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Title: Beast. Or, "How Outward Appearances Are Kept"

Rating: NC-17 and how

Archive: M-A or Master Jacynthe's

Series: Reinvention part 4

Categories: Q/O, PWP, I'm going to call this BDSM just to be safe.

Feedback: Dying for it, please. padawanhilary@netzero.com

Summary: Savage!Qui. Angrysex!Qui. Jealous!Qui. And the inevitable Council session.

Spoilers/Warnings: Power exchange. BDSM if you like, though there's no spanking and no tying up and no other definable kink. Unless it's cooking oil. This might be a little violent for some, but it is not non-con.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day, and I think I'd get in trouble for this one.

/..../ thoughts and bond speak, *...* emphasis

This was was, and still is, For Tem-ve, whimpering at the idea of Qui-Gon's potential for violent sex. I'm sorry, Macephiles, one more time. I wrote this two months ago and was afraid to put it up. Sithdragn sent me an unfinished threat if I didn't post it.

Qui-Gon stalked out of the council rotunda with Obi-Wan rushing to keep alongside him. "Master, good grief, what was *that* about?"

The master mentally replayed the argument, which had been couched beyond his padawan's comprehension deliberately by Mace Windu. Snide remarks had poured out of the man's mouth about a padawan's duties as opposed to a master's expectations, along with half-buried phrases that hinted at concepts like "taking advantage."

Until, that was, Qui-Gon had glared at the Councilor, eyes full of cold blue fire, and snapped, "If some new rule has been added to the books, you had better tell me I've broken it. Until then, keep *that* tone off my padawan." And he had whirled where he stood, angry beyond all reason, and left.

"Have I done something wrong, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, though honestly it had sounded more as though Mace had questioned his master's ability to train and keep a padawan.

Qui-Gon stopped mid-stride and turned suddenly, nearly causing Obi-Wan to collide with him. "No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon assured him, steadying his shoulders, voice suddenly soft, almost purring. "No, you haven't done anything wrong." He paused, wondering whether he should continue; it wasn't his place to single-handedly change his padawan's high opinion of a council member.

Even if the council member did not deserve Obi-Wan's high opinion at all.

He shook his head and patted Obi-Wan's shoulder, as much to ground himself as reassure the younger man. "It will pass." He turned and continued on, his stride only marginally calmer.

Prudently, Obi-Wan waited until after they had entered their quarters to ask, "Do they think you're using me? I'm not a child." The more he turned Mace's comments over in his mind, the more irritated he became at the barely-sheathed implications. "What do the other Councilors think?"

Qui-Gon jerked his arms out of his robe and tossed it carelessly over a chair. "They don't think anything. It's Mace who's jealous. That's where his whole tirade originated: jealousy over me." Qui-Gon was getting worked up again, pacing in his agitation. "What we had was *years* ago. I don't know where he developed this sudden ugly streak but he'd better not try to cloak it under the guise of duty-- I'm not having it."

Obi-Wan took his robe off and hung it up, then hung up Qui-Gon's as well. "Can I make you some tea?" he asked, wondering how to break this pissed-off reverie he was so unused to seeing from his master. Qui-Gon waved a hand, impatiently dismissing his padawan, pinching the place between his eyes and bowing his head.

Obi-Wan drew himself up. "Well don't get mad at me about it, you just got done saying I didn't do anything wrong." He took himself to the kitchen, exasperated.

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth and released a tense growl. /Damn you, Jinn, you should have seen this coming. You saw the looks Mace was giving him. You felt how tightly he was shielding./ And then he stopped. What if it wasn't about him at all, but about Obi-Wan? What if Mace wanted what Qui-Gon had? The thought made him fairly snarl. /Sith hells,/ he thought, halfway to enraged. /I'd die before I allowed it to happen./

Obi-Wan's mental voice floated out of the kitchen, /Die, really?/

Qui-Gon's head jerked up, and he went into the kitchen. "Obi-Wan, I-- I'm-- Sith!" he spat, irritated that he couldn't finish a sentence, couldn't guard his own thoughts.

Obi-Wan moved toward him, trying to soothe, knowing his master's irascibility was not for him. "Master, it wouldn't matter if he wanted me. He's not going to get anywhere near."

