Series: Sixth installment in the "Desolation" series; a direct
sequel to "Knights and Pawns" and "Edge of the Abyss".
Pairing: Q/O
Category: angst, h/c, some action, and maybe a little smut
Timeline: Set about two to three years before TPM: Obi-Wan is
about 22.
Rating: PG
Archive: Master and Apprentice, SWAL and The Nesting Place
only; all others ask first please.
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em. I use 'em. Lots.
Please note: The parat-jala training exercise described in this
story is my original concept/creation and is not canon.
Summary: Sometimes sharing and confronting pain is the only way
to heal it.
Author's Notes: Well, I thought all the h/c was out of the way,
but Qui-Gon informed me I was wrong, and who am I to argue with
a Jedi Master? <g> Sorry to be posting this in parts, but
I'll never get it done if I don't start posting now. Thanks to
Kalia for giving the list the various versions of the Jedi
Code. No beta was done, so if I screwed up it's all my fault.
Feedback: Oh yes - it makes me write much, much faster, so
please let me know what you think. <g>
...running endlessly, frozen solid with the cold decimation
of fear, the movement of air through his tortured lungs a
searing misery - no time to whisper his broken needing, his
failures, no voice to apologize for the things left thrown
aside carelessly, the incautious baggage of a youth who
expected too much, and lived as though there would be endless
second chances...this was his penance for failing, and he was
destroyed...
Obi-Wan Kenobi snapped out of his dream with a jarring,
sickening jolt. Sweat clung to every part of his body,
drenching him, a disgusting reminder of his nightmare. His
chest heaved with repressed panic as he sucked in air through
his teeth, trying to stifle the outward sounds of his distress.
Hastily, he clamped down tightly on wildly storming emotions,
the sweeping waves of loathing and grief pulling taut within
his mind, shrinking to a tiny flash, then disappearing into his
control. His eyes immediately went to his Master, on the
sleeping couch near his own. Rigid with anxiety, he listened
for long moments, hoping he had stilled his thoughts quickly
enough to avoid disturbing the older man.
Qui-Gon's shoulders moved slightly with his even, calm
breathing. As he fixed his eyes on the reassuring movement of
his Master's back, Obi-Wan felt his own breathing level out and
become quiet. An occasional hitching noise escaped from his
throat, something like a muffled sob, but he snatched back
those sounds and battered them into silence. Finally, after
several minutes, he felt capable of movement. He immediately
drew back into the corner of his bed, pressed himself against
the wall, and cowered there, arms wrapped around the legs he'd
drawn up tightly against his body.
Sleeping was a torment to him now. He'd spent two precious
platonic nights in his Master's arms, comforted by Qui-Gon's
loving presence, before the specters of pain had begun to
penetrate him once again, sighing their persuasive evil into
his unconscious mind. Ever vigilant, the Jedi healers had
spoken to Qui-Gon privately, and Obi-Wan found himself back in
his own bed before he could protest. In his most secret heart,
he was glad of it. He did not want Qui-Gon to know how deeply,
how horribly he was scarred by what had taken place on Echuro,
and how truly he despaired of ever ridding himself of this vast
weakness -- his failure to be what his Master expected of him
-- which plagued him every night.
In daylight, Obi-Wan spoke words tinged with bravado. He was
becoming almost desperate to resume some sort of intimacy with
Qui-Gon. Too much time had passed, too many events in motion,
between those brief weeks of passion they'd shared, and this
melancholy point in his existence. His Master had switched into
a mode of instruction Obi-Wan remembered well from his earliest
training; discussion, repetition of the Code, questions posed
which had no right answer, but were meant only to provoke
contemplation and response. Obi-Wan's memory sent him back to
the afternoon of the day just left behind...
"Tell me, Padawan, what must a Jedi do if the commission of an
evil act by another is unavoidable?"
The answer was something even a fledgling Jedi knew by heart.
Obi-Wan recited by rote. "A Jedi cannot allow evil to occur by
inaction. A Jedi who voluntarily stands by and allows evil to
be committed is encouraging the forces of darkness."
Qui-Gon's eyes bored into him. "And which is the greater of two
evils: to allow one's self to be corrupted, or to allow another
to be swayed by the Dark Side?"
Obi-Wan was silent a moment. The answer should have been easy,
but he wracked his brain to answer the question. What was
Qui-Gon really asking him? Seconds ticked by, lengthening
painfully into minutes, and Obi-Wan felt his Master's pensive,
probing gaze on him. He could not think of a way to answer the
question. It was as if his mind had become a blank slate, one
he did not possess enough knowledge to fill. His cheeks burned
with embarrassed fire.
Abruptly, Qui-Gon stood. "Enough for today, Padawan. Let's walk
a bit before dinner." He reached out an arm, draping it about
Obi-Wan's shoulders as his apprentice rose from the low bench
in the courtyard of the Jedi Temple.
Obi-Wan reached out to experience his Master's emotions; the
tentative touch was returned with affection and delight with
Obi-Wan's company. Obi-Wan was somewhat amazed, and puzzled.
There was no sense of a task left incomplete. He was used to
the resigned, somewhat frustrated signature of his Master's
thoughts after a bout with Code and philosophy went badly. This
time, he sensed only acceptance and happiness.
"Master?" Obi-Wan felt the need to speak his doubts.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon continued his leisurely walk toward the
large Temple dining hall, stopping only when Obi-Wan's
shoulders tensed and he turned toward his teacher.
"I haven't been concentrating as I should on my lessons, and I
-"
"The lessons themselves are not important, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's
tenderly chosen words sent a shock of wonder through the
younger man. Regardless of his expectations, his Master was a
constant source of surprise to him. "Only the dialogue is
important. You must become accustomed again to the routine of
learning, of your mind expanding to take on new possibilities.
When you are ready, there will be progress. Do not trouble
yourself over it." Qui-Gon stopped, and turned to face Obi-Wan,
his other hand coming to rest on the vacant shoulder. "I am
pleased simply to have you here, whole and well, Padawan."
With those words, Obi-Wan knew his Master's unhesitating
devotion, his patience, his willingness to wait for his Padawan
to regain the ground he'd lost. Obi-Wan saw his Master's eyes
close, knowing that mental obstructions had been lowered. He
received an impression of sweeping, gracious warmth, and he
felt his Master's emotions: surging love, stained with an
infinite sadness; a worry and concern so intimate that Obi-Wan
was left breathless. His Master reached out with two gentle
fingers, stroking Obi-Wan's cheek lightly, a touch which
conveyed, with the briefest of sensations, endless wishes left
unspoken.
