Category: Vampire drama. Second in a series of unknown length.
Feedback: Is the blood of life.
Dedicated: To my patient Padawan. Hi Remba!
Thanks to Cincoflex for the great betaing.
Summary: Qui-Gon tries to cope with his transformation.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to George Lucas, vampire legends to
the world.
"Necessary to return to Valon, it may be," stated Yoda firmly.
"No," Qui-Gon Jinn replied, equally as adamant.
Mace Windu sighed with elaborate patience. The Jedi Masters had
been debating on how to restore Qui-Gon to his natural state
after he had been partially transformed into a demon of the
night on a recent mission to his mother's homeworld. The
discussion was not going well, and all four of them were
getting restless.
"We simply do not enough information to help you. Valon has
not provided any information on the subspecies or genetic
mutations of the dominant humanoids, that these 'demons of the
dark' must be. The healers cannot accurately determine how the
transformation occurred, much less how to reverse it," Mace
Windu finally admitted.
"Master..." Qui-Gon looked at his apprentice, who had been
watching the flow of the argument, but had kept quiet in front
of his elders up to now. "Have you considered contacting your
parents?"
"A good idea this is. Your mother must know more of her
lineage," the peaks of the green Jedi's ears twitched upward.
"I haven't seen my parents since I joined the Jedi Academy as
an infant. I have never even considered meeting them." Qui-Gon
did not appear thrilled at the idea, but at least he did not
reject it immediately. He had been flatly refusing to return to
Valon for research, unwilling to risk the life of his
apprentice. The two had been lured by a diplomatic request to
Valon and as far as Qui-Gon knew, if he was ever driven by
passion and anger to kill Obi-Wan, his demonic transformation
would be completed.
"They may not even be alive, but it's a good idea. I will have
the necessary research on your personal records done and let
you know." Master Windu was relieved that this logical tactic
that could end the stalemate and he leaned back in his chair,
steepling his long fingers to signal the end of the discussion.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon rose from their seats, bowing to the two
Masters before leaving. They walked slowly along the corridors
of the Jedi Academy, nodding casually to other Jedi they
encountered. The two had formed a light mental bond when they
had become Master and Padawan, but Qui-Gon's physical
transformation had substantially increased Obi-Wan's awareness
of him. He could tell when his Master simply needed to dwell on
his own thoughts and allowed him that peaceful silence.
They reached their room as twilight cast purple shadows through
the large windows. With Qui-Gon's change came a sensitivity to
light, and the two were existing mainly during the night,
rising in late afternoon and retiring to sleep by dawn. Qui-Gon
said only his padawan's name softly, but Obi-Wan knew what he
needed. Dropping his cloak over a chair, he leaned his back
against the window, stretching his throat and closing his eyes.
The last rays of sun highlighted the gold in his spiky hair.
Qui-Gon stood close to him, his booted feet between Obi-Wan's
spread legs. One hand drifted up, stroking the pale skin of his
throat, lengthened fingernails lightly scratching.
"We have to cut your nails again," Obi-Wan murmured, determined
to retain a level of amusement in their situation.
Qui-Gon didn't respond, leaning in to press his fangs into the
arched skin. Obi-Wan felt the rush of his blood through his
veins, entering Qui-Gon's feasting mouth. Their bodies pressed
together, solid muscles hardened by daily physical exercises,
covered by soft fabric. The silkiness of Qui-Gon's hair draped
against the sides of Obi-Wan's face, as the rough beard pressed
against the skin revealed by the open neck of his tunic. His
Master's power and passion drenched his senses.
The elder Jedi drank thirstily for long minutes before stopping
himself, afraid to weaken his apprentice unduly. Pulling his
fangs gently out, he licked the few glittering drops of blood
from young throat before resting his forehead against
Obi-Wan's. One hand caressed the hollow of his throat, feeling
the beat of his apprentice's blood. The two stood together for
ageless moments, feeling the serenity of their hearts pulsing,
breaths intermingling.
"We need something to soften your beard," Obi-Wan said wryly to
break the depth of the stillness. "A lotion, perhaps. It
scratches my face and throat."
Qui-Gon smiled faintly, encouraged by his apprentice's steady
acceptance of the situation, an acceptance reinforced with
humor and loyalty. He placed one hand on the small punctures,
gathering the Force and sending healing energy into the wounds.
