Category: First-time, Qui-Gon POV, companion to "Old Lovers and
New"
Feedback: Is totally beloved.
Summary: Qui-Gon's history, a wedding reception, a surprising
revelation, a new beginning.
Spoilers for the Jedi Apprentice books.
Thanks to my supreme Master Cincoflex for betaing.
Disclaimer: The King and Queen are mine, but the Jedi are not.
No money made.
Our first meeting, like so many others, was at a diplomatic
function. Yoda was mediating between the King and the
representatives of a democratic government of a neighboring
planet. The Prince seemed like nothing more than an attractive
young man, well-educated for his future role, outwardly
charming and compassionate, capable of a certain degree of
self-indulgence.
The mediations were likely to be lengthy, even with Jedi
assistance. My Master encouraged me to accept Deeyan's
invitation to go riding and see the planet. Yoda was a hard
Master, but also sensitive. Our last several missions were
intense and tiring; I appreciated his willingness to let me
have some leisure. I protested at the burden he would carry
alone, but he insisted and I dropped my objections.
We spent several days together, enjoying ourselves in primarily
idle pursuits. Deeyan was physically active and trained in
their style of hand-to-hand fighting as well as several weapon
types. He would command his army into war, if necessary.
Testing myself in practice sessions against a non-Jedi was
beneficial to my overall training. Yoda and I had encountered
several battles, but his control over the Force was so
exquisite, he would usually fling back opponents, ending the
situation with dramatic rapidity. My opportunities were
insufficient to increase my skills against those who were not
trained in the same style.
We were well-matched as long as I did not resort to use of the
Force. He was only a few inches shorter and almost as strong.
On occasion, I was uncomfortable when he pinned me down, struck
by the mad fancy that he meant to kiss me. I half hoped he
would. Then he either crowed with glee as I yielded, or I
twisted out of the lock, resuming the battle. He preferred to
win but he lost well, which I found a good indication of his
future reign of King. I began to wonder if Yoda threw us
together in the interests of strategic political maneuvering.
He thought I might sit on the Council; being good friends with
the leader of a rich world would be beneficial when the Jedi
requested additional resources. I doubt Yoda anticipated the
exact nature of that friendship.
Another interminable dinner, as the politely veiled barbs
accompanied every course. The negotiations were no closer to
completion, though my Master seemed undisturbed by the sniping.
I retired to my room as soon as I could, leaning against the
balcony railing, drinking in the sustaining freshness of the
night air. Deeyan entered the room and joined me, resting his
hands next to mine.
"Qui-Gon." The sherry brown eyes sparkled with excitement and
an unusual nervousness. "Would you like to play a game?"
"What kind of game?" Something special was in his mind. Games
were for children, but this was different. One warm palm rested
on my shoulder as we turned to face each other. He didn't speak
at first, but let the warmth soak through my tunic, contrasting
delightfully with the cool breeze. His palm slid down my back,
slowly.
"I have one chance and I tell you - what place, what position -
and you tell me if it's acceptable."
I shook my head and he knew by my perplexed expression that I
wasn't refusing but seeking clarification. His hand continued
its journey, lingering on my waist, reaching one cheek of my
buttocks. He squeezed the tight muscle while stepping closer,
whispering in my ear, his breath caressing.
"One chance to have sex with you. I'll promise you wonderful,
mind-blowing, toe-curling, screaming until we're both hoarse,
sex. My place, my position. If you like my fantasy, you say
yes. If you don't, I leave and we never speak of this again."
Astonishment as much as arousal greeted his promises of
satisfaction. I had sex but only with other Padawans. Physical
intercourse for the Jedi was a necessary biological fact,
accepted and tolerated as a matter-of-fact practicality. It
wasn't prone to erotic and carnal fantasy. Then he bit my
earlobe as both of his hands cupped my buttocks and he moved
close enough I could feel his erection poking against me. My
bare toes started to curl against the chilly stone.
"Do you want to hear?"
I nodded mutely, permitting my own seduction. "You're here,
right here, leaning against the balcony. I've stroked and
excited you until your hands are clenched tightly on the stone
to keep from melting to the ground. I'm behind you. I love the
muscles of your shoulder blades, the line of your back. I've
kissing and nuzzling down your spine, saluting every inch with
my tongue. Now I'm kneeling on the ground. You're a Jedi
warrior and you're about to become mine. Good so far?" That
seductive voice enfolded me in his vision. I had registered
when he first spoke that he would make a wonderful public
speaker, but I never visualized the dizzying effect of that
sexy baritone on my nerves.