The power of it staggered Obi-Wan. He leaned forward and found
himself stayed by his Master's strong arms. He stood there,
basking in the joyous warmth of those feelings, until Qui-Gon
withdrew the overwhelming flow of passion, one piece at a time.
Obi-Wan sensed his Master's regret, and he straightened to his
full height, looking up into the deep blue eyes.
Without speaking, they turned back toward the dining hall,
Qui-Gon's arm still resting across the top of his Padawan's
shoulders, a brace and anchor against what was still to come.
"Faster," Qui-Gon said calmly. "And this time, don't pull back.
I want to feel the full strength of your blows."
Obi-Wan nodded and swung his saber to the ready, tensing as he
watched his Master's body language, attempting to predict when
Qui-Gon would strike.
Qui-Gon stood relaxed with his hands at his sides, watching his
apprentice's eyes dart from Qui-Gon's face, to his hands, to
his legs, and back again. Inwardly, the teacher sighed. The key
to an opponent's weakness could be seen in the eyes and felt in
the Force. Obi-Wan knew better; it was a lesson hard learned by
any student of the Temple before they reached young adulthood.
His apprentice was years past such simple concepts, and yet he
was having trouble remembering even the most basic aspects of
his training. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, hoping to
feel it flowing through and around his Padawan. It was not. The
small, brittle ripples of the Force Obi-Wan was attempting to
command were strangely stunted, out of tune with his body's
physical song, and the overall effect was disturbing.
With a deliberate bid to completely conceal his intent, Qui-Gon
suddenly lifted himself in the air and somersaulted over
Obi-Wan's head, a move the younger man might normally have
favored in battle. It was not Qui-Gon's style, and for this
reason, he expected to take Obi-Wan off guard. It worked. His
lightsaber, set on extremely low power, flared into dangerous
brilliance a full half second before Obi-Wan could turn to
block the strike. Qui-Gon slashed down with the saber, cutting
through Obi-Wan's tunic and inflicting a stinging wound.
Obi-Wan made no sound of pain, but his lips tightened, and his
fighting stance improved immediately as he whirled to face his
teacher. He blocked a lightning-quick succession of slicing
blows, but his timing was off, his feet always just a fraction
behind where full perception would have placed them.
Qui-Gon noted all these factors -- Obi-Wan's quickly increasing
fatigue, the way his legs seemed awkward beneath him, how his
timing was off, how the fight seemed to take every spare scrap
of energy he possessed.
He pressed the attack even harder.
Obi-Wan was driven back, parrying as fast as he could, but not
utilizing the Force to assist him. Qui-Gon feinted and scored
another burn, this time down the side of Obi-Wan's arm, neatly
shredding the cloth above. Then he pulled back slightly, giving
Obi-Wan the chance to press the offensive.
Obi-Wan dealt a few swift blows, the impact of them far less
than Qui-Gon was used to from his Padawan, but considerably
better than their first practice duel. Qui-Gon saw the look of
concentration on his student's face and began using the
defensive moves of a Jedi Master, calling all his training to
bear. A quick cut here, a shallow scorch there, and Obi-Wan was
quickly overwhelmed, struggling to keep his feet and not fall
flat on his back, defenseless beneath the onslaught. What had
been a hesitant offense turned into a desperate defense.
As suddenly as it began, Qui-Gon ended it, deactivating his
lightsaber and stepping away. Obi-Wan froze for a moment,
before his muscles turned to water and flowed out from
underneath him like melting snow. He sank to the floor on his
knees and was immediately enfolded in his Master's arms, the
prickle of the older man's beard rasping across his cheek as he
spoke softly in Obi-Wan's ear. "Do not fight your fatigue,
Padawan. Embrace it. Let it cleanse you."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall to
Qui-Gon's shoulder, heavier than stone. "Why did you attack me
with all your strength?" he asked faintly.
"To show you your own strength," his Master said. "You
can withstand all that is thrown against you, Obi-Wan, if you
will but learn to bend, to accept your weakness as a part of
you, not something which must be drawn out and discarded."
Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan's weight off of him and sat on the
floor, facing his apprentice. He regarded the young man with a
thoughtful look. "You have endeavored for some time now to
right this wrong within you. That is work enough. You must stop
feeling responsible for my pride."
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, astonished. He began to understand
that he had not fooled his Master; Qui-Gon had simply chosen
not to speak of Obi-Wan's most private battles. Instead, he had
allowed Obi-Wan the freedom to grapple with his problems as he
saw fit - a mark of his Master's respect for his abilities, and
his recognition of Obi-Wan's equality.
Obi-Wan had been seen through, discovered, practically from the
first confident statement he'd made after his healing. And
protected, right from the start, until his Master felt he was
ready to face the fears which besieged him.
"You are strangling your heart by maintaining such rigid
control of your thoughts and feelings, my Padawan." Qui-Gon
reproached him without judgment, in the most compassionate
tones. "You do not disappoint me, Obi-Wan, and least of all for
falling victim to my mistakes," his Master added, every
word a weight lifted from Obi-Wan's chest. "When you are ready,
you will find that you are able to eliminate the memories of
your ordeal."
Obi-Wan bowed his head for a moment, overcome by gratitude
toward his Master. The elaborate maze of perception which was
haunting him faded for that moment, allowing him to peek into
Qui-Gon's mind, reveling in the disciplined order of his
Master's thoughts. His Master patiently permitted the
exploration.
Satisfied that his apprentice had understood the lesson, Qui
Gon raised himself onto his knees and initiated a light healing
trance, touching his long, skilled fingers to the wounds he had
inflicted on his Padawan's body. The burns were not serious,
and were quickly reduced to fading white streaks which would
heal completely within hours.
As Qui-Gon's hands moved in fluid, sensuous patterns across his
torso, Obi-Wan felt his breath catch and fought to control his
response. The pleasurable touch deepened, as the fingers
splayed across the wounds, and Obi-Wan raised his head, opening
his sea-green-blue eyes into the enfolding, unfathomable blue
of his Master's gaze. There was no mistake; his Master desired
him, and in those eyes Obi-Wan saw the destiny he had feared to
face. The moment caught and held, suspending them above the
future they might share, if Obi-Wan dared.
"Master," he whispered, overwhelmed.
"Soon enough, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answered, his voice deep with
longing, answering the wish for freedom in Obi-Wan's plea.
"Soon enough."
