SUMMARY: Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi get caught up in a
conflict while on a mission to a planet in the throes of
political upheaval. Qui-Gon makes an in-depth study of local
architecture, and Obi-Wan stubs his toe.
FEEDBACK: if I'm lucky. All comments are welcome.
Author's note: Ja kai ad'evera kadonaa is an Aderi
saying that means, roughly, "water will flow in the right
direction." The Aderi use it in situations where they're
confident everything will come out all right. Of course, they
also use it in situations when they think everything's going to
go all wrong.
The explosion sounded like someone clapping two huge
feather-stuffed pillows together in slow motion.
It was a beautiful night, Obi-Wan Kenobi thought as he leaped
out through the open window, somersaulting between branches,
igniting his lightsaber carefully in mid-fall to avoid slicing
through any of the supporting vines. Clear and warm and two out
of the three moons were full, shining on the green-leafed
living glory that was the Chadriel Palace. On a night like
this, lovers should walk hand in hand without a care in the
world, except that the lover he wanted was unaware of being
wanted, and Aderi lovers were more prone to swing through the
trees tail in tail, and... the distant blaster fire was,
perhaps, not particularly conducive to romance.
Obi-Wan had a strong suspicion that he knew what it meant. The
negotiations were over, the electory agreement had been signed,
the celebration had gone without a hitch, the planet of Aderie
was about to have a new constitution, and someone wasn't happy.
Well, that was why they were here; they'd been dispatched as
troubleshooters, not just witnesses. Both the Senate and the
Council had suspected that something might happen, although no
one had mentioned explosives.
He landed lightly on bare feet and began to run, aware of his
master, some distance away, reaching the ground scant
heartbeats later and overtaking him with longer legs and longer
strides. It seemed Qui-Gon had his boots on, too, which made
for better traction... stepping on a jatta cone, Obi-Wan winced
and spared a thread of force to cushion his soles. The spiky
cones were thick on the ground, and at the moment he preferred
the fast, sloppy solution; the sound of blasters firing and
Aderi voices crying out in pain and anger drew him on.
Rounding the curve of the great palace trunk, they came upon
chaos. It was clear at once where the bomb had been set. A
handful of guards were banded together at the palace end of the
grassy square, defending what remained of the Spring Gate
against grey-clad attackers who were nearly invisible in the
shadows except for the flare as they fired and fired again.
Barely half the palace guards had blasters themselves; the rest
were only carrying ceremonial weapons, curved yacca and little
zigis that might be sharp enough, but were useless against an
enemy who stayed out of reach. One of the attackers was
shouting at the guards to surrender. The air smelled strongly
of sap and water and a thousand crushed flowers.
Water-- Obi-Wan spared a quick glance for the Spring
Gate. It was the main entrance to the palace; it was also the
palace's main water source, holding and heating the swift, cold
underground stream that surfaced here, funneling it into the
palace rooms as well as into the palace itself, feeding the
growing walls their lifeblood. After the summer rains, the
water pressure was enormous.
Alarmed, Obi-Wan saw that the gate had been heavily damaged by
the explosion. The decorations had splintered away, the lush
drapery of flowering vines was torn, pouring down the sides
like blood. The translucent leafy membranes were taut, about to
rip. The wood creaked, bowed, strained against the vast weight
bearing down on it. If the gate gave way, the entire palace
grounds would be flooded, perhaps the entire tree-city of
Chaderi. Thousands of Aderi swept away by the water, drowned--
Qui-Gon's mental touch cleared his mind of the panicked vision.
:You deal with that,: a bolt of blaster fire missed him
by a hair, :I'll deal with this.:
With a silent pulse of agreement, Obi-Wan spun into action. He
trusted the palace guards not to accidentally shoot him as he
wove in front of them, catching the attackers' blaster shots
and sending them ricocheting back into the night like belated
celebration fireworks. The grey-clad Aderi soon began to
concentrate their fire on him, recognizing him as the most
immediate threat or perhaps just the main obstacle to their
plans, and he whirled from blast to blast, lightsaber crackling
softly in his hands as energy met energy.
Good, he told them, keep shooting at me. With another swift
turn, he moved further away from the gate, trying to draw the
attackers' fire away from it and from whatever Qui-Gon would be
doing there. Jump, dodge, weave, look at me. He felt as though
he had a target painted on his chest, but it seemed to be
working; nearly everyone was aiming in his direction. Oh,
joy.
