The Incredible, Edible Obi-Wan Kenobi

by Mina (victoria.green@some.ox.ac.uk)

Category: Q/O, Romance, humour/parody, First-time
Summary: Qui-Gon has self-confidence problems.
Disclaimer. George's boys. My imagination.
Feedback: yeah, go on then. On or Off list.
Note: This comes from a list discussion about the differences between fanon Qui-Gon's body and Liam Neeson's body, and... umm... weight watchers. You've been warned. Also, not beta-read - I didn't expect this to grow so big or get so romantic. *denotes emphasis*
Warning: the author takes no responsibility for any injuries incurred by the use of custard as a lubricant.

PROLOGUE

"Qui-Gon, you're staring."

Mace's quiet chuckle broke Qui-Gon out of his blank-minded stare, his flush of guilt quickly suppressed by iron will and a long gulp of the Alderaanian wine gripped crushingly hard in his hand.

"Mace. I didn't expect to see you here."

Despite the fact he'd had every intention of turning to face his peer, his eyes were betraying him by staying fixed in the direction of the object of his fascination - a babble of padawans on the other side of the room, dancing to the heavy beat.

"I thought you might need the moral support," his friend replied, and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, cunningly drawing him away to a small booth in a corner where his view of the dance floor was distressingly restricted. "I see I was right."

Admitting defeat as another group of well-wishers formed a gaggle on the dance-floor and began a limb-popping jive, Qui-Gon slumped back into the sticky pleatherette of the seat and glared accusingly at his friend. "You're prying," he accused.

The ebony eyebrows shot upwards. "Maybe. You're drooling."

He glared but there was no heat in it. Sighing in defeat, he stole another look out onto the dance floor, spying a flash of red-gold amongst the gyrating bodies and stoically turned his gaze back to the Jedi Master. "This is getting ridiculous," he growled. "He can't possibly have that many friends - not friends he knows well enough to let them do... *that* to him, anyway."

The low chuckle earned Mace another stare that would have melted durasteel.

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Windu. That's my padawan out there - getting... *groped* by half the temple."

"It's traditional."

"It's obscene."

"I seem to remember you enjoying your twenty-first birthday as much as Obi-Wan is enjoying his." Mace's hands were folded serenely in front of him, as if he were wearing his respectable Jedi robes instead of a tight, shiny outfit that made him look dangerous as hell. Five years ago, Qui-Gon would have pinned that firm body to the cheap red seats and devoured him. Now he merely felt... well, just a little jealous, actually.

"That was different. I wasn't-"

"Lusted after by your master?"

He'd been taking another medicinal drag of his drink, but the frank question nearly made him splutter in shock. "I do not lust after him. I merely-"

"Want to grope him?"

"Mace! You-"

"Want to fuck him senseless?"

That was enough. Five years ago, words like that would have sent desire sizzling through his body. But when they referred to Obi-Wan... you didn't 'fuck' Obi-Wan - you made love to him. In your dreams. Twice a night.

He rose from his seat and began a determined stalk across the dance floor - towards the exit. Padawans scattered out his way, but he didn't cross near to the dance floor's centre, near to where the celebrations were going on and a hoard of padawans - and young knights - were vying for Obi-Wan's First Choice. He didn't even look - if he had, he would have been like a krayt amongst banthas, tearing his way through to stake his claim.

The memory crept into his head again; his padwan's serious eyes laughing as the crowd descended on him, his laughter hitting Qui-Gon in the chest as the pleather-clad body Qui-Gon had a guilty obsession with was grasped from all sides.

A big body blocked his route through to the Coruscant drizzle. Qui-Gon ground his teeth and resisted the urge to give Mace a Force-assisted shove.

"You're not even going to try?" Mace almost sounded incredulous.

"No. Get out my way - I'm leaving."

The Master's eyes narrowed. "Obi-Wan will be disappointed if you go."

His hands clenched and un-clenched. "Obi-Wan is... distracted. He has his friends."

"This isn't like you, Qui-Gon." There was genuine concern there, enough to make Qui-Gon stop and stare hard at his old friend.

"It isn't like me to know my limits? Well, perhaps my padawan's respect for the rules is starting to rub off on me."

Mace's forehead furrowed. He leaned closer as a scantily clad twileck bullied her way through the crowd towards the gyrating padawans. "There's nothing in the code that forbids a relationship between master and padawan. In fact, I believe that some people on the council might want to hold a party in-"

Sighing in exasperation, Qui-Gon shoved his friend aside and stamped up the steps towards the exit. "You know full well that wasn't the rule I was talking about," he hissed, fully aware that Mace would be on his heels. "It's the social implications - for Obi-Wan."

