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First Nights

by Graendal

Returning to the Temple for the first time with Qui-Gon Jinn, his Master, was a special experience for Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had not returned to the Temple since leaving for Bandomeer, thinking that his chance to become a Jedi was lost. Now he was coming back, and at the side of a much-coveted Master. Not only that, but he had been seasoned by missions and field experience. So much so that he'd almost begun to think they might never return to the Temple at all.

His Master stood tall by his side, gazing calmly through the viewport as their transport settled to a hover platform that would shuttle them to the Temple entry. Obi-Wan felt pride keenly as he glaced at the tall Jedi who had finally accepted him as Padawan. During the eleven months they had been together, he had grown to care deeply for Qui-Gon Jinn, a bond of trust, respect, and friendship developing between himself and the older man, even if there was not always perfect understanding between them.

Obi-Wan had been deeply pleased when that trusting rapport began to develop and strengthen. His Master had come into his life a year or two later in Obi-Wan's development than most Masters chose Padawans, but they seemed to be making up for lost time adequately. He knew that some Master and Padawan pairs of years' standing did not have the depth of mutual trust that already existed between himself and Qui-Gon.

The Jedi moved as the hatch unfolded and Obi-Wan heeled him as was proper, a pace to the left and a pace back. He folded his arms into his sleeves in imitation of his elder, unconsciously presenting a unified and dignified front to any onlookers. There were only a few technicians and astromech droids to greet them as they strode across the flat surface, and Obi-Wan ignored the slight vertigo that washed over him as it began to move, tracking smoothly toward the main dock at the Temple. There were Jedi there, going about their routine tasks, some waiting to step onto the platform and be ferried to the waiting transport.

Qui-Gon had let him radio ahead and Bant was waiting for him at the gate. He made out her gentle features well before the platform drew near the dock, and stepped eagerly toward the edge, anticipating the greeting, his vertigo forgotten.

With a small smile, Qui-Gon extended his hand very slightly in caution, reminding Obi-Wan to wait, and the Padawan did, bouncing on his heels slightly. Bant had begun to wave to him, attracting attention, and a large number of the Jedi were watching as the platform docked. Qui-Gon's hand fell, letting Obi-Wan surge forward happily to hug his friend.

"How long will you be here, Obi-Wan?" Bant asked eagerly, sparing a polite nod for the waiting Master.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure, and Qui-Gon answered for him. "We're due a two-week rest leave. After that, it depends upon our assignment."

Bant nodded politely again and Obi-Wan smiled at his Master. The older Jedi stifled an amused grin. His apprentice was fairly bursting with energy and eagerness. He took pity on the boy. "Obi-Wan, why don't you spend the afternoon as you like. You know where my quarters are, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," the Padawan nodded eagerly.

"I'll see you there at tenth hour, then," Qui-Gon flicked his fingers slightly, and couldn't restrain a smile as Obi-Wan and Bant managed only a few dignified steps before breaking into a delighted trot, and then a full-out run. Obi-Wan had many connections to renew and much to catch up on, Qui-Gon thought, pleased. It was good that they'd finally been permitted to return to the Temple for a time.

As for himself, there was a lengthy debriefing session to attend, and then he had certain responsibilities to take care of that had probably not even occurred to his apprentice yet.

Obi-Wan found himself at large for an hour around midafternoon while Bant was in class, and so he chose to go to the Padawans' Lounge. It was his first visit there since being accepted, and he was nervous when he stepped in the door, until he realized that many of these people were old friends and acquaintances, some fresh out of their Initiates' garb, if he could judge by the length of their braids. He filtered into the part of the lounge that seemed to contain mainly people of his own age, aware of a number of surprised glances and glances that checked for a braid on him. Few of these people had expected him to come back. He ignored them shyly, eyes focusing on an old friend.

Jandar Tal was sitting amidst a crush of eagerly chattering padawans, listening avidly to the discussion that surrounded him. The silky-furred Vir'hul was perhaps a year younger than Obi-Wan, but that had never mattered to either of them, and when Jandar spotted his friend, he squeezed over to create room for Obi-Wan to sit down next to him.

Just as Obi-Wan settled there erupted a chorus of shouts and hoots of glee, and Obi-Wan blinked, baffled. Jandar leaned over to his ear. "Ajra just had his First," he explained wryly. "He's telling everyone in the academy who will listen."

"Like us?" Obi-Wan grinned, and Jandar blushed a pale yellow, then grinned back at him. They turned their attention to the Padawan in the center of the circle. Ajra, confident of the rapt interest of his audience, was stretching his tale to whet their interest.

"I knew I'd find my pillow gone when Master Bazril wasn't in the common room when I got home," he bragged.

"Were you scared?" A wry titter greeted the question, and Ajra puffed out his chest.

"Not me. Master Bazril is sweet." He paused, widening his grin lecherously. "Very sweet."

Obi-Wan squirmed a little, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He didn't like to hear Ajra talking so publicly and disrespectfully about what they had all been taught should have been a very private, cherished moment. Jandar noticed his discomfort and gave Obi-Wan a sympathetic smile.

"Ajra's just a big mouth," he murmured.

"Yeah," Obi-Wan agreed. But his discomfort did not stem wholly from Ajra's insensitive boasting. He hadn't thought about the eventuality of his own First in some time-- as a matter of fact, not since before he had been sent to Bandomeer and found his place at Qui-Gon Jinn's side. When he'd turned twelve, he was officially of age that he was permitted to become sexually active, but as an Initiate, he'd had no one to teach him more than he learned in the simple Basic Sexuality seminar given to all Initiates. There had been no one waiting to gently usher him into that mysterious and intimidating activity that was spoken of in awed, carefully hidden whispers among the Initiates. Obi-Wan had been relieved-- he was small for his age, and insecure, and not particularly interested in reproduction, more confused and embarrassed by the dreams he'd occasionally begun to have than intrigued by them. He'd simply set the matter aside, deciding he would come to terms with it when he must, and forgotten it.

He'd heard a few discussions even then, from species that matured faster than humans and from individual human friends who had matured more quickly than Obi-Wan, but his knowledge had come in fragments and was woefully incomplete. All that he truly knew was the mechanics of coupling and the simple steps of the Ritual of Offering. All initiates were taught that much late in their eleventh year.

The ritual was simple. A Padawan, choosing not to explore his own sexuality among his peers, could resort to his Master for the guidance and nurturing he needed, so that the experience could take place in an environment of trust and support. If their species were compatible, and if both were willing, they would engage in a short instructional relationship.

Some Padawans could not make use of this system. Not all padawans were compatible with their own Masters. Some very few were approached by Knights and Masters of more compatible species with whom they had formed close friendships. Some Padawans chose not to wait for their Masters and experimented among one another. It was said that somehow, the Master always knew when that had happened, and did not make the Offer.

Obi-Wan knew that almost all Padawans experienced their Firsts by fifteen, one way or another. Obi-Wan had been out of the temple now for nearly a year at Qui-Gon's side, and would be fourteen in almost two months. He supposed that their return would give him the opportunity to choose a partner and experience that rite of passage for himself.

Jandar smiled at him, and leaned to whisper again. "I had my First with Master Kat'k a month ago." The Vir'hul blushed again, brighter yellow this time, a delicate shade behind his fur.

Obi-Wan felt himself swallow, suddenly feeling conspicuous. How many of the Padawans here had already taken that step, as Jandar and Ajra had? How many had done so with their Masters?

"It was scary," Jandar confided, and Obi-Wan ignored Ajra's increasingly improbable boasting, preferring to listen to his friend. "When I found my pillow gone, it took me an hour to work up my courage and go to my Master's bed. But it was all right." Jandar smiled shyly. "She understood."

"Did it... change anything? Between you?" Obi-Wan didn't quite meet Jandar's eyes, but he could not help but ask.

Jandar hesitated. "Some. I think..." he hesitated. "It's like... I see her in a different way now. Not just as a Master, but as a person, too. As a person I could trust... with anything." He smiled a little, very shy. Obi-Wan felt his throat threaten to close, understanding that Jandar had just shared something far more personal than the disgusting anatomical details that Ajra was now confiding in a carrying stage-whisper.

Obi-Wan Kenobi suddenly wondered what he would find waiting for him when he entered his own Master's quarters for the first time that night. Not a First; he knew instinctively that Qui-Gon Jinn was more sensitive than that, wise enough to let his Padawan settle in to his new lodgings before considering such a lesson, but it would be a first night nonetheless... a first night in a new home. And then... then there would be other nights, a long future of growing to come. He drew a slow, nervous breath. It seemed he had much to think on.

