The First Lesson in Joy
by Gloriana
FIC: The First Lesson in Joy
Author: Gloriana
Category: Sex and conversation
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Warnings: None
Thanks: For comments eons ago from The Emu, and somewhat more recent betas by Sian and Rana Eros, none of whom bear any guilt for the outcome.
Summary: Qui-Gon forgets the lessons he has taught for so long.
Copywrite: Lucas yadda yadda not mine yadda yadda.
Archive: MasterApprentice, AO3
Feedback: gloriana@virginqueen.com
Definitions: a ko is an ancient Chinese unit of time, roughly a quarter of an hour long.
"Do you want to have sex tonight? After dinner?"
Qui-Gon paused with his hand on the door, looking back at his padawan in surprise. Obi-Wan was perched on the edge of the table, one booted toe scraping fitfully against the parquet floor. He had been restless all morning, and Qui-Gon had been frequently distracted from his own meditations by Obi-Wan's aimless wandering around their rooms. While Qui-Gon had prepared his lecture, his padawan had drifted, picking up his datapad only to set it aside after reading a few paragraphs, opening kitchen cupboards and closing them again without eating anything, fiddling with the bits of a lightsabre strewn across the desk and yet never sitting down to the task of reassembling it.
So perhaps Qui-Gon should have anticipated the question, and unobtrusively prepared in advance. But he had not, and now it was too late. "No, I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I've arranged to meet Saesee for my next telepathy lesson this evening."
Obi-Wan wrinkled his brow in sympathy. "Coming hard, is it?"
"It was never my strongest skill."
Obi-Wan nodded; he was no better at telepathy than Qui-Gon, and he had long ago confided that his lessons with Master Tiin were amongst the most difficult he undertook.
Qui-Gon gathered his cloak under his arm, wishing that his precognition, normally quite adequate to most demands, had performed rather better on this occasion. He hesitated, then resigned himself: it wasn't fair to leave Obi-Wan hanging. "I'm sure you'll find some friends who are free. It's not important that you come back home tonight, after all."
"I suppose not," Obi-Wan said, scuffing the floor with his boottip yet again.
"Furloughs are meant for having fun, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon remonstrated gently. "However you please, with whomever you please. You don't need to spend your free time in our rooms, just because I choose to do so."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Are you kicking me out, then? I suppose I've been rather a pain today," he said, without any obvious contrition.
Qui-Gon couldn't help smiling. "You haven't been at your most tranquil, it's true." He lifted a hand to forestall Obi-Wan's next comment. "But if you want to spend precious leave loafing around here, instead of out enjoying yourself, that's entirely up to you."
"You spend your precious leave in lectures," his padawan retorted. "At least I'm not doing anything: you're actively working."
"I enjoy teaching," Qui-Gon said mildly. "If I didn't, life with you would be rather difficult, after all."
Obi-Wan snorted.
"And I'd best be off, or else I'll be late," Qui-Gon said, ignoring Obi-Wan's impudence. "If I don't see you tomorrow morning, Padawan, spend your time pleasantly. I certainly intend to." He closed the door on the sight of Obi-Wan smiling.
But for all that he enjoyed both teaching and learning, Qui-Gon found the rest of the afternoon dragged. His normal enthusiasm had abandoned him, leaving only a sense of dim depression, and the two lectures he attended seemed pedantic and irrelevant. Worse, his own talk on 'Joy in the Moment' was not well-received, the crowded lecture room full of knights whispering amongst themselves, and padawans as fidgety as Obi-Wan. Bad enough that he had to admit it was his dull delivery which was affecting his audience; even worse was the fact that Councillor Windu came up to him afterwards, and offered to extend his furlough. "Recoup your energies, Master Jinn," he advised. "Take a week without any duties. You could go off to the Zennta gardens, or perhaps Padril."
Padril was a planet in a nearby system, whose entire economy centred around offering Coruscanti visitors delights they could not find at home. There were expanses of snow-clad mountains and empty desert, but most of the tourists headed for the gambling palaces in the big cities, Coruscanti natives being somewhat distrustful of wilderness. The younger Jedi on furlough often followed their example, leaving the more cloistered atmosphere of the Temple for a bit of wildness in the gaming halls.
It was not what Qui-Gon would have chosen for a vacation. But Mace was insistent: "You need to loosen up a bit. You shouldn't be giving classes in your free time. Not that we don't enjoy them, of course."
It was an odd lecture to hear coming from Master Windu, for Qui-Gon doubted the Councillor had taken a week off his own duties in the last century. He thanked Windu for the offer but declined; and then he felt guilty, for even if he did not want an extra week of leave, perhaps Obi-Wan would. He had no doubts that his resourceful padawan had finally found something - or someone - to occupy his spare time.
The thought depressed him further. It had been quite some while since Qui-Gon had had sex with anyone in the Temple, and longer since he'd taken a lover. Although a willing partner might easily be found amongst the other knights on furlough, he could discover little desire for such an impersonal liaison. It would have been pleasant to go to bed with Obi-Wan instead, especially with the opportunity to take time over it, enjoying the activity rather than just using it as a way to release pent-up sexual energies.
Of course, that was all sex between padawan and master usually was: an easy way for partnered Jedi to gain relief together on long missions. Qui-Gon had welcomed the day, nearly a half-year ago, when Obi-Wan first turned to him to request sexual attentions.
He hadn't expected it, for Obi-Wan had been sexually active for a number of years by that time, and had never before shown the need to extend those activities into their missions. Still, the occasion had been a singular one. They were crouched in a cubbyhole on board a military spacecraft, smuggling themselves offplanet from an undercover assignment which had gone disastrously wrong. Qui-Gon rarely experienced such comprehensive failure, and the annoyance of it, together with the adrenaline from their swift flight, had left his nerves singing with tension; Obi-Wan, squeezed into the darkness beside him, seemed equally keyed up. The whole was compounded by the need to stay as silent as possible, for crewmembers passed continually over their hiding place, feet pounding on the thin metal sheet which separated them from the two Jedi.
And then Obi-Wan reached out, and pulled Qui-Gon's hand into his lap. He was already hard, the frustrated stimuli of battle and flight having redirected themselves most convincingly. Qui-Gon did not question his padawan's abrupt decision to avail himself of the customary service Jedi often gave each other. Instead, he simply loosened Obi-Wan's leggings and freed the straining cock, stroking it gently. Obi-Wan muffled a gasp behind his hand, and tried to spread his legs wider in the confined space.
In the end, it turned out to be simpler for Qui-Gon just to lower his head into Obi-Wan's lap and close his mouth over the needy flesh. It was more comfortable than trying to sit upright in the limited headroom, and neater, since afterwards he was able to tongue his padawan clean of any traces he had not swallowed. When Obi-Wan's hand rested tentatively on the swelling between his own thighs, he gave his assent with a quiet sigh, too soft to be heard over the noises in the corridor above them. But he only just managed to suffocate a shout when he came, short minutes later. Shuddering from the quick licks over his sensitised flesh (his padawan as considerate as he in the matter of soiled leggings), he congratulated himself on his control. Still, from that occasion onward he made sure they split up when in hiding: there was only so far control should be stretched, whether you were a Jedi master or not.
They hadn't even kissed, that first time. On the transport home from the neutral port where they'd managed to slip off ship, Qui-Gon had regretted the omission. He'd assumed that Obi-Wan's actions were merely a product of the time and place, unlikely to be repeated.
But such turned out not to be the case. Once the issue had been broached, Obi-Wan seemed to feel there was no point in not carrying on, though he did not come to Qui-Gon frequently. It was most common for him to ask for sex in the tense wait before impending battle, tugging at Qui-Gon's sleeve to pull him into a dark corner where the deed was swiftly done. It seemed to calm and focus him where Qui-Gon's much repeated admonitions to relax into the Force had failed.
Qui-Gon did not care to take advantage of their changed circumstances himself; that was, until the day he almost lost Obi-Wan into a gaping chasm, which had opened up under their feet while they climbed a ridge of ice. Qui-Gon had grabbed one sleeve as Obi-Wan slithered past, thanking the Force fervently for the niggle which had prompted him to take off his heavy mittens a moment before. He'd nearly dislocated his shoulder throwing Obi-Wan up onto the secure shelf of ice above their heads, only the assistance he sought from the Force saving them both from toppling into the deep blue shadows below. Scrambling up to sit panting behind the younger man, he clutched him close, groping for the feel of flesh through the layers of clothing. It was so good to have Obi-Wan solid and heavy against him - so horrible to think of him tumbling away, a tiny flailing speck in the distance. He needed to touch that quick, warm body, to reassure himself they were both still alive. Fumbling awkwardly with the ties of cloth, he was only slightly impeded by Obi-Wan twisting in his arms, pressing closer to him.
He could still remember the feeling of Obi-Wan's heart pounding rapidly, skin warm against the fingers he'd finally managed to thrust up beneath layers of winter clothing; could still remember the soft fur cuff of Obi-Wan's glove against his own stomach, and the sting of the thin, chilly air in his throat as he struggled to breathe.
That time, they had had to put up with sticky leggings.
From then on, the occasions became more frequent. But there was rarely a bed, or more than a snatched quarter-hour. Even at Temple, there was little time in which to indulge. They had, once or twice; but it was as rushed as it would have been offplanet, mission briefings or imminent departure hanging over them. Besides, when they were home there was no excuse of having only each other to turn to. If they had a few hours free, Obi-Wan sought his pleasure elsewhere, indulging in the opportunity to choose his partner for a change. And Qui-Gon had given up choosing at all. He needed sex less nowadays anyway, and the occasional coupling with Obi-Wan seemed to fulfill his most urgent desires.
But this was the first furlough they had had since beginning a sexual relationship. Walking slowly back through the darkened gardens after the lectures were at an end, Qui-Gon admitted to himself that he had hoped... Yet they seemed to have wasted the week in a welter of things to do, from domestic duties to friendships neglected for months previously. Besides, before this noon Obi-Wan hadn't given any indication of interest.
Well, it was no use thinking about it. Qui-Gon had frittered away the opportunity, and with only a day of leave remaining it was unlikely to be presented to him again. Instead of dwelling on lost chances, he should be preparing himself for the upcoming lesson with Master Tiin -not to mention filling his empty stomach. He had no appetite for the hubbub of evening meal in Hall, though, so he picked up his pace, heading back to their rooms: whatever food there was left in the cupboards would have to suffice.
Striding along the ill-lit path, he trod accidentally upon a trailing offshoot, then stopped at the burst of fragrance released into the evening air from the crushed leaves. It was a nicottia bush, its white flowers opening like small stars in the dusk. He reached out a finger to stroke a petal damp with evening dew, and the sleeve of his robe set the branch below to dance. A heavy perfume filled the air from the disturbed blossoms.
He knelt on the damp earth, breathing in the scent, letting it suffuse his senses. In the quiet of the evening he could hear the hum of the tiny insects flitting around him, drawn as he was by the sudden abundance of blooms. A moth, unexpected, came to rest on the cuff of his tunic, misled perhaps by the white of the linen. Carefully he shook it off onto the flowers, catching a glimpse of gold at the tips of its soft, dark wings. "That will suit you better," he murmured. "Enjoy them while you can." For nicottia seldom bloomed longer than a few days, and the flowers did not last.
He pulled himself to his feet and started on his way again, his mind eased. There were still other things in life to be enjoyed, even if nothing more than dark, empty rooms awaited him at home.
But when he opened the door, he was surprised to find the lights burning, and that vague sense of Obi-Wan-ness still present. "Padawan?" he called out, hanging up his cloak in the hallway.
"I'm in here," Obi-Wan answered from the sitting room. 'Here' turned out to be sprawled along the sofa, bare feet on the cushions and a datapaper suspended over his face as he lay on his back, reading. He wore the same tunic and leggings he had had on earlier, if the stains on the sleeve were anything to go by; certainly, he was not dressed for a night out.
A brief look around the room confirmed Qui-Gon's suspicions that Obi-Wan had spent the afternoon indoors. There was a scattering of empty bottles and dirty plates on the table, but the remains of the lightsabre had all been cleared away, and the completed object hung from the shelf by the window. It seemed that Obi-Wan, too, had taken to working in his leave-time.
"You're early," his padawan commented, cocking his head to look up at Qui-Gon. "I wasn't expecting you back until bedtime."
"I decided I couldn't face Hall."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. He let the paper drift down onto his chest. "How did your lecture go?"
"Badly, I fear." Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed a hand across his nape, massaging the tense muscles. "It's hard to talk about taking joy in the moment when you aren't paying attention to the moment yourself. I don't think I was very convincing."
"That's not like you," Obi-Wan said, the crease between his brows deepening. "Are you alright, Master?"
"Fine, fine," Qui-Gon said. He swept his hair back from where it had fallen over his shoulder, twisting it firmly into a knot at the base of his skull. "Just tired, that's all."
Obi-Wan gave a grunt of disbelief. Qui-Gon decided to change the subject before he could pursue it any further. "I thought you were going out to find some... companionship." He should have just come out and said 'sex', but somehow he didn't want to talk about it openly like that, as if it were a commodity Jedi traded amongst themselves. That was uncomfortably close to the truth of the situation between the two of them.
But Obi-Wan appeared not to notice his hesitation over the word, shrugging his shoulders as he answered, "I didn't fancy it."
"Which one, the idea of going out, or the companions you could find?"
His padawan smiled. "Both. All my friends seem to have gone off to Padril."