Obi-Wan allowed his mind to drift back to the present, to his
shivering body, which remained secure against the wall at his
back, the place of sparse comfort he'd retreated to after his
nightmare. His muscles ached, incredibly knotted and sore from
the brutal workout he shared with Qui-Gon. The burns inflicted
by Qui-Gon during practice were gone. He rubbed his fingers
across those places his Master had touched him. He had been
foolish to think Qui-Gon no longer desired him. Another of his
many frivolous fears. His Master was simply wiser than his
apprentice, and understood that the mind must heal before the
body's demands could be satisfied. Now, if he could spare his
Master some of the worry which crept across his features when
he studied his Padawan, Obi-Wan felt he might achieve a measure
of peace within himself.
Silently, Obi-Wan scooted down into the center of the bed,
shoving blankets to the floor to clear his way, and sat
cross-legged on the cool sheet, hands resting on his knees. He
delved inward, mustering the concentration he sorely lacked
these days, and began to enter a meditative state. At first, a
flurry of thoughts scattered across his inner eye like
crackling embers flying from a burning log. Slowly, he narrowed
his focus, but his thoughts invariably returned to the concerns
of the day. He gave in to his observations, to the pictures and
impressions of memory.
Qui-Gon had watched him sharply after their training drill.
Utterly drained, Obi-Wan needed help to rise from the ground,
and wobbled unsteadily during the trip back to their rooms.
Once there, he was aware that Qui-Gon was waiting for him to
meditate. In fact, he expected it...but Obi-Wan had felt his
anxieties crawling over him like jabbing needles, and knew it
would be a pointless exercise. Agitation over the enigmatic,
hostile dreams which awaited him in sleep prevented him from
finding focus. And because he was very tired, he would meet his
nocturnal enemies swiftly, unprepared. He'd reached out with a
worn half-effort, but his mind was too uneasy to permit him to
harness the Force. He was getting used to it. And he doubted it
would ever improve.
//You can withstand all that is thrown against you, Obi-Wan, if
you will but learn to bend, to accept your weaknesses...//
His Master's words rang back to him, and he recognized the
clarion call of fact, but had no idea how to go about shaping
Qui-Gon's teaching into his personal truth.
// When you are ready, you will find that you are able to
eliminate the memories of your ordeal.//
Obi-Wan felt a deep sigh building within his heart, and its
pressure pushed at the edges of his frustration, expanding
until he thought his thin hold on stability might fracture into
messy pieces. A swift image crossed his mind, that of himself
as an incoherent madman. He chuckled softly, wryly, hoping the
likeness was only a tension-induced fantasy and not a vision of
things to come. He sobered quickly, reminding himself that it
could happen if he was not able to do something to
embrace his Master's words, to interrupt this cycle of pain
he'd entered into against his will.
Qui-Gon stirred. Obi-Wan froze as his Master turned over
smoothly on his sleep couch, then burrowed a shoulder under his
pillow and sank down again, deeply asleep. Obi-Wan allowed his
look to rest on his Master's face, now turned toward him.
Qui-Gon's fine hair, undone at night, was wildly tossed in
every direction. Obi-Wan found it strangely attractive. It
reminded him of the disarray once caused by his own hands
plunging through that hair, freeing it from its confining ties.
And the lips, slightly parted in sleep, which Obi-Wan had
touched and devoured, melted into with fluid hot kisses.
It angered Obi-Wan to have even the most hazy untrue memories
of his Master's visage, corrupted by anger and leering avarice,
hovering over him as he was brutally violated. Some part of him
had always refused to believe it was possible; the signature of
Qui-Gon's mind had been totally absent from the experience, but
Obi-Wan had been too busy shrinking away from the desecration
of his mind to make distinctions of any kind. Defiled, he had
simply closed down, ignoring logic, ignoring discipline. He was
unwilling then to separate reality from unreality, heavy
phantoms from their lesser specters. A dream, within a dream,
within a reality too harsh for imagining. A reality he could
not control. And still the secondary outrage exploded into his
dreams every night, an obscene tableau playing itself out, and
he could not reach his Master within that world to explain how
he had failed him, though he knew he somehow had.
In fact, he was at a loss to explain it to himself, and that
was the crux of the problem...
Obi-Wan buried his face in his suddenly shaking hands, grinding
the heels of his palms into his tired, shaded eyes. He would
look haggard in the morning with so little sleep, and once
again, Qui-Gon's questioning eyes would follow him around the
room, across the courtyard, through every move he made. All the
patience his Master had offered him, all the quiet instruction,
could not drag him from the cave of his misery. Not yet. It was
not his Master's pride which was at stake. It was something
intangible, something important.
//When you are ready, there will be progress. Do not trouble
yourself over it.//
It would be easy to dismiss his Master's words as comfort
spoken lightly, without purpose, merely to ease Obi-Wan's
troubles. However, Qui-Gon never spoke without purpose. The
gravity and integrity of his Master moored him to the security
of the familiar, of the routines they had shared since Obi-Wan
became Qui-Gon's apprentice an eternity ago. Obi-Wan compared
the boy to the man, and found the man sorely wanting. Where was
the courage he flaunted so easily, the sureness that he was on
the right path? Such things were sometimes considered failings
by older Jedi, but Qui-Gon had seemingly known his heart, even
before he was able to persuade his Master to act upon that
knowledge. His adult persona had swallowed up the best things
the boy had to offer. It hardly seemed fair, now that he could
have used a bit of the youthful bravado.
Obi-Wan felt very old, and very weary. The night was feeding on
him, and he could find no nourishment to replace what was lost
to the dark.
The sun was rising over Coruscant, glinting harshly off steel
spires, straying aimlessly amongst rushing traffic and polluted
atmosphere, glowing as it gained power from rushing over the
edge of the world. Obi-Wan reined in his wandering thoughts and
watched the splendor of the aurora, losing himself in the
sparkling colors, until the warm light of morning streamed
completely into the room. He swung his feet to the floor and
stood noiselessly, avoiding waking his Master out of
consideration more than his earlier fear of being read like an
open book. He stepped to the adjoining room and slid the door
closed, before throwing off his sweat-stained sleep tunic and
immersing himself in a hot shower.
As the first droplets of water hit his apprentice's skin,
Qui-Gon sat up on the sleep couch, his face a study in sadness.
He opened his eyes, and crystalline tears shone with false
brilliance in the early morning light, spilling slowly, a
testament to his helpless regret.
Qui-Gon put a hand over his eyes and swept away his tears with
a quick motion. He listened for a moment to the sounds of
falling water in the other room, not daring to reach out with
the Force for fear of alerting his apprentice to the fact he
was awake. He sat motionless a moment more, willing himself not
to go to Obi-Wan and comfort him with soft touches, to become
one with the man whose pain was as tangible to him as his own
heartbeat.