When the tenth hour approached, Obi-Wan parted reluctantly from his friends and set out to find Qui-Gon's quarters. He had a fair idea of their location, but it took him longer than expected to seek them out. Only as he reached the door and tried to work up his courage to try the palm lock did it occur to him that he should have visited his own rooms and retrieved some of his possessions, but it was too late for that now. Obi-Wan straightened his posture and reached timidly, setting his hand on the lock..

In spite of his nervousness, the door opened to him immediately, and he stepped inside.

Qui-Gon lay reclined casually on a low leather couch, a data reader on his knees. Obi-Wan blinked, a little startled-- his Master wore a thin blue silk robe, loosely belted around his middle, and his hair was down. His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair and his hand was at his temple, bracing his head and holding back the flow of his soft brown mane. His feet were bare.

Perhaps it was merely the unfamiliar setting, the unexpected and unusually casual clothes, or the posture of perfect relaxation that Obi-Wan suddenly realized Qui-Gon had never indulged while they were away from the Temple and potentially unsafe. Or perhaps it was the awareness that had been heightened by the discussion with Jandar-- an awareness of his Master not as an austere, unapproachable figure of almost mythical proportions... but as a man. A man who might take a lover. A man who might... Obi-Wan gulped.

A man who might one day offer himself to be Obi-Wan's First.

And just as the thought struck him with its torrent of ambivalent confusion and astonishing heat, Qui-Gon's finger finished its slow trail to the bottom of the page on his reader, and he lifted his blue gaze to his padawan with a warm, welcoming smile.

Obi-Wan felt his knees go to water, and his tongue seemed to wither.

Qui-Gon set the reader aside on a low wooden table, rising to his feet, stretching, and Obi-Wan stared at him mutely, unable to remember language or thought, dissolved in wonder. He could understand Jandar's confession of fear-- he felt it. He thought of his friend's shy happiness-- and with a heartracing rush of nervous excitement, he realized that he wanted it for himself.

"You're just on time, Padawan." Qui-Gon seemed oblivious to the torrent of shock coursing through Obi-Wan.

"I forgot to bring anything," Obi-Wan heard his voice as though it belonged so someone else. He marveled. It sounded so normal...

"That's not a problem." Qui-Gon beckoned to him, striding across the living area, leading Obi-Wan around a small corner, to a recessed entryway. "This is your home now." His Master's tones were warm, and the door opened smoothly.

Obi-Wan stared inside. All his things! The models he had made and hung from his ceiling in his Initiate's cubicle now hung from the ceiling of this, his new room. Qui-Gon had brought his civilian clothing, his shoes-- it all peeped out of neatly filled drawers that Qui-Gon had left half-open so that he could find what he needed. He would be too large for most of it now, but it was all here... and he had a closet instead of a footlocker, and there were new, fresh Padawan robes and tunics hanging there, made for his growing body, and new boots beneath them to replace the worn ones he had on.

And there was a bed, neatly made, one side of the coverlet turned down and made inviting for him. His heart rose into his throat and he found himself without speech for the second time in as many minutes. He stepped forward, filling the awkward moment with motion, letting his hand fall on the headboard of his new bed. He gazed up at Qui-Gon, helpless to express his thanks.

"Welcome home, Padawan." His Master smiled.

"You shouldn't have," Obi-Wan managed faintly.

"I wanted to." Qui-Gon shrugged. "It didn't take long." The Jedi Master stepped back, into the doorway, preparing to leave Obi-Wan's room. "Pleasant dreams, Obi-Wan." He stepped back again, and closed the door.

For the first time that night, and then again on many nights thereafter, Obi-Wan dreamed of Qui-Gon Jinn, of his Master's broad hands touching him, he knew not how, and of tender looks from gentle eyes, and of warmth unimaginable that permeated him, sank deep into heart and mind and body, and exploded in bliss.

As the days of their stay at the temple passed, Obi-Wan gradually began to settle in and feel at home in his share of Qui-Gon's quarters, though he still felt shy and awkward spending time with his Master in the shared common room. He stayed out of it as much as possible without being impolite, giving his Master privacy. When he had free time, he usually spent it out in the Temple with his friends.

He soon discovered that instead of the exception, discussion of "Firsts" were the rule among his age-peers. During these discussions Obi-Wan always sat still, listening or ignoring politely, never offering encouragement or commentary to the discussions. Naturally, this drew its own brand of attention.

"Have you had your First, Obi-Wan?"

"Are you waiting for your Master?"

"We heard he didn't want you. Perhaps he still doesn't!"

He learned to answer the questions and the taunts with a shrug and downcast eyes. After a while, they grew fewer and farther between, when it was observed that they did not pique his temper.

Two weeks stretched into three, and a month became two as Qui-Gon became involved in a trial proceeding in the Senate, with no end in sight.

And Obi-Wan waited, as his fourteenth birthday passed with friends and gentle festivities. He spent his days in lessons and in building friendships, growing stronger in the Force, learning always. And he spent his nights waiting quietly for his Master.

The small circle of his best friends rarely talked in the discussions, but Obi-Wan came to know that of them, he was the only one who had not yet undertaken that rite of passage that he had begun to yearn for on his first night back in the Jedi Temple. At last Bant approached him, gentle and sympathetic.

"Obi-Wan, you seem depressed," she commented after one particularly raucous bull-session-- again featuring Ajra, who claimed an ongoing affair with his Master.

Obi-Wan shrugged, his safe answer.

"Is it Master Jinn?" Bant moved up beside Obi-Wan comfortably, not waiting for an answer. "He hasn't offered to teach you yet," she guessed.

Obi-Wan made a brave face. "I was thinking of asking Genia," he tossed the words off lightly. She was pretty, and lively, and had never teased Obi-Wan about his embarrassing lack of knowledge.

Bant just shook her head. "You're still a new padawan. Many of the padawans have been with their Masters since they were ten. You've been with Qui-Gon only a year," she spoke gently. "You have to get to know one another first."

"Perhaps he will know me well enough when I am fifty," Obi-Wan tried for the light tone again, but there was a sharp edge on the words.

"If you truly believe that is so, then you should ask Genia."

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged.

"I didn't think you wanted her as your First," Bant commented a little wryly. "Obi-Wan, it doesn't always happen. Particularly when Master and Padawan are, well..." she hesitated. "The same gender."

Obi-Wan looked at her miserably, blue eyes brimming with tears. "Do you think Genia would agree, Bant?"

"I think you should wait a while longer, Obi-Wan." She patted his shoulder encouragingly. "Wait until the time is right."

And so Obi-Wan waited, and the months slowly flowed past.

There were more missions, even some missions where he was forced to share a bed with his Master. In those cases he often lay awake, nestled against Qui-Gon's broad chest, held lightly in warm, strong arms, listening to his master breathe softly, yearning for rest but worried that the dreams would betray him.

His peers' gossip had increased the explicitness of the imaginings, and they no longer pursued him solely in sleep. He had learned the practice of self-pleasure and indulged it secretly, usually finding his Master's name on his lips as the spasms overtook him. He was glad he had gained control of his mental shields.

And as the months passed, entering the temporary quarters or even the home he shared with Qui-Gon progressed from an uncomfortable experience, to a nerve-wracking one, to sheer torment.

It was not that he felt unwelcome or unwanted-- Qui-Gon was unfailingly gracious and relaxed in their home, and the division of the space had come fairly easily to them both. It was rather that he dreaded to step inside his room each night, for fear of what he might... or might not... see.

Every evening after classes and social events or after meals or demonstrations of fighting katas or whatever else might call Obi-Wan from his room and leave him to return in the late evening, he had to face dread and hope, had to pluck up his courage to enter his room and find out whether Qui-Gon had begun the ritual he so longed for.

He would know the moment he saw whether or not his pillow was missing. So difficult, entering nonchalantly, pausing for conversation or just nodding a greeting and trotting on into his bedroom.

So hard pretending that he did not want to simply halt outside his door and have nervous hysterics before he opened it to inevitably find his bed lying neatly made within, both pillows plumped, blankets pulled snug around them just as he had left them that morning. And the disappointment after he found it every evening was even worse than the agonized despair of anticipation.

He would sit at his data terminal and think of Genia, fingers poised to type but never moving, until he switched it off and slid into his bed, to wait for another day that would end the same way. Over and over again.

It should have become clear to Qui-Gon long ago, through whatever methods Masters used, that Obi-Wan was not particularly interested in experimenting with his peers. And yet his Master quietly ignored his apprentice's dilemma, apparently entirely unaware of it.