The silence that followed made him stop and turn around. Mace was at the bottom the flight, frowning. "You've got me, old friend. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Genuinely puzzled himself, he walked back down the stairs until he was face to face with the smaller Jedi. "Obi-Wan..." he began to say, and then realised he didn't know how to describe what he was feeling. It was an instinct more than anything else - a gut feeling. "Obi-Wan is a beautiful young man - he has half the temple after him. He is not - could not - be seen in a relationship with me."

As he said it, a laugh could be heard over the heavy thump of the music, followed by jeering and wolf whistles. Obviously someone was winning his padawan's attention. He ground his teeth together.

"Why not, Qui-Gon? You're a highly respected member of the Jedi, a formidable diplomat. No one would question Obi-Wan's Choice."

Qui-Gon snorted and turned away, only to nearly fall from the first step as Mace hauled him backwards. "Mace... he is too..."

"What?"

"Young."

"You've told me yourself that Obi-Wan is a very mature young man, Qui-Gon."

He shook his head, again, feeling horribly old as the music changed into a faster, louder beat. "He is," he replied earnestly. "That is not what I meant. He is young, beautiful. And I am..." Mace waited patiently for an answer. Qui-Gon grimaced. "A lecherous old man," he finished, turning on his heel and stalking back up the steps.

He missed seeing Mace's jaw drop open in an expression of incredulity, and didn't hear the words "Blind old fool..." spat from the other Master's lips as he stormed out into the rain and slammed his shields down.

"Going out again, Master?"

Obi-Wan watched the bigger Jedi's back stiffen as his master wandered across their small living area, apparently searching for something. The padawan had a feeling he knew exactly where and what that something was, but he wasn't about to tell the older man that. It was childish to hide it, but he was sick of this secrecy - and tired of spending the evening alone, nursing his loneliness.

"Another meeting, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, "I trust you can find ways to amuse yourself without me." He turned, and Obi-Wan caught his breath at the deep affection twinkling in his master's eyes. Then it was gone, and Qui-Gon was frowning, tossing the cushions from the sofa.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. Ever since his... discovery... he had been seeing meaning in even the most simple of his master's gestures. He was getting desperate.

Obi-Wan buckled up his shields and managed a soft smirk for the sake of appearances. "Don't worry - I have Master Be'Tek and his Third Theory of Mental Binding to keep me company." He gestured towards the 'pad that was lying on the small table between his chair and the sofa.

Qui-Gon winced in sympathy. "Did Be'Tell set you that?"

"He thinks it's a crucial text."

Qui-Gon caught the note of sarcasm. He folded his impressive form onto the soft sofa and gave Obi-Wan a knowing smile - a turn of the firm lips that Obi-Wan found himself staring at with a dry mouth. "Even Jedi are not impartial when it comes to family loyalty, Obi-Wan. The Be'T Clan are known for their..."

"Bloody-mindedness?"

"I was going to say fidelity."

Obi-Wan snorted. Fidelity - yeah he knew all about that, had even turned down the undeniably gorgeous Y'theh on his First Choosing because he'd thought - stupidly - that his master might actually return his feelings. He'd come to the club, but by the time Obi-Wan had disentangled himself from the mob of partiers, he'd gone.

That wasn't the worst part - that had been when he'd asked the door staff if they'd seen him leave. They had - with a dark-skinned man.

At least one of them had pulled that night.

Obi-Wan had spent the night at Garen's, breaking things. Love really fucking hurt sometimes.

It was a beautiful thing. And a terrible thing. It could destroy him - both of them - but since he'd discovered it, he couldn't stop dwelling on it, revelling in it. Wanting to be around Qui-Gon all the time. So he was getting thoroughly sick of the master's nighttime jaunts. Once a week, every week, Qui-Gon Jinn put on civilian clothes and disappeared all evening. It made his lovesick padawan feel nauseous.

"So... when will you be back?"

He wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his lips. He sounded like an anxious parent, or a particularly prudish padawan. Which he wasn't - or hadn't been, until he started to have these... feelings. Since then, well... he'd been exceptionally prudish.

"I don't know. It could take several hours, and I doubt it will be...easy." His hands resumed their search down the back of the cushions. Strong, long-fingered hands, Obi-Wan noted, not for the first time. "I doubt it will continue into the morning, but I cannot be certain."

In other words - don't wait up.

"Isn't it unusual to hold a senate select committee meeting at night, master?" He should have bitten his tongue, but Qui-Gon's almost-dismissal had burned.