He had been hovering on the twilight fringes of awareness while
Obi-Wan slept, trusting the Force to alert him to any
difficulties his Padawan might experience. Obi-Wan's blatant
terror had snapped through his mind like a laser blast,
bringing him into full consciousness the moment his Padawan
awakened from his dream. He heard Obi-Wan scramble backwards on
the sleep couch, retreating from unseen apparitions, and he
toughened himself against the monumental urge to obey the
calling of their bond. Obi-Wan's emotions were like living
creatures in the room with them - hatred, anguish, and a
lingering despair. He experienced the peculiar sensation of
those emotions being withdrawn, as if they were sucked into a
vacuum, until only the impression of them lingered, like an
aftertaste.
It was a dangerous sign of how determined Obi-Wan was not to
allow Qui-Gon in to his torment.
Of all the things Qui-Gon had discussed with the healers
regarding Obi-Wan's recovery, this one thing they were most
firm on: Qui-Gon must not push his Padawan down a particular
path. Obi-Wan would take each step when he was ready, and might
try to leap some barriers before he was prepared. His Master
must take responsibility, must stop and guide him. Qui-Gon had
seen this firsthand when Obi-Wan had broadcast his desire for
his Master clearly, with an initial overconfidence regarding
their physical relationship. He was not at all ready to resume
their lovemaking, and in hindsight, Qui-Gon had been wise to
resist that particular temptation. It had been enough to hold
his apprentice in his arms for two short nights after the
healing, to once again feel the slender body pressed against
his own, strength to strength, heart to heart.
Only a day later, the nightmares had come rushing in on
Obi-Wan, with far greater magnitude than the dreams which
plagued him before his memory had been restored by the healers.
Qui-Gon had immediately exiled Obi-Wan to his own bed, feeling
somehow responsible for the relapse. The healers had not eased
his mind in the least when they confirmed Obi-Wan to be
unconsciously afraid of intimacy - but not in the way Qui-Gon
believed.
Obi-Wan was shrinking from the touch of his Master's mind, from
the possibility of his failures being exposed, from the fear of
disappointing his Master in ways he had not yet identified even
to himself. Until his apprentice faced and conquered his
subconscious fears, Qui-Gon would have to suppress an impulse
as necessary and automatic as breathing - he could not reach
out to Obi-Wan's mind through the Force. If Obi-Wan was
confused by his Master's withdrawal, so be it. His apprentice
would have to initiate contact.
Qui-Gon was completely cut off from Obi-Wan, dependent upon his
Padawan's trust in him, hoping he would choose to reveal his
heart. Instead, he was only pulling farther away, reaching out
only for momentary reassurances, fleeting glimpses of what they
had shared together and what Qui-Gon hoped could be theirs once
again. More and more, uncontrolled emotions were leaking from
Obi-Wan like water through an ever-widening sieve; the more he
drew them in, the faster they flew from him, wildly
uncontrolled. He was nearing a breaking point, one which would
crack him open and expose the bleeding wounds within.
As the sun crept higher in the skies over Coruscant, Qui-Gon
rose from the sleep couch and knelt beside it to begin his
morning meditation. He knew Obi-Wan had tried, completely
without success, to center himself in the living Force after
waking. The openness of the thoughts meandering around the room
had caught Qui-Gon off guard as he lay with his eyes shut,
knowing that Obi-Wan was thinking of him, of his instruction
earlier that day, and of the many conflicting messages he was
receiving from his feelings. Obi-Wan was so intent on sparing
his Master from worry that Qui-Gon had made the decision to
stay quiet and still as if still asleep, welcoming the
deception if it would spare Obi-Wan in return.
Qui-Gon sighed, realizing his own thoughts were moving in all
directions except quiet meditation. His head turned slightly to
the side as the shower stopped behind him. He suffocated the
errant thoughts which had been gaining momentum, closing his
eyes, feeling the sun's warmth on his face. He gave himself
over to the pleasant radiance.
Obi-Wan rubbed himself dry with a rough towel and pulled on
fresh clothing, mindful of the twinges and pangs of his muscles
and joints. He had not known he could use muscles in the ways
required to defend himself against Qui-Gon's full strength. He
smiled suddenly, thinking of how far he had come in his
lessons, and how far he had to go. Qui-Gon shared knowledge
freely, but it sometimes seemed that he kept the best tidbits
to himself. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, slinging
his Padawan braid over his shoulder, where it dripped down the
back of his tunic. He did not feel like unbraiding it. Too much
trouble.
He allowed himself a fleeting pride in his ability to keep from
waking Qui-Gon. This ordeal was his to bear. Qui-Gon had
offered him tools of wisdom, unconditional acceptance, and now
Obi-Wan would have to put them to use. He would find a way. He
would most certainly not allow Qui-Gon to spend every moment
worrying over him; the glimpse of sadness and concern he'd been
given the previous day distressed him greatly.
Obi-Wan had noticed a tendency on his Master's part to be more
withdrawn. He no longer reached out to Obi-Wan at various
points throughout the day; their minds seemed separate, divided
in a way that made Obi-Wan wish once again for the return of
intimacy. He heard the promise in Qui-Gon's voice after their
practice, but it already seemed long ago, and he did not know
whether to believe in a future which could not be reached
without slogging through the present.
Shaking his head, Obi-Wan slid open the door and stopped in
surprise when he saw his Master kneeling in meditation. He was
bathed in a clear yellow light, warm and tranquil. The streaks
of silver in his hair caught and held the light, shining
softly. Obi-Wan stood watching him a moment, fascinated by his
Master's noble elegance. Without thinking, he reached out with
the Force, briefly feeling for his Master's emotions, and was
rewarded when Qui-Gon completely broke from his trance and
stood in one smooth movement.
"Good morning," Qui-Gon replied, thinking a thousand thoughts
at once, and trying to crush those inner voices down into a
dull roar. Despite the mental turmoil, his expression remained
pensive and perceptive. Obi-Wan looked like hell. The dark
circles underneath his eyes had deepened overnight, and
although Qui-Gon knew it was not possible, he looked even
thinner than the day before. The younger man was the picture of
exhaustion. Qui-Gon pushed that information aside and reached
to embrace the small victory - Obi-Wan had unthinkingly used
the Force to let his Master know he was present. It was not a
great deal more than the day before...but it was a small step.
"Did you sleep well, Master?"
"Soundly." The lie slipped off his tongue with ease. "Well,
young Padawan, how shall you train today? I certainly don't
want to tax your aching muscles." His eyes twinkled at his
apprentice, and one corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile
to go with the subtle challenge.
Obi-Wan met the smile with a grin. "Indeed, Master. If it would
be too much for someone of your advanced...status...to spar two
days in a row, I'm sure we may find something else to occupy
our time."