"How are you, Obi-Wan?" Bant's gurgling tones were warm and sympathetic. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had returned from a short mission to Dantooine, one of many that had kept them shuttling between Coruscant and outer worlds for nearly a year. It was perhaps a month until Obi-Wan's fifteenth birthday, and the question had special significance. Both Padawans knew it.

"Bant, I'm getting desperate," Obi-Wan joked, trying to hide his unhappiness. "Interested?"

She smacked at him playfully, wide lips stretching into a smile. "I'm not that desperate, Kenobi. Try Ajra."

The boasting Ajra's Master had become aware of his activities, and he had been promptly silenced. Obi-Wan had seen him once or twice since then, and whatever the expression Ajra was wearing might have conveyed, sexual satisfaction was not a part of it.

"Why don't you take the initiative, Obi-Wan?" Bant suggested suddenly, her large eyes brightening.

"Me?" Obi-Wan nearly choked on his milk. "What, am I supposed to go into his room and take his pillow and put it in my bed?"

Bant tilted her head. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."

Obi-Wan stared at her with disbelief. "You've got to be kidding."

"Well, one way or another... you would know." The Mon Calamari shook her head. "You can't go on like this, Obi-Wan."

"You're right," Obi-Wan sighed wryly. There weren't enough free hours in the day for him to sneak away and assuage his growing frustration, and on the mission to Dantooine he hadn't had a moment to himself. It had been unbearable, and his miserable squirming as they shared the single bed they'd been offered had annoyed Qui-Gon until he offered to sleep on the floor, words that had mortified Obi-Wan and caused him to lie petrified for the rest of the night.

Something had to change, and if it didn't change by his fifteenth birthday, Obi-Wan would simply make good on his threat, and offer himself to Genia, or to another of the Padawans in the Temple.

That evening, Qui-Gon was late returning from the Senate. A note was waiting on the message board saying that he would be gone until after mid-cycle, and Obi-Wan found himself alone in their rooms for an extended period. He was startled to realize that it was for the first time since he'd moved in almost two years ago. What better chance-- and excuse-- to explore?

He had never set foot in Qui-Gon's rooms, and had glimpsed only a small part of the area through the door when Qui-Gon went in and out. Timidly he glanced around, feeling foolish, before he laid his hand on the knob and pushed.

There were two rooms, to his one-- he stepped into the first one, surprised to find that it was a seating area. He blinked. Then Qui-Gon had little need to use the common room he shared with Obi-Wan. So why did he?

There were bookshelves, heavy wooden furniture with well-used cushions. Comfortably worn. They had obviously been favored by Qui-Gon at one time, though he usually sat in the common room now to read or play strategy games with Obi-Wan in the evenings. Obi-Wan touched the back of one chair experimentally. Might Qui-Gon be using their common room now... simply because he liked his padawan's company?

The thought warmed his heart. He moved about the room, taking care not to touch the few objects of art and miscellaneous stones and pieces of wood-- some carved, some not-- that lay about.

This room was not his focus, interesting though it was.

At last he worked up his courage to enter Qui-Gon's bedroom. The empty bed looked very long and very wide, specially made to accommodate Qui-Gon's large frame. It, like Obi-Wan's own, was neatly made. The dark green coverlet looked warm and felt very soft beneath his fingertips as he shyly reached and touched it. His eyes were drawn to the pillows in spite of himself, as he remembered Bant's recommendation.

Stepping forward, boots ghosting soft on the woven rug, he let one gentle fingertip trace over the curve of his Master's pillow. Qui-Gon's personal belongings lay about, intimate things-- a razor, a comb, thongs to bind back the top of his hair. His silk robe had been folded neatly and lay draped over the back of a chair. His message terminal and data readers were quiet. Several potted plants twined luxuriantly up the walls and draped over the windows that faced out onto the balcony.

He thought of Qui-Gon, thought of his Master moving through the rooms and entering Obi-Wan's, as Obi-Wan had done to his. Thought of his Master gently drawing back the coverlet, the blankets, and lifting Obi-Wan's pillow, bringing it in here to lie on his own mattress. He thought of himself entering his room to find the pillow gone, to know the ritual offer had been made. He thought of himself slipping into Qui-Gon's personal sitting room, trying to move silently, hand hovering over the knob indecisively.. He imagined the sensation of half-terror, half-desire that would fill him as his palm closed on the cold metal, pictured himself opening the door and stepping in, moving to stand at Qui-Gon's bedside.

He could speak to Qui-Gon then, if he chose. There were ritual phrases of thanks for finding the lost item, and reaching to take it, carrying it back to his room-- that would constitute a polite refusal. Or he could agree. He could lie down next to Qui-Gon, placing his head on his own pillow, accepting the offer of a shared bed. Accepting the offer of shared bodies, of shared knowledge. Of shared trust.

Obi-Wan shuddered with longing. He bent his head in shame at his own intrusion, and softly left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the bed undisturbed.

Qui-Gon strode down the hall toward his quarters, relief providing an extra spring in his step. For once the Senators had finished earlier than projected, allowing him to return home. He looked forward to a good night's rest.

Keying the door, he stepped inside, reaching to remove his cloak. The sight that met his eyes stopped him. Obi-Wan was standing across the room, staring at him wild-eyed, face pale, hectic spots of color in his cheeks.

"Whatever is the matter, Padawan?" Qui-Gon stepped forward, forgetting himself in his concern for Obi-Wan.

"You... you said you wouldn't be back till after mid-cycle..." Obi-Wan faltered, and his cheeks filled in with deep crimson as Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to, my young padawan?" He felt a smile building under the stern tone, but repressed it. Boys would be boys. There was no telling what sort of mischief Obi-Wan might be up to.

"I..." Obi-Wan looked so miserable that Qui-Gon relented.

"It can wait till morning," he murmured. "Don't let it spoil your sleep."

Obi-Wan stood paralyzed as Qui-Gon moved away, casting a half-hearted look at the pantry and then visibly deciding in favor of bed.

He wasn't ready.

Force, he wasn't ready.

As the sitting room door closed behind his Master's back, Obi-Wan fled into his own room, deliberately avoiding a glance at his bed and what lay upon it. He had seconds, minutes at most. He'd planned to be in his bed, faking sleep, so that when Qui-Gon quietly came in and took the pillow away, he could pretend that it had never happened.

Now, he decided on the spur of the moment, his best bet would be to hide in the bathroom until his Master had come and gone. He made a lot of noise, brushing his teeth fiercely, combing his hair twice-- reweaving his padawan braid, though it didn't need it-- and washed his hands thoroughly, considered taking a shower. He'd already done that earlier, though, when he'd thought he would have all the time he needed.

He checked his chrono, fidgeting desperately. Force, he already had an aching erection, even though he knew Qui-Gon would be long gone when he finally dared to creep out.

Had it been long enough? How long had it taken for Qui-Gon to discover his missing pillow? Would he even think to realize what it meant? Obi-Wan tipped the remainder of his rinse water slowly into the toilet, stalling for time, then flushed. There was very little reasonable excuse to remain inside any longer. He only hoped that he did not come out before Qui-Gon had gone.

Struggling to maintain composure, wishing he had some way to hide the signs of his arousal, Obi-Wan opened the door.

His room was dark, and he did not quite dare look at the bed, moving forward slowly, eyes on his toes. The bare floor was cold under his feet, and his hands and toes were like ice.

And then he knew.

There was the soft sound of breathing waiting for him in the darkness.

Obi-Wan felt his stomach evaporate, leaving him hollow and trembling. Qui-Gon lay in his bed, waiting for him. He faltered in an ecstasy of agitated anticipation, of nervous worry. Obi-Wan took a trembling step forward, then another. Would this be a chore for Qui-Gon, an onerous duty? He shouldn't have done it. He'd forced Qui-Gon to decide. It would have been better if he'd waited.

He hesitated, agonized. "You don't have to stay," his voice trembled, breaking embarrassingly.

"I wouldn't have if I hadn't wanted to."

How could his Master be so calm? Obi-Wan's heart was trying to thump its way through his ribs and out of his chest. He could barely breathe. His thighs came in contact with the mattress, and he stopped, felt his fingertips graze warm skin as his hand swayed with the loss of forward momentum.

"Can we..." he licked his dry lips. "Can we turn the lights on?"

Qui-Gon laughed softly, and the small apprentice's bed creaked as he shifted. "It's your First, Obi-Wan. Do as you wish."

"You won't mind?" Obi-Wan was appalled at how shy his voice sounded.