"It's on the other side of planet, padawan," the master replied, quite calmly, apparently taking no offence. Sometimes, Obi-Wan wished the man would show a little more emotion, but he was ever the infallible Jedi Master. Unlike his padawan, who was frequently glad of the voluminous robes they wore and his Master's respect for his privacy. "Have you seen my - ah! There it is."

Suddenly, the Master was on his feet and striding towards Obi-Wan where he was sprawled in the comfortable chair. The tread was determined, and Obi-Wan stared in confused rapture as the Master reached one of those hands - strong, long-fingered, capable hands - out and reached for his padawan's waist. The breath froze in Obi-Wan's throat.

Qui-Gon's finger's brushed his mid-section and dug behind him, plucking the hidden datapad from where it had been half-concealed by another cushion. Obi-Wan couldn't have given a Sith-damn for the 'pad: he was too busy drowning in the turbulent blue of his Master's eyes, so well accented by the deep midnight-blue of the Jedi's shirt.

Time seemed to stretch like hot plastic. Then Qui-Gon moved suddenly, and Obi-Wan's life resumed its normal pace. His master's eyes darted to Obi-Wan's face, and the padawan hoped he wasn't wearing a dopey grin. He certainly felt like he should be.

Qui-Gon pulled away, straightening abruptly and striding for the door, heaving his arms into a black civilian robe before turning and offering Obi-Wan a tight smile. "I..." he started to say, but stopped, palming the door open. "I'll try not to be long. Don't wait up."

The door shut.

Obi-Wan stared at it, frowned, and finally glared. He flung himself from the seat and stalked to door, back to the seat, then planted his hands on his hips and reminded himself to breathe. He reasoned that Qui-Gon hadn't meant to be dismissive with him. He simply had to be somewhere tonight. And the same night next week, and the week after that...

*Don't wait up.*

Like hell.

He prowled into his small bedroom, practically tearing his clothes off as he changed into a civilian outfit, yanked on tall black boots and strode out the apartment. He was thoroughly, utterly sick of waiting for his master to return from his midnight-jaunts smelling of sweat and exertion. It was time he found out just what in Sith-hell going on.

"Okay, step up. That's it. Are you leaning on your toes? Stop cheating, Quinn. Okay. Great. Well done! That's four kilos. That's another ten lost! And another silver tick - soon you'll have earned your first keyring."

It was embarrassing. Hideously, devastatingly embarrassing - but that was the point. Qui-Gon stepped down from the scales and stamped back into his boots as the prim, almost-slender woman tapped happily on his datapad before handing it back to him with a dextrose smile. Embarrassment - that was the point, he reminded himself sternly, forcing his way through the crowd to take a seat with the other attendees.

The woman he sat next to had a shocking fall of crimson hair, and was grinning at him lustily. He smiled genially at her and dragged up his diplomatic training to keep himself from leaning away from her. Who knew diet clubs were also used as a dating service?

It had seemed like a good idea - still did, actually, given the weight he'd lost in the last cycle. The minute he started feeling like an old fool, he reminded himself of Obi-Wan's twenty-first celebrations and felt a ghostly memory of the jealousy he'd felt for the slender-bodied, smooth-skinned padawans that had been feeling up his padawan.

Oh, he knew Obi-Wan didn't feel anything for his gaggle of admirers - that he hadn't spent months in the wilderness with them, hadn't been on the run from Force-hating maniacs with them, hadn't helped them wash the dirt and blood from their hair after a particularly gruelling mission.

But they were young. And beautiful. And... thin.

The walkways were covered in slushy, gritty snow, turned blood-red by the taillights of speeders as they shot overhead. Obi-Wan climbed from the taxi and onto the freezing surface, grimacing as he looked around. It hadn't occurred to him before that Qui-Gon might not be going to a person's house, but to have ended up in this district...? This had to be a brothel district. Paying his fare to one of the cabbie's wildly gesticulating arms, Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. He tried not to grimace as the hand gave him an appreciative fondle and reminded himself not to use this firm again - he really hadn't wanted to hear that lewd description of what the strange creature could do with its many versatile fingers. Apparently it, too, thought this was a whoreing centre.

Qui-Gon had disappeared into a grey little doorway in front of him, and Obi-Wan sidled forwards, slinking through the doorway and following his instincts down the corridor. The walls were covered in garish adverts for slow-gym classes and pills he'd never heard of, all with pretty flowered borders that made his eyes grow wide with confusion.

If this was a brothel, he didn't want to see the merchandise.

At the end of the corridor, a woman sat at a desk, a datapad in her hands. Obi-Wan stopped in front of her and coughed delicately. She glanced up.

"Yes?"

"I'm... ah..."