"It would appear to be quite popular at the moment," Qui-Gon said dryly.
"Bant wanted to go gambling, I think." Obi-Wan sounded dubious about the joys of that activity, but Qui-Gon was sure he missed being with his friends, even if the random rolling of dice bored him silly. It was there in the training bond, a diffuse ache of wanting which was not just the physical desire Obi-Wan had owned up to.
"You could join them."
"There isn't really enough time."
Qui-Gon thought guiltily of the extra week Windu had offered them. Perhaps he would comm the Councillor after his meeting with Tiin, to see if he could change his decision.
"Besides, that wasn't what I had in mind," Obi-Wan added.
"Oh?" Qui-Gon sat himself down on the arm of the sofa, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's face. "So, what did you have in mind?"
"You know." Obi-Wan leant down to put the datapaper on the ground, his trailing braid partially obscuring his face. "Something comfortable. Something I don't have to think too much about."
"It's nice to know you planned to put so much effort into it," Qui-Gon said.
Obi-Wan's face grew a little pink. "I didn't mean it like that. It's easy with you, that's all - maybe because we're so used to fighting together, moving together. It never feels as if it's going to go wrong."
"Ah." Qui-Gon contemplated Obi-Wan's words in the silence that followed. He would not have thought to describe the occasions when they had had sex in those terms. It had always seemed to him that Obi-Wan picked the most tense, difficult moments of their missions to touch him. But now Obi-Wan was saying he didn't think of them as stressful. Obi-Wan felt 'comfortable' with him. It might not have been grand passion, but at least it was better than the utilitarian view he'd imagined his padawan held of their brief encounters.
"Are you going to make dinner, then?" Obi-Wan interrupted the flow of his thoughts.
His padawan peered up hopefully at him as Qui-Gon surveyed the litter of crockery on their dining table. If the mess was anything to go by, there could be little food left in the pantry. "I suppose so, although I wasn't planning anything too ambitious." He looked back down at Obi-Wan. "Are you really not going out? I'm sure there's somebody still in Temple whose company you might enjoy."
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Oh, probably, but I'm not in the mood for just a 'somebody'. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I think I'll stay in and finish this instead, thanks." He waved at the datapaper blinking on the rug. When Qui-Gon didn't say anything more, he picked it up and balanced it on his chest, reactivating it with a thumbpress. "You'll be late for Master Saesee if you don't start moving."
But Qui-Gon stayed where he was. The Moment was there, around him, the sense of possibilities expanding even as he grew acutely more aware of his surroundings: the soft breathing of his padawan rustling the paper suspended only inches above his nose, the cotton of his leggings brushing against Qui-Gon's hand, the tang of old disappointment on Qui-Gon's tongue giving way to new opportunity.
Abruptly he stood and pulled his comm unit out of a pocket. Aware of Obi-Wan's renewed scrutiny, but choosing to ignore it, he keyed in Saesee's code.
"Master Jinn." The rumble of noise in the background told Qui-Gon that Saesee was in Hall.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, Master Tiin, but I'm afraid that I'm not feeling up to our lesson this evening." Obi-Wan's eyes widened.
"I'd wondered whether you were coming." Saesee didn't sound too put out. "Windu said you weren't on top form this afternoon." Qui-Gon's mouth twisted wryly in response to that. From the corner of his eye, he saw Obi-Wan swiftly turn his head into the cushions to muffle a laugh.
Qui-Gon managed to keep his own voice even as he said, "I apologise for the inconvenience. Perhaps we could reschedule for tomorrow?"
"Don't concern yourself about it, Master Jinn. By all means, comm me after breakfast if you feel like it, but concentrate on resting yourself first. Relax; go to bed. Enjoy what's left of your leave." The comm beeped off. Qui-Gon put it away, aware of Obi-Wan's eyes on him again, bright with curiosity and something more.
"So." He took a deep breath. "Do you intend to read all evening? Or do you want to have sex?"
In answer, Obi-Wan pushed himself into a sitting position, snatched up the datapaper and summarily folded it in two. "It was boring, anyway," he said, shoving it under the cushion beneath his head.
"There is a price, though," Qui-Gon cautioned, tone calm even when faced with the interest in Obi-Wan's eyes. "You're making dinner."
His padawan considered the matter for a moment, then gave a brisk nod. "Those are perfectly acceptable terms, Master Jinn."
"Good." But Qui-Gon realised he hadn't negotiated all the clauses with his usual care when Obi-Wan immediately stood up and brushed past him, heading to the hallway with obvious intent.
"Don't I get dinner first?" Qui-Gon asked from his perch on the edge of the sofa.
"He who sets the price can't dictate the terms," Obi-Wan answered jauntily. "Besides, if I feed you, you'll tell me you're too stuffed to do anything energetic. Don't worry: I won't let you starve." He disappeared into the hallway, not waiting to hear if his master had agreed. "Come on, then," he called from Qui-Gon's own bedroom. "Let's get started."
This was not what Qui-Gon had been thinking of. He'd envisaged a long, deliberate evening when, lazy with full bellies and warmed with wine, he and Obi-Wan could have explored each other's bodies: touch and taste and slow, gentle hands. But that was not what Obi-Wan was offering, and though he was disappointed, Qui-Gon had no intention of frittering away another chance. The Moment had to be accepted for what it was, not marred by thoughts of what it could not be: that was the First Lesson in Joy. He grimaced at his own preaching, and got to his feet.
By the time he reached the doorway, Obi-Wan was already stripped naked, his clothes folded away on a chair. "I just need some things from the washroom," he said, eyeing Qui-Gon's still figure. "I won't be a minute." He gestured to the bed. "Why don't you get comfortable?"
Then he was gone, leaving Qui-Gon to smile ruefully at the experience of being treated like a guest in his own room. It was oddly unsettling, and it compounded the slight melancholy he was unable to banish. In the wake of Obi-Wan's crisp efficiency he felt foolish to have expected anything more than a quick fuck, if indeed Obi-Wan even intended to go that far; but for once it was difficult to put aside wishful thoughts and accept the reality of the moment. He sat slowly on the edge of the big bed, undoing his belt and pulling at the sash around his waist, trying to lose himself in the slide of heavy cotton through his hands.
But the sash snarled in his fingers, so that by the time he'd dropped it to the ground and had begun to work on his boots, Obi-Wan was back, towels and damp cloths clutched in his arms.
"Here, let me." Obi-Wan summarily disposed of his burdens on another chair in easy reach of the bed, then knelt at Qui-Gon's feet, brushing away his master's fingers. "You just sit back and enjoy yourself."
And it wasn't as if there wasn't much to enjoy - because there was. Just the smooth planes of Obi-Wan's back, the curve of his naked buttocks and the cleft between them outlined pale and creamy against the dark rug, held an abstract beauty, as if they had been carved in white marble. Qui-Gon rarely had opportunities simply to look at his padawan so, to admire the fine lines of a well-formed masculine body. He should be savouring this one.
Obi-Wan grunted, disturbing his thoughts. "And I thought my boots were hard work." He tugged off one heavy boot and shoved it away, then slipped off Qui-Gon's stocking. "Your feet must get very tired in those."
"Sometimes," Qui-Gon agreed, closing his eyes at the sensation of Obi-Wan rubbing the sole of his foot - ticklish, almost itchy, and yet soothing. He was disappointed when Obi-Wan stopped, but it was only to dispose of his second boot and give the other foot the same treatment.
"Don't go to sleep up there," Obi-Wan said, looking up at Qui-Gon with an amused grin. "I need your clothes off, too."
Qui-Gon found himself hauled to his feet again, and his clothing quickly stripped from him, until he was as naked as his padawan. The comparison was not to his favour: his limbs seemed heavy and awkward next to Obi-Wan's neat, compact frame, his feet ugly and large. If his penis was also larger - well, his teenaged pride in his size had vanished a long time ago. Though it was not as if Obi-Wan himself was small: his soft member extended below weighty testicles, framed by hair redder than the thatch on top of his head. Qui-Gon remembered the feel of that cock, risen and hard, in his mouth and between his hands. His padawan had nothing to be ashamed of.
If Obi-Wan caught him staring, he made no mention. Instead he manoeuvred Qui-Gon over onto the worn cotton spread that covered the bed. "It doesn't matter if we get spunk on this, does it?" he said, pushing Qui-Gon down to lie on his back.
"I shouldn't think so," Qui-Gon replied, tugging a pillow under his head. "The cleaner droids don't seem to complain." The practical comment had depressed him though, so far was it from a mood of either pleasure or passion; and perhaps Obi-Wan picked up on his downcast thoughts, for he settled himself upright beside Qui-Gon and began to stroke his master's chest with a light touch.
"Don't worry," he said. "I want to take care of you tonight. Do you like this?"
It was the first time they'd ever discussed what each might want from the other: there'd been little need before, since only so much was possible pressed up against a wall in a dark corridor, with others too close to allow for talk. Oddly, their new privacy only served to make Qui-Gon feel exposed, as he met Obi-Wan's friendly open gaze. "Turn down the light," he said.
Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows at that, but obediently he dimmed the central controls, until only the small bedlamp lit the room. Shadows and golden light played over their skins, turning Obi-Wan from marble into bronze. When he sat back, his touch on Qui-Gon's chest was firmer, his hands stroking down the ripples of Qui-Gon's rib-bones. Qui-Gon sighed and his eyes drifted closed.
"I thought you might like it harder," Obi-Wan murmured in satisfaction above him, tracing up along his ribcage to his sternum and back round again, in a large circle whose centre was his untouched nipple. "You have such a big body - so much skin. Where do you want me to touch you?"
"Here," Qui-Gon whispered, and brought one of Obi-Wan's hands over his heart. He breathed deeper as the roughened pad of a thumb shifted over his nipple.
They were quiet for the next few minutes, as Obi-Wan passed his hands repeatedly over Qui-Gon's flesh, slowly stirring him to passion. At times his touches were light and delicate, barely there; at others they were determined and strong, almost a massage. Once or twice Qui-Gon reached out to stroke Obi-Wan too, but he could sense that his padawan's concentration was centred on him, and that his actions were distracting rather than arousing; so in the end he let his hands lie limp on the bed while his padawan worked over him.
Yet he found it hard to lose himself into the sensation. That moment on the couch, when he had sensed a world of possibilities opening around him, had closed back down to this world and this time; but it had left him dissatisfied and wanting more. In his restlessness he wanted to shift away, and had to force himself to stay still under his padawan's touch, pleasant though it was.
"Hush," Obi-Wan said, leaning down to kiss his collarbone. "It's alright."
And perhaps it was. Slowly, slowly, he began to relax into the delicacy and kindness of Obi-Wan's touch. Obi-Wan's mouth started to explore him, kissing softly but firmly over his torso, then down the length of his arms outstretched on the bed. When he reached Qui-Gon's fingers, he sniffed deeply. "What's that?"
It took Qui-Gon a moment to remember. "Flowers from the garden," he said, stroking his fingertips over Obi-Wan's mouth and nose. "They were very sweet."
"Mmm. Nice, but not what I was expecting. The rest of you smells muskier, spicier." He breathed in the scent of Qui-Gon's fingers for a moment longer, then slid back up again to lick at the curve of Qui-Gon's neck. "Like here." The touch was intensely ticklish, and yet Qui-Gon wanted to bare his neck and have Obi-Wan repeat it.
Instead, Obi-Wan placed little kisses in a line from Qui-Gon's throat to his nipple, and slid his tongue over the hardened nub. Qui-Gon didn't keep still then: he stirred under Obi-Wan and arched his back slightly, pricked by a sudden stab of need. His cock, which had lain soft upon his thigh, began to fill.
"Good," Obi-Wan whispered, the movement of his lips themselves a kiss. His hand came to cover Qui-Gon's belly. "Can I go lower?"
"Please," Qui-Gon said, then caught his breath, concentrating solely on the gentle stroke that began at his navel, and ended in the thicket of springy hairs at his groin.
"I should think," Obi-Wan said, in a voice suddenly husky and deep, "that you smell spiciest there." He began to lick: one more pass over Qui-Gon's nipple, which had Qui-Gon shifting again, then a long wet line all the way down, over curve of stomach and soft underbelly. He nuzzled gently at the mound of Qui-Gon's balls. "Yes."
Qui-Gon parted his legs.
He was rewarded by more hot little licks to the base of his cock, moving gradually up its firming length. Obi-Wan's face was a study in concentration, a line between his brows as he tasted Qui-Gon's skin. Qui-Gon watched his slow progress intently, his mind struggling to mesh the sight of Obi-Wan's pink tongue flicking out with the frisson of wet friction it left behind, both things intensely arousing. His breath caught, until the moment Obi-Wan put his mouth over the crown of Qui-Gon's cock and sucked it slowly in.
The warmth and the heat on his newly engorged flesh was almost more than he could cope with: his hands tightened in the bedcloth at the strange mix of sensitivity and urgency flooding him, and he let his head fall back to the pillow. The swipe back up, as Obi-Wan left him, was even more stimulating.
"Shall I do that, then?''
Qui-Gon opened his eyes to find Obi-Wan sitting up to look at him, his face made serious by the looming shadows.
He reached out a hand. "I didn't intend to have you do all the work. That wasn't," he said ruefully, "in our bargain."
Obi-Wan smiled, and reached down to give one of Qui-Gon's fingers a brief lick. "We have lots of time for these negotiations, Master," he said, with only the slightest hint of mischief in his voice.