"Close your eyes," Qui-Gon warned, and Obi-Wan heard the bedside lamp click. He squeezed his lids tight at the last moment, more out of embarrassment than a desire to protect his eyes from the sudden brightness.

When he opened them, he knew, he would see Qui-Gon lying in his bed.

He eased his eyes open slowly, until he was gazing down at his Master. Qui-Gon lay under his sheets, his blankets. The bed looked absurdly small, definitely not large enough for two, but Obi-Wan realized with sudden, fierce possessiveness that he did not want to suggest they move into Qui-Gon's rooms. This was his, this was for him. It would happen in his bed.

His Master wore no shirt or bedjacket, and Obi-Wan realized that his clothing lay draped over the chair at his padawan's study table. All of his clothing.

Obi-Wan began to unfasten his sleeping tunic with unsteady fingers, not quite sure he dared to lift the bedclothes and slide in next to his Master. He slipped the tunic from his shoulders, suddenly embarrassed by the slightness of his frame, the pale smoothness of his body. He still hadn't grown much, compared to many of his peers. Compared to Qui-Gon, he was insignificant, inconsequential.

He paused with his hands at the waist of his leggings, embarrassed. His erection had already made a dark wet spot on the cloth, and he covered it shyly with his hand.

Understanding his Padawan's nervousness, Qui-Gon rolled to his side and nestled into the mattress, letting his eyes close.

Obi-Wan slowly reached and turned down the light until it was a dim golden glow, then turned his back and slid the leggings down his slim hips and kicked them toward the closet. Taking a deep breath, he turned, reaching for the corner of sheet and blanket that lay invitingly on the mattress. He lifted it, shyly averting his eyes from what it revealed, and eased himself down into the narrow space that remained for him.

Warmth against him, unimaginably soft and vibrantly vital. How come I don't feel like that? Obi-Wan wondered, conscious that he must feel terribly cold and tense against that warm ocean of skin that enveloped him now as Qui-Gon's arms very gently slipped about his slender form. He shivered once, reminding himself that this was his bed, that he was in control, that Qui-Gon was the visitor and not the aggressor.

It gave him the confidence he needed to compose himself, and to begin separating the sensations he was experiencing into coherent units instead of one nerve-shattering mass of glorious terrified anticipation and desire.

He focused outward first.

The interior of the blankets was warm from Qui-Gon's body heat, and they whispered against him subtly, caressing his sensitized skin. He could feel a cool draft curling under the too-narrow blanket to brush his arms, and the warm strength of Qui-Gon's left arm wrapped around his waist, the huge palm and spread fingers covering almost all of his chest. The other arm pillowed his head, muscle shifting slightly under his cheek as Qui-Gon stirred very faintly behind him, nestling their bodies together comfortably.

It would almost be enough to lie like this... enough, that is, if his body wasn't on fire, the burning demand between his thighs overwhelming all rational thought as he felt his Master's warm breath against the nape of his neck, and the soft silken shiver of Qui-Gon's hair brushing over the skin of his shoulder.

"Master," Obi-Wan moaned, instinctively snuggling back against the big man's body.

He could feel Qui-Gon's hard muscular stomach against his back, taut nipples against his ribs, and there was softness and the crisp curl of hair against his hips. His Master wasn't aroused. Obi-Wan blushed, uncertain once more. "Master, why didn't you..." Obi-Wan's voice trailed off into helpless uncertainty, and he realized how terribly awkward he felt, how unsure.

"I wanted you to be ready. Fully willing and fully aware. I wanted there to be no chance that you thought you must agree to accept the offer in order to be polite or to spare my feelings, or because you thought it was necessary for the good of your training," Qui-Gon breathed, feathering his lips against Obi-Wan's neck softly. "I wanted..." Qui-Gon hesitated, nuzzling Obi-Wan for a moment, hands shifting on his padawan's body. "I wanted to be certain that you wanted me, that you wanted this of me."

"I..." Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon's hand slid down his belly and stroked gently over him. He could feel his Master's length beginning to stir beneath his backside, and a flicker of panic shot through him. He had heard so many descriptions of sex, including some horror stories about what might happen. He wondered if Qui-Gon would...

"Don't be afraid." Qui-Gon brushed his lips along Obi-Wan's neck. "I won't do anything you don't desire."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan breathed, abandoning himself to the gentle kisses that floated against his neck and the warm velvet tongue that lapped gently behind his ear. Those kisses trailed back down and moved along his shoulder with slow, deliberate grace, and Qui-Gon's hand moved up and down on his belly soothingly, gentling his fears in the face of the unknown even as his Master's erection swelled slowly against him. Force, Qui-Gon was huge. He felt vulnerable and small inside those strong arms, where he should have felt protected, but he also felt that molten heat inside him, driving desire through him like wind driving wildfire.

A gentle, painless touch of teeth at the join of shoulder and neck, and Obi-Wan arched, startled, then relaxed. "Roll over," Qui-Gon invited him, and then helped Obi-Wan turn in the narrow bed. "That's better."

Obi-Wan gazed into his Master's eyes and saw heat there, heat and desire and inexpressible tenderness. Then the long lashes closed and Qui-Gon leaned forward, brushing Obi-Wan's lips with his own. "Don't be afraid, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice was very gentle, as mild and reassuring as his soft eyes. And then the Jedi Master leaned forward, very slowly, very delicately, and kissed him. "Perhaps I erred in waiting for you." He gently slid his fingertips through the short ruff of golden-blond hair. "I did not mean to distress you."

Obi-Wan blushed, confused, but Qui-Gon's admission of fallibility touched him, and he relaxed slightly in the older man's arms.

Qui-Gon smiled a little, lashes catching the golden lamplight, and leaned in, hesitating with his lips just brushing Obi-Wan's, letting the youth lean very slowly into the kiss, letting him deepen it, responding with reassuring warmth, a soft murmur of contentment in the older man's throat.

Sweetness eternal in that slow movement of lip and tongue, and Obi-Wan felt a slow erosion of fear, a slow erosion of the pedestal upon which he'd placed his aloof, austere Master. Gradually, Obi-Wan lost himself in the moment, in the graceful glide of the wet velvet tongue in his mouth, in the warm depths of the wide mouth that opened to admit his own shy tongue.

After some time, Obi-Wan realized that he was squirming urgently against Qui-Gon, lost in his kiss, and even as he became aware of it, Qui-Gon pulled back just a little, pressing a warm kiss to the end of his nose, and another to the cleft of his chin. "Slowly, love," Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan flushed again, shyness quivering in him, listening to that single word. His eyes sought Qui-Gon's, a hesitant question in their crystalline blue depths.

Qui-Gon's mouth curved in a slow, crooked smile, and he brushed his thumb over Obi-Wan's lips. "We have a lifetime, if you want it."

Obi-Wan shivered to the soles of his feet, feeling as though he were drowning in passion-darkened blue eyes. "Master..." he whispered, voice tremulous.

This time Qui-Gon met his kisses more firmly, still letting Obi-Wan set the pace. His nervousness was almost forgotten; he was trembling with need as he pressed himself against the large body of the man who held him so gently. Obi-Wan slid his arm around his Master's neck, dragging him even closer, the sensation of their kisses almost more than he could bear, and yet they were agonizingly incomplete, not enough-- he had to have more, had to have all of Qui-Gon, had to have him now.

He could feel his Master's hand trembling as it smoothed over his body, tracing the angle of shoulderblade, the curl of spine, pausing for a moment flat in the small of his back, then tightening against him, drawing him close against Qui-Gon's warm, flat chest and belly. Obi-Wan shifted, pushing his slight weight against the huge body, rolling it underneath him, settling onto its breadth. Qui-Gon's legs parted slightly, accommodating his, and Obi-Wan sighed a shuddering breath into his Master's mouth.

Qui-Gon was his, wholly his, willing and beautiful and strong beneath him. How could he ever have been afraid or uncertain of this? Qui-Gon's very aura emanated gentleness, contentment, desire, and a pure, tender sweetness that Obi-Wan had craved all his life without knowing what it was that he wanted, what he needed. The padawan lifted himself for a moment, gazing down to meet the half-lidded dark indigo eyes that waited for him.

"I love you," his voice faltered with sincerity.

"And I you, padawan," warm breath caressed his face, and a long arm slid around his neck, drawing him in for another mind-melting kiss. Qui-Gon's other hand settled on the small of Obi-Wan's back again, and Obi-Wan instinctively squirmed against his Master.