"I know, I know." But Qui-Gon stopped. Did he know? He and his padawan hadn't been lovers very long. What if Obi-Wan wanted something more, something different, and the foolish old master didn't know it? Was too blind to see it? He looked at Obi-Wan, angrily helpless. Obi-Wan, his sweet, young padawan lover who was everything to him and who could do so, so much better--

"Stop it," Obi-Wan snapped, overhearing again and unwilling to coddle someone who wasn't accepting of solace. He knew he could wrangle Qui-Gon out of any mood, it just took finding the key. Solace wasn't it this time. He changed tactics altogether, drawing on his master's foul mood, and ground out slowly, "Don't drag me into this little thing between you and Master Windu. If I wanted Mace I'd already have him, and you know that."

White, molten anger flared through Qui-Gon. "Oh really. You're so sure of that?" he asked coldly.

Obi-Wan glared back. "Absolutely." He snapped his fingers. "I'd have him on his back in a--"

The air left his lungs in a hot rush as Qui-Gon swooped over to him, driving him backwards, pinning him to a cabinet, just missing the handle. Obi-Wan struggled, outraged, trapped between the sheetwood and his master's hard, unyielding hands against his chest.

"Don't-- even." Qui-Gon's quiet words carried a threat that even he couldn't see to completion. Perhaps he couldn't see the offense to voice it. He didn't really know if he was threatening so that he might prevent the act or stave off the very thought of Obi-Wan seducing Mace Windu.

Obi-Wan glared at him, but some small, vicious part of him liked this, liked the fact that he could push his master to the edge of violence and over. His own Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his tall, cool drink of water had turned into a great, hot, solid wall of angry jealousy. The image made him warm and wanton inside, and his gaze dropped to his master's mouth.

"Or?" Obi-Wan called him on the implied threat. "It drives you crazy, doesn't it, that I could? I could have Mace. I could have nearly anyone. But that's not the point. The point is --"

Qui-Gon's mouth bit the last words off, kissing crushingly, driving his body forward and grinding Obi-Wan against the cabinet door. Obi-Wan held back by dint of will alone, opening his mouth but not responding, not to the warm, demanding lips or the hot, plunging, insistent tongue, even though it melted him to nothing. No, he wasn't going to grind his growing hardness forward, and he kept his hands steadfastly pressed to the cabinet door, which seemed to grow cool under his touch as his body heated up without him.

But Qui-Gon's throaty growl and his hands suddenly everywhere tugging and tearing broke Obi-Wan. He sank his fingers into his master's long, soft hair, pulling out the tie that held it back, letting it fall around that gorgeous, kissing face he was too close to to look at. His hands stroked cheeks and beard, trying to calm as his lips were eaten alive. Then he was arching into those hands as they dipped into his half-opened tunics to pinch his nipples, almost too hard. He grunted surprise into the kiss but his body arched anyway. Oh well. It knew best.

He pushed off of the wall, hard, levering a good measure of the Force at his master and backing him toward the kitchen doorway. He broke off the kiss and his eyes were two blue-green dares. /Come on, then,/ he hissed mentally, giving another psychic shove, pushing Qui-Gon inexorably toward the room they shared.

Qui-Gon drew his shields up around him and Obi-Wan's Force-enhancement slid off like water from the prow of a boat. "Why not here?" he said in that deadly voice, and immediately he was jerking his tunics off, untying the knots with gratuitous Force use to speed the process. His buckles all unthreaded themselves at once and he toed his boots off hurriedly, then shoved down his leggings, stepping out of them. Obi-Wan simply stared.

He had never seen his master like this, not on a mission, not in battle, not in their most intense sessions in the bedroom. Qui-Gon, he knew, was not the stoic everyone saw-- not always. But *this* Qui-Gon had descended below calm to a place that was irate, jealous, and grasping, frightening in its encompassing heat.

And Obi-Wan had pushed just the right buttons to put him there.

And he liked it.

For a brief second, Qui-Gon stood in front of him naked, glaring, waiting. His hair was already slightly disheveled, his eyes were feral and burned coldly. He was breathing quickly, his chest moving with it. His hands flexed and clenched and his muscles were tense with angry lust. His entire body was taut, including, of course, his erection, gone dark with blood and rage. Obi-Wan knew he was about to be claimed ferociously, and he licked his lips appreciatively at the sight of the half-animal that stood before him.

He tore his eyes off that hard, hard body and slowly, deliberately slid his tunics, torn at the ties, from his shoulders, letting them fall. He pushed a few more buttons, casting his glance casually over his master's waiting body, and savored his power. As he bent to undo his boots, he threw another look back up at his master, who was moving toward him like a man on the warpath: a great savage ready to do mayhem with his bare hands.