Her eyes narrowed, displaying deep creases. She didn't look much like a whore - she must be the pimp. "You sure you're in the right place? You're not our usual... customer."

He felt strangely insulted. "It's my first time."

"That's what they all say," she snorted. "They always come back for more."

His eyes widened and he coughed indelicately. Diplomacy, Kenobi, he told himself sternly. "Right, well... I'm interested in a particular type of-"

"We only do one plan," she interrupted. "You sign up for ten weeks. That's ten credits a week, and Zona will see you personally. Oh, you'll get booklets every week. Telling you where to put everything."

His face blushed brilliant crimson. "I...see."

"Does that sound okay?"

"Sure" he croaked out, and coughed again. Ten credits? This Zona must be a real rancor - surely Qui-Gon wasn't that desperate.

"Your name?"

"Ah... Benjamin," he replied, leaning forwards on his hands, "Ben Lars."

She held out her hand for his credit chip. Two minutes later, the doors opened and he walked through.

Another minute later, and he finally realised what the hell was going on. Qui-Gon Jinn had joined a diet club.

Obi-Wan slunk back into a dark corner and covered his mouth with his fist, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. His body shook. His Master - the tall, imposing, devastatingly handsome Jedi Master - thought he needed to lose weight. The shock was almost too much. Obi-Wan was almost convinced he'd finally lost his mind.

Zona gave her talk, congratulated the group and disappeared. Qui-Gon let out a gusty sigh of relief and stood, intent on getting out the place and heading back to the temple for a thorough workout. It was the only time he could really get the exercise in without his padawan wondering why his master had suddenly started working in the gym. Jedi were kept busy enough on missions and in training without needing to resort to the gym - but this wasn't about fitness, it was about loosing weight.

The woman he'd been sat next to hadn't stood yet and he leant down to ask her to move. Unfortunately, she took his movement as an invitation to invade his personal space and leaned forwards eagerly, grinning and batting eyelids.

"Ah, excuse me-" he started to say, but was immediately interrupted.

"Clauda," the redhead said, in what Qui-Gon presumed was supposed to be a sexy voice. She stuck out her hand for him to kiss and, grudgingly, he did so.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in anger as he saw the large, buxom redhead giggle at the kiss. Shock at discovering the real purpose of the club forgotten, he had to pour all his concentration into resisting the urge to charge forward and haul her off his master. He stayed still, tucked into his corner, but his eyes were furious, flashing clearly for anyone to see - Mine!

"Well, that is a delightful tale Miss Clauda, but I'm afraid I really must be going now," Qui-Gon replied, politely, and tried to stand again.

"Oh, but you haven't told me why *you're* here yet, Mister Quinn."

Qui-Gon grimaced. "I'm afraid that's quite a long story, Clauda, and I really do have to go."

"Aha," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "You're trying to impress someone, aren't you? No - don't try to pretend, I'd recognise that look anywhere. You don't get divorced five times without knowing a thing or two about lust."

Qui-Gon felt his eyes crinkle in humour, "No, I suppose not."

"But surely this person - who shall remain nameless - couldn't possibly want you to change." Qui-Gon sighed and, against his better judgement, found himself sitting heavily, ready to tell the woman in no uncertain words that she was prying into private business. Unfortunately, she didn't even stop for breath. "And - far be it from me to tell you what to do - but is this person really worth all this trouble if they only care about your looks? I can tell you - those are the worst type, the vain ones." She made a dismissive gesture in the air.

She would have had a good point, but..."He sees me as a... mentor, not a lover," he said, more to himself than the redhead, a sadness creeping into his voice.

Obi-Wan pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath as his joy tried to burst out past his shields.

ME! his mind screamed. He wants *me*!

The woman blinked at him in confusion, and then scowled. "You haven't even *asked* him?"

"Well... no. There hasn't been the right moment."

She stared at him before bursting into raucous laughter. "Men!" She laughed, and Qui-Gon began to back away slowly.

Obi-Wan took the woman's coarse laughter like the deserved lash of a whip. He turned away when his master left, feeling an odd sadness in his chest. His master was beautiful - how could he possibly think he needed to lose weight to improve himself? He was perfect - beyond perfect - he didn't have the ridiculously toned muscles of some of the other masters and knights. Instead, he was inherently human - real.

When Obi-Wan dared to look at him with his desire thrumming through him, he didn't see the hard steel of a body pushed beyond its natural beauty, but the body of a man who'd seen things and experienced things that should have broken him - but hadn't.

He shook his head in wonder. Damn the man anyway - did he really think Obi-Wan would reject him because of how he looked? The padawan's jaw set into a grim line. It was about time the master learnt his lesson.