Qui-Gon shifted slightly under him, the big powerful hips lifting him, then resettling. The young Jedi gasped, feeling his Master's hardness shift to parallel his own, and he squirmed to meet it. The strong, wide hand pressed his back firmly for a moment, its sheer power stirring him, then releasing, then pressing again, showing him how to rock himself, and Obi-Wan obeyed, eyelashes falling shut, lips falling open, his hands closing over Qui-Gon's shoulders as he lost himself in the sensation of movement..

The warm hand guiding him, the hot lengths against his belly, his own and his Master's... Obi-Wan was gasping, soft mewling sounds tumbling from his lips, sweat spiking his hair, but he forced himself to open his eyes, staring down at his Master's ecstasy, watching Qui-Gon's throat work as he swallowed, his head falling slightly to one side, his loose hair sliding over the pillow. His face was half-slack, tongue flickering out to wet his lips, the slightest crease of urgency in his forehead.

Obi-Wan pressed himself down harder, watched that mouth fall open in a helpless moan, stroked his fingers along the loose, bristled skin of the strong neck, over the arched hollows behind the collarbones, felt Qui-Gon's hips buck and met the thrust with a circular squirm.

Qui-Gon cried out hoarsely and suddenly both huge, hard hands were on his hips, pressing him down as Qui-Gon arched up into a bow, lifting Obi-Wan's slight body easily. Obi-Wan threw his head back, adding his own cry in chorus with his Master's, feeling heat pulse between them, wet and slippery on his belly.

He froze, gasping, sweat dripping onto Qui-Gon's chest, his padawan braid trailing almost to the man's nipple.

Qui-Gon crushed him into a fiercely gentle hug, rolling Obi-Wan to his side, curling his body around the slender form of his padawan, burying his face in Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan kissed at his ear softly, for a moment almost unsure which of them was most undone by what had happened, smiling senselessly into his Master's hair.

"Master?" Obi-Wan's voice was soft, shy.

"Yes, love?" The sated rumble purred against Obi-Wan's narrow chest.

"Tomorrow..." Obi-Wan hesitated, feeling a moment of fear. Was he presuming too much, as Ajra had done?

"Tomorrow, I believe," Qui-Gon murmured, turning his head to nuzzle a kiss to his padawan's lips, "you might return home to find your pillow waiting for you in my bed. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes, Master," Obi-Wan breathed eagerly, shifting to meet Qui-Gon's eyes, touched by the solicitous tenderness in his master's gaze. Qui-Gon smiled softly, stroking his wide palm down his apprentice's baby-smooth cheek. He drew his padawan against him softly, cradling Obi-Wan's head on his shoulder, and they fell asleep together.

When Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, he was deliciously warm, wrapped in the protective comfort of his Master's arms. Light streamed through the window, glowing on Qui-Gon's face, highlighting the tender crinkle of closed eyelids, the gentle tracery of lines on the sleep-drowned features, haloing bronze in the man's hair, which had just begun silvering in faint streaks at the temples.

Obi-Wan gazed at that face in rapt wonder, as though seeing it for the first time, and reached out with a hesitant finger to brush a strand of hair away that had caught in Qui-Gon's beard. The young padawan felt his heart swell with tenderness as he tucked the wayward strand behind Qui-Gon's ear and his Master shifted a little, lids tightening against the light, arms tightening too, snuggling him close.

His first night-- his first lover. His Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was his lover. Obi-Wan released a shuddering sigh, feeling his body respond to the intensely erotic thought.

Qui-Gon murmured softly, half-buried in dreams, as he felt Obi-Wan's passion stirring against him, and snuggled his padawan even closer, releasing a gusty sigh against the boy's cheek. Obi-Wan smiled, nuzzling his head into Qui-Gon's neck, kissing softly, licking at the folds of skin, tasting the salt of dried sweat on his lover's flesh. It tasted divine, and felt better.

Qui-Gon was stirring now, the contact increasing Obi-Wan's arousal. The young padawan was suddenly clasped close and rolled to his back, the heavy weight of his master resting half-over his body, and a broad palm slid down his cheek to cradle his jaw, lifting his mouth to meet a sleepy kiss.

"Good morning," Qui-Gon murmured, lifting his mouth, his voice rumbling low and husky with sleep. Obi-Wan just gazed up at him shyly, a soft flush tinting his cheeks, his mouth curving into a shy smile. Qui-Gon's sleepy eyes regarded him tenderly, a hint of uncertainty in the azure depths.

He nodded a little in answer to his Master's unspoken question, his smile growing as Qui-Gon's own lips curved, echoing his expression of joy and adding tenderness to it. "Master," Obi-Wan murmured, sliding his arm around Qui-Gon's neck and drawing him down for a kiss. He felt brazen and daring, but the big body acquiesced to his tug easily, and Qui-Gon's mouth was as hot and enticing as he remembered it, as easy to lose himself in.

"Padawan." The word had a hint of a chuckle, breathed against Obi-Wan's cheek, and Qui-Gon's huge hand slid down the side of his body, large callused fingers caressing tenderly. "So much we must do today," Qui-Gon murmured in his ear, then nipped at the lobe, teasing it with his tongue, and Obi-Wan shuddered deliriously at the sensation.

"But this first?" he dared to ask, blushing harder, seeking the passion-darkened indigo eyes with his own, reaching to lay his small hand over Qui-Gon's large one where it rested on his waist.

"Insatiable." Qui-Gon's voice was warm and amused, and he leaned back in and took another kiss, which Obi-Wan gave willingly, joyfully. Qui-Gon's thumb circled softly on his belly, then the big warm hand moved, bringing that thumb to stroke along the tautness of Obi-Wan's erection, and he stifled a sobbing gasp, arching against the weight that rested on him. Qui-Gon had only barely touched him the previous night, but now his Master was taking him in his palm, engulfing him with shocking delicacy for such a huge, hard hand, stroking with maddeningly gentle pressure.

"Lie still," his Master suggested, and shifted to kiss his way down Obi-Wan's neck, the gentle friction of beard and the liquid caress of lips and tongue igniting Obi-Wan, making him squirm and struggle with pleasure in spite of his best efforts, but Qui-Gon held him there effortlessly, distributing those patient, maddening kisses over his collarbone and down the center of his chest. Obi-Wan whimpered, one arm around his Master, the other scrabbling at the sheets as he struggled to contain himself, to wait, not to come here and now, but to know more of Qui-Gon's touch, more of his kiss, more of the gentle, considerate passion the man offered to him.

When Qui-Gon's hot, wet mouth covered his nipple, he could resist no longer, hips bucking upward frantically into the sheltering hand, mouth falling open in a choked scream of ragged ecstasy that might have been Qui-Gon's name, had Obi-Wan been coherent enough to remember language in that moment.

When he finally recovered his composure, he realized Qui-Gon was looking at him, face right above Obi-Wan's their noses almost touching. He could see himself mirrored in his Master's eyes, shocked, pleasure-dazed expression rapt and adoring and filled with wonder. He loved this man so much; such a gift it was to be with him now, such a gift to be his Padawan, to have the privilege of sharing Qui-Gon's life, to know the man and protect him, and to be known and protected. He smiled, reaching up to brush back the waterfall of tousled hair. Qui-Gon turned his face to nuzzle at Obi-Wan's fingertips, and Obi-Wan caressed him shyly, happiness threatening to overwhelm him.

"You said we had a lifetime, if I want it," he began, and suddenly Qui-Gon's finger was on his lips, sticky-wet with Obi-Wan's own essence, shushing him.

"Not yet, love," Qui-Gon murmured. "Wait a while to be sure." His eyes held the faintest hint of sadness.

Obi-Wan reluctantly obeyed, keeping his silence, but he parted his lips and let his tongue move between them to touch Qui-Gon's finger, tasting his own sour-salt savor on his Master's skin. Qui-Gon groaned, eyes darkening suddenly. "Obi-Wan," the sound sighed from the depths of his chest, half-longing, half-admonition.

Obi-Wan held Qui-Gon's eyes, licking delicately, opening his mouth to take in the fingertip, sucking it in to the second knuckle, flickering his tongue against the salty horn of the pad at the fingertip.

"Padawan," this time the word was a little sterner, but also more strained, and Qui-Gon's lids fluttered shut, his lashes lying dark against his cheeks, and he dampened his lips with his tongue.

Obi-Wan softly bit the finger he held, then released it. "It's your turn." He put steel behind the words, staring earnestly into Qui-Gon's eyes when they opened.

"This is for you, not for--"

Obi-Wan dragged his Master's head down again, ignoring the words that muffled against his mouth, squirming his thigh against the heated length of Qui-Gon's erection determinedly. "And I want to do this," he spoke breathlessly when he released Qui-Gon.