Qui-Gon knew his padawan was well aware of what he was doing: moving so sinuously, staring at him, teasing when he knew Qui-Gon wanted it five minutes ago. There was a gleam of satisfaction in Obi-Wan's eyes that made Qui-Gon go blind with unreasoning appetite. Obi-Wan was enjoying this insanity, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but sink himself into it. Obi-Wan's buckles suddenly popped open on their own, one after another in a wave down to his feet, and then Qui-Gon was sweeping him to the floor, landing over him with a thud and a grunt.

Obi-Wan coughed and choked at the sudden weight on him and the stunning blow to his back, but it was lost in Qui-Gon's mouth, prying Obi-Wan's lips open insistently and kissing, tongue demanding an answer for why they weren't already fucking. Obi-Wan moaned and clutched at Qui-Gon's back, waves of hot, black lust washing over him almost by default. He slid his hands down to Qui-Gon's ass. How could he stand up to this? He ground his cock upward into Qui-Gon's body and was rewarded by a primitive growl as Qui-Gon in turn pushed downward, painfully, into Obi-Wan's hip. Obi-Wan let out a half-whimper that was, to Qui-Gon, supremely satisfying.

Obi-Wan burned, both in the pit of his stomach where his hunger was blooming and in his heart where he could feel Qui-Gon's jealousy, smoky and hot. He ripped his mouth off the kiss and sank his teeth into Qui-Gon's ear as the bearded mouth latched onto his neck, sucking hard enough to hurt, and biting.

/Trying to brand me?/ he sent, and was met with sharp, jolting pain as Qui-Gon bit him in earnest, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave pink indentations, mouth sucking till the blood rose to the skin. Qui-Gon traced his tongue over the bite marks and smiled savagely as Obi-Wan moaned.

Qui-Gon knelt up and yanked off Obi-Wan's boots, then pulled the leggings off by the hems. Obi-Wan watched him, startled at the barbarity of Qui-Gon's hunger. He could feel the heartbeat throb of lust between them, and Qui-Gon reflected it, wildly beautiful. Obi-Wan could *smell* it on him, warm and almost sweet, the temptation as plain as a pan of hot milk to a great cat. Qui-Gon climbed over him again, and Obi-Wan used the Force to pull open a cabinet and tumble out a bottle of oil.

When Qui-Gon pulled up on one of Obi-Wan's hips, he responded by rolling over and backing toward Qui-Gon, spreading himself widely, welcoming. Qui-Gon took the oil and opened it, spilling it, brusquely splashing it into his palm, a formality he didn't want to waste time on. He spread it over his aching shaft, hissing at the contact. Then he took his oily hand and slid it over Obi-Wan's cock as well. Obi-Wan gasped and cried out, pumping his hips, but the huge, hot hand disappeared from him, straight up to the tight opening, sliding a finger in deeply without preamble or warning. Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise and then slid shut as he moaned in sudden pleasure. Qui-Gon pressed on the place that made his nerves sizzle.

/Enough,/ Qui-Gon sent, almost by way of warning. He withdrew his hand, leaving Obi-Wan shuddering with want. His master grasped his hips and, pulling him backward, thrust into him once-- home instantly. Obi-Wan gasped again through gritted teeth, startled at the burning pain of being filled so quickly, so completely. Qui-Gon shushed him by reaching underneath Obi-Wan and wrapping the oil-slicked hand around him, then they were both shuddering; Obi-Wan was trying to thrust into the hand that held him. Qui-Gon pulled back and rocked forward deeply. Obi-Wan cried out raggedly at the depth of penetration and the unbelievable pleasure, white flashes happening behind his eyes and deep within his body where Qui-Gon ended and he began.

Qui-Gon felt bodily possessed by something vicious and wild even as he possessed his padawan. It was buried in his heart and mind, the need to blot out the slightest, remotest idea Obi-Wan might have of seducing Mace, or anyone. /Mine,/ he snarled inwardly, met halfway by a moan of approval and agreement from his lover, crouched in front of him. The violence of Qui-Gon's need as he took and took was met by Obi-Wan's repeated giving, a pulsing thrust through the bond even as Qui-Gon thrust, pulsing, inside him. It was equal.

Obi-Wan turned and looked over his shoulder at the wild man who used to be his master. /Who are you?/ he asked, and Qui-Gon clenched his teeth and groaned. It didn't matter-- he was here, and he was making Obi-Wan shiver and want to explode.