"I'm pressing my face to your buttocks, licking them. Your
muscles tighten with passion as I lick between. I slide a
finger into you, loosening you, preparing you. Another finger,
stretching the tense muscle. You're ready to have me. I'm
rising behind you, entering you as gently as I can tolerate,
but I've waited all week and the pressure had built. Finally,
I'm buried in you and you're tight. I'm thrusting and you're
shoving your hips back against mine, growling, demanding to be
taken harder."
He had waited all week. That wasn't fantasy. I knew suddenly
that he would have made love to me the very first day, that a
large part of our exercising together was to increase my
comfort level with his body. He was an intelligent man, and in
many respects a calculating one. Casual flings weren't common
for the Jedi, so he waited and became friends before pouncing.
"Your orgasm hits first, because I've excited you so much. You
grab your own cock, rubbing your come into your skin, rough
with yourself. Mine follows quickly as I release myself into
your body. We're exhausted, but satiated. I collapse against
you, pressing our sweaty bodies close. Is that acceptable?"
I shook my head, licking the dryness of my lips. He waited,
seeing by the dilation of my pupils that his words affected me.
The noise that emerged from my voice was barely recognizable as
words. "Too public."
"Ah," he smiled. "Jedi are discreet. There's no one in the
gardens at this time of night. No one will see."
I shook my head again. "You can't be sure."
He sucked my earlobe into his mouth, wetting it before
releasing it to whisper, "Where then? I'll compromise. My
fantasy, my position, your place."
It was madness, total madness. I should send him away and
meditate. I should suppress my need and wait until reaching
Coruscant to have matter-of-fact casual sex with another
padawan. "The dresser," I said. I couldn't disappoint him. I
couldn't lose this opportunity.
"With the mirror. I can watch you, you can watch me. We'll see
each other's faces when we perish from the pleasure. What a
creative start--you're going to be a great game-player." His
voice purred, rippling the hairs on my skin with sound. He
tugged on me, guiding me into the bedroom.
I still might have broken his spell if he had simply pushed me
toward the dresser, but Deeyan was a connoisseur. He tasted my
mouth as if it were a fine wine, sipping every nuance of its
flavor. My body was a sculpture, every curve to be traced with
wandering hands. I was a willing participant by the time he
placed my hands flat on the top of the dresser. The last shred
of my Jedi restraint demanded that my eyes close when he
kneeled on the floor and fulfilled his promise. My own face was
too expressive to watch. I opened my eyes when he began
thrusting inside me. The swing of my braid fascinated me as I
moved with his tempo. The braid flowed from my chest to touch
the mirror and back again, filling my vision as the world went
wild and I experienced the most intense ecstasy of my life.
Yoda found me the next morning, meditating in the garden. I
rose with dawn and desperately needed to understand what
happened. I was cross-legged on the ground, needing the touch
of solid earth, the hard line of the bench across my back. Yoda
settled on the smooth stone, his cane in his lap.
"Disturbed, are you?" Yoda always deciphered my emotions with
frightening ease.
"Yes. Deeyan and I - " I stopped. I couldn't explain, not in
detail, and without detail, I couldn't convey my confused
state.
"Enjoyed it, did you?" My Master appeared far less disturbed
than I.
"It was - erotic. Carnal."
"Think you passion leads to the dark side?"
"There is no passion; there is serenity." I quoted the Code at
him. No other answer presented itself.
"And when passion there is?"
Yoda was an amazing Master, but he choose to be cryptic at the
most annoying moments. He gave me direct answers when I didn't
need them, and confusing questions on those rare occasions that
I wanted to be told what to think. I shut my mouth and closed
my eyes, waiting until I heard the quiet rustle of Yoda's robes
as he left. Then I rose to search for Deeyan.