His workout back at the temple helped Qui-Gon to clear some of his embarrassment, but he still felt a lingering disquiet. As he pushed into his quarters, his eyes were on the floor, so he failed to notice the soft lighting spilling onto the carpet from the direction of his bedroom.

He dropped the cloak from his shoulders and onto the sofa as he walked past it, bending over to begin unbuckling his boots. He was bone tired, ready to drop.

He had one boot off when he finally glanced up and nearly toppled gracelessly to the floor.

There was a figure on his bed - a lithe, half-naked decidedly male figure. Qui-Gon stared, blinking in blind comprehension. The figure mumbled softly in its sleep and twisted its legs, fingers curling around a corner of the coverlet as a red-gold braid fell from its shoulder and onto the bed.

"Obi-Wan?" His voice didn't sound too good. He tried again. "Padawan?"

Obi-Wan murmured again and blinked sleepily up at his master, a sly, devastatingly seductive smile on his face. Qui-Gon felt his balance wobble precariously and straightened, conspicuously leaning against the doorframe.

"You're back," Obi-Wan said, yawning hugely. Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. "I thought you'd never get here."

I'd have done a Force-assisted sprint back if I'd known this was what waited for me, he thought.

"I..." Damn, he hadn't been just about to say that *outloud* had he?

Obi-Wan tilted his head to one side as if thinking, a crease furrowing between brows. "Do you need a hand with that?" he asked, gesturing.

For one awful minute, Qui-Gon thought he might be referring to his master's painful erection. Then he remembered he was stood gaping in the doorway to his own bedroom, slightly dishevelled, missing a boot.

He cleared his throat discreetly, aware that Obi-Wan was beginning to smirk. Damn the impudent brat anyway. He knew full well what he was doing to his master, and the thought made Qui-Gon feel challenged. And you never challenged a Jedi. Particularly not a horny, lovesick, hungry Jedi.

"That would be a kindness," he replied, calmly. Obi-Wan nodded and stretched, the sleep pants he words slinking dangerously down his hips. He sidled forward, went down on his knees and began working on the buckles to his master's boots. Qui-Gon stared down at the bent red-gold head with his fingers itching in desire to ruffle it.

The boot was slipped off and discarded, followed swiftly by Qui-Gon's outer tunic which was yanked over his head and thrown absently aside. Obi-Wan's green eyes were huge in the half-light.

"Was it a successful meeting, Master?" he murmured, fingers fiddling with the complicated ties of Qui-Gon's inner tunic. His nails grazed Qui-Gon's chest lightly as he slipped the material away and let it drop.

"Most successful, thank you Padawan. Although somewhat tiring."

Obi-Wan was staring, transfixed, at Qui-Gon's chest. "I think I can do something about that," he replied, still in that husky murmur.

That appealing half-nakedness was doing strange things to Qui-Gon's insides. Obi-Wan's hands were on his arm and leading him to sit on the bed, on the edge with Obi-Wan behind him, before he could think of a suitable excuse to run away, and suddenly there were fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp knowingly.

"Those must have been some very hard negotiations, Master. You're really tense," Obi-Wan murmured - purred - expertly drawing Qui-Gon back until his buttocks rested against the V of his padawan's open thighs. Qui-Gon groaned deep in his throat, partly from frustration and the way his headache was retreating from his padawan's expert massage, but mostly from the bolt of blood-lust that had made his pulse quicken.

"Indeed," was all he could think of to say.

"Have you eaten?"

Eaten? Food? He wanted to talk about food *now*?

"Ah... no. There wasn't time," he improvised, melting back against the toned chest behind him. Obi-Wan's ministrations were beginning to travel south, kneading into Qui-Gon's shoulders.

"Oh, good. I prepared some food."

Qui-Gon blinked dumbly, and turned around in frustration when Obi-Wan stopped massaging and leant full-length over the bed, returning with a plate full of foods. Qui-Gon felt his eyebrows rise as Obi-Wan scooted back on the bed, urging him with him and placed the food on the mattress. Chocolate, cream, Nubian fresh custard, various fruits - those he recognised - but a few others were foreign to him. In particular, a small bowl of thick orange syrup. He peered at it as Obi-Wan grinned, dipping the end of his finger in and offering it towards his master.

"It's called Kiantro. Fermented Alderaanian oranges. Try it."

Well, who was he to resist such a sweet offer? He leaned forwards, capturing Obi-Wan's finger between his lips and licking the sweet, slightly fizzy alcohol from the tip. He grinned as Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed in pleasure.

"That's very good," he said, reluctantly releasing the finger to lick his lips. "*Very* good."