"Yes," Qui-Gon gritted out thickly, and then Obi-Wan *did* explode, shaking from the coarse animal pleasure spilling over and puddling around him and from Qui-Gon's need to possess him so thoroughly. He shouted something unintelligible, dizzy and high on that need as his master's touch drove him over the edge. The thickness hardened inside him desperately as the man behind him released a guttural, throat-deep moan: part cat, part wolf, part Qui-Gon. It grew into a shredded howl as he came, thrusting and throbbing.

It was almost as though he crashed back into himself then. He released Obi-Wan and settled back on his heels, breaking contact abruptly and pulling away. Startled, Obi-Wan looked at him. Qui-Gon looked back, almost perplexed, his tousled mane of hair and heaving breaths all that remained of the needful, furious man that had just taken them both.

Obi-Wan moved to him and stroked his hair, kissed him softly, brought him back. After a few moments of calm, Qui-Gon shook his head, slightly, an apology behind his lips, disbelief in his eyes. Obi-Wan felt it coming and put his fingertips over his master's mouth, then kissed him again. He was not going to accept an apology for something so luscious and abandoned, so *necessary* as that had been. /Don't you dare regret that,/ he threatened lightly, but his eyes were serious, looking into the dark blue ones of his master.

And then Qui-Gon was himself again, all the way down, neither regret nor anger remaining in his expression. He was clear-headed, and Obi-Wan recognized it: he would pick this apart and analyze it later, tinkering with the whys and wherefores of it before he put it back together and tucked it away.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "As I was about to say," he said quietly, an impish tone creeping into his voice, "before you so rudely interrupted me: I could have anyone. But the point is I'm here with you. And I don't want to hear you thinking about how I could do better." He leaned up and tugged at Qui-Gon's bottom lip with his teeth playfully. "Because I couldn't."

Qui-Gon smiled faintly, every bit the Jedi Master, but his eyes, his smile, his whole aura shone with love. "That's what you believe?"

Obi-Wan met his gaze steadily. "That's what's true."

Master Windu glanced back and forth between the master and padawan team, noticing a strange new kind of solidarity threaded around them. It was inexplicable; it had only been three hours ago that Qui-Gon had stormed out of the rotunda. But here they were, Qui-Gon looking serene and cool, the embodiment of Jedi reserve, and Obi-Wan looking rather satisfied. Mace couldn't put his finger on it.

"My apologies," Master Jinn was saying, "for leaving so abruptly before. I allowed my anger to rule my actions. I assure you it shall not happen again."

Mace tipped his head back and eyed the master narrowly. "About your padawan--"

Qui-Gon stepped aside, motioning for Obi-Wan to step forward. "My padawan may speak for himself."

Mace's words were so heavily laced with implication that Obi-Wan could scarcely believe they were falling on the Council floor. "Since the development of this new . . .. relationship between you and your master, do you find yourself. . . . satisfied with the progress of your training?"

Obi-Wan's expression barely changed: his right eyebrow quirked up so slightly as to be almost unnoticeable and there was a tension to his lips that appeared and disappeared instantly. Qui-Gon fought a grin; his padawan's expression was, to him, as good as a smirk.

"Quite, Master," Obi-Wan replied, bowing slightly. "My training has suffered no ill consequences, as you may note by my current test scores and training hall logs. I humbly request that the Council respect, as there is no evidence of any kind that my progress slows, that my master should not be questioned as to his techniques."

A ripple went through the Council that was nothing more than a whisper of silent surprise at his audacity. His statement was calm and quiet, and his words were presented with an odd sort of respect that wasn't, in a tone that mocked but didn't. It was very puzzling: they could find nothing solid to fault.

Mace looked at them both with naked suspicion, then turned to look at Obi-Wan with something else that was just as naked but slightly less refined. Obi-Wan turned his head, ostensibly to glance over at one of the Councilors on his right, and his neck pulled away from the bunched up folds of his hood. Mace saw the angry purple mark quite clearly before Obi-Wan turned back to look at him guilelessly.

Even Qui-Gon looked at his padawan, wondering where he had learned to blend innocence and sexual smugness so smoothly.

Yoda chuckled. "Out, out," he said, tapping his stick, doing his best to sound impatient. He looked over at Mace. "A waste of time this is. Doing better things, I could be! Heh."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed as one body and swept gracefully from the hall.

End.