We spent the rest of the time together. Our passion was as mad
as my meditations were intense. I never dreamed such
sensuality, such erotic joy in the physical exploration of
bodies and mind games could exist. Yoda stayed obstinately
silent and I reciprocated. When the last subclause of the
treaty was agreed and the formal signing ceremony completed, I
expected the relationship to end. Deeyan and I kissed in
private, shook hands in public, and Yoda and I headed for our
ship. I forgot he was a Prince, with little to do but wait for
his father to die.
He appeared several more times that year. He always had a good
excuse, a valid reason for being in the vicinity of our
mission. The local dignitaries would welcome him out of respect
for his title. How he discovered our location was his secret,
as Jedi travel plans aren't made public. I waited Yoda's
permission, which sometimes was granted and sometimes withheld,
depending on the severity of our task. The verbal games
continued. I lost track of how many scenarios he envisioned and
fulfilled, as he taught me to dream my own, unleashing a side
of me that had never existed within the sterile confines of the
Academy. He could sit at a table at an outdoor cafe, sip the
local wine or coffee, and whisper the most outrageously
provocative suggestions. He taught me much about poise in
public. Yoda's signals were subtle, but he was not pleased with
my obsession for the lessons I was learning.
The break arrived through outside intervention. Deeyan was
tense and unhappy as he approached us, looking at Yoda for
permission. He was good at hiding emotional signals,
well-prepared to be scrutinized by his subject and other
leaders, but our relationship was too close for me to be
deceived. "Master Yoda, may I steal away your Padawan?"
Respectful, as ever, in the other Jedi's presence. Yoda sensed
his turbulence too and gave his approval with the merest flick
of his ears.
We walked without speaking until reaching the guest quarters I
was assigned. His kiss was almost brutal, shoving me back
against the closed door. I didn't resist, but I didn't respond.
We had to talk.
Flinging himself away, stalking over to stare out the windows.
"I'm getting married. Next month."
"Tiasha?" I asked. Mentions of her were casual, but I had
realized she was the perfect future Queen.
"Yes. Father is ill. He wants an immediate marriage, though the
organization for a royal wedding within that time will be
insane."
"Then this end us." As I spoke, I didn't question the rightness
of my words. I comprehended part of what Yoda had tried to tell
me. Passion wasn't necessarily bad. Eroticism didn't start a
slippery path to the dark side. Deceits in the pursuit of
passion would be different. I still didn't understand the full
quote, but understanding was coming.
"You say that very easily." That voice which so often caressed
me hated me, hated my ability to be detached and accepting.
"Deeyan." I approached him, turned him to look at me, rested my
hands on his shoulders, hoping physical reassurance would
convey my message. "You know what you mean to me. But we also
both know what our lives mean to us. You will be a King, you
will do your duty. I will be a Jedi, I will do mine."
"We could still see each other." He was definitely sulking. All
his life, he got his own way, either through his position or
his own manipulative skills. A few disappointments might have
been better for his character, but it seemed tactless to
mention.
"Tiasha wouldn't cheat on you, she doesn't deserve to have you
cheat on her."
"She doesn't love me, you know. We're good friends, but we're
both bound by duty."
"And we don't love each other enough." It was the first time
that fact occurred to me through the haze of our desire. "If we
loved beyond all reason, you would give up your kingship for me
and I would give up being a Jedi for me. Neither of us will."
He didn't argue. Our lives were directed toward goals and
nothing would make us lose track of them. "Love may grow in
time. She's a beautiful woman."
His smile was both sad and bitter, but he wouldn't fight my
decision. "A kiss to say good-bye?"
That kiss ended our physical relationship, but began a
life-long friendship. An invitation to the wedding, and
announcements of the death of his father, his coronation, the
birth of three children were duly sent. In return, I sent an
invitation to my Knighting ceremony, but Jedi celebrate fewer
events than royalty. More invitations for the annual
celebration of his reign, the children's coming-of-age and
various graduation ceremonies arrived. He appeared at my
ceremony, smiling with pride. Yoda and I attended some events
and missed others, a tradition I followed as a Knight, trailed
by own Padawans. The King officially requested I fulfill the
role of Knight Protector to his daughter Marisae and I was
allowed to formally accept. Our contact was sporadic, but the
connection was still present. The length of the separation
didn't matter; we could always talk easily as old friends. I
was glad the relationship survived.