"I thought you'd like it," Obi-Wan replied, scratchily. "Still hungry, Master?"

"Ravenous."

He lunged forward, feeling his blood quicken as Obi-Wan's body yielded under him and their lips met. At any other time, Qui-Gon would have sworn that if he ever had the chance to seduce his padawan, it would be slow, gentle and loving. Right now, though, Qui-Gon wouldn't have known what the words meant. He ravaged the sweet lips, swallowing the moans from his apprentice and groaning himself as the slender hands tangled in his hand and dragged him down deeper.

When the need for oxygen finally demanded he come up for air, Qui-Gon found his body shaking with need. Obi-Wan blinked up at him, blearily, his lips a debauched bruised colour. He glared.

"Why did you stop?" he demanded.

Qui-Gon laughed, attacking the slender neck with licks and sucks. "Lesson number one, Obi-Wan. Even a Jedi has to breath."

"I know that," he growled, thrusting up suddenly so that their erections were ground together. Sparks shot down Qui-Gon's spine as he realised that his padawan was as aroused as him. "It came right before the 'even Jedi have to eat' lesson."

"Food again, Obi-Wan?" he growled mock-offended, centring his attention on a sweet spot just behind Obi-Wan's ear that was making the young man writhe madly. His hands were eagerly exploring the smooth chest, rubbing his palms roughly against the pebbled nipples. Obi-Wan gave a hoarse cry and his fingers dug into Qui-Gon's buttocks, hauling him closer as Qui-Gon puffed air onto the wet skin. Force, he'd wanted this for so long, he was almost afraid it was a dream.

"I thought you were hungry," Obi-Wan said, trying to sound cocky, but the note of need in his voice betrayed him. Qui-Gon lifted himself up until he was leaning on his elbows above the smaller man - as far away as he could bear to be - and looked at him quizzically. Grinning, Obi-Wan reached out blindly for the momentarily forgotten plate of food and scooped up a dripping handful of berries and thick, scarlet sauce. Qui-Gon watched with his heart pounding in his throat as Obi-Wan smeared and crushed the berries to his chest, half-lidding his eyes as he brushed his nipples.

Qui-Gon needed no more encouragement. His mouth locked onto Obi-Wan's right nipple, sucking and licking, his mind trying to figure out which was sweeter - the taste of the fruit, or the dusky tang of his padawan. Then his mind was beyond such complicated tasks as nimble fingers dug below his waistband to pull his trousers off - and Obi-Wan's own at the same time - and capture his erection in a warm, sticky embrace.

Qui-Gon's mouth opened to cry out in ecstasy but no sound came out as Obi-Wan's hand began a smooth motion up and down, crushing what was left of the berries against his master's aching cock. Qui-Gon hips thrust wildly into the hand and his eyes closed.

"No."

Obi-Wan's grip tightened. Qui-Gon's eyes flew open and he raised himself onto his elbows again. "Wh-what?"

"I said no," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes flashing with primal need. "Don't close your eyes - I need..." His voice choked. "I need to see you."

Something tight but ethereal gripped his chest as Qui-Gon stared down at his utterly-possessed padawan. "Alright," was all he could manage to say, before Obi-Wan started to move his hand again and Qui-Gon lost the ability to speak.

He truly had to be dreaming. Only... despite his vivid imagination, no dream had ever felt this good. He'd imagined how the lithe body beneath him would feel, but he hadn't got it quite right. He hadn't known just how good the wiry copper curls at Obi-Wan's groin would feel as they brushed his thighs; hadn't even thought about how wonderful it would feel to have that mouth suckle on his collarbone. As he felt the first stirrings of orgasm, he pulled back sharply.

Obi-Wan gasped in frustration as the sleek, hot erection was suddenly pulled from his hand and Qui-Gon leant backwards, his forearms quivering with tension. He stared blankly at his master, unable to stop his body from grinding his own aching cock against the bigger man's hip.

"What is it?" he asked, fingers trying to fumble for the strong buttocks and pull Qui-Gon back down. "Don't stop."

Qui-Gon's dark hair had come loose from his customary leather tie and was splayed about his shoulders, sticking to his forehead. Obi-Wan reached up to brush the strands aside so he coupled properly see the too-blue eyes, smirking as red berry juice streaked his master's forehead. Qui-Gon didn't seem to notice. "I need..." he began to say, but stopped, swallowing thickly.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he recognised what his master was trying to tell him. Oh, Force - Qui-Gon didn't want to come yet - he wanted to be *inside* Obi-Wan when he came. Blood sang in his ears as Obi-Wan thrust up from the bed to savage the lips above him. "In me. You need to be in me," he growled, "I need you in me."