The heavy, but random, fire told him a few things. There was
desperation in the attack, but not much coordination. The grey
clothing identified the attackers as Constitutionalists,
defenders of the old code, and since all the known
Constitutionalist leaders had finally signed the new agreement,
this was probably a small splinter group making a desperate
last-minute bid for attention. They had decent aim, he thought
as he deflected another shot, but couldn't work together; it
seemed clear that they had expected less resistance, and
perhaps more results from the bomb they'd set.
Obi-Wan leaped over the head of a guard, bounced lightly on a
thick gnarly root surfacing a good distance from the main
trunk, and came down to catch a blue-white bolt on his blade
and turn it back on the shooter, knocking the weapon out of
small but long-fingered Aderi hands. Turning, dropping into a
crouch, he was able to disarm a second attacker the same way,
and then a third. The palace guards started to catch on,
circling around to come at the Constitutionalists from behind,
climbing silently up the trees, taking the rebels one by one as
they lost their weapons.
It was almost an elaborate game, and Obi-Wan exulted in it,
moving from blast to blast, closing his eyes to avoid the
distraction of light flaring against the darkness. With the
force as his guide, he moved over the grass as sure-footed as
if he were running through a practice drill on a smooth, even
floor. Catch, deflect, turn. He was coming closer and closer.
The attackers were losing their blasters and their momentum.
Obi-Wan slowed down as fewer and fewer shots came his way.
"Lay down your weapons!"
He opened his eyes to find that the Constitutionalists were
trapped between his lightsaber and the guards' blasters. Most
of them were already disarmed, and at the guard captain's sharp
order, the rest of them surrendered, dropping their
weapons--blasters fell like strange fruit from the jatta tree.
All except two. Two of the rebels fired again at the guards and
took off, vanishing into the darkness.
Obi-Wan went after them, vaulting onto the lowest branch of the
nearest jatta tree. The Aderi had the advantage of night
vision, prehensile toes and tails, and familiarity with their
environment, but he had the force, and his blood was up.
Moonlight glinted down, falling in diamonds through the lattice
of branches, and he caught glimpses of pale brown fur and pale
grey clothing. He raced along the branch, leaped to the next
one. They were fast, but he could follow them.
He deactivated his lightsaber--the blade was too long, it got
in the way and he risked damaging the trees. And without the
telltale blue glow, he would be practically invisible. Using
the force to propel himself upwards, Obi-Wan leaped up and
forward, heading for the treetops. Up there, he could run
faster. Obi-Wan grinned; the thin branches would barely hold an
Aderi child, but the force supported him as he ran. It was not
unlike the rope-walking exercises back at the temple, except
that the rope didn't sway in the wind. Nor did the temple
exercise yards have this rich, wonderful forest smell...
Up here, he saw that what he had taken for two full moons and
one crescent had been a temporary alignment; the third moon was
coming out behind the others, and it was full as well, shining
silver. He remembered seeing, somewhere in all the information
they'd been given before the mission, something about the
violent tides of the Aderi seas. He wondered if the moons were
calling to the water in the Spring Gate as well.
Putting on a burst of speed, Obi-Wan flew forward, bounced,
leaped, and let himself fall down between the branches, leaves
stroking his face in passing, until he landed on smooth bark
right in front of the two fleeing Aderi, blocking their path.
He ignited the saber again. "Surrender your weapons."
They made the soft hissing sound he had learned meant surprise,
startlement, displeasure; looked at each other and then at him.
Then their shoulders sagged and their tails drooped, and they
gave their blasters into his hand. Obi-Wan tucked both weapons
into his sash and gestured politely with the lightsaber. The
grey-clad Aderi went as he directed, returning slowly towards
the Spring Gate. The tips of their tails twitched, but they
didn't try to run again. Obi-Wan followed them, noticing with a
surprised smile that his lightsaber seemed to attract a kind of
small white butterfly; soon there was a thin cloud of white
swirling around him. Worried that they'd accidentally get
fried, he deactivated the saber again as soon as he saw the
open grassy square ahead.
The guards had disarmed all the rebels and gathered them
together to one side of the gate, standing around them with
fierce expressions and spiked tails. Obi-Wan took his prisoners
over there, too, and was met by the captain and by a slim,
pale-furred Aderi female with regal bearing: the sovereign. Her
enormous eyes regarded him with approval. "Here, if I am not
mistaken, we have the leaders of this misguided plot. Thank
you, deriken Kenobi."
"It was my pleasure to be of service, lady Za," he said with a
quick unstoppable smile, knowing enough Aderi by now to be able
to translate deriken. Being called a nighthunter by the
Aderi was something even a Jedi might take some pride in.