Qui-Gon was not a healer by nature, but he had enough talent
for simple injuries and that skill had allowed them to hide the
daily feasting from the other Jedi, who believed Qui-Gon was
surviving on blood-based protein fluids. "Maybe I should buy
you a fancy neck band. It would give you time to let your
wounds heal naturally."
"Ah, but if I had to take it off to exercise..." Obi-Wan
grimaced, letting Qui-Gon grasp the logical, unpleasant
conclusion.
"Mace would have my head if he realized I was endangering you
so." Apologetically, Qui-Gon continued, "Please believe me when
I tell you that I cannot exist without the sweet taste of your
blood. Synthetic protein cannot quench my thirst for your
spirit."
Obi-Wan's hands rose to clasp his Master's upper arms, fingers
digging in to emphasize his point. "No one needs to know or
shall ever know what occurs between us, Master. I am yours and
you are mine and I shall do everything necessary to help
you."
A light rap on the door interrupted the intensity of his
declaration. Obi-Wan let his hands drop away. "It must be
Ayala. I promised to celebrate Sezon's birthday." "Then go.
Have a good time."
"How could I not? Thanks to your schedule I'm going out to
party barely two hours after breakfast." Obi-Wan gave his
Master a fast kiss, which Qui-Gon lengthened before letting his
apprentice pick up his cloak and leave.
Standing on the Academy's practice grounds, Qui-Gon took
calming breaths, breathing heavily and expanding his lungs to
their fullest capacity. He felt the air in every cell of his
body, energizing him, the power of the Force permeating every
blood vessel. Snapping on his lightsaber, he began an elaborate
kata, moving smoothly through the intricate steps. Gracefully,
he thrust, parried and deflected invisible opponents, sometimes
bending deeply, at other times leaping and twisting.
The kata ended; Qui-Gon's headed bowed in respect to a worthy,
albeit invisible, opponent. When he looked up, Mace was
standing in front of him.
"For old times' sake?" Mace said, raising his lightsaber.
"It's been so long since we sparred."
Qui-Gon reignited his saber, raising his right arm in a
classic fencing pose, left arm back, balance evenly distributed
over both feet. Mace matched the pose and the lightsabers
clashed, sending out a shower of brilliant green and grey
sparks.
The battle was hard and bitter. Mace and Qui-Gon had been in
the Academy together, separated by only a few years and they
had practiced together enough during their youth to learn each
other's weakness. Now they each instinctively sought those gaps
in the other's defenses, each testing what the other had
learned over the decades. For a Jedi, his skill with a
lightsaber was often the only talent that saved his life, and
both men had that lesson well reinforced from harsh experience.
Every sparring session was a demonstration of survival skills
in their minds.
Other Jedi had been practicing exercises, though most had been
preparing for sleep by performing routines more meditative than
Qui-Gon's. Since Masters rarely fought in public, a small crowd
soon gathered, relishing the chance to watch such skill, the
deadly lightsabers at full strength, touching constantly but
never landing.
Qui-Gon's superior speed and strength was the ultimate winning
card. Through his transformation, Qui-Gon's reflexes had
sharpened to an uncanny, inhuman degree. Mace's saber went
flying, ripped out of his hands by the power of Qui-Gon's swing
and the lightsaber halted a bare centimeter from Mace's neck.
Mace remained absolutely still, noting a depth of madness
entering Qui-Gon's eyes and wondering if his old friend had
been pushed too far.
But Qui-Gon muttered, "Obi-Wan" before he was gone in a flash
too swift to follow.
Obi-Wan was having a miserable time. In his opinion, Sezon had
picked the seediest club in the seediest corner of Coruscant to
celebrate his birthday. Every space with filled with seedy
people, drinking cheap and potent liquors and gyrating to the
noise of pounding music. His friend seemed to be happy, so
Obi-Wan strenuously forced himself to keep smiling, only
sipping his own weak brew.
Feeling uneasy, Obi-Wan glanced around, studying the other
patrons, seeking some problem. His three friends failed to
notice that anything was wrong, giggling and laughing and
sharing stories of their recent missions. Sezon was slapping
his palms on the table with glee, shoulders shaking in
convulsions. Ayala and Laeatha were still reasonably sober, but
even they showed a tendency to sway. And giggle.
Excusing himself, Obi-Wan headed to the bathroom. The
uneasiness he sensed grew stronger. A trace of panic registered
as he approached the back of the club. Using the Force, he
hurried through a door, following the fear like a scent. Just
beyond the threshold, a young woman was struggling with one of
the club's seedy patrons in the manager's office, a squalid
room furnished with a cheap desk and chair.