"Yes." Qui-Gon's hands tightened in the coverlet, muscles bunching. He smiled, brilliantly. "I've waited so long for this, my-"

"Master?"

"W-what?"

Obi-Wan growled in frustration. "Shut up and fuck me."

Qui-Gon blinked in shocked before making a lunge for the bedside cabinet. "Damnit," he swore after a search that upended the contents on the floor. "I don't believe this."

Obi-Wan had locked his lips onto his neck and was frantically stroking Qui-Gon's sex. "What?" he murmured, mouth too busy to voice any more.

"No lube," he replied, and then let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

Obi-Wan stopped, locked eyes with his master. "And?" He hoped his expression said the rest as his fingers continued their harried exploration. Damn the lube - he needed Qui-Gon inside him. Now. Immediately.

To his frustration, Qui-Gon shook his head, again covering his hypnotising eyes with strands of hair. "No - I won't hurt you. We must have some somewhere."

TO Obi-Wan's shock and annoyance, he began to rise. With a primal growl, Obi-Wan yanked him back down and attacked his lips, in between obligatory gasps of air replying, "Forget the lube, Qui-Gon."

He expected - wanted - to drive the man to distraction, but instead the master pulled back and stared at him with his eyes flashing with an emotion Obi-Wan couldn't really dare name.

"Not even you can make me hurt you, my Obi-Wan."

Speechless at the well of emotion roiling in his master's eyes, Obi-Wan stared stunned, open-mouthed, before shaking himself. "Custard," he said.

The blue eyes widened and a laugh spluttered from the firm mouth. Obi-Wan couldn't resist grabbing another kiss before he explained using actions, blindly groping for a bowl of Nubian cream custard.

"Custard, master. Don't look at me like that - do you want to stop and go borrow someone else's lube?"

Qui-Gon seemed to consider that for a second before grimacing. "Point taken, my wise and oh-so resourceful padawan." The grimace turned into a grin that made the breath lodge in Obi-Wan's throat. "Custard it is, then."

Obi-Wan watched with rising anticipation as Qui-Gon reached to the bowl and dipped his fingers into the custard before gently urging Obi-Wan's legs up high and bending them back towards his shoulders. Obi-Wan closed his eyes as he felt a finger teasing down between the crease of his buttocks and shivered in anticipation.

"Open you eyes, Obi-Wan. I need to see you, too" Qui-Gon whispered, stilling his fingers. Obi-Wan's eyes immediately flew open. "Thank you."

All Obi-Wan's concentration was poured into the task of keeping his eyes open despite the overwhelming desire to close them and moan in ecstasy. Qui-Gon's other hand was exploring the length of Obi-Wan's erection, moving with a pace and speed that kept him two steps from the brink. A small part of his brain reminded him that *he* was supposed to be doing the seducing here, but it went ominously silent when a second finger was added to the first and Obi-Wan began to thrust back on the invading fingers, babbling incoherently for mercy.

Qui-Gon's hands shock as he pulled his fingers free and quickly covered his own erection in the desert, hooking Obi-Wan's legs over his shoulders and leaning down. The lips caressed Obi-Wan's own, the kiss edged with desperate desire. For a second, Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon was waiting for him to beg - but then he felt the blunt tip press against him, and then a pressure that made him squirm with a duel onslaught of discomfort and pleasure.

They weren't going to last long. Obi-Wan was lost, thrusting up and back down onto the heavy erection before his master had a chance to stop and ask him if he was okay. He's mouth was open, sucking in air, and a low whine came from his throat as Qui-Gon began to thrust in earnest, driving in to the hilt and back out again. His teeth were gritted, his brow furrowed, and Obi-Wan could feel through their training bond the extreme effort it took Qui-Gon to stop himself from giving into his carnal need to pound him apprentice solidly into the mattress.

Screw that, he thought, clasping the loved face in his hands and thrusting his tongue into his master's mouth. His mind snaked out for their bond, bombarding him with the feelings his had held locked away. Qui-Gon's mind gibbered in exaltation and the concentration shattered. Qui-Gon tangled his hands in Obi-Wan's short hair and Obi-Wan nearly wailed in ecstasy as he began to move faster, harder, driving against Obi-Wan's prostrate again and again...

With a strangled yell, Obi-Wan came, the hot liquid scolding his chest. Qui-Gon followed a breath later, his eyes widening and sparking with sensation as Obi-Wan sagged back against the coverlet.

He caught his master as he started to collapse, and found himself with his arms full of sated Jedi Master - and he never wanted to let go again.

One tablespoon of non-dairy milk, a cup of hot water, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Stir. Heat. Drink - if you dare.