Qui-Gon smiled too, and then relaxed back as Obi-Wan shifted to lie down beside him on the bed, his head coming to rest on Qui-Gon's hip and the rest of his body pressing all the way along Qui-Gon's thigh and calf. Qui-Gon felt the brush of Obi-Wan's pubic hair against his leg. "Is there space for you there?" he asked.
"The housing department has given you a big enough bed for a whole army of padawans," Obi-Wan said. His free hand began to fondle Qui-Gon's balls. "I don't know what they thought you would be doing in here."
"Who can say. I doubt they were considering how much room it would take for a padawan to suck me off in," Qui-Gon agreed, without making much sense. He was becoming intoxicated with the intimacy of Obi-Wan's hand between his legs.
"Then it's just as well we had the idea ourselves," Obi-Wan said gravely, and guided Qui-Gon's penis back into his mouth.
Qui-Gon had thought it would go faster, once Obi-Wan settled down to the task. But his padawan was not so kind, instead seeming to take a delight in a slow, thorough exploration of Qui-Gon's reactions to each suck and pull of his mouth against the swollen flesh. Soon Qui-Gon's breath was coming short and shallow through his parted lips, and his body was tensing on the bedclothes. He wanted to thrust up. More urgently with every pass of Obi-Wan's skilled tongue he wanted to thrust up, to hold Obi-Wan's mouth in place and push into it; and the need to do so quickly had him rigid with want, held down only by the weight of Obi-Wan's fingers spread across his thigh.
Obi-Wan sighed jaggedly, his breath wafting across Qui-Gon's wetted skin, and Qui-Gon became aware that his padawan was also aroused, his hardened cock sliding against Qui-Gon's shin. Helpfully Qui-Gon shifted his leg further under Obi-Wan's pelvis, to increase the pressure. Obi-Wan shuddered, and pushed harder against him.
That was the last coherent impression Qui-Gon had for some time. His padawan's response was devastating: an assault of tongue and fingers that would have had Qui-Gon writhing under him, if his weight had not been enough to hold Qui-Gon down. But not enough to let him come; oh, no, not that, Obi-Wan seemingly determined to put off the moment as long as possible, sucking him in and then pulling all the way back off, until finally Qui-Gon gave a deep, aching groan of protest and need combined.
Capriciously, Obi-Wan went still at that sound - and then Qui-Gon felt a hot rush of wetness against his calf, and his padawan jerked on his body, giving a desperate whimper of his own.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon could hear Obi-Wan's quick, sharp pants clearly. He reached down to touch his padawan's hair. "I didn't realise you -"
"It's alright," Obi-Wan interrupted him, pressing his face away against Qui-Gon's hip. "Just give me a moment."
They lay there a little longer, although it was ticklish to have Obi-Wan's sticky seed slowly creeping down Qui-Gon's skin to the cotton spread. Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's spiky hair in slow, gentle movements, until he finally shifted.
"Sorry about the mess," he said. "Let me clean up."
"There's no need - "
But Obi-Wan was already sitting up to reach a towel from the stack on the chair. Carefully he wiped his semen from Qui-Gon's leg, then folded the towel and put it to one side, his expression still and closed. "Shall we continue?"
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly, "you don't need to do more if you don't want."
Obi-Wan snorted, amusement suddenly flooding his face and bringing it back to life. "I don't think your prick agrees." Then he looked down at his own, still half-hard. "Neither does mine, come to that. Are you in such a hurry to end the evening, Qui-Gon?"
"No," Qui-Gon agreed.
"Then I suggest you lie back and stop fretting so much. In case you hadn't guessed," Obi-Wan's mouth twisted, "the sound of you moaning is fairly arousing of itself."
"I didn't think my voice was quite so effective," Qui-Gon teased gently, welcoming the Obi-Wan's weight back against his body.
Obi-Wan flushed, but grinned. "You can be surprisingly oblivious, Master. Why do you think your classes are always full, hmm?"
Qui-Gon groaned, feeling the blood rush to his own cheeks "Horrid boy," he murmured as he sank back to the pillows, Obi-Wan's mouth nuzzling at him again. "That leaves me in such anticipation of my next lecture series."
Obi-Wan chuckled, breath wafting across Qui-Gon's penis. "Perhaps you'll stop working in our leave-time, then."
Qui-Gon couldn't be bothered to answer, though; not when Obi-Wan had already sucked Qui-Gon's cock back into his mouth, with a determined drag and pull that soon had Qui-Gon concentrating solely on that strong rhythm.
He moaned again, since it had seemed to please his padawan, and was rewarded with a twist of Obi-Wan's tongue over the head of his cock that had him genuinely bucking up, guttural sounds urging Obi-Wan on. It was hot and fast this time: Obi-Wan not playing any longer, and Qui-Gon's body responding to the renewed stimulus as if Obi-Wan had never left off licking his cock. "Yes," he groaned, "come on, come on," and then Obi-Wan's hands were sliding up his spit-slickened cock, rougher than that hot mouth, palms surrounding his eager flesh, fingers rubbing in brisk strokes just this side of unbearable, and just enough to send him spurting over the edge. His body convulsed with an unexpected violence, more desperate for that release than he'd known.
He lay there panting. Sweat prickled over his bare skin. He was dimly aware that Obi-Wan had slipped off the bed again, but he wanted to savour this: the throb of blood through his veins, the slackness of muscles gone loose, the tiny shocks that still darted through him. It had been less than he had wanted, but more than he had bargained for.
A cool cloth brushed over his stomach, wiping away the slickness he had coated himself with. "Perhaps I should have swallowed instead," Obi-Wan said, his voice a little huskier than usual. Qui-Gon would have opened his eyes to see his padawan's face, but the chill of air spilling over newly wet skin distracted him, goose bumps springing up in the wake of the cloth.
"Too cold?" he was asked. He grunted and shook his head.
Obi-Wan gave a snort of amusement. "Orgasm obviously has a negative impact on the vocabulary of Jedi masters," he said. "I'll have to hope no-one resorts to that technique in the middle of any negotiations." He stroked the cloth over Qui-Gon's testicles, ignoring Qui-Gon's slight shudders to thoroughly clean the drooping cock of its last few dribbles. "Did you enjoy that?"
Qui-Gon grunted again, letting the corners of his mouth lift up. "Unexpected," he finally drawled, the words rumbling out reluctant and slow, "but good."
"Excellent." Obi-Wan put the cloth aside. "I think I still owe you dinner." He had left the room before Qui-Gon realised it was all over.
Slowly he sat up in the bed and switched on the lights, then blinked in the brightness. Harsh brilliance blasted the shadows into the corners of the room, putting his pallid body into strong relief against the dark indigo of the bedspread, big feet on bony legs still stretched wide.
He would have reached for a robe, but Obi-Wan's voice came through from the kitchen. "No need to get up," he called. "I'll bring things through in a minute."
Dinner in bed? Qui-Gon was slothful and half-dazed, and the thought of the dining table did not appeal, so instead of dressing he slipped under the cotton spread, dimming the lights again to a more manageable level. There was still an odour of spunk in the air, the cloth shining glossily where he and Obi-Wan had dampened it. He rubbed at one spot with his finger. It was unsettling to think of going to sleep alone later tonight, under a cover bearing the marks they had made, in a room smelling of sex.
Desultorily he reached for a comb, and pulled out the knot of hair he had twisted behind his head. The comb dragged in the untidy mess. "You fool," he muttered to himself. "It's just the comedown after sex. Pull yourself together."
"What did you say?" Obi-Wan appeared at the door, his arms bracing a tray heaped with crockery. One of the towels from the stack by the bed was wrapped around his waist: by the fresh yellow stain on it, Qui-Gon guessed it had been serving duty as an apron. "Clear a space - I'm coming through."
He moved his legs out of the way and put the comb down as Obi-Wan settled the tray on the bed between them, then perched on the other side. There was juice and hot, steaming bread, empty bowls and a tureen of golden broth wafting a smell of mushrooms and saffron into the air.
His stomach growled. It always ranked food higher than sex.
Obi-Wan laughed. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realised you were that hungry." He ladled soup into a bowl and handed it over. "This was sitting in the back of the coldstore. Will it do to complete our bargain?"
Qui-Gon eyed the bread. "It might just. Don't be niggardly, Padawan," he chided, watching Obi-Wan cut a large slice. "And you can put more butter on it than that."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, all outward obedience. Qui-Gon decided to ignore the crumbs that were scattering over the spread.
They chatted as they ate, oddly mundane topics given that Obi-Wan was lying on his bed, a towel riding up his thighs, and he himself was sitting with his hair loose on bare shoulders, and a bowl balanced precariously on the cloth over his lap. They talked about the changes to the West garden, and the elevation of Master Bathalajaipa to Keeper of the Quays, and Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan lick butter from his lips.
It would have been erotic, if Qui-Gon were not still numbed from the intense orgasm he'd just had. But under the circumstances it counted as mildly stimulating, no more; and, Qui-Gon was surprised to note, the stimulation was a pleasant addition to their easy discourse, a hint of spice as delicate as the touch of ginger in the soup. Perhaps he now understood what Obi-Wan had meant when he said sex between them was 'comfortable'.
It took them a surprisingly long time to clear the tray, and even then they sat, pecking at the remains and trading gossip from their week at the Temple, until Obi-Wan finally got to his feet, the towel slipping a little before he tucked it back in. "Pass your bowl." While he stacked the plates, Qui-Gon reached for the comb again, working it carefully through a knot as he watched his padawan put the tray over by the door. He wondered what would happen if he got up, if he pulled that towel away. Perhaps he should ask. He would in a moment.
Obi-Wan caught his gaze and Qui-Gon's hand stopped in midstroke.
His padawan turned and shut the door to the room, the whirr of the lock sounding loud in the silence. Then he came back to the bed and stood over Qui-Gon, the bedside light deepening the shadowed cleft of his chin. Gently, he took the comb from Qui-Gon's hand.
"You're worrying that bit to death. Here, let me." Qui-Gon felt the firm mattress dip as Obi-Wan knelt on the bed, one foot dangling over the edge, and closed his hand round a hank of hair, holding it near the root to stop the teeth of the comb yanking the knotted strands as he pulled it through.
"Thank you." Qui-Gon's voice came out huskily, and he swallowed to clear his throat. His hand brushed Obi-Wan's knee where it pressed against his side. There were fine blond hairs curling up his padawan's thighs, vanishing under the fraying edge of the old towel, into the shadows there... But Obi-Wan's concentration was on his task, and instead of moving his hand higher, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and let his neck tilt back.
Slowly Obi-Wan worked the knots free, fingers occasionally guiding Qui-Gon's head into a better position; and even when the knots had been eased out he continued, in a sure, steady rhythm that matched their even breathing. The tension of possibility, of Obi-Wan's body so close, eased within Qui-Gon to a gentle awareness, and then almost to sleep.
"You have crumbs," Obi-Wan whispered against his cheek.
"Hmmm?" He'd been lulled by the slow pull of the comb, the slide of its blunt teeth against his scalp.
"In your beard. Just here," and a tongue began to probe, wetly, against the corner of his mouth, where the bristles of his moustache hid deep-grooved lines. The hand in his hair stilled, as if it required all of Obi-Wan's concentration to gather a few recalcitrant crumbs.
Qui-Gon's jaw slackened, and then Obi-Wan's tongue was slipping across his lip into his open mouth, stroking against his own in a rhythm as sure and gentle as the comb through his hair. Qui-Gon sighed into the mouth on his, pressing back; but then he yielded, tilting his chin to let Obi-Wan further in, his hands going back to the bed to brace himself.
It was a long, slow, intoxicating kiss. Obi-Wan's braid swung down to tickle Qui-Gon's arm, but otherwise it was just their mouths together, moving languorously against one another, giving and retreating, taking and opening. In the moments when his eyes slitted open, Qui-Gon could see Obi-Wan's lashes against his cheek, the tips golden in the light like moth wings. But then his lids would drift closed again, and he would be left only with his padawan's taste, of butter and sharp juice, and the regular flow of Obi-Wan's breath tickling the hairs of his beard.
This was as patient and deliberate as he'd wished for earlier; and somehow more intimate than Obi-Wan's mouth on his cock, which had been an oddly distant experience for all he had enjoyed it. He could smell Obi-Wan in the air he pulled into his nostrils; he could hear the tiny sounds his padawan made low in his throat. His stomach warmed at such closeness, and he made little answering noises, nothing as guttural as before but the light, breathless sounds of pleasure.
When Obi-Wan began to touch him, it was more tentative: a brush against the soft mound of flesh above his armpit, a fingertip circling his nipple. The skin there puckered and hardened, as if the firmer touch Qui-Gon wanted had been applied. He would have pushed up against Obi-Wan's hand, but he sensed a tension in the young man that had not been there before, a quickness to his breathing and a tightness to the muscles of his jaw. Qui-Gon stayed still, and in the silence between them, Obi-Wan's fingers continued to explore.
They trailed lightly down his chest, and down further yet, brushing his cock which stirred against them, tracing the indentation that divided his balls. The wiry hairs there felt that touch, then the skin of his perineum, then - and Qui-Gon waited until it finally came - a brush against the swell of his buttock cheeks, where they were closed around his hole.
Ah, so that was what the boy wanted. Well, Qui-Gon had no objections. Obligingly he leant further back, tilting up his pelvis and spreading his thighs a little.