"And what would you suggest?" Qui-Gon asked, ignoring the small
jab but amused nonetheless.
Obi-Wan hesitated long enough for Qui-Gon to understand
exactly what he would suggest, and his heart ached with
his own need, and his Padawan's. Obi-Wan dropped his eyes
suddenly, and when he looked back at Qui-Gon, there was
something different, something...stronger, more focused.
"We haven't practiced the parat-jala in quite some time," he
said, his voice taking on an edge.
Qui-Gon immediately asked, "Are you sure you are ready for the
intensity of that exercise, Obi-Wan? You know what it demands."
"Yes, I do." Firm, and flat.
"Very well." Qui-Gon's instincts were silent on the matter. He
knew he would focus on the reasons for that silence at length
during meditation. "I'll meet you at breakfast."
Obi-Wan nodded, and was gone without another word, amazed that
his Master had been willing to consider his suggestion. A
certainty was growing inside him that it was the one right
thing to do.
Qui-Gon continued to stare at the space Obi-Wan had occupied,
besieged with qualms about the wisdom of agreeing to the
parat-jala. This might be the turning point, and if Qui-Gon
could not help him, Obi-Wan's chance to become a Jedi Knight
might fade away forever.
In the early hours of afternoon, Qui-Gon waited in the Temple
gardens for Mace Windu. Protected by a transparent force-field,
the gardens were a haven of lush peace, free from the constant
noise and pollution rampant on Coruscant. Birds chirped their
restful contentment, liberated from the confines of the aviary
during daylight hours. Plants and trees from a hundred separate
systems flourished within the green oasis, and Qui-Gon marveled
at the skill of the botanists who had created this eclectic
ecosystem.
After breakfast, the Jedi Master had spent his morning in
meditation, carefully and slowly selecting the thoughts, tasks
and memories which would structure the parat-jala. Persistent
questions nagged at him - was this the right choice for his
Padawan? Would it do more harm than good? His instinctual
decision-making was strangely absent, and Qui-Gon had concluded
this was because he was meant to follow Obi-Wan's insistence,
just this once.
He sensed Master Windu's approach and stood, bowing to the
Senior Councilor as the tall, dignified man strode toward him.
"Thank you for meeting me, Master," Qui-Gon said.
Master Windu wasted no time easing into any subject, and this
was to be no exception. "What progress has your Padawan made,
Master Qui-Gon?"
"He takes small steps, Master, but he moves steadily down the
path," Qui-Gon answered. "It is that path I wish to discuss
with you. He has chosen the parat-jala as training exercise
today."
Windu's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed? Is that wise, given his
current difficulty focusing the Force?"
Qui-Gon knew Windu had been speaking with the healers daily
regarding Obi-Wan's progress. All part of the Council's
watchful monitoring of Qui-Gon's continued role as Obi-Wan's
Master. "That remains to be seen. I will give him this
opportunity, if nothing else. If he should fail at something he
has done so well before, perhaps it will be the lowest point
from which he will climb. And if he succeeds, I believe he will
emerge a stronger man than before."
Master Windu considered Qui-Gon's words for a moment, and when
he spoke, his voice was firm. "I trust your judgment in this,
Master Qui-Gon. What is it you would ask of me?"
"I ask only that we are not interrupted during the exercise. I
do not wish to attempt the parat-jala inside one of the
practice halls. I prefer to attempt it here, where there is
more to manipulate and distract."
"A simple enough request. I will see to it. Anything else?"
Windu questioned.
Qui-Gon hesitated, and his next words hung heavy once spoken.
"Perhaps a healer should be standing by."
Windu nodded. "Agreed." He reached out a hand, clasped
Qui-Gon's shoulder. "You have handled this well, Qui-Gon. I
have every confidence that if the boy's skills can be redeemed,
you will find a way."
"I will try, Master." Qui-Gon's words were bland, but beneath
them, a torrent of emotion -
//His life is more important than mine. I must help
him.//
The two Jedi regarded one another for a moment, before Windu's
hand dropped away. "You will report the results of the
parat-jala to the Council tomorrow?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good enough." Windu folded his arms back beneath his cloak and
turned to go, but hesitated suddenly and turned back, as though
uncertain he should speak. "Master Qui-Gon...if your young
Padawan must leave the Jedi, will the path you walk still be
alongside Obi-Wan?"
Qui-Gon had never been able to bring himself to think of a
future outside of his duty to the Jedi, or a future without
Obi-Wan. He had never for a moment believed those two things
could be mutually exclusive of one another. "I...had not
considered it, Master."
"Perhaps it is time to think on it," Windu suggested softly.
With a last look at his friend, he turned and walked slowly
from the gardens, on his way take care of Qui-Gon's requests.
Qui-Gon sat down once again on the same low bench, somewhat
shaken by Master Windu's words. He realized for the first time
that Master Windu and the others had grave reservations about
Obi-Wan's ability to transcend his pain. Was he blinded by his
feelings for Obi-Wan? Did he give the young Jedi too much
credit for an inner strength he did not actually possess?
//No.//
The vehemence of his heart's immediate answer surprised him.
Obi-Wan was not weak. He was strong, and true to his own
course. Qui-Gon smiled to recall the number of times Obi-Wan's
headstrong, self-assured demeanor had caused complaining
trainers to call on him, frustrated by Obi-Wan's unnerving
confidence. Layered in with the boy's need to succeed and
please his Master was a willful streak of determination,
providing the steel in his backbone, the muscle in an otherwise
complacent heart.
There would be no need to contemplate a future which would
never exist. His path would be with Obi-Wan's, first as Padawan
and Master as it was meant to be, and later as Knight and
Master, equals. And if that path led away from the
Jedi...Qui-Gon supposed he could somehow find a bridge to take
him across that chasm.
A stirring in the Force...Obi-Wan was approaching. With a deep
breath, Qui-Gon centered his thoughts, drawing down all the
conflicting feelings, pulling back his worry and hope,
anchoring his mental barriers into place, where they must
remain until cautiously controlled and drawn back during the
parat-jala.
Obi-Wan's gait was faster and freer than Qui-Gon had seen in
many weeks. The way his apprentice walked was engaging; his
hips swayed within a feral strut. He'd noticed it more and more
over the years, with an increasing sensual appreciation.
However, now was not the time...
"Master." Obi-Wan stopped several feet from Qui-Gon, looking
almost excited. There was a flush to his cheeks, a light in his
eyes. Parat-jala had been one of Obi-Wan's favorite exercises,
once he achieved a certain level of skill. It involved so much
sharing and depth of sensation that once undertaken by a Master
and Padawan, barriers were shattered and could not be re-drawn.