He pushed his Master over on his back, and began kissing his way down Qui-Gon's throat, over his taut nipples, and lower, enjoying the soft groans that his licks and light nips produced. Qui-Gon was right; they had much to do today, so he couldn't linger as he might have done, but he consoled himself with thoughts of the evening to come, dipping his tongue into the salt-sweetened hollow of his Master's navel.

Qui-Gon arched a little, muscles growing taut, and Obi-Wan caught his Master's thick shaft in his palm, caressing it lovingly. He bent forward and pressed a tentative kiss to the side of the crown, feeling his Master tense, hearing his shaky exhalation. He'd heard some of the bigger boys talk about this, and was determined to try it, though he hadn't quite been prepared for the size of Qui-Gon's erection.

Shyly, Obi-Wan kissed his way down the taut shaft, earning a soft, whispering groan from deep in his Master's throat. Emboldened, he licked his way back up, tickling the tip of his tongue around the flared ridge at the crown, feeling the soft foreskin shift beneath his gentle tonguing. Qui-Gon lay back, breath coming harsh in his chest, one hand gliding down to caress his padawan's cheek with shaking fingers.

Obi-Wan trailed a slow, delicate lick over the soft sheath of skin, tasting salt from moisture that had welled at the tip. He hesitated, reassured by the sharp savor of the taste, and then dared to lap gently at the tip itself, tongue delicately probing inside to lick at the moist slit.

Qui-Gon groaned, a bone-deep shudder wracking him, other hand moving down to stroke Obi-Wan's hair, not quite urging, but silently asking.

Yes. Obi-Wan softly pulled back the velvety sheath and laid his tongue against the crown, moving his head in a slow circle, tasting salt and slight bitterness, letting his upper lip come to rest against the head and then slide over it as he experimentally drew Qui-Gon into his mouth.

"I should be doing this for you," Qui-Gon's voice was a strained rasp.

"Later," Obi-Wan withdrew long enough to murmur, then moved over Qui-Gon's erection again, with more confidence this time, pushing back the foreskin with lips and tongue, sucking at the salty flavor that was just beginning to become familiar to him. This was his first too; his first time to take a man into his mouth, his first time to deliberately pleasure his Master, and he wanted to treasure the experience, enjoy the sensation, learn what drove Qui-Gon to the brink of ecstasy. Ajra had spoken of ensuring that Master Bazril would continue their affair by paying thorough attention to her pleasure. Obi-Wan would do nothing less for his beloved Master.

He moved a little, angling his head, sliding Qui-Gon further back into his mouth, almost to his throat, and sucked again, producing a most gratifying gasp from above. His eyes closed as he slid back toward the tip and then down again, a tiny bit further. Qui-Gon's hands clasped his face very tenderly. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, looking up into Qui-Gon's fiery, half-lidded indigo gaze. Qui-Gon held him still for a moment, a tender smile curving his sensual lips, and then moved his hips very slowly, drawing them back and pressing forward with infinite care, repeating the motion Obi-Wan had gifted him with.

Obi-Wan would have smiled, if he could, but settled for letting his eyes shine his love to his Master. Qui-Gon released him, and Obi-Wan resumed the motion himself, speeding it a bit, highly conscious of the threat of his teeth.

He added both hands to his task, stroking the unexplored length of shaft, caressing the soft velvet of his Master's testicles, and began to suck harder as he increased in speed and confidence. At last Qui-Gon warned him, gasping broken words, but Obi-Wan suddenly determined not to obey, continuing-- he had heard what he was supposed to do, and he could do it, for Qui-Gon Jinn.

Bitter heat flooded his mouth and Qui-Gon groaned his name brokenly, body quivering and jerking in the throes of orgasm. The young Jedi swallowed as much as he could, quickly, only a little of the fluid escaping his mouth. Qui-Gon pulled him away, dragging him up to lie along the broad, sweating length of his body, and Obi-Wan smiled into his dazed eyes, shy and hopeful.

"Obi-Wan," the name was a caress, and Qui-Gon bent to him, kissing away the spilled droplets in a way that made his Padawan blush crimson, unable to keep from smiling as he wrapped his arms around his Master's neck and nuzzled close. Then Qui-Gon was gently unwrapping his arms, and was moving down the front of Obi-Wan's body leaving a trail of kisses and nips, and he was engulfed in the warm liquid wetness of his Master's mouth, engulfed and swallowed easily, and he was thrusting up and up and up, unable to stop himself, unable to slow the crashing tidal wave of pleasure that flooded his brain and drowned him in fiery surges of ecstatic release.

"Now, Padawan," Qui-Gon's voice was rich with humor, "We must face the day. You'll be late for class." His Master stripped the covers from him quickly, and Obi-Wan groaned, forcing himself out of bed. He was aware that his sexual satiation gave a distinctly sensual laziness to his walk as he made his way to the shower, and even better, aware that his Master was watching him appreciatively as he walked.

He entered the Padawans' Lounge with considerable trepidation, feeling his shyness even more keenly now that he was experienced sexually than he had before. He was certain that what he'd spent the night doing was written all over him-- practically glowing on his face and body in bold letters as bright as the blade of a lightsaber. He was mildly astonished that nobody turned to look, and he took his accustomed seat on the couch next to Jandar quietly, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Obi-Wan," Jandar greeted him cordially, setting aside his data reader. "How did you do on the astrophysics exam?"

"All right, I suppose," Obi-Wan hedged, though he wasn't at all sure; he'd been rather distracted during his scheduled study period the previous evening. He flushed a little, then noticed Bant looking at him. Perhaps she could read what the others did not.

Sure enough, she rose and approached them, smiling her wide Mon Calamari smile. "Did you try that helpful hint I gave you for solving problems, Obi-Wan?" her voice was the very epitome of innocence.

Obi-Wan crimsoned. "Yes, I did," he muttered.

"Then I'm sure you aced the test," Bant's humor made Jandar frown suspiciously.

"You two aren't talking about astrophysics at all!" he suddenly realized, speaking a little more loudly than was wise, drawing the attention of several other Padawans. That accusation, combined with Obi-Wan's bright red face, made the correct conclusion impossible to avoid.

Obi-Wan mumbled something unintelligible in answer, but it was too late; the Padawans closed in around him like the jaws of a steel trap, eyes bright and curious.

"What was he like, Obi?"

"Did you try--"

"What did he--"

"Are you going to--"

In the midst of the melee, Ajra broke in, scoffing. "He's bluffing you," he stated in uncategorical denial. "He's just ashamed because he had to make the first move and Qui-Gon rejected him. Aren't you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan lifted his burning face to meet Ajra's eyes. "No," he answered very softly, and the babble around him ceased suddenly. "No, I'm not ashamed of anything, Ajra. Are you?"

Ajra took a step back as all the eyes suddenly focused on him. "No," he replied defensively, but his eyes darted to the side.

Then Bant stiffened, and Obi-Wan followed her gaze. Qui-Gon stood inside the door of the lounge, listening silently, his eyes hard. "Padawan Kiel, Master Bazril is looking for you." His neutral tone somehow implied that a punishment was waiting for Ajra, and the young man squeaked and leaped for the door, pelting along the corridor outside.

Obi-Wan trembled, eyes locked to Qui-Gon's, hands going cold on his thighs, hoping that the older Jedi's anger was not extended to him. Qui-Gon stepped forward soberly, holding out a hand to him. "Come, Obi-Wan," his voice was quiet. "We have a room reserved for saber drills in ten minutes."

Obi-Wan rose obediently and moved to his Master's side, relief nearly melting his knees when the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth curled. Turning slightly to face him, the Jedi Master laid a warm hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. He cast a slow, cool look over the assembled Padawans. "It would seem that conversations in this room have changed little in a generation," he commented dryly. "And I assure you, neither Obi-Wan nor myself have anything to be ashamed of." With that, he brought his free hand to Obi-Wan's chin and tilted his face up, bending and capturing his mouth in a slow kiss that locked away everything but the sensation of mouths and tongues and the pleasure of their touching.

When he came to himself, Obi-Wan realized he had twined both arms around Qui-Gon's neck, and the tips of his toes were nowhere near the floor, his weight supported in Qui-Gon's strong arms. His Master slowly lowered him to the ground, brushing a finger along his cheekbone, and turned, all graceful dignity, to leave the lounge. Flushed with embarrassed pride, Obi-Wan trotted after him.

Saber practice was followed by evening meal, and that by classes, which Obi-Wan struggled to pay attention to, realizing that he was not succeeding. He could only think of returning to his room, and dream of what would happen then.