Obi-Wan yanked at the man's arm, wrenching him away from the
woman who sobbed and with a brief grateful glance at her
rescuer, fled out the door.
"Look, pretty padawan wants to protect pretty dancer." The man
cooed, the sweet sarcasm of his words at odds with his
appearance; he was huge, with a broad chest, massive arms, and
a height to equal Qui-Gon's. Summoning the Force, Obi-Wan began
to wave his hand.
"There's no trouble - " but the man snatched at Obi-Wan's
hand, squeezing his fingers in a sudden explosion of pain.
"Don't play with my mind, little Jedi. Are you cowardly
as the rest of your kind?" he demanded, slamming his other fist
against Obi-Wan's jaw. Caught off guard, Obi-Wan absorbed the
blow. He felt another presence behind him, fists clenched
together, smashing into the small of his back. Obi-Wan twisted
and saw the woman raising her hands together to smash them into
his body again. She was smiling ferally, tears and hysteria
gone. /Damn/ he thought in painful realization. /A set-up./ In
normal circumstances, Obi-Wan could have taken two opponents
easily without breaking a sweat, but tonight, weakened from
blood loss and distracted by thoughts of his own situation,
Obi-Wan had already lost the advantage. When the attacker
landed a roundhouse kick into his jaw, the Jedi went down,
barely registering the flurry of blows and kicks.
Slumped in the corner of the room, he regained consciousness
moments later to the sound of a fist hitting flesh.
His Master.
His Master had not ignited his lightsaber but had chosen to
fight hand-to-hand, striking the attackers twice for each
bruise they had given Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's style lost its typical
elegance in favor of crushing blows and devastating impact; his
lips drawn back to reveal his fangs and the wildness of the
beast within him was demanding retribution. His padawan had
been injured and the vicious scum who had done this would pay
with their lives. On a whiplash of icy anger, his lightsaber
flashed out and bisected them in two.
Striding to his apprentice, Qui-Gon knelt down to check his
injuries. Most of the blows had landed on Obi-Wan's torso and
Qui-Gon pressed his fingers on the firm chest and abdomen
muscles to feel if ribs had been broken. The padawan recoiled
when fingers probed the blood trickling from his mouth--his
Master was still drawn too tightly. The fight had released some
of his tension, but the deaths had not satisfied Qui-Gon's rage
and a ferocity still pounded through his veins.
Reluctant to risk more blood loss, Obi-Wan pressed against his
Master, forcing him to back away and stand up. Unsteadily he
rose on his knees, instinctively knowing an alternative way to
calm the fire. Easing breeches down Qui-Gon's hips, Obi-Wan
drew the other's erection into his mouth. Qui-Gon breathed
harshly, fingers clenching his padawan's shoulders, flexing his
hands repeatedly as desire slammed through him, dissipating the
rage; the feel of his apprentice's mouth circling his cock was
unbelievably exciting.
Obi-Wan had loved men before in this fashion, and thought of
every technique he had ever performed or experienced. He sucked
forcefully, then backed off, rolling his tongue around the tip
and tasting the drops of pre-ejaculate as if it was the finest
candy to be savored. He licked down the length, alternating
between the slippery caress of his tongue and a tantalizing
nibble from his teeth. Burying his face in Qui-Gon's groin, he
grew dizzy from the musky essence as he teased the crisp curls
with his nose.
Qui-Gon buried one hand in Obi-Wan's hair, tugging it, forcing
Obi-Wan to look up into his burning eyes. //You also// Obi-Wan
slipped one hand to his own erection, knowing that his Master
needed the devastating release of a joint explosion. His mouth
enveloped Qui-Gon's penis again as Obi-Wan pumped himself,
creating a rhythmic link between his sucking mouth and
caressing hand. The dominance of the position mesmerized
Qui-Gon as he sensed both his padawan's obedience to his
commands and his desperately furious arousal. Balance cannot
last forever on the edge of a knife, and as both of them
erupted, Qui-Gon's salty seed filled Obi-Wan's mouth as he
swiftly swallowed every fluid drop.
With one arm around his shoulders, Qui-Gon guided Obi-Wan out
of the office and into the club, their cloaks tight around
their bodies. Qui-Gon would have kept walking out of the
building, but Obi-Wan stopped, staring in amazement. The
formerly crowded club was deserted, flimsy chairs and tables
overturned. Lightsaber marks had been sliced into several of
the room's decorative columns and the heavy fake wood plastic
of the bar.