Obi-Wan's fingertip grazed his opening. A startled sound came from his throat, like a small bird set loose.
Obi-Wan pulled back. "No?"
He let his eyes roll up towards the ceiling. "Yes, you fool. But you might need to go slowly."
"I can do that." Obi-Wan's smile was brilliant.
"And I want more kisses first," Qui-Gon said hurriedly, remembering his failure to cover all his terms earlier on.
For answer, Obi-Wan rose and stripped the cover off Qui-Gon's body with one extravagant tug, sending crumbs flying everywhere. "Lie down," he commanded, his voice so husky that Qui-Gon's stomach kicked at the sound. But Obi-Wan was gentle when he came back to cover Qui-Gon's mouth with his own. "Like this?"
Qui-Gon pulled the towel away from Obi-Wan's hips. "On top of me."
He sighed deeply as Obi-Wan settled over him, compressing his chest and stomach with a pressure that was almost too much. The breath let out was hard to take back in. But he didn't need it; he couldn't have caught his breath anyway, with Obi-Wan's mouth on his again, pressing his head almost flat to the bed.
It was different, being kissed when he knew he would soon be fucked. He felt himself being opened up, readied: Obi-Wan's tongue probing him with slow insistence. And he wanted it. He wanted the weight of Obi-Wan's body on his, the pressure of a femur against his soft penis, a hard curve seeking its own friction against his stomach... The solid mass of Obi-Wan was enough to keep him anchored in the moment. It was this closeness he had wanted all along, skin on skin, bone on bone, muscle to muscle.
Finally Obi-Wan dragged his mouth away. "Touch me," he breathed, and Qui-Gon understood his need for the same sort of envelopment that Qui-Gon himself craved. He wrapped his arms around his padawan, gripping tightly. Obi-Wan sighed and began to kiss him again, while he dug his fingers into the strong muscles of Obi-Wan's back. Obi-Wan twisted against him, wriggling closer into his embrace; and he put one hand to the back of his padawan's skull to hold him still, pressing them together, while he spread his thighs to seize Obi-Wan's legs between his. Their muscles were taut, straining against one another, and they kissed like that for long minutes, an urgency to Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon did not yet feel himself, but that filled and completed the emptiness he'd been plagued with all day.
He began to stroke his padawan in long, hard motions, pressing down on the dimples of ribcage normally obscured by sheathes of muscle, smoothing his palms over the sharp edges of hipbone before rubbing his fingers up into the creases at the tops of Obi-Wan's thighs. The small, excited sounds that escaped Obi-Wan led him on to grasp handfuls of Obi-Wan's arse, digging his fingers into the sturdy flesh. Again Obi-Wan's response was immediate: he rocked his hips against Qui-Gon, and pushed up into the hands abusing him. His penis was a hard ridge against Qui-Gon's stomach. His breath was coming fast now, and he'd broken their kiss to burrow his face against the plane of Qui-Gon's neck, his mouth sucking at the skin there.
"Do you like that?" Qui-Gon whispered, flexing his fists closed to spread Obi-Wan's cheeks apart.
"Yes, yes," Obi-Wan gasped, grinding back against him. He kneaded Obi-Wan's buttocks rhythmically, pulling up and out to tighten the flesh between Obi-Wan's legs, relaxing to run his thumbs down the tempting cleft; while Obi-Wan shuddered and clung to him. "I thought we were going to have me in you," he panted into Qui-Gon's neck, "but you'll have me gone in a minute if you do that any more. Gods, I don't care, you can do me afterwards if you like," as Qui-Gon's thumb brushed over the little dimple at the deepest part of his crack. He was beginning to sweat, and the moisture was pooling there, making his skin slick to touch.
"I think not," Qui-Gon said regretfully, loosening his grip on the delectable bottom beneath his hands. "I haven't recovered quite as fast as you. But you're right." He pushed himself up on one arm, pitching Obi-Wan over onto the expanse of bed beside him, to Obi-Wan's groaned complaint. "Time for you to slow down." Perhaps it was unkind to stop at that moment, but Obi-Wan had proposed the bargain, and Qui-Gon found that he wanted it completed, wanted his padawan sheathed all the way in him, whether or not he came again himself. He pulled a few cushions down to his hips and rolled over onto them, his backside lifted into the air. "Prepare me," he ordered, pillowing his head on his crossed arms.
"Force," Obi-Wan breathed, "that's supposed to slow me down?"
Qui-Gon chuckled, amused despite himself. "Take a couple of deep breaths. Oh, and there's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer." He was oddly flattered that Obi-Wan continued to stare at him for a few moments longer, before turning to rummage for the oil.
A scent of orange essence and heavy musk spiced the air. "This one?" Obi-Wan said, sniffing dubiously at the glass stopper of a bottle small enough to hide in his palm.
"A drop of that," Qui-Gon said, considering. "Into the other bottle -there, the larger plastic one, to the back. Don't get too much of it on your hands."
Obi-Wan rooted out the bottle he had meant; followed his instructions. "What's in it? It isn't just scent, I assume."
Qui-Gon sighed. It would have been pointless to hope his curious-minded padawan might not have asked. "No, there's a stimulant - the sap of the tejero tree. It...helps me last longer."
Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows. "Is it dangerous neat?"
Qui-Gon had expected a pointed comment rather than a practical one. "Not in moderate doses," he answered. "Some people put it on the tip of the penis. I've never used it that way."
"Secrets of a Jedi master," Obi-Wan murmured. "Who would have thought it?" He leant over with the stopper in his hand, and calmly marked a cross on the base of Qui-Gon's spine with its oily bottom. The glass was cold against Qui-Gon's skin, but an immediate flower of warmth blossomed there, spiking into his groin. He took in a deep, shuddering breath.
"Interesting," Obi-Wan said.
"Very," he answered, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd had the pure stuff on his fingers before, but there it hadn't had so visceral an effect. He watched Obi-Wan put the stopper aside on the table, leaving the bottle uncorked; then shut his eyes. "Obi-Wan. Please."
"It's a shame I won't be able to lick that spot," Obi-Wan said, pouring a small puddle of oil between Qui-Gon's shoulderblades. Qui-Gon thanked his stars it was from the much-diluted bottle: there was only the mildest of tingles where it pooled. "Does the effect last for long?"
"It's quite potent," Qui-Gon said, feeling the heat from Obi-Wan's mark spread into his balls, "but shortlived. There's an after-effect of a more generalised sensitivity in the area of application, and then the penile stimulation itself, which goes on for up to an hour, and do you think we could possibly discuss this all at another time?" He buried his head in his arms, canting his hips upwards.
Oiled fingers slipped between his thighs. "I just wanted to know," Obi-Wan said mildly.
Qui-Gon spread his legs a little further. "Put your knowledge to some use, then," he said, tone tart.
Not obviously quelled, his padawan replied, "Yes, Master." Fingertips crawled up his ballsac, spidered over his perineum, every touch tightening the muscles of his stomach which were already tensed against the swell of the pillows. His cock was firming, and the new position put a delightful weight on the length of him pressed against the soft cotton.
He gave a sigh and let the rest of his body slowly relax into the bedding as Obi-Wan continued the delicate caresses. The flare of passion in his groin was passing, but in its wake there was a gentle warmth, and it was easy to centre all his awareness there, where Obi-Wan was creeping light fingers towards his hole.
It always surprised him, how much more sensitive the fine pucker of his anus was than the surrounding flesh. Obi-Wan's gentlest touch there, no more than a mothwing brushing him, sent a shiver through his entire body.
"Good?" Obi-Wan asked softly.
"Very," he answered, his voice rumbling out from the cave of his arms.
Obi-Wan gave a shaky laugh. "You sound like the old man of the sea when your voice drops that deep."
"Mmm." He didn't want to talk any more, just wanted to concentrate on Obi-Wan's fingers skirting round his entrance, teasing him, turning every joint in his body into liquid weakness.
The first finger slipped in.
The intrusion was so easy, the oil slickening its way, that Qui-Gon's body simply rose to meet it, Obi-Wan knuckle-deep in him before the muscle thought to resist. He let out a deep breath, almost a groan. "Wait," he rasped, and slowly clamped down, tightening all the muscles in his groin as if he were clenching a giant fist inside himself. Obi-Wan made a startled sound, but he ignored it, focussed solely on the contours of the flesh he'd just received into himself, the knob of knuckle, the long protrusion of skin and bone. It was...not altogether comfortable, but good. Filling. Solid.
Another deep sigh, and he opened, a gradual process of unknotting and slackening that began with the rigid sphincter that gripped Obi-Wan so tight, and spread down through his testicles, out to the corded muscles of his thighs, up into his stomach, his heart, his fingertips.
"May I move now?" a bemused voice asked above him. He mumbled an assent, too languid to open his eyes.
The slow seesawing in and out which followed was delicious, a subtle friction that warmed his flesh where he wanted it most, while reducing the rest of him to torpor. Another hand began to stroke over the planes of his back to the same rhythm, spreading oil into his skin, gliding, gliding... The second finger penetrated just as Obi-Wan rubbed over the cross he had made on Qui-Gon's tailbone, the skin so sensitive there that Qui-Gon arched up with a cry, pushing Obi-Wan into him even though this one burned as the first had not.
Obi-Wan leant over him, kissed his shoulder, twisted his fingers in a sure, firm tempo that sent fire crawling from the burn into Qui-Gon's belly. He hid his face in the dark while his arse rose higher, knees spreading to relieve the pressure pushing from inside. The breath in his lungs was stifling hot.
Abruptly the fingers withdrew. "Is that enough?" Obi-Wan asked roughly. Qui-Gon drew in a deep mouthful of cool sweet air, raised his head and slitted his eyes to see Obi-Wan rubbing at his own cock, clumsy hands spreading oil over it in hasty swipes. "Yes, enough," he rasped. "Do it."
Without further question, Obi-Wan scrambled between his legs, knees pushing Qui-Gon's thighs to splay him wide. Qui-Gon gave a grunt at the sudden weight on his back, but it was only Obi-Wan leaning over to grab the glass stopper from the bedside table; a moment later and he could breathe again - until strong fingers spread his cheeks apart.
A touch - it felt like ice, so cold against the wrinkle of his entrance - hard smooth - Obi-Wan was pushing it - oh gods, the boy had pushed the stopper into him! He bucked up, cried out - Obi-Wan pulled it out immediately and just as the fire took him, his padawan put his oiled cock to Qui-Gon's hole and breached him, pushed all the way home in one long shove.
"Force!"
Obi-Wan's full weight held him down, but that was the only control either of them had for the next moment, as the scorch of the oil seared them together, the shaft of Obi-Wan's penis carrying it deep into Qui-Gon, turning his insides to fire. The stopper clattered to the floor and shattered, unheeded.
"Gods," Obi-Wan said above him, voice breaking on the syllable. "Gods."
Qui-Gon groaned. "Don't move yet, for Force's sake!"
"Don't worry," an unsteady voice answered him, "I didn't plan to. You know, Master, when you said it was 'quite potent', you should have left out the 'quite'."
"Didn't I tell you I'd never rubbed it on my cock?" he growled back. "What makes you think I've had it up the arse, either?"
He got a half-laugh for that; and now the shock was over, he wanted to laugh himself. The most incredible warmth was filling him, even though the tender flesh stretched round the root of his padawan's thick cock still stung. He shifted minutely below Obi-Wan, not to relieve the weight of the body on him but just to see what it would feel like. The moment's slide of Obi-Wan's cock in him was enough to have his fingers gripping the sheet. Above him, Obi-Wan moaned.
"Listen to me, Padawan," he said in his sternest voice. "I want you to do exactly what I tell you, right now."
"Yes, Master." The instant reply carried a wealth of obedience.
"I want you to get up on your knees, and fuck me very hard and very fast, and don't stop until I come. Do you understand?"
"But I thought you said slow - "
Qui-Gon rolled his hips upward.
" - fast. Yes, I understand."
"Good lad," Qui-Gon said, and he gave a little squeeze of his arsehole to show his approval.
That was all Obi-Wan seemed to need. He reared up, his palm flat on the centre of Qui-Gon's spine, and pulled almost all the way out, his shaft sliding silkily across Qui-Gon's sensitised skin. A deep plunge back in, out and in again without pause, and Qui-Gon was biting down on his wrist, devoured by the power of his padawan moving on him. Obi-Wan showed him no mercy, furrowing him hard and deep, one hand grasping his hip to drag him closer. He was ridden, his thighs stretched wide, as he hadn't been for years.
Groaning, he tried to push himself up on the pillows, was shoved back into them with the force of Obi-Wan's thrusts. Gods, this was good, so hard and so there, deep in the centre of him, the excitement building and building with each urgent lunge, the warmth of the oil in him as nothing to the coil of need rising from that heavy cock, from Obi-Wan's hands on him, from his padawan panting and hot against his skin. He grabbed at the bed linens, used the purchase to push up himself up, eager to meet Obi-Wan fully. He was going to come, he was going to come, the next time Obi-Wan opened him so deep he would come -
"Ahhh," the full-throated cry ripped from his mouth. The contractions of orgasm shook his entire body; showers of light exploded behind his closed eyelids.
