Master Apprentice
Archive
Fifth Kata; Jinn's 12th Variation
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Archive: MA, all others please ask
Category: bdsm, fetish/kink
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BDSM
Spoilers: None
Summary: After a surprising evening at a party, Qui-Gon Jinn processes the new things he's learned about himself. A response to the "leather or nothing" challenge.
Feedback: on or offlist, I welcome it all.
Disclaimer: If Lucas & Co. sue me, do they get my debts too?
This story was first published in the 'zine Rituals & Meditations.
Notes: Mention is made in this story of two of Lee Writestuff's Jedi "exercises," in this case the fear and anger exercises. I deliberately leave out the pain exercises because the existence of those exercises would render my story somewhat unnecessary. In all, however, I owe Lee many thanks for her presenting a Jedi teaching system that is harsh of necessity. I also took the ideas of katas (or forms) at varying speeds from both Black Rose and Gail Riordin's JAOA stories, particularly Gail's wonderful "Structured Forms."
In the thanks department, I also owe thanks to all the subs who have taught me about the scene from the other side. Both mine, and not-mine, all of them have shown me a strength I doubt I could match. To atara, Gail, Layna, and Waldo, muchas gracias for wanting to know what happened next and for the patience and comments and all the other things betas and editors should be thanked for.
Ambiance: Clare Voyant
*this is thought and word emphasis*
/this is telepathy/
//This is a quick time memory flashback or vision//
Stay with me here, it'll make sense.
This one is for my fellow editors, Jennifer/Gail and Layna.
"Leather or nothing"
Master Qui-Gon Jinn looked up, hearing the strange . . . amusement in his Padawan's voice more than the words Obi-Wan Kenobi actually spoke.
"I beg your pardon, Padawan?"
"You may have to do that more than once," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes sparkling with that different . . . something. Qui-Gon looked at him quizzically. Beyond the obvious amusement was no small degree of uncertainty, although only another Jedi, and one who knew Obi-Wan well at that, would see that much.
Qui-Gon raised a curious eyebrow and looked at the piece of stiff paper Obi-Wan held. He himself had answered the door and accepted the envelope addressed to his Padawan. Well, actually it was addressed to Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, and was yet another small mental adjustment he had to make for the sake of this mission.
Adjustments. Even as Obi-Wan glanced again at the card, Qui-Gon found himself thinking of all the adjustments for this mission. He had to wonder it the Council had sent himself and Obi-Wan to Rillva merely to get back at a certain Master who was, all too often, a thorn in their collective sides.
Rillva was a world of young people, with a strict social and governmental custom and tradition grown of a horrible time, now centuries past, when a plague had ravaged the planet for three hundred of their years. An indescribably appalling disease, it had gone through each generation killing roughly 90% of the population over the Third Age. The Rillvan First Age was childhood, which ended as soon as the individual Rill became capable of bearing children. The Second Age lasted for fifteen years and then The Third Age set in. And so, for 300 years, few Rill made it past thirty.
It was, all things considered, a miracle that the planet's population had survived. For the Republic, it had been a political miracle that it had been a Jedi party already in serious distress that had stumbled across the out of the way system. Ever since then, the Rill had revered the Jedi, particularly Jedi Padawans, as it had been three apprentices, the oldest in her early twenties, who had managed to find their way back to Corescant and then return with the promised Healers who had finally ended the plague. Even those Healers had been Senior Padawans, working on the few vague notes left by their Masters as the Masters fell victim to the disease.
And now, every 30 years, the Jedi sent a Padawan-led mission to Rillvan to review and re-sign the treaty that bound Rillvan and it's neighboring systems firmly to the Republic. 30 years ago, Senior Padawan Jinn, hovering on the edge of knighthood, had come to Rillva by himself to represent the Jedi and the Republic.
Their presence on this mission was a measure of how highly the Council regarded his Padawan. That Obi-Wan's Master was even present was only due to the fact that this time Rillvan faced an outside threat and the treaty was more than a simple negotiation. He personally thought that Obi-Wan could handle the increased difficulty, but the Council disagreed, wanting a "more seasoned negotiator" on the team.
*Slap the boy on the back with one hand and in the face with the other,* Qui-Gon thought sourly. *How typical. No wonder he's so jumpy.*
"Master?" an amused voice interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm sorry Padawan, just a little wool-gathering. You said something about leather?"
"Yes, the reception tonight. It's another wild party."