"I could feel you, but I couldn't locate you. I'm afraid I got
a little . . . ah . . . agitated until your friends pointed
toward the back." A touch of chagrin entered his words.
Obi-Wan shook his head in wonder and the two continued out.
Sezon, Ayala and Laeatha were waiting outside, unwilling to
leave until they were reassured of their friend's safety.
"Padawans, I told you to leave," Qui-Gon chastised them
sternly.
"We were afraid for Obi-Wan, Master. We wanted to be here in
case he needed us." Ayala's glance left unspoken that they were
unsure whether Obi-Wan needed protection from his attackers or
his Master.
"You should have thought of his safety before you brought him
to this den of dissolution," Qui-Gon growled sarcastically, an
unusual action for him. "I will be speaking to your Masters in
the morning. Return now to the Academy. Obi-Wan and I will wait
for the civilian authorities to arrive."
Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon as his friends dejectedly walked
away. "You are a hypocrite, Master." The Padawan's words were
deliberately biting. "After all, you can't seriously scold them
for bringing me to a nightclub after I sucked you dry in the
office." Obi-Wan's hard tone forced his Master to accept the
reality of the evening's activities.
"You are mine, Obi-Wan. I will do what is necessary to protect
you." Qui-Gon muttered angrily.
"These daily repetitions are becoming tedious. Yes, I am yours.
I am yours to fuck, to love, to cherish, to kill if you must.
You can do anything you want to or with my mind and body. But I
won't have you reprimanding my friends simply because
you won't learn to control yourself around other people," came
the determined hiss.
Qui-Gon's hand cupped Obi-Wan's chin, the fingers sinking
deeply into one cheek. "Don't defy me, Padawan,"
"Then don't force me to take a stand both of us will regret."
Blue eyes clashed with hazel in the dark as the two men
measured the strength of their wills. Obi-Wan was exhausted but
sheer determination kept him steady. By now, Qui-Gon's inner
beast had calmed and he reluctantly acceded.
"Padawans." The three Jedi halted and returned fearfully to
face him.
"Master?"
"Padawans. You must forgive my anger. You may have heard of my
recent difficulties." Their lack of response indicated that the
rumors had spread throughout the entire Jedi Academy about
Qui-Gon's condition. Mace's battle loss to Qui-Gon had
undoubtedly heightened the fear among the Padawans and young
students. "I have been somewhat--irrational--on the subject of
my apprentice's well-being. I realize that you are not to blame
for what occurred here. We will not speak of this again."
"Yes, Master." The Jedi left, grateful for the reprieve while
Qui-Gon turned to face his love. Obi-Wan reclined against the
wall, in much the same position as he had stood in front of the
windows in their quarters mere hours before. Qui-Gon bent to
flick his tongue lightly on the traces of blood dripping from
the padawan's mouth, cleaning the maddening elixir from every
inch of his skin, then pulled him into a hug. The difference in
their heights allowed Obi-Wan's head to rest easily in the
hollow of Qui-Gon's chin and neck as they cuddled together. He
gave a contented sigh.
"Master, can we go shopping after we report to the civilian
authorities?"
"Shopping?" Qui-Gon almost laughed at the incongruity of the
question after their confrontation.
"I asked Ayala and she recommended a store on the fifth level
that sells wonderful hair softeners. For your beard." Obi-Wan
ran his fingers freely through the long strands.
"Yes, Obi, we can go shopping."
"Good. She also recommended a jewelry store. You can buy me a
neck band."
Qui-Gon smiled, and then grew serious, his lips twisting into a
frown. "Obi-Wan, I have to stop drinking your blood." It was
the hardest truth Qui-Gon had to face. "You were endangered
today not by your friends' choice of place to celebrate, but by
my demands on you--we both know this. You were too weak to feel
the nuances of the living Force, otherwise that pair could
never have defeated you."
Obi-Wan tilted his head up to stare fiercely into his Master's
eyes. "I won't accept that, Master. You need me too much. If
I've been weak lately, well . . . I'll just have to eat more
and exercise less," he mocked to defuse the tenseness. He held
his counsel on his own belief that the attack had been
orchestrated to drive his Master insane, forcing completion of
the physical transformation.
Qui-Gon pulled him even closer into a grateful hug,
acknowledging once again the courage and tenacity of the soul
he adored. "Shopping, then, Obi-Wan, shopping."
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