She smiled back before turning to the captain. "Captain Ekati,
I leave the prisoners in your charge for the night. Keep Ruen
and Tewate separate from each other and from the rest of the
group."
"Yes, lady." Ekati motioned to Obi-Wan's captives, and they
went with him, tails no longer drooping.
Obi-Wan wondered what had happend to cheer them up, and turned
his head to find the sovereign looking at him again. "They may
have been caught by a furless one," she said, "but now I have
named you deriken, it no longer shames them."
He cocked his head to one side. "But you only called me
deriken because I caught them in the first place. Is
circular logic really that much of a comfort?"
The sovereign's sharp teeth glinted. "I expect they need all
the comfort they can get. Not only have they rebelled and
rebelled badly, they have attempted to destroy one of the most
beautiful things on Aderie." She reached up and plucked
something from his hair: one of the tiny white butterflies. It
sat on the tip of her finger for a moment, then flitted away
into the night. "Tomorrow night I will arrange for them to be
interrogated. I will not have this new agreement destroyed."
"Why not tonight?" Obi-Wan suggested. "You know I can help
you--we can help you--find the truth."
"It is the right of the Constitutionalist leaders to be in
charge of such an interrogation," she said, "to redeem their
honor. You must ask them for permission to participate, which
they may or may not give. Besides, deriken, tonight we
have other troubles to deal with," and she nodded towards the
Spring Gate. "Can you help him?"
Obi-Wan turned to look at the damaged gate, and at his master.
"I hope so," he breathed, and ran.
Qui-Gon was kneeling with his hands against the ground... no,
down in the ground, fingers buried deep in the earth,
roots coming up to wind around his arms. His face was twisted
in intense concentration that seemed to border on pain. Obi-Wan
skidded to a stop, looking at his master and the currents in
the force. Power sang in the air. Qui-Gon was holding the gate
up, was holding back the water, channeling the living force
from the ground through himself and into the gate to make it
heal and grow again. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hair
clung damply to his neck.
With a few swift steps Obi-Wan came up behind his master,
putting his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders, lending all the
support he could. :I'm here--:
Qui-Gon's response was wordless, a moment of acknowledgement
and appreciation spared from the intense focus that even now
was bending the energy of all growing things within reach to
its will. And the gate was a living growing thing, and
so it listened. Obi-Wan could feel it through his link to
Qui-Gon, the response, the shift. The force flowed, a more
powerful stream than the cold water, rising within the gate and
moving it to remember its shape, its purpose.
This was what the architects of Aderia did, but their work took
anything from a year to a century. Qui-Gon, shoulders shaking
with the power of the force, was attempting to do it all in one
night. And the earth was responding to him, answering his call;
the living essence of the Chadriel Palace began to flow.
The Spring Gate trembled, but did not break, and vines were
moving slowly to pull the tension-thinned wood together, the
sap was flowing more slowly and then hardening to fill up the
cracks. Arches rooted themselves solidly once more, branches
twined and supported. The parts came together and were, as they
had been, a whole.
The gate was not the thing of beauty it had been before the
attack, but it would hold.
Releasing his grip on his master's shoulders, Obi-Wan stumbled
backwards and drew in a deep breath. That had certainly been
educational; it had taught him more than any number of
exercises about how to handle the living force in living
things. Tendrils of force energy still rippled around Qui-Gon
as he slowly pulled his hands free of the earth and the roots
sank back down, seeking moisture. Then Qui-Gon got to his feet
and brushed half-heartedly at his knees before turning around.
"It will heal itself, now." Trying to brush the hair off his
neck, Qui-Gon left a streak of dark brown earth instead. "Did
you have fun in the trees, padawan?"
Obi-Wan looked down at himself, at his bare torso criss-crossed
with scrapes from bark and branches, at his thin once-white
drawstring pants, now ripped and covered with grass stains and
mud, at his feet--he'd shielded the soles, but one nail was
slowly turning purple. "I would prefer not to fight off
terrorists in my sleepwear again, master. It feels rather
undignified."
One corner of Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. "Well, then, we'll have
to make sure that all terrorist attacks are more conveniently
scheduled in the future." Qui-Gon turned back to the gate,
looking up at their work and then glancing back over his
shoulder. "It's a good look on you, though."
Obi-Wan blinked, and had to call on all his hard-won composure
not to burst out laughing.
