The Watcher and The Watched: Alternate Perceptions
by Ki
Warning: the following story contains implications of a m/m
relationship. STOP NOW if you are below 18 years of age OR if
you are easily offended.
Disclaimer: all hail almighty Lucasworld and its attendant
minions. And also please note: this story is not for profit,
only written for the satisfaction of my readers.
Archive: MA archive?, personal homepage
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Rating: PG to NC-17
Warning: post A/U TPM (speculative fiction here)
Summary: Inspired by my Master's picture challenge
(http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/gallery/fan/force.jpg).
Originally intended to be a PWP, this story basically became
more serious, I think. Takes place a little after "Vision",
during a quiet night on Coruscant. Qui-Gon works out on the
practice floor. Obi-Wan watches and ponders.
Acknowledgements: a big thank you to those who wrote to me and
encouraged me to write more on the 'Lycanthrope' series!
He couldn't sleep.
He found himself tossing and turning on the simple bed, unable
to fall into blissful rest. Finally, he got up, flinging off
the bedsheets with frustration. He needed to release that
pent-up energy inside him, at least do something to calm the
raging emotions down.
Bare-foot, he slipped off quietly to the practice room, not
wanting to disturb the sleeping figure next to him. He stroked
the smooth brow tenderly and padded away, grabbing his
lightsaber. Then, he headed for the practice room, flexing the
muscles in his arms.
The practice room was empty at this time of the night. Most of
the Knights and their Padawans were probably asleep. The
Coruscant moon spilled its milky glow into the room,
illuminating the interiors with its natural light. He smiled to
himself, feeling the hunter instincts awaken with a sense of
pleasure. That had been caged for a long time and now it was
desperate to be free once more.
He knew that he had to control it. He made a promise.
Furthermore, the Council was watching. Then again, they were
always watching him. So he did, disciplining the Alter until it
was herded to the back of his mind where it prowled, growling
and impatient. Yes, it made its appearance a few times, mostly
in the heat of battle. It saved his skin, killing the horned
Sith. Justifying the Alter, he mused activating the lightsaber.
The familiar emerald flash was reassuring.
He paced around the room, running through his mind for the most
strenuous exercises. Around him, Coruscant hummed. It was
alive, crackling under his feet. He sniffed the air. Metallic.
True, he could smell the distinctive fragrance of the sun
jasmine flowers planted in the Gardens. No, Coruscant lacked
something. He missed the earthy soil, the whisper of the wind
and the different scents of a live jungle. The cries of animals
in the night, the drum of faint thunder in the sky. Naboo was a
blessed respite for him in a way, allowing him to breathe
almost naturally.
Most of all, he missed the joy of the hunt. True, a Jedi never
killed for pleasure. But the Alter, that creature within him
desired the kill because it was a necessity and natural.
This metal city stifled him. It was claustrophobic, unnerving.
He had never realised how enclosed Coruscant was until now.
He finally chose the Thirty-Six Levels. The old "36".
Physically and mentally exhausting, it was a challenge even to
gifted 'saber fighters. Comprising of kicks, katas and the
manipulation of the Force so that it formed a ball, the "36"
started from the basic kata to the most intricate moves
involving shifting the ball of Force around the body by will
while the fighter tried to prevent it from hitting the limbs
with his or her lightsaber. The minute the Force-ball touched
the body, even with the slightest caress , the exercise would
be deemed a failure.
Stripping off his loose shirt and tossing it onto the floor, he
prepared himself with the breathing exercises to relax his mind
and body.
Then he proceeded with the Thirty-Six Levels.
The first few levels were easy. The katas were simple. He felt
himself letting the restless energy flow out of him. The
lightsaber sang about him with its own special song. He began
to detect the changes in him as he moved through the levels.
His senses heightened and the room became a jungle of sorts.
Smells. Textures. Sounds. He could feel all of them. The rough
mat, made out of bark. The soft creaking of furniture. The soft
siren of a law enforcement cruiser becoming louder. The Force
shimmered, twirling about him.
He rejoiced.