"All Rill gatherings are wild parties." He smiled a bit at an old memory, but paid attention to his Padawan.
"Indeed," Obi-Wan replied in his best imitation of his Master's 'teaching voice.' "Rillvans live strongly in the moment, an understandable cultural aspect born of the Plague Centuries. In addition to the status of young people of child bearing age, they indulge in religiously sanctioned hedonistic behavior in order to compensate for a time when they died young." Obi-Wan laughed shortly, going back to his normal voice. "I supposed it's a better attitude than similar situations we've seen where fun of any kind is forbidden because the disaster in question was a punishment from the gods."
"Indeed," Qui-Gon replied. "And you seek to imitate your aging Master? When 55 years old you are, at age jokes, laugh so easily, you will not."
Obi-Wan laughed harder. "I'll tell on you."
"You wouldn't surprise him." Qui-Gon joined the tension-releasing laughter for a moment and then gestured to the card. "Well?"
"A reception tonight. Typical thing in the Correllian style. Too much food, drink, semi-public sex. The theme? Wear leather or nothing."
"Leather."
"Leather." Obi-Wan replied, his voice a bit smug. "Didn't you bring any leather clothes? This is Rillvan, after all."
"Obi-Wan, I had my turn 30 ears ago, and now I'm too old to go to these parties and be anything more than either pitied or an amusement. Not to mention that, as you know, I don't own any leather clothes beyond that flight jacket Mace gave me when I qualified in piloting."
"Actually, Master, I don't go snooping in your closet. You could have anything in there."
Oh, there it was again. That drawl. Once more Qui-Gon fought down the idea that his Padawan was flirting with him. Strange how easy it was to recognize it instantly in strangers, these opening moves in what always became a dance of polite avoidance, and yet how hard it was to be sure if Obi-Wan's teasing tones were anything more than just the genuine teasing of a typical twenty-three year old. Familiarity did not breed contempt so much as blindness in some things.
"Nor do I pay attention to your closet Padawan," he replied in the dry tone of voice he reserved for Obi-Wan's teasing. "I assume by your tone of voice that you *do* have leather clothes appropriate to this affair?" Qui-Gon paused and stared up at his Padawan. "Am I also correct in assuming that we are both invited to this function?"
"It's a Liberal Party gathering. You know they're courting you." A shrug. "I personally think it's about time the Elders had more say, but I don't suppose the Traditional Party would like that too much."
Typical Obi-Wan, the young man's Master thought. A lively and strong opinion on everything, as long as they were in private. To the Rill, he presented a serenely neutral façade worthy of Depa Billaba herself, but Qui-Gon knew that his apprentice had needed much meditation to get over his instinctive annoyance when his master was completely ignored.
Qui-Gon himself hadn't quite decided how much he liked the role reversal. He'd noticed a propensity, in the last few days, to walk with slightly hunched shoulders, something he hadn't done since he was a Junior Padawan under Yoda's hand. Acutely aware of both his own gangly lack of grace and of the rather amazing height difference between himself and his master, Padawan Jinn had sought to do his best to look shorter. Yoda hadn't been fooled at all and had carefully trained Qui-Gon out of the habit. And now, here he was again, feeling like a gangly apprentice with a small yet strong Master.
And how did Obi-Wan shape up as a Master, or at least as the senior member of a negotiation team? Very well, in Qui-Gon's view. Even applying his harshest standards, Qui-Gon found himself impressed with Obi-Wan's calm, collected manner and the way he maintained his neutrality while the power maneuvers of Rillva's Parliament parties went on around him. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon felt a glow of what he thought was completely justified pride in the boy.
"So," the Master said. "I need to go out and buy some leather clothes?"
"No," Obi-Wan replied easily. "I took care of it. I was expecting something like this." He held up the invitation and grinned, another one of those fiendish grins Qui-Gon had become used to fearing in the last 10 years.
Hours later they emerged from their quarters, both resplendent in leather. Obi-wan wore black, a tight lace up sleeveless shirt and very sung pants in smooth, supple leather, his black dress boots polished to a high gleam. Qui-Gon, wore even tighter suede pants, dark green, and his normal boots, also polished to glossiness. Obi-Wan also wore black leather gauntlet gloves and a black and green armband around his upper left arm. Qui-Gon too wore the same armband only on his right arm.
The whole disparity in outfits made Qui-Gon want to hunch more, but he forced himself to walk with all the dignity he usually commanded while in his robes. Not that it was easy without a shirt, but he knew he looked calm and that was what mattered.
