-Gon would
know that he was loved.
"I love you, Master," Obi-Wan said again, refusing to back
down. He curled his fingers around Qui-Gon's hand where it held
him, and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the
backs of those slender knuckles. His eyes never left Qui-Gon's.
"I just want you to know that. I'm not expecting anything in
return. I just ... want you to know that."
Qui-Gon's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. For a long
moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the
sound of their breathing. Then he said, "I love you, too,
Obi-Wan." The words came hesitantly, as if he was unsure how
they would be received. With a soft sigh, he continued, "I've
always loved you. Even before I knew you. There was this ...
void inside of me, that I never knew how to fill. I was waiting
for something, but I didn't know what. And I've realized over
the past few years that you are that something, Obi-Wan. You're
the thing that fills those distant, lonely parts of me. When I
saw you up on that pyre, and thought what they were planning to
do to you..." He trailed off, his voice roughening, unable to
continue.
Obi-Wan felt tears sting his eyes. He had never heard a more
heartfelt declaration of love, and it warmed him as nothing
else had ever done, or ever would. Very carefully, watching for
any signs of rebuttal, he lifted one hand to the back of
Qui-Gon's neck and leaned up to meet the other man's lips in a
gentle kiss.
Qui-Gon's lips were like satin under his, smooth and soft, and
Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the ecstasy of it, this first
touch between them. Qui-Gon yielded to the kiss, leaning down
to meet him, and Obi-Wan felt a tingle of pleasure work its way
through him, contentment and desire mingling in his blood. Qui-
Gon's beard was coarse against his skin, and he reveled in the
feel of it, his every sense awakening to this long-anticipated
moment.
Qui-Gon pulled away first, and Obi-Wan let him, keeping his
hand where it was at the back of his Master's neck. Qui-Gon's
eyes were amused now, and he was smiling.
"What?" Obi-Wan was disconcerted by his Master's obvious
humor.
But Qui-Gon only shook his head, tracing the outline of his
padawan's lips with one finger. "I'm just pondering the fact
that it took something like this to get us to admit our
feelings for one another."
Obi-Wan smiled at that. "Are you saying we should have done
this years ago?"
"Oh, yes." And with a contented sigh, he bent down to taste
Obi- Wan's lips again.
This time Obi-Wan felt the tip of Qui-Gon's tongue flicker
across his lips, and he opened his mouth with a low moan of
pleasure. Qui-Gon accepted the invitation and slipped his
tongue into the waiting cavern of Obi-Wan's mouth, pausing to
explore the hard planes of his teeth before delving deeper.
Obi-Wan slid his arms around the firm muscles of his Master's
back, pulling that strong body closer to him, and Qui-Gon
yielded easily under his hands, bringing their bodies in full
contact with one another, from shoulder to groin. Obi-Wan felt
the hot pressure of Qui-Gon's erection against his hip, and he
pressed up against it encouragingly, wanting to increase the
contact between them.
When Qui-Gon pulled back this time, he was faintly breathless.
Obi-Wan shivered under the intensity of that blue-eyed gaze,
and raised his head to nip playfully at his Master's bearded
chin. "I think we're both wearing too many clothes," he said
teasingly, and smiled at the way Qui-Gon's breath caught at
those words.
Immediately, Qui-Gon's large hands were smoothing Obi-Wan's
tunic open across his chest. This was all the younger man was
wearing, in addition to his trousers, and he guessed that
Qui-Gon had removed the rest of his clothing earlier to make
him more comfortable while he slept. This proved to make their
current task that much easier, and Obi-Wan drew in his breath
delightedly as Qui-Gon bent to lap at one tender nipple. The
rest of his clothing was quickly discarded, and Qui-Gon's soon
followed.
There was almost a reverence to the way Qui-Gon touched him,
and Obi-Wan could feel the love that this man felt for him in
every gesture, every kiss. He tried to reciprocate in kind, but
Qui- Gon would have none of it. He instructed Obi-Wan to lay
still with firm yet gentle touches, and let himself be
loved.
"I'm not going to break, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan murmured, feeling
as if he were floating adrift in the pleasure of his lover's
caresses. Realizing that this was the crux of the matter, he
added, more firmly, "I'm all right. I'm free of that
place."