There were some pairs who never even attempted it, and some
Padawans never succeeded, either through a lack of skill on
their part or a lack of openness and truth on the part of their
Master.
"I see you're ready to proceed, Padawan." Qui-Gon drank in the
waves of positive energy coming from Obi-Wan. "Have you
completed meditation?"
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was steady and truthful, his
posture almost anxious with readiness. He removed his cloak and
threw it to one side, not even bothering to ask his Master
about the location he'd chosen to conduct the parat-jala.
Showing off a bit, he bent his body forward and launched into a
handstand, then collapsed the move, rolling easily onto his
back until he was lying flat in the soft fragrant grass.
Qui-Gon chuckled as Obi-Wan lay there looking at him, hands
clasped under his head. "Any more tricks, Padawan?"
"No, Master," Obi-Wan answered, a grin lighting his face as he
gazed up at Qui-Gon. "I'm ready now."
"Good." Qui-Gon let his own cloak fall from his shoulders,
tossing it off, and knelt on one knee in the grass a few meters
from Obi-Wan's prone form.
Both men closed their eyes, and the Force immediately began to
vibrate between them, filling the air with its invisible
resonance. Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan gathering the living
Force to him, and the tremendous hesitation it caused was like
pounding percussion against Qui-Gon's calm. After several
minutes, the disturbance died down considerably, and Obi-Wan
seemed able to handle the rippling power which enveloped them
both.
"Begin," Qui-Gon instructed. Instantly, Obi-Wan focused the
Force and levitated, rising in tiny increments until his body
was three feet off the ground. He looked almost as though he
were floating in a tranquil pool, suspended in water rather
than on thin air, feet dipping down slightly below the line of
his torso. The tableau held for some period of time, seemingly
frozen in time, until Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's breathing was
even and steady, a sign he was one with the Force. Even if they
went no further this day, Qui-Gon was pleased that Obi-Wan had
harnessed the Force with such finesse, and he hoped it was more
than a good beginning.
Obi-Wan hovered horizontal over the ground, having achieved the
first step in the parat-jala -- also known by its common name,
"the seeking of truth", by younger apprentices. Qui-Gon reached
out and tested to see that Obi-Wan had surrendered himself to
the Force, and found his apprentice surprisingly in tune with
the Force around him, although not yet at full capacity. Time
to move forward.
"Command the physical objective, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice rang
with authority. He was thinking of an object which was nearby,
picturing it in his mind's eye. He allowed Obi-Wan access to
his thoughts, only the briefest glimpse, before narrowing the
window and closing his mind.
Nearby, a tiny periwinkle flower with a long stalk seemed to go
rigid, then snapped from its roots, lifting into the air and
floating at the same height as Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon waited a moment, quite pleased, watching to make sure
the flower did not fall. Obi-Wan's breathing remained regular
and relaxed.
"Command the emotional objective, Padawan." Qui-Gon sensed a
hesitation, before spidery feelers induced by the Force invaded
his mind, seeking the open spot he'd deliberately left for his
student. He braced himself for what was to come.
Obi-Wan gasped as a corporeal impression of longing slammed
into him, weighing him down with its immediacy. His body dipped
in the air. Qui-Gon's looked up suddenly, ready to catch his
Padawan if he should fall...
...but he did not fall. Obi-Wan took the emotion into himself,
studied it to determine what it was. His Master's heart lay
open to him in that wistful imprint of passion. He absorbed its
energy, understood his Master's truth, and thereby mastered the
emotion in himself.
"Desire, my Master." Obi-Wan's analysis of the emotion was
husky, delivered in a cracking voice, but on target
nonetheless.
"Yes." Qui-Gon bowed his head, reminding himself not to hear
and respond to the matching desire in his apprentice. He found
his focus once again, and gave the directive he was bound to
give. "Command the invisible objective, my Padawan."
There was no hesitation in the exploration this time. Obi-Wan
demanded and located the memory Qui-Gon had chosen to share.
//I will not let you die, Padawan. Not if it means I must die
in your place. There must be another way!//
"In the mines, Master...when...when you recognized me as your
Padawan." Now Qui-Gon heard tears in the voice of the younger
Jedi.
"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, satisfied. "Command the physical
objective."
Even before he had finished the directive, a half-dead tree
branch had separated from the trunk which held it and was
spinning in the air near the flower.
//Must I give the command?// Qui-Gon asked, half-afraid to know
the answer. This would be the moment which would decide so many
things.
//No, Master.// Obi-Wan was there within his feelings,
reassuring, like the familiar soft touch of a beloved hand,
caressing and moving on, easing across the harshly scratched
lines of fear and regret which scarred the surface of his
Master's heart. Obi-Wan's Force-enhanced examination pleaded
for admittance, was rewarded with an explosion of
understanding, compassion, and something else...a love so
strong, so completely unselfish, and so mighty that Obi-Wan
could not withstand it.
"Master..."
Qui-Gon stretched out with the Force immediately and captured
his Padawan in mid-drop. The Force swirled around his Padawan,
holding him in place, though Qui-Gon had not moved a muscle
even the tiniest fraction of an inch. He felt Obi-Wan
attempting to reassert his control.
"You do love me, Master?" The plaintive question broke the form
of the parat-jala, but could not be ignored.
"I do, Obi-Wan." //With all that is in me to give.//
Obi-Wan drew strength from the knowledge. His willingness
strained against the hold Qui-Gon maintained on his body.
Qui-Gon released him, and Obi-wan shot up in the air, leveling
out at a height of five feet or so.
"Command the invisible, Padawan." //My love.//
//Master, I cannot!// Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's fear.
"Complete the exercise, Obi-Wan. Command the invisible."
Qui-Gon's voice rang out in the garden, sure of Obi-Wan's
ability, full of confidence.
Obi-Wan faltered only for a moment before turning his complete
concentration to the task his Master ordered, within the
confines of the parat-jala...to command his Master's
memories...
//... Obi-Wan's eyes widened and filled with tears, betraying
his astonished joy before he could stop his reaction. Qui-Gon
clasped the handsome face between his large, strong hands, his
thumbs gently stroking Obi-Wan's cheeks. "In time, young
Padawan, I will touch you in any way you desire." He bent his
head and kissed the tears which trailed softly down the beloved
face. His lips closed on Obi-Wan's with resolute promise,
tasting of salt and certainty.//
Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's recognition of that moment when tears
had become the salty glue which bound them together as one, and
the outside world had ceased to matter, would never again
matter as much as this joyful, all-encompassing rapture...