Soon, he was kicking out with his feet, completing the half-way
mark. The moment the fighter passed the Eighteenth Level, the
moves would become more complex. Now, he had to concentrate on
the creation of the Force-ball which he did, pulling the
strands of Force and kneading them into a glowing sphere.
The sensation of the wind blowing through his hair sparked
memories in him. He relished it, tasting it slowly. The
Force-ball floated, encircling his body.
Twenty-Nine.
Thirty.
Thirty-One.
He was reaching completion. He could feel it through his bones.
His body was already reaching the stage where it took on the
impression of lightness. He felt as if he was flying through an
invisible jungle, one which was constructed of light patches
and dark shadows.
Thirty-Three.
Thirty-Four.
He was moving so fast that he couldn't feel the Alter. It
seemed to have disappeared, briefly exorcised.
Thirty-Five.
Thirty-Six.
Chest heaving, he landed onto his feet. The adrenaline pounded
in his veins. He had completed the Thirty-Six Levels.
Belatedly, he knew that he was covered with perspiration. He
was virtually bathed in it. Water flowed down his face,
trickling down his torso, dripping from his fingers and
moistening the grip of his lightsaber.
Suddenly, he went very still. He was being watched.
He turned around to see the form of Obi-Wan leaning against the
doorway. A delicate musk was rolling off the young man in great
waves. He inhaled deeply, lowering his lightsaber and strode
towards Obi-Wan purposefully.
The silence in the sleeping quarters woke him up.
He sat up instantly. Qui-Gon had disappeared.
For one irrational moment, he believed that Qui-Gon had
reverted. Became that beast again. He calmed himself, looking
around. He reached out with a Force tendril and found (with
immense relief) that his Master was in the practice room.
He flung on his robes, feeling the slight chill in the air. It
was early morning and it was dead quiet. He could hear himself
think.
The moment he reached the practice room, he was struck by the
figure standing in the center of the mat. It was Qui-Gon,
stripped to his waist. Glistening with perspiration. Long hair
loosened. Moonlight highlighting the muscles to sharp relief.
And the blue eyes. They practically gleamed.
There he stood. Beauty. Feral beauty. Untamed.
He found himself swallowing hard. He also found himself liking
what he saw. Throbbing desire warred with caution. He was still
thinking about the Life Bond right? Somehow, looking at his
Master, splendidly half-nude and eyeing him with those intense
blue eyes, he hesitated. Could he seriously handle this feral
side of Qui-Gon?
Feral. Damn it. Feral. The lycanthropy was feral.
Could he honestly accept its presence?
The figure of Qui-Gon Jinn suddenly loomed in front of him,
leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. The close proximity
of the near-nude body, still slick with perspiration, unnerved
him. He wasn't so sure if his own body was behaving correctly.
The stiffness between his legs told him otherwise.
Qui-Gon kissed him again, this time more passionate, more
insistent. He responded, unable to resist, pressing himself
against the strong body. Hands pulled him closer and arms
gathered him in. He could hear the beating of the heart, the
steady thudthudthud. He felt his robes being removed, dropped
onto the floor. The feeling of warm breath against his skin,
near the base of his neck, made him shudder with both desire
and nervousness ---
No, he couldn't go through with it.
Sighing, he pulled away. He had trouble breathing but he
controlled himself. Qui-Gon eyed him questioningly and he shook
his head slowly, indicating 'no'. The blue eyes pinned him
down, made him unable to move. Then the warmth came back , the
familiar gentleness. A large hand caressed his face, trying to
soothe him.
This was the Qui-Gon whom he knew. Gentle. Cool. At times
infuriatingly aloof. But this was the man he thought he loved.
The Qui-Gon with the feral aspect, the lycanthropy ... he
wasn't so sure if he could accept it wholeheartedly. Yet, he
knew with a sudden pang in his chest that the Qui-Gon who was
calm and diplomatic was also inexplicably the Qui-Gon who was
aggressive and powerful as a predator. It scared him just
thinking about it. He was a grown man but he was frightened.
True, they both needed each other. But a Life Bond was serious
and he wasn't that certain if he wanted it.
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