The sovereign came up to them, her tail a delicate curl, her
ears quivering. "Remarkable," she said, standing before Qui-Gon
and reaching up to place her long fingers on his chest. "Thank
you," she slanted a look up at him, "teyahin."
"It was my pleasure," Qui-Gon said, just as Obi-Wan had, and
Obi-Wan suspected that it was just as true for his master,
beyond what protocol required in response to the planet's
ruler. Obi-Wan wondered if his master knew what a supreme
compliment the sovereign had just paid him, decided on seeing
the brightness in Qui-Gon's eyes that the answer was yes.
I think it's safe to say that we've made a good
impression.
While they had been working on the gate, Captain Ekati had
herded the prisoners away, and the remaining guards were
answering worried questions from palace guests and servants,
trying to shoo them all back inside again. Obi-Wan wondered if
he should help, but the sovereign twitched her ears, demanding
his attention.
"Now, go back to bed, my fine Jedi." She caught their arms,
turned them towards the gate. "We will deal with all else after
sleep."
Lady Za barely came up to Obi-Wan's elbow, but she projected
her presence in a way that could compete with Master Yoda's,
taking up a personal space that had nothing to do with size.
Years of instant obedience to that tone of voice barely gave
him time to bow before he was on his way, and it wasn't until
they were inside the palace and wandering up the smooth spiral
staircase that he realized that Qui-Gon had reacted exactly the
same way.
Then again, his master had had even more years to be trained.
They went back to their quarters in shared silence, climbing
stairs, wandering the curved passages of the guest... wing, or
whatever one called it in a place like this. Obi-Wan brushed
his fingertips over the living wood of the wall and felt a
lingering trace of the palace's connection with Qui-Gon, even
here, away from the gate. It did not surprise him, when they
reached their suite, to see the door swing open almost before
Qui-Gon had touched it. The palace knew his master now,
intimately.
Going inside, they came to a slow halt. The windows were open
in the sitting room; Qui-Gon must have just come back to the
suite when the bomb had gone off, and then left again at once
by almost the same route that Obi-Wan had taken. A breeze came
in and brushed over his bare chest, and he nearly shivered.
"Is it just me," Obi-Wan said, "or is the air--"
"Charged." Qui-Gon nodded a little curtly. "It will pass."
Obi-Wan opened himself up to the living force again, tasting
its currents. Yes, the air was charged, and the charge was
coming from the two of them. It shouldn't really be a surprise,
after what they'd been through. He was still humming with
tension from the fight, but Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon was a power
generator, a starship hyperdrive, the core of a sun. Obi-Wan
touched that energy with his own, and drew in a sharp breath.
"Master--"
"I know." And it seemed clear now that the curtness in Qui-Gon
was a combination of irritation and jittery pleasure. "It's the
life energy of the palace, Obi-Wan. It didn't want to just
take, it gave back." Qui-Gon rubbed at the back of his neck. "I
feel as though I'm going to burst at the seams. You should get
some sleep, padawan."
"And what about you, master?" he asked carefully.
"I will meditate," a brush at hair that seemed to spark with
static electricity, "so that I can dissipate the energy."
Scratch at a broad shoulder, and Obi-Wan watched in amazement
as his controlled master exhibited the body language of a
drughead on an angelfood spike. "Before it drives me crazy."
Qui-Gon smiled wryly, then frowned.
"I think there is a better way," Obi-Wan said. He stepped
forward, holding out a hand, touching the hum of force around
Qui-Gon with the flat of his palm. "I can help you." In this
light contact, he could sense even more strongly how the energy
ran through Qui-Gon, the energy of life and growth and
creation--beautiful, powerful and, not surprisingly, very
arousing. It tingled in his bones.
Qui-Gon drew back. Even with his hair in a muddy tangle and his
hands covered with dirt, he was dignified. "I don't think so,
padawan. Go to bed, please. I find your presence...
distracting."
That was gratifying. Obi-Wan smiled. He didn't attempt to close
in on Qui-Gon physically, but reached out with his mind. :Trust
me.: Opening the link wider, showing his own desire.
"No." Qui-Gon shook his head. "I understand that you're feeling
it too--you were linked with me, and I'm--broadcasting." Quite
an admission, that, and Obi-Wan found himself oddly touched by
it. "But it's just a reflection of the force that builds the
palace, channeled through my--through me. It isn't what you
really want."
Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest and glared.
Obi-Wan glared back. "Oh, come on," he said. "You know
perfectly well that I've wanted you forever."
"Forever?" The glare lost something of its force.