When he finally slumped down, boneless and barely able to breathe, he felt the gentle touch of a hand to his back. "Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
He realised his padawan was still hard, cock firm within him: he was vaguely surprised that the workings of his muscles hadn't triggered Obi-Wan's own completion. Maybe it had, for there was a trickle of warm liquid that had escaped his hole to seep down his thigh. He was still hard, himself: that had been a deep spasm of the muscles of his pelvis, but he didn't think he'd actually ejaculated. His balls were still heavy with semen, for all that his body was a tangle of inanimate string, like a disjointed marionette flung upon the bed. It could be like that sometimes, with the oil: partial orgasm, if the stimulation of his anus was strong enough - and stars, could Obi-Wan have fucked him any harder? - but another climax yet to come.
"Master?"
Oh, yes, Obi-Wan had asked a question.
"I'm fine," he managed, his voice very raw.
"Good," Obi-Wan said, starting to rock against him again: no more motion than a tiny wave might make lapping at the edge of a paddling pool, but enough to send quivers throughout his entire body.
"Force," he moaned, "I can't move."
"No problem," Obi-Wan said, fingers stroking the nape of his neck. "I can - that tejero is bloody amazing stuff."
He lay there, almost content with the soft friction of Obi-Wan's cock slipping in him, half-dazed, half-asleep, and yet still vaguely wanting more.
"I'm going to make you come again," Obi-Wan said into his hair, stretching his body out along Qui-Gon's length. "May I? Do this some more?"
"All you like," Qui-Gon said, willing to lie inert for the next century. But when a few minutes of the deliberate undulations had passed, he began to rouse, lifting his hips minutely into each glide into his body Obi-Wan made.
Soft kisses blossomed down the furrow of his spine. "I could do this forever."
"Ah, the optimism of youth." Qui-Gon concentrated on the feeling of his flesh moving apart as Obi-Wan's heavy cock cleaved into him. This was no longer a gentle rocking.
"Stop for a moment," he murmured. "I want to be on my back."
"We could use a little more oil, anyway," Obi-Wan said, pulling slowly out, breathing a heavy sigh when his cockhead came free.
Qui-Gon snorted. "A lot more, given your ambitions." He shifted awkwardly on the pillows, pulling them under his hips as he rolled onto his back, while Obi-Wan leaned out of his way. This was a better position. He could see Obi-Wan now, and after the wild rutting he'd just had, he wanted that contact - something more personal.
Obi-Wan was coating himself, tipping the bottle with the dilute oil over his penis. He slicked himself slowly, his brows knit in concentration, and Qui-Gon took the opportunity to stare at the phallus that had reamed him. It was flushed a deep red, the oil shining on the long shaft of it as Obi-Wan's strong hands slid the foreskin up the rounded head with its one, dark slit eye. Qui-Gon wanted to taste it, remembered the weight of it in his hand and in his mouth; but Obi-Wan shifted away, kneeling between his legs again, and spread Qui-Gon's cheeks apart with his thumbs.
It was vaguely embarrassing. His swollen cock and reddened hole must be gapingly obvious to his padawan, and he wanted to reach down to cover himself with his fingers, silly as that was.
Obi-Wan's breath gusted out in a low whistle. "Oh, yes," he sighed, and, closing his eyes, he put his cock against Qui-Gon's entrance and slipped in with one slow roll of his hips.
Oil everywhere made taking him in almost as easy as it had been with Obi-Wan's first finger: a natural complement to Qui-Gon's own body finding itself home once again. He made a sound of acceptance, heard it echoed above him, and opened his eyes, which had somehow also drifted closed in that first surge, to watch Obi-Wan's face as he settled himself deeper.
Serious face. There were tight lines at Obi-Wan's temples, as if all Obi-Wan's concentration was on that slow glide into Qui-Gon's body. Qui-Gon lifted one finger, stroked the corner of his padawan's severe mouth. "Obi-Wan," he said gently, "relax."
Obi-Wan gave a half-smile, but his expression didn't change. "I'm paying attention to the Moment," he murmured, "don't disturb me." With a small grunt, he pushed home the last distance, so that Qui-Gon was utterly filled. "And if I relax," he said, opening wide grey eyes to smile ruefully down on Qui-Gon, "I'll be coming before I can stop it."
Qui-Gon cupped his cheek. "You don't have to wait."
His answer was a rude noise. "I haven't even had a chance to stroke your cock yet, and you want me to bring this to an end? Oh, no, Master, you're coming before I do."
"Is that a dare, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said, innocently flexing the muscles in a ripple down the centre of his pelvis.
"Bastard," Obi-Wan growled, bucking against him. But it had been a two-edged sword, for it made Qui-Gon fully aware of the girth of Obi-Wan in him. Obi-Wan was deeper in this position, Qui-Gon less free to move away; but it wasn't quite right. He wanted to feel Obi-Wan, the full length of him sliding up and down Qui-Gon's channel.
"Alright, not a dare," he said, "but we can do this better... What about this?" and he drew his leg up, rested the calf on the bone of Obi-Wan's shoulder, leaving Obi-Wan to support himself with one hand flat on the bed. Already there was extra pressure where he locked around Obi-Wan's intruding shaft. Obi-Wan swivelled his hips, thrust in with more force, weight heavy on the bent leg, and Qui-Gon felt the pull of muscle all along his thigh down to his lower back, and the stretch of his hole around the invading cock. He groaned involuntarily at its intensity.
Obi-Wan gasped above him. "Gods - so tight."
A few more of those thrusts, not as deep as the earlier ones perhaps but enough to send Qui-Gon's hunger spiralling again. He put his hand down to his cock, only to have it knocked away. "That's mine," Obi-Wan said harshly, and a firm hand covered him, pulling at his flesh.
Force, this was not going to last very long.
Obi-Wan was biting his lip, his hand twisting over the head of Qui-Gon's cock with a rough assurance that had Qui-Gon desperately surging up. The friction there - Qui-Gon moaned, his own hands fluttering helplessly on his groin.
"More oil," Obi-Wan commanded, and he fumbled for the bottle, tipping it haphazardly over Obi-Wan's pistoning fist, then spilling it on his stomach, paying no attention to where it rolled after that. He kneaded the oil into his skin, hand brisk on his own flesh. He wanted to rub it on Obi-Wan, make that strong body glisten in the soft light, wanted to touch - He reached up to put his palm flat on Obi-Wan's chest, the skin hot against his hand. "Padawan, stroke me, yes, harder - "
Obi-Wan reached down to kiss him, mouth demanding on his, body heavy on his leg stretching him so far he cried out at the pressure. "Are you going to come for me, Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan asked, drawing back, his hand working Qui-Gon's cock mercilessly. "I didn't get to see it last time. The way your balls rise up - I want to watch your face."
Oh, gods, he was so close. "M-more," he stuttered, plucking at his own nipple.
Obi-Wan's eyes glittered at him in the low light, avaricious, pupils wide. "That's it, touch yourself, rub your belly. Feel me in you." Qui-Gon reached down, put his hand flat on the curve of his abdomen, where Obi-Wan was pumping his cock so hard. Another thrust in, and he believed he could: could feel the movement of Obi-Wan's prick inside him through the tender skin. It was the single most erotic thing he'd ever known.
"Now, Master." Obi-Wan's churning hand slipped down, cupped Qui-Gon's balls, almost squeezed.
The pressure was too much. Qui-Gon arched up off the bed and came.
Force, it was -
- so much stronger than it had been before - the thickness of Obi-Wan's cock, that remorseless hand driving him - his body shaking to the sound of the deep moans that came out of his wide-spread mouth. Seed spurted out of him to splatter all over his stomach but it wasn't enough for Obi-Wan, hand still working him - fingers slipped up to his cockhead massaging out the last few reluctant drops while he shuddered and groaned like a ship about to shiver its timbers apart in heavy seas.
Slowly Obi-Wan's hand gentled, and his body eased to the bed, deep tremors still running down the length of him. He lay there, his padawan's body toiling in him, but he could not possibly move.
Yet Obi-Wan was still fucking him. Slower now, but deeper, since his leg had slipped from Obi-Wan's shoulder during that amazing climax. He opened his eyes to find Obi-Wan staring down, the colour high in his cheeks. His padawan was biting his lip, jaw set, brow furrowed. The tension radiated from him.
Qui-Gon stretched, a slow shift of his body that exposed every part of his body, from his spent cock lying on his stomach, to his reddened glistening nipples, to his armpits damp with sweat. Obi-Wan's eyes widened.
Qui-Gon smiled languidly up at him. "Padawan," he murmured, "you can go a little faster."
"Alright," Obi-Wan said in a thready voice, and he shifted to a new pace, hard but steady.
The compulsion of his own sexual need fully sated now, Qui-Gon found a different excitement in the thought of bringing Obi-Wan to satisfaction. The boy moved above him so beautifully, lips flushed and bruised by Qui-Gon's mouth - when had he developed such a delight in marking his padawan? Obi-Wan was sweating, the planes of his chest and stomach catching the low light like sheets of gold and bronze. There was a hollow in his throat, where the sweat had pooled, and Qui-Gon stroked an oily thumb over the pulse beating there. Obi-Wan closed his eyes.
Smiling, Qui-Gon ran his palms over him, down the corded neck to arms straining with the effort of holding Obi-Wan over him. It was good to touch Obi-Wan, good to feel his response to the lingering hands Qui-Gon passed over his body. Those tiny nipples, pinkly flushed... he reached down and smeared his hand in the puddle of oil and semen on his belly, rubbed the mixture over Obi-Wan's nipples, then down his chest, up the sturdy arms. Obi-Wan's nostrils flared, as if catching the scent.
He wanted Obi-Wan covered in it. He wanted his padawan to smell of him.
Obi-Wan's braid swung forward, and Qui-Gon captured it in his fingers, feathered its tip over Obi-Wan's cheek, let it swing free. "Do you want to fuck me deeper?" he whispered.
"Please, Master."
That was exactly what Qui-Gon wanted to do: to please Obi-Wan. He lifted his legs to Obi-Wan's shoulders, let Obi-Wan rock deeper, stroked Obi-Wan's body while the steady beats of the cock within him went on and on. It was almost hypnotic. Qui-Gon began to tense his body to the rhythm, tightening slightly every time Obi-Wan pulled back in an intimate caress.
"Talk to me," Obi-Wan said abruptly.
That was a surprise. "What do you want me to say?"
"Something - I don't know. Anything." Obi-Wan paused for a breath as he pushed in deep. "I just want to hear you. Want to know it's you."
He'd never been one for ribald talk in bed, but if Obi-Wan wanted it... Perhaps it fuelled Obi-Wan's arousal, to have his master discussing fucking with his politely-spoken padawan's cock in his arse. And Obi-Wan had come to the sound of his voice earlier - a thought that still amazed him.
"Have you ever," he began, deliberately dropping into his lowest, richest register, "had intercourse with a Galadian?"
"What?"
"A Galadian. They are an unusual human variant, unisexual and hermaphroditic, with fur-covered skin." He dragged out every syllable, enjoying the play of sound over his lips, the cadence of the complex words uttered in the middle of such a primal act.
A frown crossed Obi-Wan's face. "Comparative biology? Now?"
"Patience, Padawan." As low and deep as he could, and Obi-Wan shuddered above him. "Galadians," he went on, rumbling slowly around each word, "have only one entry to the body, anus and vagina combined; and it is guarded by three extra vertebrae, that curve over the anus like a sheath."
He stroked a thumb over Obi-Wan's nipple, felt the heartbeat fast beneath his palm; hooked his knees more securely up over Obi-Wan's shoulders, locked his ankles. "This sheath," he whispered, "is wide at the base, narrowing to a spike, and they call it the thorn."
"Oh," Obi-Wan said, his eyes tightly closed as he pushed his own spike into Qui-Gon, twice in quick succession, striking so deep that Qui-Gon had to catch his breath, just from the pressure within him.
It took him a moment to continue. "When you stroke the skin just above it," he said, trailing his oily fingers over the delicate skin at the base of Obi-Wan's spine, "the sheath cannot help but rise, and then you may penetrate the anus. Once you have gone in, the wide blades of bone, covered in soft fur, cup around your testicles. You are held," he said, his voice very gruff, "as if a man in fur gloves had your balls in his hand, incredible softness with steel underneath. But the last vertebra is bare bone, Padawan, with only the thinnest covering of skin. And when..." he paused for effect.
"Gods." Obi-Wan moved urgently on him. "And when?"
Qui-Gon stretched up to whisper in Obi-Wan's ear, his fingers trailing down unremarked into Obi-Wan's cleft, touching the little pucker there. "And when you've just pushed in as hard as you can, gone all the way in to touch a little nerve inside," Obi-Wan plunged wildly into him "- why, then the spike curls round behind in a sudden reflex, and the thorn," Qui-Gon pushed his finger in hard, "is pricking you."
"Ah!" Obi-Wan's response was immediate: a hard, uncontrolled shove deep, deep inside. Qui-Gon was so open, so malleable, he took it all in, his padawan plummeting into him like a heavy stone into a deep-bored well. And when Obi-Wan pulled back, groaning, it was easy to take the ripples of sensation and send them back, his body and groin and anus contracting around the retreating cock in tightly-descending rings.
Obi-Wan cried out. "Fuck, yes! Want to fuck you, fuck you," his body plunged in, pounding, Qui-Gon's finger shaken loose from between his arse-cheeks, Qui-Gon contracting his anus as hard around Obi-Wan as he could, "oh gods, oh fuck, I'm coming, Master - Qui-Gon - "
Qui-Gon squeezed tight, felt Obi-Wan jerk and shudder and arch between his legs, hands grasping desperately at his hips. One last wild contraction, and Obi-Wan was crying out, collapsing down, spilling himself inside his master.