Obi-Wan, watching from the corner of his eye as they traveled down the corridors to the main ballroom of the palace, smiled enigmatically.
The Next Morning
Qui-Gon awoke far later than usual, alone in a bed he felt he'd truly "shared" with his apprentice for the first time. Undoubtedly, Obi-Wan was off playing the diplomatic game, at yet another meeting or venue where a man of Qui-Gon's age would not be welcome. Or would it now be his age *and* his perceived status?
*I don't want to think about this right now,* he told himself firmly, resolving to ignore both his body and mind's hyperawareness to last night's activities. *I *can't* think about it now.*
When a Jedi Master didn't want to think about something, it was fairly easy to set the matter aside, or at least delay it a little. To have faced such a . . . frightening? . . . unnatural? . . .freeing? utterly unthought of . . . truth about himself meant that Qui-Gon could not simply ignore the thing the way he would ignore a people's ways of mixing orange and purple. Nor, however, did he particularly wish to sit all day and meditate on the . . . reality of what had happened last night.
"Determine your reality, your focus does," his Master was fond of saying. It was a truism that Qui-Gon had taken to heart and had endeavored to teach his own Padawans. Sha-Var had learned it and was even now focusing on the reality of her own new Padawan. Xanatos . . . well, Qui-Gon was never sure of what Xanatos had learned beyond the ability to shield extremely strongly and lie well. As for Obi-Wan, he was still learning, and last night . . . but no, Qui-Gon wasn't thinking about last night.
Thinking/Not-thinking. He was trained in both, and trained to ignore minor bodily aches and pains. Now in order to do one he had to fight to do the other. With a certain grim amusement, he realized, his own predicament, or one like it, would serve as an excellent training mechanism for a Senior Padawan.
He spent most of his shower coming up with an exercise proposal, his subtle mind answering the more traditionalist arguments to his approach while assuring himself that some exercise of this type would not be more dangerous to the student than the anger exercises or the fear exercises. Used in combination with some of the exercises designed to train Senior Padawans against the terrors of torture and captivity, teaching them to think carefully on some trivial subject would be an advancement in their favor. It might fly; Yoda would like it, and certainly, Mace, with his on-going concern about the aspects martial of the order would love it . . . By the time he had covered every possible permutation of the proposal, he was dressed and sitting down to the simple but plentiful breakfast laid out for him.
Absently, Qui-Gon reached for the water; the tea served on Rillva was "paint-thinner strong" as Obi-Wan called it. As he pulled the water pitcher toward him, his tight inner tunic sleeve chafed against the roughened skin of his inner arm.
//his wrists bound together, first behind his back and then crossed above his head as he was suspended while Obi-Wan warmed up behind him, a gently savage hiss accompanying his Padawan's every arm movement.//
For a moment it was real again, and then Qui-Gon carefully focused on the simple movement of pouring water into his tea, making each wrist motion as graceful as if he were at High Tea on Yinoshuri. *Focus on the reality, Qui, make it your own.*
Obi-Wan had left the mission reports on the table with breakfast, and Qui-Gon absently sipped tea as he read them. It wasn't as if he felt particularly hungry at the moment and the reports were there. No hint of his Padawan's instinctive democratic annoyance with the stubbornness of the Rill to ignore the resources of their Elders bled through to the official reports although Obi-Wan's spirit shone through in his personal logs. Qui-Gon had felt that annoyance last night, even as Obi-Wan showed him off like a possession at the party.
//"Because he suffers so well." Obi-Wan drawled to their hostess. "Could a man without years of experience work so well with my moves?" A question whose answer was demonstrated by more writhing and a another cry wrung out of Qui-Gon as gloved hands teased his tormented nipples.//
The thin linen of his undertunic across his chest kept Qui-Gon in that past moment longer than he wanted it too. *Now, Qui, focus on the now.*
But the now too was mindful of the past as he rolled stiff shoulders and tried to settle back into the report.
//Obi-Wan before him, cutting the laces of Qui-Gon's his pants with a thin bladed, deadly knife, and Qui-Gon knew that his very pose and eyes told Obi-Wan the story of aching shoulders. "Will you kneel for me, my Qui?" Concern in the bright green eyes.//
No, don't concentrate on the concern. Don't remember the question or his own eager, wordless answer. //Pleading eyes that begged, and not only for the ability to ease aching shoulders.// Save it to process later, when time and distance allowed. Run forward to the now, the current moment, leaving the past back in the then, the older moment.