Then my Padawan Xanatos betrayed my trust and turned to the
dark side. I went to Deeyan to escape the well-meaning rhetoric
of the other Jedi but couldn't release my anguish. He worried
at my attitude and scolded me, complaining that I should not
dwell on one student's actions. I had done my task to the best
of my abilities. Xanatos' deceit and his seduction to the
service of evil was beyond my power to control. The Jedi
Masters echoed his words after I returned to Coruscant and
brooded more. I listened to none, performing missions with
exceptional skill, increasing my growing reputation as a
superior Jedi mediator with a maverick streak.
Until Obi-Wan.
I lived in a self-belief that I was being logical and rational
by refusing another padawan, that I was not an appropriate
Master and was not capable of training another young student.
In reality, I lived with fear and self-pity, terrified of a
similar failure. Obi-Wan's stunning courage, announcing his
willingness to die for me, that I might save the lives of
others, made me face the truth of my selfishness. He was only
12, but displayed more bravery than most adults. I accepted him
as Padawan. I could not have denied him any more than I could
have made my own heart stop beating.
Once the first chink appeared in my armor, Obi-Wan swarmed the
rest of the way into my heart and soul. Initially, he was my
pupil, my son. I was so proud of his accomplishments, the way
he tested himself, learned quickly, demanded that I satisfy his
insatiable curiosity. The next few years passed speedily. Our
lives were full with perpetual diplomatic quarrels and
Obi-Wan's padawan lessons. I was happier than I had ever been,
living every day with him at my side, never analyzing that
bliss.
On the surface, everything seemed the same as Obi-Wan matured,
but inside, everything was shifting in my mind. He grew in
spurts, as all young people do, not reaching my height, but
seemingly overnight an engaging child became a handsome man.
Like most young men, he showed a positive disdain for clothing
in our quarters, wearing only his undergarment when studying,
sprawled on the cushions. Given his reserved air in public,
many would have been surprised by the picture he presented,
stretched out, the sun from the windows touching his skin,
coating his mostly naked body with warm gold rays. I began to
find those days uncomfortably disturbing, reminding me of those
hesitant feelings when Deeyan pinned me down in wrestling
matches.
Obi-Wan's own sensuality broke my blindness. I was gone a few
days on a minor diplomatic mission. The night was late when I
arrived home, so I entered stealthily, leaving the lights off,
moving toward my room. I heard the sounds of moaning, stopping
just before entering. I could see them, Obi-Wan and another
Padawan, making love in my bed. He paused, not moving his hips
but kissing her, building the tension until she broke her lips
away to plead. I looked at that luscious skin, the long healthy
limbs, the thrusting hips, the flex of his buttocks. I desired
him. I loved him so deeply. I wanted to go to him, push her
away, lay my body on his, invade his mouth with my tongue,
fondle him, bare and exposed to my gaze and hands. I retreated
to the Temple gardens to meditate and wait, pretending to
return home the next morning.
I was embarrassed and frightened that I would revolt him by my
feelings. I was jealous and angered by his obvious experience.
Masters are not supposed to love their Padawans, and certainly
not experience my level of lustful thoughts. My life had not
been celibate, but my liaisons were discreet and fairly
restrained. The Jedi of my generation still treated sex too
matter-of-factly for my tastes and I didn't relish being a
notch on a diplomat's bedpost who wished to explore intriguing
rumors of Jedi stamina and strength. The memories of those wild
months with Deeyan flooded back and new erotic images, myself
with Obi-Wan invaded my mind. At the next opportunity, I sent
my Padawan on specialized training, though he protested. No one
enjoyed learning how to navigate swampy terrain, but the skill
could be useful. I suffered through Master Zizz-elle's
instructions when a Padawan; Obi-Wan could bear it too. I went
to Deeyan.
I confessed all, my mixture of reverent admiration and
lecherous desire. Deeyan understood. After so many years, he
was glad that I found someone to love, though a twinge of
jealousy pervaded his words. He didn't understand my reluctance
to express myself. In his mind, we were perfect together. We
were both Jedi. The conflict of opposing duties was
meaningless. Jedi tradition was hidebound and useless if it
interfered. I admired many of Deeyan's qualities, particularly
his devotion to his people, but his indulgent streak was still
strong. He would have taken me as often as he could during his
marriage and only my own reminders of our honor stopped him.