Shaken, Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around the trembling man who lay between his thighs. Obi-Wan's hair was soft beneath his mouth, his padawan's body heavy on his. They rocked together for minutes like that, while Obi-Wan's seed and spent cock slipped slowly out of Qui-Gon's body.
If that was the sort of sex Obi-Wan found comfortable, Qui-Gon simply couldn't imagine surviving anything Obi-Wan might find exciting.
Finally, Obi-Wan gave a long sigh into the hollow of his neck. "Mmmm. That was nice."
"I'll pretend that was an understatement, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, making his voice very dry.
Obi-Wan's chuckle tickled against his skin, and then his padawan laughed out loud. "And there I was accusing you of a limited vocabulary after orgasm. You surely have a way of showing me wrong." He pushed himself up on his palms. "I don't think I could do anything more than sleep now." He wrinkled his nose. "After a shower."
"A fine plan," Qui-Gon replied, and found himself being hauled up by one wrist.
"We can share," Obi-Wan said, tugging him to his feet.
The warm water was pleasantly soothing to muscles that had not been exercised in that way for quite some time, and Qui-Gon was almost ready to fall asleep in the showerstall, especially after the luxury of having Obi-Wan wash his back for him, when the soapy fingers on his spine glided further down. His body tensed as one finger slid between his cheeks, into his stretched and yielding hole.
"Sore?" Obi-Wan asked sympathetically, swivelling his finger slowly.
Qui-Gon caught his breath. "A little," he said, closing his eyes to concentrate on the sensation. Sore, but the more sensitive for it, even the slightest movement sending little judders up his spine. And so open: the aching muscles unable to put up resistance, yielding easily to Obi-Wan's finger. It seemed such an intimate thing, to have Obi-Wan clean inside him like this. Despite the slight sting of soap against the delicate tissues there, he regretted it when Obi-Wan's finger left.
"You're falling asleep standing up," Obi-Wan teased, pressing his mouth against Qui-Gon's shoulder where the water streamed down. "Bed, I think."
They'd forgotten to bring through the towels from Qui-Gon's room so they went back, dripping water everywhere, to retrieve them. Obi-Wan towelled himself briskly, his padawan haircut quick to dry; and then started to tidy the room while Qui-Gon dealt with his own, less tractable mass of wet hair, combing out the last drops of water from the frizzing ends.
Obi-Wan swept the fragments of glass into a corner with one flick of his fingers, and put what remained of the bottle of oil on the table. Picking up the dirty, crumb-infested bedspread, he wrinkled his nose. "We've pretty much wrecked your bed, haven't we?" he said.
"Pretty much," Qui-Gon agreed. Not a sheet was still tucked in, and even his pillows were stained with semen and oil.
"The droids can handle it in the morning." Obi-Wan tossed the spread back into the middle of the mess, and coolly rolled everything up into a big bundle. "Sleep with me tonight. There's lots of space in my bed." He didn't look at Qui-Gon, though, while he tied the ends of the bale together with a twist of the sheets; and Qui-Gon realised there was a trace of uncertainty in that studied command.
Might Obi-Wan be worried that the next morning would be more awkward than the night preceding it? But he had offered; and Qui-Gon had no taste for sleeping alone in this reeking room. "Thank you, Padawan," he said gravely, putting his towels beside the other dirty linens.
Down the corridor, his clothes for the morning and a few new pillows under his arm, and Qui-Gon volunteered for the side of the bed against the wall, overriding Obi-Wan's polite objections by tossing his pillows into the corner. This bed wasn't really large enough for the both of them; but they had often slept in far more limited quarters, and Qui-Gon found that if he tucked his knees up a little, his toes didn't try to work their way out the bottom of the sheets. "Goodnight, Master," Obi-Wan said, turning off the light.
Even in the dark, Qui-Gon could see that Obi-Wan was clinging to the edge of the bed, trying to leave him as much space as he might want. He'd forgotten, for the last few hours, that in the confident sexual partner he'd found there was also a padawan who could occasionally be too deferential. Perhaps it was time for Qui-Gon to take back a little of his role as Obi-Wan's master - and besides, the gap between them let in cold air. He rolled over and settled an arm around Obi-Wan's waist, tugging gently. "Come here."
A moment's hesitation, and then Obi-Wan turned towards him, his hand creeping up Qui-Gon's arm. Their feet entangled. "Sleep well," Qui-Gon whispered, kissing the top of the head now resting on the edge of his pillow. Obi-Wan made a small, affirmative sound, and soon his breath was coming even and regular against the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat. It wasn't long before Qui-Gon followed him into sleep.
He woke to the moon shining full on his face. The wall was cold behind his back, the covers were gone, and his padawan was sprawled across most of the bed, limbs flung out like a stranded starfish, his face buried in his pillow. Qui-Gon smiled. It would seem that in his sleep, Obi-Wan was less polite about sharing his bed and blankets.
He thought about trying to retrieve a corner of the coverlet, but he was actually quite wakeful; and, judging by the moon, he would have to get up in an hour anyway. Even as he watched, it was slipping down below the windows, letting the shadows back into the room. Quietly he slid down to the foot of the bed, taking care not to disturb his padawan. Obi-Wan snuffled once and rolled to fill the space Qui-Gon had just vacated.
Another shower and fresh clothes later, he checked the comm panel before going into the kitchen. There was a note from Master Tiin, booking him in for the missed lesson in the hour after breakfast. He sent his confirmation and then, struck by the idea, sat down to write another note, this time to Mace Windu. If another week of furlough was on offer, he would seize it; and he would make rather better use of it than he had the last. Regretfully, he thought of Obi-Wan still curled in sleep, and what it would be like to creep back under the sheets, and feel the warmth of his padawan's body against his own. But it would be hours before his padawan was ready to wake, and he would be long gone by then. It would be wrong to disturb him.
He had to slip back into Obi-Wan's room, though, to rescue his boots. "Master?" came a drowsy complaint from the bed. "It's dark."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said, amused, "it often is. Go back to sleep, Padawan. I'm putting on the kettle and going out soon, but you can stay in bed all morning."
Obi-Wan shifted and sighed, and Qui-Gon thought he had drifted off; but as Qui-Gon reached the door, boots in his hand, there was a plaintive murmur. "Tea?"
"Are you sure? It'll wake you up."
"Tea." That was more alert, so Qui-Gon made two mugs, the second with a teaspoon of rose nectar for his sweet-toothed padawan, and brought them back into the bedroom. Obi-Wan was sitting up in a puddle of tangled sheets, blinking at the light from the tablelamp like a woozle disturbed in its nest.
Qui-Gon couldn't suppress the twitch of his mouth in time. "What's so amusing?" his padawan asked, before screwing up his face in a huge yawn. Qui-Gon put the mugs down by the bed while Obi-Wan stretched and rolled his shoulders. "Not me, I hope." He shifted over in the sheets, patting the side of the bed, and Qui-Gon obediently sat down.
"It's the way your pigtail sticks up when you sleep, Padawan," he said apologetically.
"Hhhmph." Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a sour look, but sweetened considerably when he had his first taste of the tea. "Good," he said. They sipped the hot drinks in companionable silence for a few minutes.
It was Obi-Wan who broke the quiet. "I was hoping you'd spend the morning in bed," he said, looking down into his teacup. "It is our last day."
The warmth that suddenly curled in Qui-Gon's stomach was not from the tea alone. "That would have been...very pleasurable," he said, "but unfortunately Master Tiin has already rescheduled me for a session after breakfast, and I have a class to give in an hour."
Obi-Wan looked out the window, where the night sky showed no sign of lightening, and then down to the timepiece. "In an hour?"
Qui-Gon smiled. "You know my lecture on 'Joy in the Moment'? Well, I also take a class of crechelings on the same subject: their first introduction to it, before they come across it in formal lessons."
"I didn't know you taught down at that level," Obi-Wan said, looking at Qui-Gon with curiosity.
Qui-Gon shrugged. "I've done it for more years than I can count. We take them out of the creche before dawn - very exciting for them, as you can imagine - and go into the gardens to watch the sun rise. But you wouldn't have known about it, Padawan," he added with a little dig, "because you've never been up early enough to see me go."
This time Obi-Wan's snort was very rude indeed, and Qui-Gon had to laugh.
"You can make fun of me now," Obi-Wan said with indulgence, "but I was very fond of the dawn when I was little. In fact, thinking about it...I'm not sure it wasn't because of that very lesson."
"Oh?" Qui-Gon sat back, the warm mug cradled in his hands. "You remember it?"
Obi-Wan gave an abashed glance at his cup. "I was incredibly badly behaved. I pulled the teacher's hair."
"Did you, indeed?"
"It was so tempting," Obi-Wan explained, looking up at Qui-Gon through his lashes, as innocent an expression on his face as he must have worn back then. "Long and shining golden red in the dawn light. We'd just been told the story of the prince who climbed up the tower on a rope of his own hair, and..." He shrugged. "I decided to climb it."
Qui-Gon was smiling openly by now. "How high did you get?"
"Oh, the teacher was sitting down on the grass, so I think I got all the way on top of his shoulders. My hands were sticky from the mud patch by the rosebeds - that made the climb easier."
Qui-Gon laughed again. Laughter seemed to come easily this morning. "I don't remember," he said. "Did I beat you as you deserved, young Padawan?"
"It wasn't you, Master," Obi-Wan said. "This was ages ago - I was only four, I think. And the master's hair was red and long. Who used to teach those classes before you?"
Qui-Gon stilled. "I'm the only one who's ever taught them, Obi-Wan," he said.
When Obi-Wan said nothing, just stared at him with disbelieving eyes, he continued, "I developed those lessons early on, just after I took Ros as my first padawan. If you were four, I would have been Xan's master for three years already, in my early thirties. And I had long hair then - down to my waist, if I recall." He paused, suppressing a sudden urge to bite his lip. "I am somewhat older than you," he finished gently.
"Oh. I'm sorry, I hadn't thought." Obi-Wan stared at his cup again. "It just seems so long ago."
"I suppose it was," Qui-Gon said. "Many years indeed." And every one of them suddenly lay between him and the young man on the bed beside him.
Then Obi-Wan smiled, a small twist of his lips, and he looked straight up at Qui-Gon with a mixture of amusement and resignation in his wide, expressive eyes. "I might have known it was you. The Force seems determined to place me in your debt, Master Jinn."
Qui-Gon wrinkled his brow. "How so?"
Obi-Wan sighed, cradling his cup in his hands. "This is a long story. Are you in a rush?"
He didn't need to check the timepiece, and besides which, he was curious. He and Obi-Wan had had a lot of time to tell each other their stories over their years together: he wanted to hear a new one. "I have two ko or so - I woke up early."
"I'm sorry, did I disturb you in the night?"
Qui-Gon decided not to mention the stolen sheets. "No. We just went to bed earlier than usual, that's all."
"So we did." Obi-Wan sat back with a big smile, but it slowly faded from his face. "I haven't thought about this in so long. Do you remember the Amagoda disaster?"
"No Jedi could forget that," Qui-Gon said, his answering smile suddenly wiped away. Amagoda was a grim memory. He'd been off-Temple at the time, and late to the scene - one of the few instances when his prescience had not served him well.
"Well, I was one of the initiates aboard."
The cup trembled in Qui-Gon's hand. "Obi-Wan?" he breathed. "You were there?"
"Not in the main bay. When the Amagoda broke up, I was in one of the conning towers. We were sent spinning away from the ship - luckily, with the hatches sealed. Master Pathian had closed them just before the engines blew."
Obi-Wan's voice was surprisingly steady, but it must have been horrific. And for a child... "You were six? Seven?" He'd never imagined his padawan in such danger, before Qui-Gon had been there to protect him.
"I was seven," Obi-Wan confirmed. He ran one finger in a slow circle around the rim of the empty cup. "It was only a small group of us. Master Pathian had her padawan with her - he was about fifteen, I think. There was an initiate, Jeroll Hass, who was a lot older than me. She'd just been chosen as a padawan, but she'd asked her new master to let her go on her last field trip with the other initiates, and he'd said yes. She - didn't survive."
Qui-Gon swallowed hard. How that master must have suffered, afterwards.
"And there was me, and another initiate, Lolpa. Lolpa was five, maybe? Younger than me, anyway. He was crying: the blast had punctured one of the viewports, and he'd taken a shard of plasteel to the forehead before the metal shutters came across to seal it off. We lost a lot of the air in the tower then, as well."
Obi-Wan put his cup aside on the bedside table, and placed Qui-Gon's empty one there too. "Funny," he said, resting his head back against the wall behind him. "I wasn't so scared, even though there was blood everywhere from Lolpa's headwound - we had lost gravity, of course -and it was getting colder very quickly. But we had a master with us, so I was sure we would be alright."
He tried to imagine an Obi-Wan so young and trusting. That sombre face smoothed and plumped in childhood, those grey eyes even larger, that stubborn jaw rounded with baby fat. "What happened?" Qui-Gon asked quietly.
It was a moment before Obi-Wan answered. "Master Pathian knew better how little chance we had of surviving until the rescue shuttles turned up. She said we all had to go into trance: as deep as possible, slow down all our bodily functions, especially to conserve air. I remember she was very calm when she said that, but she knew... We were too young. Initiates didn't have the control to stay in trance that long -Lolpa couldn't even get into trance at all. But we all tried."