// ...Obi-Wan's blatant terror had snapped into his mind like a
laser blast, bringing him into full consciousness the moment
his Padawan awakened from his dream. He heard Obi-Wan scramble
backwards on the sleep couch, retreating from unseen
apparitions, and he toughened himself against the monumental
urge to obey the calling of their bond.//
"You knew," Obi-Wan rasped, devastated by the knowledge he had
not concealed his anguish.
"I knew, Padawan, and I accepted. You are everything to me,"
Qui-Gon said urgently, quietly, enfolding Obi-Wan in his love.
"I should have made it clear, Obi-Wan. You are what matters..."
//You are what matters to me, Obi-Wan. More than pride, more
than honor. You are all there is.//
Obi-Wan felt something massive and heavy crack within his mind,
and he was tumbling, spiraling out of control, unsure where he
would land.
He should have known he would not fall.
Qui-Gon's arms were around him, his hands touching Obi-Wan's
face lightly, making sure there was no damage of any kind, and
his mind seeking out his Padawan's thoughts, as light as a
breeze.
There was some insistence, as Qui-Gon prodded him out of a
drowsy daze, but Obi-Wan met the inquiry instinctively,
reaching out with the Force to comfort his Master. And he knew,
with certainty, as his Master held him tightly, that he had
passed the parat-jala.
Somehow, as his Master lifted him, he did not think it mattered
as much anymore.
He was being carried, he knew it, and his Master's arms held
him...but what had happened?...something was different. Obi-Wan
felt himself being lowered onto a soft, firm surface, but his
Master did not withdraw his hands, and Obi-Wan all at once
understood the "difference" - they were still connected, the
nebulous web woven by the parat-jala was in place, and he was
still bound up in the Force, tied to his Master. He had done
it! A small surge of triumph thrilled him.
"Leave him be, Master Qui-Gon." The sharp voice belonged to one
of the female healers who had helped him before. He felt a wave
of kindness toward her, and immediately Qui-Gon's hands
withdrew from his body. Obi-Wan tried to reach out, to retrieve
the contact suddenly broken, but he was stilled by a touch to
his mind by the healer. She reached into places Obi-Wan had
closed to everyone, most especially his Master, but it didn't
seem to matter as much anymore...secrets had lost their meaning
in the face of what had just happened.
His Master loved him...above all things, even duty, his own
reputation, above personal honor. He'd had a glimpse of what
Qui-Gon would sacrifice for him...and he wanted to be there, by
his Master's side, to ensure those sacrifices were never
necessary.
"Sleep, Obi-Wan." Inwardly, he groaned...he hated being sent to
oblivion with a mind trick...but it was too late and he drifted
away, powerless against her skill.
"He'll recover?" Mace Windu was seated near the window in
Qui-Gon's quarters, talking quietly with the Jedi Master. He
had come to Qui-Gon, having learned from the healer that his
friend was exhausted and in need of meditation and rest. His
visit would spare the Jedi Master a grilling by the Council.
"So the healers say." Qui-Gon drew a deep breath, a mixture of
relief and pleased pride. "He overcame his fear, and in so
doing knocked down the obstacles within his mind. He became
less concerned about my worry over him once he understood the
nature of ... our relationship."
Master Windu regarded him shrewdly. "And you believe this
solves the problem?" The words were crowded with meaning.
Qui-Gon hesitated for a very long moment. "It forestalls the
inevitable," he answered quietly. "I have seen visions of our
future, Master. On all accounts, it is not what I might have
expected it to be."
"Therefore, you've given consideration to where your path
lies?"
"Where Obi-Wan goes, my path will be with him," Qui-Gon said
immediately, only a little surprised by how easily the words
were spoken and meant, and how sure he was of the truth behind
them.
"He passed the parat-jala." Windu was not particularly
surprised, nor was he worried...not yet, at any rate.
"Yes, Master. With an amazing degree of depth and
intuitiveness, more than he might have been expected to
display." Qui-Gon vividly recalled the raw emotion generated by
the exercise. It would haunt him for quite some time to come.
"No fear of crossing mental barriers?" Windu asked.
"Surprisingly, no," Qui-Gon said, adding, "The healers feel
Obi-Wan has broken through to his own fears. He's no longer
terrified of others perceiving weakness in him. Tonight, he
will be permitted to return home."
"A happy occasion," Windu noted, smiling. He stood, gathering
his robes around him. "I'll congratulate you again, Qui-Gon,
for having saved a valuable Padawan."
"He is much more than that to me, Master." The low note of
possession and trust in Qui-Gon's voice struck a chord with the
Senior Councilor.
"So he is, Qui-Gon. Go and claim him, then."
Obi-Wan undressed for bed, conscious of every movement, every
brush of cloth against skin. It was almost painful the way his
body was tormenting him, especially since there was nothing he
could do about it until Qui-Gon would relent and allow his
Padawan to share his bed once again. Despite the healer's
assurance that Obi-Wan was nearly back to full capacity, able
to use the Force and not withdrawing from the intrusion of his
Master's mind any longer, Qui-Gon had stubbornly refused to be
pressed on the issue. Obi-Wan had remained in his own bed,
waking in the night seething with frustration, not fear.
Sighing, he stripped down to the skin and slipped under the
covers, frowning to himself.
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's melodious, deep voice startled the younger
Jedi, who sat up under the sheet as his Master quickly shed his
clothing and snuggled into his blankets.
"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan strained to keep the hopeful note out of
his voice.
"Come, share my bed. It's been too long."
Obi-Wan needed no second offer. He almost leapt out of bed,
quickly crossing the distance and diving under the covers,
feeling the long arms wrap securely around him, pressing his
body against the length of his Master's form. The feeling was
like being home once again, comfort and craving, perfection.
Just as the healers said it would be, now that he had faced his
fears. He felt his consciousness slipping away, fought to stay
in the now, but Qui-Gon's voice soothed him down. "Be still,
Padawan. Rest." Sleep took over, and Obi-Wan gave himself to
the night, come what may...
Obi-Wan jerked awake suddenly, somewhat disoriented, and was
immediately steadied by his Master's hand pressing lightly on
his stomach, calm reassurance being communicated through the
Force. He turned his head to see Qui-Gon propped up on one
elbow, lying alongside him, stark concern on his features.
"A dream, Obi-Wan?" he asked, and his tone was troubled.
"No, Master. Not this time. I was...confused for a
moment...about where I was." Obi-Wan saw the misgivings on
Qui-Gon's weathered, handsome face, and added quickly, "It's
been so long since we've slept in the same bed...I lost my
bearings for a moment."
"Perhaps we rushed things," Qui-Gon observed.
No sooner had Qui-Gon spoken the words than Obi-Wan's body
tensed under his Master's warm hand. "No, Master," he said
firmly. "Even the healers said it was time to resume our normal
activities."