Comprehending my obstinate lack of action was beyond him.
Life continued, though I was trapped in an agony of unfulfilled
desire. I repressed and ignored it, fantasizing only when
Obi-Wan was sleeping or separated from me. I gave Obi-Wan more
opportunities to stay on Coruscant and was secretly relieved
whenever he declined, insisting on accompanying me. I grew even
more conscious of his lazy sensuality, the slinkiness to his
stride. He was a man, comfortable with his sexuality, exploring
his passion but not possessed by it. I could identify his
partners, both female and male, and was gratified that he was
discriminate enough to choose for intelligence and personality
as much as physical beauty. Somewhere along the way, the young
generation of Jedi changed. Things were not the same as the
good old days of my youth. While it wrenched at me that Obi-Wan
was having sex with others, my joy that he would not live with
repression was real.
I broke after Marisae's reception. She was so beautiful, so
happy. We hadn't been particularly close, despite my honorary
title, but I was proud of her. Watching two young people in
love, wondering if I would ever see that expression on
Obi-Wan's face, dreading that someone else would cause it, not
his respected teacher. Deeyan and I slipped away to the royal
quarters.
The issue of my love for Obi-Wan arose. It always did when we
were together. Deeyan was the only person who knew my true
thoughts about my Padawan. He brought up the game and this time
I succumbed, though I feared it would leave me aching and
frustrated. Obi-Wan and I were sharing a small room. Agitating
myself before such close proximity was foolish, but I was too
weak to resist. I described my fantasy, how I would take
Obi-Wan against the wall, losing myself in the detail, mentally
picturing his face, contorted while responding to my lust,
heard his voice, panting in pleasure, felt his capable hands
clenching with desperation at my skin. In my mind, he was so
beautiful and he was mine. I could imagine no greater
satisfaction.
Deeyan dropped to his knees by me, wanting to give me release.
I denied him, expecting a protest. Surprisingly, he didn't
argue. I felt a touch of the Force, thought I imagined it.
Following Deeyan's distracted gaze, thought I saw a pair of
boots disappearing. Could Obi-Wan have seen us, heard me? And
if he had, how much? Did he know I loved him or only that his
old teacher yearned for his body? He was fool enough to climb
the palace walls for exercise and regrettably tended to evade
diplomatic functions when possible. My friend said nothing and
I was reluctant to ask. That my Padawan might accidentally
discover my feelings and return them was a day dream fantasy,
not a likely reality.
Obi-Wan seemed thoughtful that night but our conversation was
casual. His dreams were restless. I left him sleeping to admire
the happiness of Marisae and Hule as they departed on the
traditional bridal journey. Afterward, I sat in the garden
meditating, my reflections interrupted by the Deeyan's deep
voice, interspersed with Obi-Wan's.
Those boots had been Obi-Wan's. My apprentice definitely heard
our conversation last night. Maybe not the entirety, but
enough. What bargain he and Deeyan made, or when they had made
it, I didn't understand. Though his words might seem measured,
Deeyan was furious at Obi-Wan. My Padawan virtually snarled
back. Deeyan demanded that Obi-Wan love me, threatened to send
a pleasure slave to me if he didn't. I was elated at the
realization that Obi-Wan didn't flatly tell him to do so. I was
familiar with Obi-Wan's responses to many situations. If he was
averse to an idea, he plainly stated his objections, generally
politely, always firmly. To me, his sulky temper indicated his
potential willingness. I hoped to receive my love rather than
just my lust.
Then the commotion, a woman's scream sent them running to the
Palace. I waited another minute before following, to discover
it was my turn to be enraged.
My surrogate daughter and her husband were kidnapped,
practically under my nose. So much for being a protector. We
canvassed the area of the attack, sent out troops to search in
a geographic pattern, headed back to the capital city,
disappointed and worried. I called upon the Force to calm
myself and could sense Obi-Wan doing the same.
The four of us gathered in the Royal Quarters to examine the
ransom note and plan. Watching Deeyan and his Queen together,
it was plain he had been a fool. She adored him, loved their
life together, and he cherished her. They instinctively turned
to each other for support. Companionship and duty had blossomed
into mature love and he had been blind, treating her as an
obligation rather than a gift. Obi-Wan was overcome with a
vision, a reason for the kidnapping, a location to check. I
begged to be responsible for saving Marisae, needing
redemption. Her loss wounded me horribly. Deeyan searched my
Padawan's eyes. Their issues were not resolved and he was
reluctant to trust both of us.