It was oddly disturbing to listen to Obi-Wan describe all this so precisely, so calmly correct - the adult telling a tale in words the child would not even have fully understood. "Our brave children," Qui-Gon said, bowing his head.
"Children with such brave masters," Obi-Wan replied, resting his fingers around Qui-Gon's hand. "Master Pathian took Lolpa into trance instead, keeping him alive with her own energy. But, of course, she could only help one of us. And even then it proved too much: when they finally got us out, Lolpa was still alive - just - but Master Pathian... She'd done too much. She passed away in the sickbay. Her padawan was..." Obi-Wan paused a little. "I'd never seen grief like that before - and I think he blamed himself, too. I didn't understand it, until I became a padawan myself. You masters are a heavy responsibility, you know."
Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan's fingers a quick squeeze. "You should see it from the other side," he said with deep sincerity. "But what of you, Padawan? Why didn't you - " His voice caught on the last word.
"Die?" Obi-Wan shrugged. "I came close. How I escaped - it's one of those things that seems more incredible to me as I get older. It didn't surprise me so much then." A furrow marked his brow as he chose his words, telling the story more slowly now. "Getting into trance wasn't too hard once Master Pathian had taken Lolpa down, and the other two were under. I could concentrate in the quiet. But it didn't last. I came back out, and it was so cold. Dark; and quiet; and the stars were wheeling by the viewports. I shivered and couldn't stop, and that scared me a little. Then I looked at the others, and I thought perhaps they had already died. I couldn't see them breathing. I thought I would die, too."
Mutely Qui-Gon reached out to him, and he turned his cheek into Qui-Gon's palm, his mouth lifting in a self-conscious smile. "Am I making this sound very scary? It wasn't, you know. I think I would have been quite happy just to drift off into sleep." Qui-Gon shuddered. "But it was too cold, and the Master had told me to go into trance, so I tried again. I couldn't do it. I tried and tried, and it only seemed to get harder. I couldn't still my mind, Master. And then - I remembered that lesson in the garden. The Third Lesson in Joy."
He recited slowly, in a sing-song voice, the words Qui-Gon had taught scores of initiates:
'The Moment contains Joy: seek and it is found, for the beauty of the Moment is without end.'
"And it was," he whispered. "The stars were shining, just like they had before the sun rose that morning. I remembered the dawn, and the sunlight in the teach- in your hair," Obi-Wan corrected himself. "I thought about how beautiful everything was, and how that made me happy. I remembered how you told us to take our strength from that beauty." He lifted his shoulders. "It was easy to find my centre after that. I just watched the stars go by. The next thing I knew, I was coming out of trance in the sickbay of the Mirabilis. I spent a few days in bed afterwards, but that was all. Story over."
Qui-Gon let out a long-held breath. "Force," he said raggedly. "That wasn't what I was expecting."
"Why, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan exclaimed, leaning forward to grasp his shoulder, "you've gone quite white."
He was sure he had, although he would have preferred it if his padawan had not noticed. Obi-Wan pulled his cold hands between warmer ones, and chafed them briskly. "Why has it upset you so, Master?" he asked gently. "We've both skirted death by narrower margins than that - more times than I can count. I haven't often seen you this disturbed."
Qui-Gon waited a moment to get control of his voice before he answered. "You've given me the stuff of my nightmares, Obi-Wan. To think I could have lost both of you."
"Both?"
"Xanatos was on the Amagoda, too," he said simply.
Obi-Wan's eyes went wide. He clasped Qui-Gon's hands the harder. "How extraordinary," he breathed.
"Less so when I consider the matter," Qui-Gon said, already a little embarrassed by how unsettled Obi-Wan's story had left him. "The entire creche was on that fieldtrip. I think the creche masters must have scoured the halls of the Temple for every single padawan they could find to volunteer to come along."
"Why was he in Temple, rather than with you?" Obi-Wan asked.
Qui-Gon sighed. "Call it the will of the Force. I had an urgent mission, and one I couldn't do with him, so I left him behind. I was on my way back when I got the message that the Amagoda had sent out an emergency call. It was a shock to find his name on the roster amongst the 'missing, presumed dead'."
He could see the concern in Obi-Wan's eyes, but he shook his head. "No need for sympathy, Padawan," he said roughly. "I knew he was still alive. But it was a bad few hours until I got there, nonetheless."
Obi-Wan wrinkled his brow. "I don't remember noticing him," he said. "Was he in the main bay?"
"A few levels down," Qui-Gon replied. "He was trapped with a group of children in the fourth hold - they'd gone to look at the shuttles, well below where the rescue teams were concentrating." If he shut his eyes now, he could still see the tiers of sealed hatches that had kept him from Xanatos. He'd had to work his way down with ruthless efficiency, testing the atmosphere beyond each hatch before forcing the complex security mechanisms, skirting around compromised pods that had blown out into space. He'd known Xan was alive, but the pods were failing from the stress of the explosion, some filled with noxious fumes even though they were airtight: Xan could have been taken from him at any moment, and him only a deck away. The relief when his padawan finally reached him, leading an entire file of frightened initiates through the smoke and flames, had been overwhelming.
"He got a commendation from the Council for that," Qui-Gon murmured. "He kept his head in difficult circumstances and saved a lot of other lives as well as his own. I was very proud." He looked down at Obi-Wan's fingers, wrapped around his. "I am proud. Of you both."
Obi-Wan gave his hands a final squeeze and pulled away. "It was all a long time ago," he said. "And I didn't learn the lesson perfectly -you've found lots to complain about in my inattention to the Moment since, Master."
Qui-Gon gave a rueful smile, tucking his hands away into the sleeves of his robe. "That I have," he said.
"So Xanatos got a commendation, did he?" Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon looked up. There was a certain glint in Obi-Wan's eyes, and a sudden nonchalance of tone.
"Yes," Qui-Gon answered.
Obi-Wan leant back against his pillows, folding his arms. "I didn't get a commendation."
"No?"
"I didn't get anything at all."
"Really?"
Obi-Wan's eyes met his own. "Don't you think I'm owed something more?"
Ah, now the territory of this discussion was becoming clearer. "I suppose so," Qui-Gon said, not ceding ground so early on - though he thought he might have much to gain from these negotiations.
"When you come back from your lessons," Obi-Wan said levelly, "we can discuss my reward."
To Qui-Gon's surprise, the lesson with the initiates was a joy.
He had thought he might be too unsettled by Obi-Wan's story to fully immerse himself in the tide of tumbling children around him. There had been enough in that small tale to disturb him, Force knew. Obi-Wan might have been lost to him, long before they ever had a chance to know one another. He might have lost them both: and many long hours of meditation over the years had already made clear to him that, for all the subsequent pain of Xan's fall and death, he would have suffered more to have lost his laughing young padawan, black-eyed and beautiful, than the stranger who had finally fallen to his blade.
Dark thoughts to bring to a group of excited children. But he found that his mind did not dwell on them. There was a crispness to the early morning air that swept them away, a sharp tang to the new day. Dewdrops littered the roses, big fat pearls that splashed as a chubby fist reached out to touch. "Gently," he admonished the young kit, but his voice was gentler still, and his hand stroked down the soft fur between the initiate's brush-tipped ears. "Its thorns are sharper than your claws, child."
The kit turned its face up to him, laughing in a little mewl, and the dawning sun touched its whiskers with gold. The stars had almost gone. "Gather round, Initiates," he said without raising his voice. He sat on the wet grass, his cloak a sombre note against their tiny white tunics, as they clustered around him like the nicottia blossoms scattered over the grass. "Our lessons this morning are half-way done, and I want you all to tell me what you've learnt."
"I know one, Master Qui-Gon," said a little girl breathlessly, her hands wringing in the intensity of her concentration. She screwed up her face and said, all in one breath, "The Moment goes by really really fast but it's not tomorrow and it's not yesterday it's just now and then it lasts forever."
She gave a big sigh of relief when she finished. Qui-Gon nodded to her. "That is the second Lesson in Joy," he said gravely, although he was dearly tempted to laugh at the wide eyes around him. "And what is in this moment, children? This one, here and now?"
"Pretty red flowers," said one, triumphantly holding out a bunch of roses. A bold child, she had obviously dared the thorns, for there were little drops of blood on the pale skin of her arm.
"White flowers," said a voice beside him, shyly, and a nosegay of nicottia was tucked into the pocket of his cloak.
"Grass!" crowed a young hellraiser, rolling in the wet and covering himself with grass-stains and mud. How the laundry would love Qui-Gon today.
"The sun," lisped the young kit, stretching up to meet it.
"The stars," said another child dreamily, folded into the corner of his arm. He looked down on the boy, soft-spiked hair a fine gold in the morning light. Had Obi-Wan curled against him so, twenty years ago?
"I fink everyfing is beyootiful," the smallest child of all said with solemnity, and she tucked three leaves behind his ear, resting her slight weight against his back. "Put your head down, Mafter. I can't reach."
Obediently he bent his head. "I think you are right," he said. "And that is the third Lesson in Joy."
Breakfast with the initiates finally over, and his clothes liberally spattered with the mess that small, sticky hands clinging to him usually left, Qui-Gon decided to skip back to their rooms before his lesson with Master Tiin. Of course a change of clothes would be a good idea. Besides, Obi-Wan might not yet have left for the day.
Yes, his padawan was there - sitting on the floor in the common room, heaps of clothing both dirty and clean scattered around him, and his backpack gripped between his knees. He was trying to stuff his cloak into the groaning bag, but it was being recalcitrant. A jumble of bottles and papers surrounded Qui-Gon's own empty pack, which sagged against the couch awaiting its share of abuse.
Damnation. They must have been called to a mission; and a long one at that, if Obi-Wan were bothering to take clothes for them. Which meant that any plans Qui-Gon might have had -
"Master, you're back." Obi-Wan looked up with a big, beaming grin; hardly the reaction Qui-Gon would have expected to having his leave cut short. "I have a lot of things to ask you - are you here long?"
"I'm due back out for Master Tiin's lesson in a moment, assuming I still have time for that. Do we have to leave immediately, Padawan?" When Obi-Wan looked puzzled, Qui-Gon elaborated. "I assume all this packing is for a mission?"
"Oh. No, Master," Obi-Wan laughed. "At least, I would love to see the mission where I'd wear this." He disentangled a gold cobweb shirt from the pile of clothes by his foot, so sheer that Qui-Gon could see clearly through it. "No, it's much better news. Master Windu commed while you were out: he says our furlough has been extended by a week. Imagine, Master, a whole week! I can't remember when we last had two weeks off in a row."
"You were fourteen, I think," Qui-Gon answered absently, his thoughts caught by the idea of Obi-Wan wearing the flimsy bit of silk. The way the gold would pick up the highlights in his hair; the way the dusky shadow of his nipples would smudge the fine cloth. "Aurebaum. We were on Aurebaum - I'd forgotten. You spent all your time diving off that ice-floe and terrorising the seals."
"And your moustache used to freeze up overnight, and you'd melt the icicles in the steam from the teapot. I remember." The warmth of Obi-Wan's smile was enough to dispel the chill of the memories. "Which is why I thought to try something more temperate this time. Master, what about Padril?"
"What about it?" Qui-Gon asked, watching Obi-Wan's agile hands fold up the delicate garment again.
"I know your schedule is booked up for today, but you're free from this afternoon - would you come with me? There are a couple of flights this evening. And it'd be nice to get away from duties altogether, wouldn't it?"
"It might be," Qui-Gon said slowly. Padril had been the last thing on his mind when he'd sent that message to Windu. "I don't care for gambling, though."
Nor was he quite sure of what was being offered. Sex, he supposed; and a few hours ago, sitting on Obi-Wan's bed, such a thought would have been very tempting indeed. But that was not the same as joining Obi-Wan at play with his agemates. While Qui-Gon liked most of Obi-Wan's friends, and enjoyed being surrounded by their energy and enthusiasm, he did not fancy the idea of watching Obi-Wan meld into the group of padawans, while he himself remained on the edge. It could not help but be awkward.
He was framing a diplomatic way of asking whether Obi-Wan would really not prefer to stay at home, when something else distracted him. There was a fading scent in the room, musky rather than sweet. It reminded him of the oil his padawan had smoothed over his flesh last night. And semen. It smelt vaguely of freshly-spilled semen.
Without his volition long training immediately kicked in, bringing a catalogue to mind of all the things he had merely glanced at when he entered. The slightly damp spot on his padawan's tunic. A discarded cloth in the pile of things to be washed. The large bottle Obi-Wan had taken from his bedside drawer the night before, perched against Obi-Wan's knee.
He had hardly touched Obi-Wan's cock last night; had thought about that this morning, hurrying back along the corridors, considering a sleep-warm Obi-Wan still in bed, the sheets tucked between his knees, and the bottle of oil awaiting. It seemed Obi-Wan had got there first.
"Are you sure you've left enough in there to bother to pack it?" he asked dryly, nodding his head at the bottle.
Obi-Wan flushed bright red.
When was the last time Qui-Gon had seen his self-possessed, very adult padawan blush like that? "You seemed to like it last night," Obi-Wan rallied, "so I didn't think you'd mind me trying it." But he didn't look at Qui-Gon as he picked up the bottle and put it beside Qui-Gon's own empty backpack.