Sure enough, when Obi-Wan hurried home, he found that Qui-Gon was true to his word. Obi-Wan let himself quietly into their rooms after his lessons, finding the living area empty. His door stood ajar, and when he looked in, his coverlet was drawn back, the pillow missing from his bed.

In spite of his previous evening's experience, he felt a giddy surge of adrenaline, his stomach dropping with a delightful, wild sensation, and he stepped further into his room, trembling, imagining Qui-Gon coming here and taking it, anticipating their evening together.

Obi-Wan dived for the shower with unseemly haste, clothing flying in a snowstorm of tunics and stoles. He showered and dried rapidly, nervous, eager butterflies dancing in his stomach. Emerging, he stepped into sleep leggings and a loose tunic, knowing that they would not be needed, but too shy yet to walk through their rooms and present himself to Qui-Gon unclothed.

He took a deep breath, centering himself with a facade of calm, and stepped through his door, through the main living area, and into Qui-Gon's private lounge. He was unable to smother the eager smile that twitched at the corner of his lips, unable to calm the racing of his heart.

And then the cool sensation of the doorknob under his palm, the soft sound of the hinges, and he was stepping through the door into Qui-Gon's room, where the thick green coverlet lay pulled back, waiting for him. Qui-Gon lay dozing on the far side of the wide bed, hair spread out over the pillow, and Obi-Wan stood as still as stone, just watching him. The broad chest rose and fell peacefully. One hand was extended, resting in the center of the space reserved for Obi-Wan as though missing his body, missing his presence.

He quietly shrugged out of his tunic and laid it neatly over Qui-Gon's desk chair, stepping forward, his feet silent on the woven rug. The Jedi Master stirred a little as Obi-Wan crept onto the wide, soft mattress with its cool, crisp sheets. Obi-Wan knelt there, waiting for Qui-Gon to settle, suddenly keenly aware of his smallness in relation to his Master. He did not yet have his full height or breadth, and he suspected he would never match Qui-Gon.

"Come to bed," Qui-Gon murmured, his voice thick with sleep, and he moved his arm to lift the coverlet and blankets. Chilled by the ambient air on his bare chest, Obi-Wan scrambled into the soft warm haven, pressing against his Master's side gratefully. Qui-Gon practically purred, arm encircling his Padawan, wakening, but his motions were still lazy and sensual, perfectly relaxed.

Obi-Wan laid both palms on his Master's chest, leaning forward shyly to steal a kiss, hesitating at the last moment, until Qui-Gon's firm hand came up to cup the base of his skull, gently encouraging him to close the distance between them. Permission granted, Obi-Wan leaned forward eagerly, pressing his lips to Qui-Gon's.

Qui-Gon chuckled softly, throatily, and kissed him back, then stroked Obi-Wan's cheek with a broad fingertip. "So beautiful, my young Padawan," he murmured.

Obi-Wan blushed deeply. "Not as beautiful as you, my Master."

Again the chuckle greeted him, and Qui-Gon's hand slowly made its way from his shoulder down along his arm, from there to his waist and over his hip, till Qui-Gon's wide palm cradled his leg behind and above his knee. He lifted Obi-Wan's thigh, sliding his own between his padawan's legs. Obi-Wan felt lust flare in him, felt his breathing quicken, and claimed a hungry kiss.

The young padawan squirmed against his Master, daring to slide his fingertips into the elastic of Qui-Gon's leggings, then hesitating shyly. Qui-Gon stilled a moment after he did, and Obi-Wan could feel the weight of his gaze. He blushed, suddenly insecure, and began to draw away, but Qui-Gon bent and touched his lips to his forehead, trapping his wrists in one hand and holding them softly, rolling over to bear his padawan's slight weight on his belly.

"In this bed, I am your lover, not your Master, Obi-Wan." He nuzzled his beard against Obi-Wan's forehead. "You may touch me as you wish, and if I dislike it, I will tell you. And you must do the same for me," he tipped Obi-Wan's chin up gently. Their eyes locked, and Obi-Wan slowly slid his hands into the older man's leggings, clasping the soft-skinned, moist hardness that awaited him there.

"Do you like this, mas--" Obi-Wan hesitated, blushing.

"Qui-Gon." A soft rumble of laughter caressed Obi-Wan. "Yes. I like it very much."

Obi-Wan ducked his head, pleased but too shy to use the given form of address, hiding his awkwardness by kissing softly at Qui-Gon's chest and throat.

"And what do you like, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon ruffled a hand through his hair gently, voice tender.

"Everything you do to me," Obi-Wan whispered breathlessly. He could feel Qui-Gon's answering smile in the way his Master clasped him a little closer, sighing just a little, contented. Obi-Wan stroked him very lightly, reveling in the sensation of warm hard flesh in his hands, and Qui-Gon caressed his back lightly.

"Yes, but is there anything in particular that you would like me to do for you, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's hand felt so warm on his back, so broad against his still-developing shoulders.

"Yes, ma-- yes, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered even more softly, blushing at the taste of his lover's name on his lips. Qui-Gon waited patiently, and Obi-Wan blushed again, harder, trying to find words to name his desire. "Would you..." he turned crimson, biting his lip. "May I..." he hesitated, and then spoke with almost desperate determination. "May I take you inside my body, Master?"

Qui-Gon simply held him close for a long moment, lips ghosting against the top of Obi-Wan's hair, hand stroking softly and reassuringly over the length of his body. "If it is what you wish, I would be honored to share that experience with you," he murmured at last, his voice was husky with tenderness and desire. He reached, grasping a flask of oil that sat on his nightstand.

Obi-Wan anticipated his next request and began to move off his Master, but Qui-Gon held him still, slipping the wide, flat flask under his own back to warm it. The Jedi Master kissed him long and slow, exploring every bit of Obi-Wan's mouth with his tongue, working his padawan's sleeping pants off his hips and down his thighs, finally removing them gently with a deft application of Force. Obi-Wan could feel slickness from their erections spreading together on his belly, and shivered with delight.

Qui-Gon retrieved the flask with a satisfied murmur. He opened it, and Obi-Wan held his breath as the warm liquid poured into the cleft of his body and Qui-Gon stroked it downward with gentle, sensual fingers. Obi-Wan spread himself wide, cradling Qui-Gon's body between his own slim thighs, affording access to the gentle, teasing fingers that trailed oil over him, circling the entrance to his body, making him moan his anticipation.

"Qui-Gon," he breathed, the name stretching on his tongue. One of the slick hands left him, capping the vial with a broad finger, and Qui-Gon slipped the hand between them, then removed the finger, oil seeping out to flow against their erections. Again, on the other side, and Qui-Gon set the flask away, rocking Obi-Wan on his belly, slickness spreading between them, heating and easing the contact of their bodies.

Both oil-dripping hands returned to stroke down the cleft of Obi-Wan's buttocks, and the young Jedi gasped as one finger softly pressed at him, gradually teasing its way inside, then sliding deep. He shuddered involuntarily and cried out as it curled, stroking something inside him that ignited flame in the nerves throughout his body. Qui-Gon murmured soothingly, repeating the gentle motion, and Obi-Wan relaxed into the caress, feeling his teeth close over Qui-Gon's nipple, biting lightly in response to the tension that had filled him, just as Qui-Gon's gentle finger did.

The Jedi Master gasped, and his finger slid deeper as his body jerked in response to the bite; Obi-Wan exhaled a deep, sobbing breath as he felt the warm, invading finger reach its extent inside him, Qui-Gon's other thick knuckles touching his hips and laying against his perineum.

"Are you all right?" Qui-Gon's voice was husky but alarmed.

"Yessss..." Obi-Wan could barely speak. "More. Please." He bit Qui-Gon again, almost mindless with need.

Qui-Gon hissed, free hand catching the back of Obi-Wan's head, guiding him to the other nipple, and Obi-Wan bit and licked it in turn, feeling the thick finger sliding in and out of his body, spreading the oil deep inside him. And then a second finger pressed at him, and he wailed low against Qui-Gon's chest as it slowly slid inside to join the first.

He felt Qui-Gon touch his mind, searching for pain, but there was none to be found. Obi-Wan clenched himself on the thickness of his Master's fingers, whimpering as they moved against the constriction of his body. His fingertips were sunk in Qui-Gon's biceps, his entire body quivering.

"Don't... stop!" Obi-Wan licked his lips frantically, raising his head to seek Qui-Gon's eyes. "In me, Master!" It was both a demand and a plea, and Qui-Gon obliged him, smoky eyes holding Obi-Wan's gaze as he began to move his hand slowly, then faster, inside his padawan.