Obi-Wan dropped to one knee, giving the King and Queen an
unusual mark of respect. Jedi typically only bowed. "Please,
your Majesties, let us bring Marisae back to you. It is
Qui-Gon's responsibility as Knight Protector to defend her, and
mine as his Padawan to support him." I have never been so proud
of him, of his character and dedication. Regardless of his
personal feelings, he supported me. Above all, he was a Jedi.
Locating the Princess and Hule was easy; rescuing them was not.
The kidnappers were armed with blasters and willing to kill.
Obi-Wan and I fought supremely together, attacking and
defending in a smooth, relentless pattern. Then his attention
faltered for no apparent reason I could discern. I was struck
by a glancing shot and Obi-Wan screamed in rage as he
slaughtered the last of the attackers. I held onto
consciousness, feeling his arms cradling me, hearing his
frantic call into the communicator. Though not a healer, he
poured force energy into my wound, pleading for forgiveness for
his lapse. The emotion and concern on his face was so intense,
so real. I prayed that it signified more than a student's love
for his teacher as I slipped into oblivion.
Drugs controlled the pain when I woke, but couldn't eliminate
the severe exhaustion. Obi-Wan's strong arms still cradled my
body, though I was back in bed at the castle. Reassurances from
him, everything was fine, promises to meditate on his anger. No
explanation for his distraction given. Oblivious healing sleep
took me.
The comforting arms were missing when I next opened my eyes. I
thought I could see Obi-Wan eating, talking with Tiasha at the
reading table near the windows. Her attention was rapt on his
words. I must have dreamed, hearing what I craved to hear.
"I will never forget when I heard him say that he loved me. I
didn't accept it at first. He's been my teacher, my father. I
hadn't contemplated a more physical relationship, but I
searched my feelings and realized I loved him."
A little happy noise from Tiasha, a woman enjoying a romantic
tale. I smiled. Dreams always seemed unusual and bizarre when
remembered in the morning, odd things happening and people
behaving erratically. This was better than a dream.
"He loves me intensely and has for years, but he's been
unwilling to disrupt my teaching. His selfishness and concern
are two of the things I admire the most. We haven't - "
His voice stalled. I could almost imagine him nibbling at his
lip or blushing. Obi-Wan was normally an honest man, but his
talent at dissembling had forestalled many a scolding from me
at his reckless behavior.
"Forgive me, your Highness, I don't want to make you
uncomfortable."
Another little noise from Tiasha, a protest. She needed the end
of the story.
"We haven't been fully intimate. Perhaps it's selfish but I
want him well soon because I can hardly wait to give him
pleasure. You're a married woman, you've experienced the joy
when you please your partner, feeling him squirm with
excitement, gasping your name. I know it will be more exciting
than my own gratification, to think I've fulfilled his passion,
that I've made him happy."
Tiasha's noises were wonderfully expressive. This one was
half-shock, aghast at his confession, half-delight at the
sexually romantic image. I figured a dream couldn't become any
better and lapsed unwillingly into a different one.
When I woke next, I was surrounded again by my Padawan's
comforting presence, that cherished feeling of security as he
held me. Then he led me down the path I yearned to walk with
him. His exciting words in my ear, his voice caressing,
throaty. Yes, he had watched when I played the game with Deeyan
and he was an apt pupil. One callused thumb rubbing my nipple.
My protest gained his hand on my cock, stroking me, making me
squirm, pleasing me. With only his erotic fantasy, his clever
hand, and the feel of his lean form pressed to mine, he brought
me to climax. He kissed me, taking my breath as I fainted. I
promised myself that some day he would make me faint with only
pleasure and not partially because I was weak from blood loss.
I recovered quickly under his care, as he pampered me and
attended to my every ache. He kissed and caressed me, sleeping
with my long body in his arms. He didn't attempt anything
further, whispering guiltily that I must concentrate on
healing.
As much as I had craved this situation, I considered the
ramifications seriously as I healed. I adored Obi-Wan; I
cherish this caring side. I could easily become enraptured by
him. I pledged to never neglect his training, to never let the
lover overwhelm the Master. I would not do him that disservice.