Qui-Gon was currently nibbling a path along Obi-Wan's ribcage,
extracting a drawn-out gasp from his young lover. A slow
shudder passed through him at Obi-Wan's words. "I almost lost
you," he whispered, without looking up. His tongue traced the
curve of one rib, even as his hands smoothed over Obi-Wan's
hips, drawing their bodies closer together.
Obi-Wan curled his fingers in the mane of his lover's hair and
pulled him gently up to face him. Looking deep into the older
man's troubled eyes, he repeated, "I'm all right, Qui-Gon."
Then he met his Master's lips in a passionate kiss, trying to
relay the depth of his feeling, his love, his adoration.
Qui-Gon moaned into his padawan's open mouth and responded in
kind. "Please," Obi-Wan whispered to him, licking lightly at
the curve of Qui-Gon's ear. "I want you inside me.
Please."
A tremor rocked through Qui-Gon's taut frame at that, and he
bent to capture Obi-Wan's mouth again in a searing kiss. There
was no hesitation about it this time, nothing but heat and love
and a desire for further intimacy that matched Obi-Wan's own.
His hand closed around Obi-Wan's erection, and Obi-Wan arched
up into the touch with a cry, his moans swallowed in the heat
of his lover's kiss. This was what he wanted, needed, and he
felt the pleasure of his Master's claiming explode through
him.
Qui-Gon readied him with a light tendril of Force before
plunging inside Obi-Wan's waiting body. Obi-Wan's hands
clenched spasmodically at his lover's shoulders as a pleasured
groan was wrenched from him, and Qui-Gon smothered his own
cries against the sweat-slicked skin of his padawan's neck.
Qui-Gon kissed him then, fiercely, passionately, as the
pleasure of being possessed by this man sent Obi-Wan into a
spiral of ecstasy that threatened to consume him. Qui-Gon's
breath was hot and moist against his face, punctuated by little
pants of exertion as he moved his body against Obi-Wan's.
"Love you," Qui-Gon whispered to him, trailing kisses across
his lover's passion-flushed skin. His voice was low and hoarse
with his own need and arousal, sending shivers of delight
through Obi- Wan's sensitized form. "Love you, Obi-Wan. I'll
love you always. Always, my Obi-Wan..."
"Master!" Obi-Wan cried, drowning in the words, in the heat of
their passion, in the rhythmic movements of their bodies as
they slid in sweat-slick harmony against each other. "I love
you!"
The pleasure was building in him, a fluid, tingling warmth
coiled under his skin, threatening to explode out of him and
melt him in its heat. With surprising suddenness, he came, and
the pleasure was more than physical, more than simply sexual
release, and he gasped as Qui-Gon's hands tightened around him,
a deep-voiced groan issuing from the older man's throat as he
reached his own climax. They clung to each other for what
seemed a small eternity, basking in the light of each other's
love, before finally settling down again onto the sweat-soaked
sheets and burying themselves in each other's arms.
Qui-Gon was kissing Obi-Wan's ear softly, the slight brush of
his tongue cooling against Obi-Wan's fevered skin. Obi-Wan
sighed deeply in contentment and burrowed deeper into his
lover's embrace. "I could almost thank the Vinshalins," he
murmured.
Qui-Gon chuckled, a surprised, affectionate sound, and
tightened his arms around his quiescent padawan. "Never again,
my love," he said quietly, and the vow was plain to read. Never
again would Obi-Wan be placed into such a position by his own
negligence, his own failure to recognize the signs of impending
violence that were seeking a scapegoat for their focus.
Obi-Wan kissed his Master lightly on the nose, drawing another
surprised burst of laughter from his too-somber lover. "None of
that, beloved. Neither one of us is to blame for the actions of
the Vinshalins. It's their own burden to carry, not
ours."
With a warm smile that completely erased the lines of
solemnity that habitually adorned the older Jedi's face,
Qui-Gon took hold of Obi-Wan's hand and interlaced their
fingers together, pressing an affectionate kiss to the back of
the younger man's wrist. "I love you, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan smiled, and all of the fear and horror of their
experience on Vinshala was vanished now, leaving behind only a
beautiful and loving and very sated padawan.
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