Obi-Wan felt sweat slick his body as the large fingers danced inside him, scissoring, curling, pressing and turning, stretching his body, readying him to accept Qui-Gon even more fully. He was gasping, lost in sensation, unable to remember even to kiss Qui-Gon, hearing the wild sobbing moans from his own throat with a distant surprise in the part of him that was still coherent. His hands were fists on Qui-Gon's chest, his legs tense, holding him pressed as far onto those probing fingers as Qui-Gon would let him.

But then they slipped away, and Obi-Wan whimpered, gazing wild-eyed at Qui-Gon, but the hands fell on his back, gentling him and pressing him back down onto his Master's belly, and he went obediently.

And then, he felt blunt pressure settle at the tingling area where the fingers had deserted him, and he froze.

"Are you sure, love?" Qui-Gon's voice was strained, almost guttural from the effort of restraint.

"Yes, yes!" Obi-Wan groaned, struggling to push his hips back, but Qui-Gon held him firmly, and the pressure remained steady, not increasing.

And then Qui-Gon began to rock him, very gently. The strong arms cradled him like a child, and the huge body beneath him started a faint, repetitive motion, never leaving the bed but moving subtly up and down while lying flat upon it. Obi-Wan whimpered, feeling the faintest heat of friction, his penis tight against Qui-Gon's oiled belly, just barely stimulated as Qui-Gon's slow motion began to stir Obi-Wan atop him.

And then he realized that the pressure of Qui-Gon's erection against him was changing, too, increasing and decreasing very subtly. Obi-Wan held his breath, trembling, his mind centering on that slow push and release, feeling it intensify gradually. Harder and softer, pressing against the tightness of muscle until Obi-Wan thought it must give, and yet it did not, and each gentle wave of motion pushed it just a little further, just a little harder.

And then he felt his body beginning surrender the battle, admitting the searing tip of Qui-Gon's erection, the entire head beginning to push inward gradually as Qui-Gon rocked beneath him. Obi-Wan trembled wildly, clutching and clawing at the sheets beneath his Master's body. A slow burn of opening had begun to flare inside him; Qui-Gon's body spread him a millimeter more at every leisurely, lazy crest of the slow waves that rocked them.

Obi-Wan tried to push back again, but he was still held firm... and then the crucial moment arrived as the thickest part of the glans moved past the tight ring, and he felt the head of Qui-Gon's penis drawn past the opening. His body involuntarily tightened to enclose the entirety of the crown, which now rested firmly inside him.

"Master! Qui-Gonnnn..." Obi-Wan bucked against the firm grasp of those hands, head arching back, padawan braid whipping over his shoulder to sting against his back. "More..." Obi-Wan begged, and was rewarded as Qui-Gon increased the tempo of their smooth movement, pressing and retreating, working his way deeper and deeper into the tight channel of virgin flesh.

At last he realized Qui-Gon was straining, lifting his hips, unable to go deeper, and Obi-Wan fumbled to brace on his Master's chest, to push himself upright. Qui-Gon reached and gently caught his scrabbling hands, and Obi-Wan pushed himself up against Qui-Gon's solid palms, sinking down the last few inches onto the massive erection.

He knelt there, impaled, clutching Qui-Gon's hands, gasping, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his body to drip onto Qui-Gon's chest and belly.

"So good," Obi-Wan whispered, swallowing thickly, letting his head loll back, feeling the weight of his body as he shifted, driving Qui-Gon another few millimeters deeper inside him. "Love you, Master. Love you, Qui-Gon..."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon breathed, huge hands drifting to his hips, clasping him gently. "Love you too, padawan."

Qui-Gon arched his back, raising Obi-Wan's weight easily, and Obi-Wan obeyed the gentle suggestion, beginning to ride his Master gingerly, with growing assurance, until he was driving nearly the full length of the taut erection in and out of his body with each lunge, wild words of devotion and love tumbling from his lips. At last Qui-Gon caught his shoulders, pressing down even as the powerful hips surged up, and Obi-Wan cried out at the sensation of pulse and release deep inside himself, staring down into Qui-Gon's pleasure-wracked features with love and wonder.

Obi-Wan reached and touched Qui-Gon's cheek with trembling fingers, finding the skin wet with perspiration and tears, and he bent forward as Qui-Gon's body relaxed, claiming a salty kiss, reassuring his Master, clasping the broad body in a fiercely possessive, protective embrace. Qui-Gon stroked his spine, kissing him back softly, satiated, rolling them to their sides.

Obi-Wan sighed regretfully as his Master's softening length slipped out of him, feeling his own urgency, keenly aware that his pleasure had not yet been granted. He lay very still against his Master, listening to the older man's breathing steady, feeling the love in the embrace that clasped his slim body, nuzzling into the silky flesh of the strong neck.

Qui-Gon drew back a little at last, smiling faintly, stroking the curve of Obi-Wan's lip with his thumb. "Your turn," he whispered, leaning in to steal a soft, slow kiss, drawing Obi-Wan's hand gently to the curve of his own hip. "If you want to, that is." He smiled a little, anticipating his padawan's eager reaction.

"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan whispered, trembling anew at the idea of making love to his Master as Qui-Gon had just done to him. He'd never dared to dream that chance would be offered to him. "May I?"

Qui-Gon purred against him, a low rumble in the broad chest. "I would never do anything with your body that you could not do with mine as well, love," he breathed, stroking Obi-Wan's cheek with a gentle fingertip.

"Do you really mean that?" Obi-Wan breathed, searching Qui-Gon's eyes soberly.

"Of course you may make love to me as I do to you, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, eyes tender and concerned.

"No..." Obi-Wan swallowed, blushing. He was faintly amazed that he could still blush over something so simple after the intense intimacy they had just shared. "I meant... what you called me." He ducked his head, terribly embarrassed.

"Yes, love," Qui-Gon murmured simply, lifting Obi-Wan's chin in his palm, ghosting another kiss over his mouth, licking softly beneath the fullness of his lower lip, tracing the cleft of his chin with his thumb. He drew back slightly to study Obi-Wan. "I meant it. Now and always."

Obi-Wan felt his lips part in a shy smile. "I love you, my Master," he whispered. "Please, kneel for me."

"Yes, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon returned the smile, caressing his cheek gently for a final time, and moved gracefully onto his knees.

Obi-Wan crept up behind him slowly, running his hands along the rippled muscles of his master's back, urging him forward. Qui-Gon went willingly, and Obi-Wan paused for a long moment, surveying the picture his Master made, on hands and knees before him, waiting to be taken. Tenderness and lust surged in him simultaneously, and he ran his palms lovingly over the wide, strong back, edging even closer to Qui-Gon. His erection and body were still oil-slick; he scraped his palm along his own belly and tentatively brushed his oiled fingertips down along the deep cleft between Qui-Gon's hips, as had been done to him earlier. Shyly he touched the vulnerable opening that awaited him, stroking it, remembering how exquisite Qui-Gon's fingers had felt on him. Qui-Gon sighed and shifted a little, rubbing himself against Obi-Wan's gentle fingers, and he took courage from it, caressing more firmly, spreading the oil over his Master, then dipping inside with a single finger, feeling Qui-Gon's huge, powerful body yield to him.

Insanely empowering, the sensation of entering his Master, his lover.

Qui-Gon accepted his slender finger easily, and Obi-Wan quickly and smoothly added another, and after a moment, eased a third into his Master, caressing experimentally until he felt Qui-Gon shudder and arch. Ah, there it was then. He smiled a little, stroking the spot deliberately, watching Qui-Gon's back and arms flex as he rocked into the pleasurable caress.

"Now, Obi-Wan..." his Master gasped at last, bending forward and resting his head on the pillow of crossed arms.

Obi-Wan withdrew his fingers, trembling, and moved closer, one hand guiding himself to push against the loosened entry. His Master was not so tight as he was, and he slipped inside easily, feeling Qui-Gon push back to engulf him.

Obi-Wan hissed with pleasure, surrounded by living heat, feeling it constrict to milk his shaft, and he pulled back, trembling, then thrust forward again. He managed to retain his control as he repeated the motion once, twice... then he exploded, slumping over his Master's back, breath coming in gasping sobs.

Qui-Gon eased them both to the bed, letting Obi-Wan lie on top of him until his erection shrank and left him, then he turned them over and gathered his padawan into his arms, kissing him gently.

Exhausted and content, Obi-Wan raised his head at last, staring earnestly into Qui-Gon's sleepy, satiated eyes. "A lifetime with you wouldn't begin to be long enough," he breathed, and laying his cheek against his Master's chest, he quietly fell asleep.

-end-