Run? What was he running from? He'd never been one to avoid self-knowledge, or, for that matter, knowledge of his Padawan. So why was he desperately concentrating on the dataslate in front of him, reading the long memorized Jedi Plain Report Code as if he were still a Padawan learning this basic language.
The report was a good one, of course. He, answering his own instincts and the Will of the Force as he perceived it, had allowed Obi-Wan to make all the decisions as if the Padawan was on this mission on his own, the way he should be.
//A faint flicker this time, more of his mind crying "No!" to the idea that last night might never have happened.//
Obi-Wan had discussed the treaty renegotiation with his Master, but only to bounce his own ideas off Qui-Gon, to let Qui-Gon listen as he argued both sides aloud, pacing in a flurry of movement that belied Jedi calm and betrayed Obi-Wan's lack of opportunity to spar during the mission. After all, the Senior Padawan's Master, an older man in a position thought by many Rill to be the ultimate proof of the strangeness of outworlder ways, could hardly be seen to defeat the vaunted Padawan. And, as they could not spar dishonestly, nor could they even do katas together, because even there Qui-Gon's ability to surpass his student was obvious enough to anyone watching. Their own garden space was too small for the kind of exercise that would truly calm Obi-Wan down.
//Last night's kata, the hiss and snap of the whip, Obi-Wan in constant flowing motion tied so completely to the Unifying force, and Qui-Gon rooted in the Living Force with the strength of the pillar he was bound to. And it had ended ritually with a very clear victor, as they finished in a close one-sided embrace that left Obi-Wan's braid looped easily around Qui-Gon's neck. A collar so obvious, as obvious as the painful erections both of them were struggling to control, as to cause Qui, in the Now, to reach for his neck.//
He blinked, moving his hand away from his throat, noticing that, oddly enough, it shook. He focused down to the deep muscular level and was able to still all the faint tremors that seemed to be insinuating themselves throughout his body.
This was simply *not* working.
*Fine,* he thought. *Try harder.*
//An old ghost of a memory, the swift nudge of a gimmer stick to his scrawny chest. His Master's voice, telling him for the first--but certainly not the last--time, "there is no try. Only do or do not."//
*But, oh my Master,* he thought almost despairingly, *how do I 'do?' How can I stand to remember or to forget?*
He had apparently underestimated his own desperation.
//The Council Chambers. Yoda lifts his head sharply as Mace's even voice speaks about the tax war on Hillarie. *Padawan? Are you hurt?* His own response as if he stood before his Master and the other Councilors. *No, my Master, merely afraid of myself.* Yoda's ears flicker up slightly as if the old Jedi is amused. *Something so basic, young Qui-Gon? You know what to do, bother the Council with personal problems you will not.* A short nod and he is shut out of his Master's presence, but not without the feeling of a small, clawed hand touching his knee gently, lending both sympathy and strength.//
Qui-Gon blinked his eyes and the dim glimpse of his Master faded away. *I didn't know I was *that* strong,* he mused. Or maybe it was just Yoda? No, the initial push had been his and only by being strong had he managed to maintain the connection. Even Yoda needed cooperation to speak over such a distance. And the details of the vision, no those had all been part of something he and his Master had built between them.
"Since when," he said softly, "can I approach my Master as an equal?"
The answer was simple. Only since last night. Oh, Qui-Gon knew that he was a Master himself, and a strong Jedi. But this reaching out was the work of true Adepts, beings constantly grounded in both Living and Unifying Force . . .
*Oh stars . . . grounded in my Living Force and grounded *by* Obi-Wan's Unifying Force.*
Last night was clearly more than a simple, if extremely unexpected, sexual encounter. But he knew that already.
Suddenly struck with a moment of dizziness, Qui-Gon recognized his body's need to ground, and he addressed himself to the food in front of him, forgetting everything else as he ate. Slowly, almost ritualistically, he savored every mouthful, conscious of the feeling as his body took grateful nourishment from the fresh fruit, the roasted grains, and the thin light milk. Deliberately, he kept his feet flat on the floor, pouring his own fatigue into the warm ceramic tiles of the dining alcove. Yoda had been right, he *knew* how to deal with this. Ground and Center.