I also pondered our relationship. Perhaps it seems cold that I
wondered how two new lovers would interact, but Jedi are taught
to be the most analytical people in the universe. We deal daily
with politicians, warriors, bureaucrats, and others who mix the
concerns of their constituents with their own selfish desires.
Our actions may affect thousands, nay millions of lives, as
well as the tide of history. Part of me could not ignore the
training of a lifetime.
In many ways, Obi-Wan and I were much alike; much like all
other Jedi. We are required to constantly make careful,
instantaneous decisions. We are humble and serve the Light, but
we are confident. It may seem a contradiction, but neither a
weak, overly self-effacing or an arrogant Jedi could be
effective under the stress we face. Obi-Wan was insecure as a
boy but under my tutelage, he had grown into a self-assured man
who would be one of our greatest Jedi ever.
I had rarely seen Obi-Wan with his sexual partners, but I could
make a reasonable guess based on my knowledge of his character,
his drive for perfection, that he would like to be sexual
dominant. Deeyan had taught me the excitement found in both
leading and being led. Overall, I prefer to lead. I knew
Obi-Wan and I would have some battles over control.
Deeyan and Tiasha visited several times as I healed. The King
confirmed my suspicions. He leaned close one time, brushing a
kiss on my forehead, and murmured, "You must thank that imp of
a Padawan for me. You had better watch him, Qui-Gon. He'll be a
handful." I remembered my dream. Only Obi-Wan would meddle in
the sex life of one of the most powerful royal couples in this
universe.
Obi-Wan won the first round in our love, driving me to orgasm
as I could only moan and allow him to take liberties with my
body. I planned my opportunity to reverse the tide with
strategic calculation. The night was late. I knew no visitors
would arrive to disrupt my plans. As usual, Obi-Wan was
collecting his sleep pants, preparing to enter the bathroom to
change. His respect for not exciting me in my weakened state
was almost amusing. He wasn't tired yet but he would crawl into
bed with me so I could fall asleep in his arms. It was a
routine we developed these last few days.
Only I wasn't tired tonight.
He started to walk across the room. "Obi-Wan."
"Yes, Master." He crossed to my side, waiting expectantly to
fulfill some request.
"I have a fantasy, Obi-Wan." My voice lowered, the brogue
asserting itself. Obi-Wan's eyes were bright and clear, but
that slight trace of desire was hazing them as soon as my words
registered.
"Yes, Qui-Gon?" Yes, he liked to be sexually dominant. I would
have to work on regaining my right to be called "Master" at all
times.
"A fantasy of what I would like to do to you, my Padawan." I
reached out, capturing one hand, carrying it to my lips. I
delicately nipped at his thumb, rolling my tongue around the
end, taking it fully within my mouth, sucking strongly. My
meaning was crystal clear.
"Aren't you supposed to start with the place, Qui-Gon?" He was
trying to control his breathing, maintaining its even level. He
was a beautiful Lisian race horse, wanting to champ at the bit
as he waited at the gate, pawing the ground, but knowing he
couldn't expend his energy needlessly. I didn't mind. He could
control himself as long as he wanted - until I was ready to
push him over the finishing line.
I pulled my mouth off his thumb, deliberately making a slurping
noise as I released the digit. "Place is here, of course. It
starts with you, undressing yourself for me." Our eyes met
intently, challenging each other, mine daring him to play my
game. I brought his thumb back to my mouth and with a low moan,
engulfed it in the furnace of my mouth.
He didn't respond, dropping the sleep pants still held in his
free hand, yanking at his sash. It fell to the ground.
Shrugging his shoulders, he liberated one arm from the sleeve,
his tunic draping over the other arm, trapped by my hands
holding his, my tongue teasing his thumb. I released his hand,
both of us contributing a Force push to send the tunic flying
across the room before I resumed sucking.
He placed one boot on the bed, undoing the straps, repeating
the action with the other foot. They were difficult to remove
with only one hand, but he managed. The trousers were easier.
As he stood in front of me, wearing only his undergarment, I
freed his thumb. "Oh my love, the number of times I tried so
diligently not to stare at you."
"Yes, Qui-Gon?" he smiled, smirking.