Qui-Gon's hand began to move in soothing patterns over
Obi-Wan's torso. The heat of the gentle, insistent touch
permeated Obi-Wan's skin, running through to his heart, and he
closed his eyes against the waves of emotion which threatened
to overpower him.
"And so they did, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was low, weighted
with need. "Will you not look at me, Obi-Wan?"
The younger Jedi opened his eyes, already brimming with an
unfulfilled need which matched Qui-Gon's. His voice became
bound by his throat, caught against his breath, straining to be
let loose as he saw his Master's expression.
Weeks gone by were erased within seconds, as Qui-Gon's lips
feathered across Obi-Wan's open, pleading mouth, connecting and
withdrawing, mature sensuality matched against throbbing want.
His tongue flickered like a flame, caught and held in that
small space, burning a path of wicked destruction across
Obi-Wan's lips, tasting, caressing, dueling gently with
Obi-Wan's tongue in a sensual symphony. Obi-Wan's throat
constricted as his soft noises were captured and swallowed by
his Master. Obi-Wan could do nothing more than reach up and
touch his Master, moving his hands down the planes and angles
of the muscular body.
A subtle shift in position, and Qui-Gon's mouth was sweeping
across the soft curves of Obi-Wan's throat, stopping to mark
territory with tiny bites, pleased by the hitching gasps which
accompanied each meeting of flesh and teeth. Moving lower,
Qui-Gon stopped to suckle gently on nipples made hard and round
by the body's unspoken need. The fine lines of Obi-Wan's body
drew taut as the muscles of his stomach quivered, a masterpiece
beneath his Master's artful hands.
Qui-Gon wrapped those large hands around Obi-Wan's hips, head
dipping down low, giving no warning before he took in his
Padawan's beautiful and obvious desire. Qui-Gon's tongue curled
around the tip of Obi-Wan's cock, before his talented mouth
descended, teeth scraping down the length of the shaft. Obi-Wan
gave a guttural moan, unable to stop his hips from launching
forward, pushing his cock into Qui-Gon's willing mouth, before
his Master secured him firmly against the bed, allowing no
respite from the heat, forcing Obi-Wan to relinquish control.
His Master worked him mercilessly, until his head was thrown
back against the pillows and his heart threatened to burst from
his chest, until it was too much to be endured a moment longer.
"Master!" he cried, and he could no longer remain within the
confines of his mind. His body shuddered in submission and
surrender, and he gave into the rapture which encompassed him,
washing over him like ice breaking loose in winter sun, and he
became part of the crystal flow, vibrating with release,
shattering and expanding all at once.
Obi-Wan reached down blindly, his fingers finding Qui-Gon's
handsome, weathered face, pulling him up with the urgency of
need. Qui-Gon raised his head, asking hoarsely, "What do you
want of me, Padawan?"
"Take me, Master." Words spoken with naked lust, hissed between
shallow breaths.
Qui-Gon responded to the urgency of the plea, and he raised
himself, hovering over his apprentice with a grace and strength
that were intoxicating to Obi-Wan. His lips found Obi-Wan's
once again, hungry and demanding, and Obi-Wan twisted beneath
him, trying to move onto his stomach. Qui-Gon stopped him,
cupping the beloved face in his hands. "I must see your eyes,
Obi-Wan," he rasped, sounding for all the world like a man on
the edge of breaking apart in a thousand tiny pieces.
Obi-Wan held his breath as his Master touched him in that
hidden place, preparing him for the union they were so long
denied. He spread his legs wide, open and willing before
Qui-Gon, as the larger man settled himself between Obi-Wan's
thighs, holding himself there with a barely leashed ferocity.
Suspended over his lover's trembling body, Qui-Gon looked
deeply into the rapidly darkening blue-green eyes. He ducked
his head down, so the rough beard grazed the younger man's
cheek, as he laid his lips alongside the small ear and
whispered, "Are you sure, my Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master, yes, yes," came the unhesitating reply,
breathless and gritted, almost begging, a plea from someplace
primitive beyond his summoning. Qui-Gon pushed inside him with
a muted roar, his body shaking with the effort required not to
come instantly. Obi-Wan's face was a mass of shifting emotions,
chameleon-like. Passion, pain, joy, and an indescribable
yearning... Qui-Gon began to move, slowly at first, a thrust
and a pause. Obi-Wan pushed forward toward completion, filled
with this wondrous gift so long denied, but once again
Qui-Gon's hands held him fast, pushing his hips down, once
again halting Obi-Wan's surrender.
Obi-Wan's cock pushed hard against Qui-Gon's stomach once
again, rejuvenated by the passion only youth can provide, but
Qui-Gon was past knowing. He moved on Obi-Wan, falling into a
rhythm as old as time, thrusting harder when his lover
commanded it, watching Obi-Wan's face, suddenly seeing inside
his Padawan's emotions in a way he once believed would never be
possible again...and the exposed, wanton love there was the
catalyst to the chain reaction which took him past the brink of
awareness. He came, locked into position over Obi-Wan's body,
arched in delicious triumph, warmth and love flooding through
him, and back into his Padawan, completing the circuit.
Qui-Gon held himself on shaking arms for a moment, before
lowering himself, pulling free and collapsing on the bed with
Obi-Wan, pulling his Padawan into his arms. "Normal activities,
Padawan?" he said softly, and was rewarded with a chuckle and a
nibble at his lips.
"Not quite, Master." The throaty voice was full of happiness,
and...
Qui-Gon recognized the tone, and he felt a half-delirious grin
spreading across his face. His apprentice was wearing a rather
dark look, one he knew well, one often saved for the hours
after practice, when both men were energized with the Force and
full of aggression.
"Are you tired, my Master?" Obi-Wan made the title an
endearment, a mark of passion, and Qui-Gon felt the fingers
which were tenderly exploring him, making him ready.
"Obi-Wan," he growled, as their lips crushed together, and he
prepared to accept his Padawan's passion into his body. Tired
he was, but he felt like a young Knight again, and as Obi-Wan
pressed entry, he felt himself give in, ready for the feeling
of being taken, as though he were made for this man and no
other. Unguarded, he let his defenses drop completely.
Obi-Wan moved with torturous patience deep inside him, taking
his release with a wild cry. Qui-Gon held the precious body to
him, as his Padawan tumbled exhausted onto the bed beside him.
So many obstacles overcome...and so many still to face. Qui-Gon
fell asleep with Obi-Wan's even breathing against his neck,
daring only to live in the moment, not willing to face what was
yet to be.
End. 6/24/99
Hard-working and very tired author hopes you'll send her
feedback at destinaf@hotmail.com
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