//He was grounded, and at some still center as Obi-Wan wrapped him in the Unifying Force, receiving the strength of the Living Force from Qui-Gon in return. Here in the whirlwind of the intensity, the sexual haze of pain and pleasure Obi-Wan created around him Qui-Gon became the rock on which the sea pounded out its fury. And yes, the rock burned from the hissing strength of each new wave, and yes the rock would both endure and crumble. Just as Qui-Gon did.//
Steady breath.
Trying to keep his mind in the blank trance of recovery from his dizzying use of the Force, Qui-Gon rose and headed toward the small, enclosed garden just outside their rooms. Removing his boots and socks, he left them neatly by the door then stepped outside. He stripped off his robe, allowing himself to feel the harsh movement of cloth against his back as he moved to the center of the garden plot, feet savoring the cool, damp grass, spirit rising as the lush blanket of Living Force wrapped around him.
He stretched lightly first, offering the ancient morning prayer of the Jedi as he did so, thanking the Force and this world for his continued existence. Then stretched again prior to beginning, a harder stretch, one that truly pulled his undertunic against his back.
//The first blow, delivered with terrible precision, curled around his back, sending sensation in a cascade down his back. Pain, oh yes, it hurt, but still a thing to process, as was his body's delight in that pain, and the moan that moved softly from his belly to pass his lips as an offering. The faint sigh, only heard by Jedi senses, as tension flowed from Obi-Wan and into the Force. The next blow was stronger, both in the physical sense--new cascades of pain/pleasure--and in Obi-Wan's eager determination to *be* in this Moment.//
Qui-Gon accepted the memory, suddenly terribly proud of his Padawan's abilities in this landscape unknown to his Master. It mattered not where Obi-Wan had learned this powerful swift dance of pleasure, although, as Qui-Gon moved into the opening pose of the First Kata, he looked forward to the privilege of hearing the undoubtedly fascinating story. Privilege?
//"Just touching me is a privilege, isn't it, Qui?" "Yessss . . ." a hiss of acquiescence and longing.//
Ground, center and begin . . . First Kata, open handed, quarter speed, each step a step on the Path, a step to be cherished, a lesson never to be forgotten.
//"What do you learn here, Qui?" "That I am in your hands, a willing body" /and spirit/ "for your pleasure, Padawan." Shaking with need, Qui-Gon rejoiced in the way Rill culture allowed him to turn his apprentice's title into one of power. He once more fought down his body's raging need, waiting for Obi-Wan's pleasure and desire.//
Second Kata, open handed, half speed . . . moving further along the Path, breath still steady, but increasing faintly in speed. The rasp of linen against suddenly tight nipples.
//Sleek silver clamps, and Qui-Gon actually had to think to figure out where Obi-Wan was going use the deceptively light looking metal pincers. Strong gloved fingers gently teasing a nipple to hardness and then bringing up wickedly bright teeth to nip and then bite the aroused flesh. A soft moan answering the Padawan's actions, building into a strong grunt of pain as the clamp dug in and clung. "Good, my Qui?" "Yes, Padawan," panting, "good, hurts but so good."//
Third Kata, open handed, full speed . . . the Path flowing swiftly if longer now, breath quickening, body loosening, feeling that touch of warmth. Faint brush of woven leggings against vaguely raw kneecaps.
//Qui-Gon knelt, arms still bound behind him, but wrists now resting at the small of his back, shoulders loosening, and none of it important except the hard column of flesh wrapped in wet silk skin that was slowly being released from black leather pants. His mouth opened automatically, first to release the begging words he knew were wanted, and then wider to accept the reward for his pain as blunt flesh nudged his mouth.//
Fourth Kata, open handed, combat speed . . . the Path a whirl of movement and yet still straight before him, breathing slightly unsteady from the constant pull of memory, muscles warming even more. The burn of thigh, groin and gluteal muscles heating for the second time in a cycle.
//Half kneeling, half crouching, head buried in his folded arms, legs spread until his thighs burned, Qui-Gon waited, his body unable to continue to respond to his own commands, all depending now on the steely will of the Padawan kneeling between his shaking calves. The need-tremble, the fire still glowing on his back, the bright stars of pain still blooming on his chest, the lingering taste of salty sweet flesh in his mouth, and above all that the aching emptiness of a body that had never known or needed this before. "Please," he moaned, voice hoarse from cries of pain and moans of delight. "Please . . ." No other word available. He waited.//
Fifth Kata, open handed, Force-enhanced speed . . . the Path a spiral labyrinth before him, each step a known and welcome friend, drawing him into himself and the deep serenity of Full Force. Snug linen of his wrap enclosing hardened flesh.