"Yes, Obi-Wan." My voice scolded, which only accelerated his
smirk. "The way you sprawl around our quarters. Or when you
would sit on the floor, back against the couch, legs bent and
separated, and I had such a good view of this." One hand
coasted down the bulging erection.
"Not in quite this condition, though," he murmured.
"That didn't make it any easier on me." I think he realized he
shouldn't delight in my agony, attempting to restrain his grin.
He failed.
"This is my fantasy, to do this." I slid his undergarment off
his hips, down his thighs, and he kicked it the rest of the way
off his calves. He stood naked before me, the marble of his
skin broken by the hardness of his nipples, a light dusting of
body hair, the curlier hair around his groin, his enflamed
hardness pointing at me.
My hands holding his hips guided him closer to my mouth. I
stared fixedly at his erection, so stiff and ready with just
the encouragement of my sucking. "Oh yes." I kissed the tip, a
dozen soft gentle kisses, before rolling my tongue around the
head, savoring his taste. "You are the finest wine, the most
delectable nectar."
"Is this the fantasy or the reality?" His control was slipping,
eyes glazing, breath deepening. My Lisian race horse, with his
muscles tensing under my hands, preparing to explode out of the
gate.
"Both, oh both." My warm tongue ran down the length, lapped at
the head again. I rolled his testicles with my fingers, their
heaviness a precious weight. "Deeyan said you would be handful.
You're definitely more than a mouthful." With that mocking
comment, I swallowed as much of his erection as I could,
filling my mouth. He shouted, hands burying into my hair. The
pressure of my hands forced his body to stillness as my mouth
worked magic on his senses.
I played with him, with my tongue, my lips, my teeth, the warm
cavern of my mouth, alternating sucking, licking, nipping,
keeping him off-balance. When his groans told me he was getting
desperate, I would stop, no more than one finger stroking his
length, until he quieted. Then I would resume. I wanted him
frenzied.
"Qui-Gon!" He was virtually incoherent.
"Yes, Padawan?" My breath caressed the tip. He knew what I
wanted.
"Please, Master, let me move. Please." The pressure of my hands
softened, signaling my permission. He was insane, hips jerking,
bucking into my mouth, hands twisting in my hair, sweetly
satisfying moans above my head. My hands gliding over the
smooth skin of his thighs and abdomen inspired him to faster
thrusts. The slickness of my mouth became a conduit for his
explosive energy. I drank as much of his release as I could, my
throat muscles working rapidly.
He collapsed on me, muscles trembling. My race horse had
expended all his stamina in his last dash to completion.
Raising the covers, I tucked his unresisting form next to mine,
giving him lingering kisses. He tasted himself and asked for
more, his tongue exploring my mouth, seeking the last traces.
"Master - " He halted his words. We kissed more, bodies
burrowing together, as if we could merge into one skin, long
legs entwining, arms wrapped around each other's torsos.
"Qui-Gon. You aren't satisfied."
"Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm very satisfied. But still too tired for
more." He would be a challenge for me, I hoped for many years.
I wouldn't broach the issue of bonding tonight, but I knew I
would eventually. Or more likely, he would beat me to it. I
wanted to tell him that I could stop being a Jedi for him, if I
had to, but I didn't want to overwhelm him. His head nuzzled
into the curve of my shoulder and neck. With a flick of the
Force, I extinguished the lights.
"Qui-Gon?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" He was replete and sleepy, the heavy laziness
of his satiated body an agreeable sensation against my own.
"I never have quite understood the part of the Code - there is
no passion; there is serenity." Nervousness filled his
confession.
I laughed. Obviously, every Padawan must struggle with this
concept. Sometimes I wondered if any of us understood it. Maybe
we all pretended, afraid to question a maxim set in the stone
of time. "For you, Obi-Wan, it should be - when there is
passion, there is serenity. Because I feel astonishingly serene
at this moment."
He yawned as he drifted off to sleep, happiness in his tone.
"That shall be our personal version. For all our years and
years together."
I stroked that beloved head, fighting sleep myself, wishing to
relish this peaceful time, my beautiful lover in my arms. Our
years and years together sounded very good to me. Obi-Wan
Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn, Master and Padawan, lovers, eventually
to become Master and Knight, bondmates. "Yes, love, just for
us."
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