Qui-Gon grimaced at the concoction in his mug, swallowing with difficulty. Who the hell came up with these things anyway? What was wrong with a glass of water or herbal tea? Obviously the Sith weren't extinct at all - they were merely disguised as dieticians.

"Master?"

He smiled instinctively at the slightly annoyed tone of voice, downing the rest of the cup in one gulp. Fortunately, Jedi were taught how to suppress their gag reflexes - which had more than one use, he thought fondly as he turned to his apprentice. How fortunate he was that the boy was such an apt pupil.

"Obi-Wan, I didn't mean to wake you, I-" he stopped stunned. Obi-Wan was stood in the doorway to his - *their* - bedroom, stark naked, hair mussed, a faint reddish stubble on his chin. The watery morning sunlight painted him fondly, but that wasn't what had made Qui-Gon feel his heart clutch. It was the look of profound sadness on his padawan's eyes.

He placed the mug on the counter with a solid thunk. "Padawan?"

Obi-Wan sighed softly, padding forward. Qui-Gon ached to take the lithe body into his arms, but Obi-Wan stopped a hand's span away and plucked at the robe Qui-Gon wore - a tatty thing that wasn't particularly warm, but covered everything up. "You don't need this master."

The tone of voice made Qui-Gon's heart lurch. He looked down in confusion.

"Or this," Obi-Wan murmured, reaching past Qui-Gon to snag the datapad from the counter - the 'pad with Qui-Gon's diet sheets and membership information. He looked down at the small computer before walking to the disposal unit, lifting the lid, and dropping the 'pad.

That broke Qui-Gon out of his reverie. "Obi-Wan!" he gasped, "What are you doing?!"

Obi-Wan glared, pulling his spine straight. He opened his mouth to argue, but the expression of sadness again flickered in his eyes and he sighed again, leaning against the kitchenette counter. "Master, will you take that robe of?"

"Will I...? Obi-Wan, what is going on?"

His padawan looked so damn earnest. "Please, Master."

Qui-Gon snorted in annoyance, but began to undo the sash at his belt. As he did it, though, his hands began to shake and he couldn't open the thing or slip it from his shoulders. Not here - not in the full morning light, not with Obi-Wan stood across from, stunning in his nudity. His hands were shaking slightly.

He closed his eyes. Oh, you old fool, he thought to himself. It was fine last night, in the dark, when you were tired and horny. But how could he stand naked in front of the man he loved, taken as his lover, when he felt so damn... average.

Obi-Wan's eyes were sad, but his expression was understanding. He stepped forward, took hold of the robe and slipped it off Qui-Gon's shoulders. The master felt his breath hitch in his chest, keenly watching his apprentice's reaction, despite wanting to grab the material back and cover himself up. Live in the moment, Jinn, he reminded himself. It's not like he hasn't seen it before - it's not like a Jedi should concern themselves with vanity.

"You're beautiful," Obi-Wan whispered, his fingers lightly grazing the thin scattering of salt and pepper hair on Qui-Gon's chest. He glanced up suddenly, smiling slightly. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, Master?"

Qui-Gon's throat had constricted tightly. He couldn't answer.

"I see..." His fingers rubbed lightly along the soft, muscled plains of his master's stomach. "I see you - I see your kindness and you power, and your passion and control. Why are you ashamed of this? It's the perfect representation of how you feel to me - why would I not love this body, Master?"

"Obi-Wan," he whispered, daring to reach out and caress the stubbled cheek with his palm. "You know why."

"No. I don't." He shook his head. "I don't want you to change. I love you like this."

But I'm an old letch, he wanted to reply. Yet... Obi-Wan had never - *never* - lied to him before. And he wasn't lying now. And he'd just told Qui-Gon he loved him.

Qui-Gon's breath left him in a shocked gasp, and he realised with a sort of detached wonder that there were salty tears running down his cheeks. He also felt himself grinning stupidly, but that didn't last long - Obi-Wan had reached up and dragged him down into a long kiss. His arms hugged the smaller body to his own, feeling it shaking slightly. He pulled back.

"How did you know?"

A wry smile twisted Obi-Wan's lips, "Master," he chastised. "A good spy never reveals his secrets."

The Master growled in annoyance and hefted the smaller body up and over his shoulder, with a boost from the Force.

"Master!" Obi-Wan half laughed, half cried as Qui-Gon strode for the bedroom. "Let me go!"

"I don't think so, Padawan. I think you need some extra lessons in respect."

He slammed the door shut with his foot and dropped his squirming burden onto the bed, grinning as he reached for the bedside table. By his reckoning, it was about breakfast time.

The end.