Whirling in the dance that can bring peace, death, and enlightenment, Qui-Gon felt his hair tie fall from his hair and suddenly the thick bronze/silver strands were part of the dance, no impediment whatsoever. For a brief moment he moved outside himself and Saw.
Power and grace and a smooth, gliding strength that was new. Not Master Qui-Gon Jinn's normal predatory stalk, but more a bending, yielding movement that spoke volumes of new knowledge learned, of new Paths opened before him. His inner vision studied this new style and, finding it worthy, Qui-Gon offered it to the Force. And to his Padawan.
//Obi-Wan, who had spent the morning responding enigmatically to Rill queries about his lover, looked up from his light lunch and Saw that which was offered to him. *Stop!* the young man's mental voice ordered, a power not to be denied. *Hold position.*//
Qui-Gon froze, finding himself standing, legs wide for balance, open hands almost crossed above his head in a high defense, body arched to avoid the counter move. He felt no pain or ache, save for the pulse of need throbbing hard in his groin, and no need to move, anchored here as long as his Padawan should wish it.
What he did feel was the bright beacon of his Padawan's satisfaction. It seemed, as near as he could tell, that their display the previous night had made Obi-Wan even more of a force to be reckoned with, from both political viewpoints
"Oh yes, Qui, we impressed everyone. Now impress *me.* Finish, in a new variation." The voice was real now, strong and clear behind him. A voice which, when speaking in this new tone, could never be denied. "I seem to have given you new knowledge, so work with it. Show me what I've taught you."
"Yes, Padawan," came his automatic response, even as his body took up the sinuous movements yet again.
Fifth Kata, Jinn's 12th Variation, open handed, Force-enhanced speed . . . the Path no longer familiar but new, showing him that the delight he takes in pain is of the Light, as is his Padawan's delight and ability to administer that pain to a willing being. Entire body aware within the confines of his Jedi shell.
//"MINE!" a screaming roar came from Obi-Wan, a voice Qui-Gon couldn't help responding to, even as his body absorbed the hard pounding of his Padawan's (Master's?) cock. "Yours!" Qui-Gon replied, hearing the wailing pleading in the word, as well as the promise that would bind him to this man forever. "Yes, my Qui. Now! Give it to me NOW!"//
The Kata ended and Qui-Gon found himself kneeling on the grass, body both submissive and triumphant. This would defeat any opponent who looked for mastery in the Master; he could almost see a shadow form laid out on the ground before him, a victim to the invisible blade held in hand at the end of almost crossed wrists.
Hard hands ripped at the fabric of his leggings, tearing through to shove aside the linen groin wrap, as Qui-Gon forced his body to maintain the position he had frozen in. "Oh my Qui," the Padawan's voice soft compared to the hardness of his hands. "Thank you, oh thank you."
As wet fingers probed him, Qui-Gon shook his head. "Please, Padawan . . . don't . . ."
The fingers swiftly withdrew, as did the only now noticed fierce joy radiating from the man behind him. Feeling as though his sun were being eclipsed, Qui-Gon moaned at the misunderstanding.
"Please," he begged, his voice going back to the promising tone of last night, "no prep . . . want to offer my pain to You."
The sun returned and Qui-Gon burned as the thick weight pressed insistently into him, as those hands, so strong, so gentle, so demanding, forced his own larger hands to the ground. He gasped as they left his wrists, only to sigh in pleasure as Obi-Wan's hands gripped his hips. He pushed back into that demanding grasp, delighting in both the Light that poured from his Padawan and from his own offering of pain.
//Qui-Gon came as if he were dying a hard death. He screamed and thrashed, safe in the strong arms that held him, trapped him in his own ecstasy. There was nothing but this Now, all pain and pleasure, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, Master and Padawan blending into the Moment as the final needed push of Obi-Wan's burning climax rushed into him.//
Now, he was there again, ready to offer up anything to this Moment, to Obi-Wan, Owner, student, beloved, partner, Padawan . . .
"With me, my own," Obi-Wan said softly, his own voice shaking with the Truth of this Moment. A Moment belonging to them alone, nothing on display save to each other, nothing designed to make a statement save to each other, no witnesses to this love save each other. "Come with me."
And Qui-Gon did and Obi-Wan did and the Moment lingered between them, wrapping around them, succoring them, binding them together in everything.
Forever.
The End