Qui-Gon sighed. "No, of course I don't mind, Padawan," he said in a softer tone. He was ashamed of himself. Obi-Wan had treated him so generously, and here he was discomfitting the boy over a perfectly natural action. Who was he to begrudge Obi-Wan touching himself without Qui-Gon there?
Who was he to begrudge Obi-Wan other company on their leave, and other uses for a bottle of oil? Yet he found he couldn't stomach the idea of Obi-Wan being caught up in his friends, being chased and fucked by some lucky young padawan, while Qui-Gon stood to one side. For that flimsy golden shirt, which Obi-Wan was even now putting in the top of his pack, spoke of future seductions, not past comforts. It was not being packed for him.
Obi-Wan sealed the pack closed. "You don't have to go gambling, you know," he said, putting it aside. He got to his feet and came to stand in front of his master, his head tucked cajolingly to one side. "There are a hundred other things to do. I've booked a room - well, it's not a room, really, it's more of a - "
"No," Qui-Gon interrupted. "Thank you, Padawan - it is very kind of you to offer." He'd already indulged himself wantonly in Obi-Wan's generosity. "But I'd prefer to spend the time to good account on Coruscant," he said firmly, and when Obi-Wan would have gone on, he held up his hand to stop him. "I'm sure you'll find lots to distract you without me being there. As you said, there are a hundred things to do on Padril." Having sex with Qui-Gon was only one form of pleasure, and Qui-Gon was sure that Obi-Wan would find others.
Last night had been good. He had no doubts Obi-Wan had enjoyed it as much as he had. But that wasn't enough. Sex wasn't enough.
It was humbling to realise that he wanted Obi-Wan to feel something more than enjoyment, or comfort, in his bed; and that he was spiteful enough to deny Obi-Wan those pleasures because that was all he was being offered.
His padawan frowned, and stepped closer. "I thought we might do some of them together. Are you sure I can't persuade you to come?"
He looked at the earnestness of Obi-Wan's expression. "Maybe for the weekend. I'll consider it nearer the time."
Obi-Wan hesitated. "A week flies by so fast - remember how long it seemed when we first got back home? And now it's gone, but we haven't done a quarter of what we hoped. Think about it today, Master."
Qui-Gon gave a huff of air, suddenly impatient to be off. He wanted an end to this conversation. "I said I'd consider it. You'd best see to your packing, Padawan; and I have Master Tiin waiting."
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan bowed his head in acceptance, but Qui-Gon had the oddest feeling that his padawan had pulled away from him. It wasn't the grudging obedience in disagreement he sometimes got from Obi-Wan. This was inward, more restrained, an emptiness and retreat.
He turned to go, and found himself turning back. "I haven't forgotten, you know," he said abruptly.
Obi-Wan looked up.
"We agreed you deserved a reward. For the Amagoda."
A faint smile brushed Obi-Wan's lips. "So we did."
"When you're back, Padawan. We'll discuss it then."
Qui-Gon avoided the gardens on his way home that night, skirting instead through long, low corridors which echoed to the sound of his boots. The door opened upon darkness. He stood there for a moment, reluctant to shut himself back up in these empty, unwelcoming rooms. But finally he went inside, and let the door swing closed behind him.
His pack was still there, propped up against the arm of the sofa. Beside it were three neat piles of clothing, carefully folded in readiness. Walking over, he picked up the garment on top. It was a soft green blouson which he rarely had cause to wear; but Obi-Wan had admired him in it once. Qui-Gon touched the sleeve to his cheek, then put the garment back down. The bottle of oil, he noticed, was still beside the empty pack; but all Obi-Wan's things were gone.
Over by the comms unit, a light was blinking. Obi-Wan had left him a message.
"Master," it read, "I'm taking the shuttle this evening. I'll be back within the six-day, but if you need me before, I have my commlink on me. Should you decide to change your mind, please feel free join me at any time - I would still very much like your company."
He closed off the panel and stood, his fingers tapping the cold metal surface. The short, polite note said one thing; the oil left deliberately out implied more - but none of them were what he wanted to hear. Yet he remembered the easy pleasure of dinner the night before, soup and bread shared in bed; and the food from the messhall sat heavy in his stomach.
He had disappointed Obi-Wan. That bothered him the most.
"Tomorrow," he finally said to himself. "You can decide tomorrow."
His feet hurt in the heavy boots tonight, although he had not done anything strenuous during the day, and it was a relief to shuck them by the cloakrack. He took off his cloak, too; then lingered to touch his fingers to the bare peg where Obi-Wan's cloak usually hung.
"Now you're being an idiot of the first water, Jinn," he said fiercely. "The boy's not gone forever." He shoved his own cloak up on the rack, and a small shower of nicottia petals spilled from his pockets to the parquet below. Kneeling, he swept them off the floor with his hands. They were already withered, brown veins staining the pure white; and their perfume was almost gone.
An idiot indeed. How long had he been teaching? Yet he had been ignoring everything he knew about taking Joy in the Moment, the four rules he had taught generations of initiates - and especially the last:
The Moment contains pain: acknowledge and dismiss it, for Joy is always the stronger.
He let the petals fall heedlessly back down. Whatever his padawan was offering him, he would accept; and accept wholly, as he had not quite done the experiences of the night before. It would be wonderful; it would be beautiful; and if it were fleeting, or contained a kernel of sorrow within the sweet fruit, he would nevertheless be content.
The time to act was now.
"Information," he commanded, springing to his feet. "Schedule of the shuttles to Padril tonight."
Searching the computer replied, while he wrested his boots back on. He'd reached the couch and shoved a handful of clothing - and the bottle of oil - into his pack when it came back, Two departures remaining: first in two ko, second in four ko, then no departures until tomorrow morning at five hour.
Four ko. Qui-Gon swore with unusual creativity and feeling; but he did it while flinging the almost-empty pack on his back and making for the door, leaving his cloak swinging from its peg in the speed of his passage.
He cut through the knots of passengers who were milling aimlessly around the departure board, like shoals of fish caught in a net. The pack rattled around on his back, and his hair had flown out of its tie to be tugged by the breeze. Even a spurt of Jedi speed up the ramp to the docks couldn't make him less than five minutes late. Running flat out along the walkway, he spared a glance up to the transparisteel dome covering the huge hall, but it was impossible to tell which of the many specks of light careening over the port might be his shuttle. Panting, he came to a stop in the middle of the hall, looking frantically around for the queue for the gate. There would be another shuttle tomorrow, but he'd so wanted -
And then he spotted Obi-Wan. His padawan was sitting beyond a pillar, on the other side of a bank of seats, clothed in unfamiliar civilian garments and with his face hidden from Qui-Gon. Only the short-cropped hair and the braid gleaming against the black stuff of his jacket gave him away, for he sat in an uncharacteristically listless attitude, head down and hunched over his clasped hands. Even his presence in the Force was muted, a wick turned low. But he was there.
Qui-Gon let out a deep breath and let his pack swing down to his side. So the Force did love him, after all, and granted him its favours despite his own stupidity. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head for a moment's thanksgiving, paying no mind to the crowds swirling around his motionless figure as water eddies around rock rising in the riverbed. He knew better than to negotiate with his own fate, yet he could at least make a promise. He would not demand, he would not presume - but this time, he would accept what was offered him, with gratitude.
Still, it took some courage for him to stand up again and walk over to Obi-Wan's seat. He put his pack down by the pillar, and turned to face his padawan, who was still staring down at his hands.
"Good evening, Obi-Wan. Did you miss your shuttle?"
"Master!" Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, his eyes round with surprise.
"I fear I'm a bit late for mine - and it's the last one for Padril today, I think."
"No, you haven't missed it. It's delayed for another ko," Obi-Wan answered distractedly, still staring at his master as if Qui-Gon were a genie who would vanish in the next instant. "I'm on it, too. I changed to the later one in case - " He suddenly broke off, visibly taking in a deep breath and pulling his shoulders back, collecting himself. "Why are you here, Qui-Gon?"
Qui-Gon's heart sped up at the challenge in Obi-Wan's out-thrust chin. "I decided I would join you after all, Padawan. If you're still willing to have your master in tow on your holiday, that is."
"Of course!" Obi-Wan answered, as if Qui-Gon were utterly daft to suggest otherwise. "But I wasn't expecting you - you didn't seem so keen to come."
Obi-Wan hadn't expected him, but nevertheless he had delayed his departure until the last minute. Hope began to bloom in Qui-Gon's heart, though he was still unwilling to presume too far. "I find I've had rather enough of lectures and classes for the moment," he said; and when Obi-Wan's face failed to soften, he added with more honesty, "Our rooms seemed rather lonely without your company, Padawan. Besides, we still have that matter of your reward for the Amagoda to discuss."
Obi-Wan did give a small smile at that.
Yet Qui-Gon didn't want to push too hard, didn't want to step out on the delicate bridge stretched in front of him in case he caused it to shatter under his feet. He was happy to fall - had already fallen, had given himself up to the tumbling, gut-wrenching, breath-taking glory of the plunge. But he had to give Obi-Wan a chance to step safely across. So he went on, as lightly as he could, "I won't interfere with you too much, I hope. I might spend some time in the casinos; or do you suppose they keep special dice rigged to cope with passing Jedi?"
He watched with wonder as the fire in Obi-Wan's eyes changed to uncertainty. "Obi-Wan?" he questioned gently.
Obi-Wan ducked his head. "That room I booked - I'm sorry, but it's not near the casinos."
The absurdly practical comment pulled Qui-Gon up for a moment. "I thought you wanted to be with your friends?"
"No." Obi-Wan swallowed hard, then set his jaw and stared straight back into Qui-Gon's eyes. "I booked something for you - for us. In the mountains. It's just a hut, really, with nobody around for miles and miles..."
"Ah." Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, his brave Obi-Wan, who had taken the jump before he had had the courage to do so; and he smiled.
Emboldened by that, perhaps, Obi-Wan took a step closer. "I thought you might like to go snow trekking," he said, though his eyes spoke a different language. A language that told Qui-Gon they were on the brink of - of something. Something amazing. Something that made the wheel and turn of the starships above them look tame.
Qui-Gon glanced down at his slender pack with makebelieve remorse. "I haven't got my cloak," he said, and this time the lightness in his words came from his heart.
"Perhaps climbing," said Obi-Wan, who did not look at all put out by this confession. Who looked, in fact, as if he were ready to climb now, to the top of a mountain, in a single bound of compressed energy blasting loose.
"I haven't packed any lighter boots." And they were both ignoring the fact that Padril City had more shops per square inch than any other place in existence; and that they had climbed in their bare feet on more than one occasion; and that these words to each other were as much of a gamble as any throw of a die.
"Walking, then."
Qui-Gon put on an abashed face. "I haven't packed any clothes at all."
And suddenly Obi-Wan was wolfish, pressing him back against the pillar, body flat and hard against his from chest to thigh. "Well, that only leaves one thing."
"What's that?" Qui-Gon said innocently, although he could feel Obi-Wan's cock pressing against him, and the happiness in Obi-Wan was singing through to him like a note thrumming deep in his body.
"We'll just have to go swimming in the lake. You can do that in your skin." And without further warning Obi-Wan kissed him, pushing a hot, open mouth against his with all the ferocity of a young lion set to devour. But he was ready, had always been ready even though he hadn't known it, lips yielding gracefully beneath the onslaught, tempting the lioncub with the honey of his tongue.
It was Obi-Wan who pulled back. He stared at Qui-Gon for a moment, searching his master's face; then, in a voice so low and determined it was almost a growl, he said, "I didn't intend to let you get dressed, anyway. Let me make this clear, in case you want to change your mind. I want to have sex with you, Master. After dinner. Before bed. All tonight, all tomorrow, all next week - "
"No," Qui-Gon interrupted. "We're not going to have sex. That's not what I want."
And Obi-Wan's face was so open and so vulnerable that Qui-Gon could barely stand it. "It's not what you want either, I think," he said, gently framing his padawan's cheeks with his hands. "We're going to love one another, Obi-Wan - in bed and out of it. That's what we will do."
All the ferocity melted away. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and bowed his head against Qui-Gon's chest, arms reaching round to be held tight. Qui-Gon gathered him close; against his body, he could feel Obi-Wan trembling. "That's a far better idea, Qui-Gon," his padawan said, in a voice hoarse with what Qui-Gon suspected were tears. And then they were kissing, kissing, sweet mouth flavoured with salt welcoming him in.
Though it was true that every Moment contained pain, Qui-Gon could find none here. The light welled up in him to fill him entirely, overwhelming all else. This Moment was complete, and perfect, and infinite, and he could stand here, kissing Obi-Wan, forever.
It was only the constant repetition of Obi-Wan's name that finally brought it to an end. Last call for passenger Kenobi. Last call for all remaining Padril passengers.
Qui-Gon relinquished Obi-Wan's mouth with slow reluctance, but the joy remained. It shone in Obi-Wan's face, tiny fragments of light in his lashes the only trace left of any tears. He smiled up at his master. "Shall we?" he said.
"You lead," Qui-Gon said, brushing his lips to Obi-Wan's forehead, before they walked together to the near-empty gate.
"Is that all the luggage you have, Sir?" the disapproving droid at the passenger door stopped him.
Qui-Gon looked at his padawan, who looked back at him, beard-stung mouth breaking into a wide smile. "I think it's all I'll need," he said gravely, and stepped forward into the next moment, and the joy that awaited him there.
~ ~ 0 ~ ~ The End ~ ~ 0 ~ ~
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