"Well, ever since you performed the five tan'kaen morning
rituals without your shirt on, that time on the coast, on Mon
Calamari." He sent an image of that moment, and his own
reaction to it, and had the pleasure of seeing Qui-Gon's eyes
widen. The air between them sparked and crackled with
force-driven lust, lust-driven force. "There are better things
to do with this than to waste it in meditation."
There was a pause as Qui-Gon was silent and struggled, Obi-Wan
could see him struggle, with the need to move. Obi-Wan held his
breath. Please. Say yes.
When his master crossed the space between them in two long
strides, he barely had time to suck in a little air before
Qui-Gon literally swept him off his feet, pressed him against
the wall, gripped his face in one large muddy hand and kissed
him. It felt as though the Spring Gate had burst after all, and
all the water came crashing down over him, drowning him in
sweetness.
For a while he gave himself up entirely to the reality of
Qui-Gon's mouth taking possession of his own, enjoyed the
sensation of being pinned between a strong muscular body and a
surprisingly yielding wall, being eaten alive. The contrasting
sensations of rough beard and soft lips made him tilt his head
back and beg for more. He'd wanted it for so long, a kiss, any
kiss, a kiss like this, wild and passionate and
unguarded...
But he'd promised to help. Obi-Wan placed both hands on his
master's chest and shoved, dropping to the floor as Qui-Gon
took a surprised step backwards. "What--"
"Trust me." :Trust me.: A deep breath to clear his head brought
him the scent of wood and earth and Qui-Gon's skin, and he had
to ride out a wave of blind wantneedcrave before he could speak
again. "Your bedchamber. I'll be there in a moment."
Obi-Wan felt a little surprised at his own control as he walked
away from Qui-Gon and into the da-yinna teh, the water
chamber, keeping his knees from shaking by sheer force of will.
The sound of running water met him as an aural caress, adding
another layer to his sensual awareness. He searched the shelves
next to the bathing pool, sorting through jars and bottles and
wooden boxes, touching and sniffing and tasting the contents
carefully.
When he finally found something that wouldn't cause any
inconvenient rashes, it was a thick greenish-white paste that
grew slicker when he rubbed it between his fingertips. It
smelled a little like mint and a little like underground caves,
but it would do. Obi-Wan absently rubbed his sticky fingers on
his pants, and walked out into the sitting room again. The door
to Qui-Gon's bedchamber stood open.
Obi-Wan admitted to himself that 'forever' hadn't been entirely
accurate. Qui-Gon had always been there, true, but then
suddenly, in that moment on the beach when Obi-Wan had turned
and looked, he'd been so very... there. It had been
something of a surprise. Obi-Wan had never imagined that he
would think of his master that way--there was so much between
them already, a relationship so solid and good that it hadn't
occurred to him that it would be possible to add more to it.
Physical desire had come as a revelation, and now he wanted all
the more he could possibly have. Obi-Wan went inside to find
Qui-Gon standing by the window with his utility belt in his
hand, looking out, turning Obi-Wan's approach. "Padawan,"
serious eyes, serious voice, "perhaps this isn't--"
Obi-Wan tossed the jar onto the bed and walked up to Qui-Gon.
"Am I going to have to talk you into this all over again?" He
touched a fingertip to the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat, feeling
the force surge between them again. Soft, soft skin... Obi-Wan
leaned in and licked it. "Perhaps it isn't," he said, his arms
going around Qui-Gon, hands starting to work on Qui-Gon's sash.
"And perhaps it is."
The sash fell to the floor and Obi-Wan stepped back, waiting.
They were already touching, the light awareness of each other
that they always had now amplified by the energy that sang in
the air. He waited, waited, knowing that the sad remains of
clothing he was wearing did nothing to hide his arousal. Waited
until the resistance shattered into a rain of glimmering
lust-stars, and Qui-Gon let go of the belt, dropped to one knee
and began to unfasten his boots.
Obi-Wan walked around behind his kneeling master and tugged at
the shirts, which were falling open now that the sash was gone.
He stroked Qui-Gon's shoulders, slid his hands down over strong
arms and felt the muscles working as Qui-Gon unbuckled the
boots, paused to work free of the shirtsleeves, then pulled the
boots off, shaky-fingered but determined. It was a moment
Obi-Wan wished he could hold onto forever, Qui-Gon shining with
life and desire, silently saying yes, and he with his hands
buried in Qui-Gon's hair, dizzily happy.
But he let it go without regret when Qui-Gon rose and kicked
boots and socks aside. The shirts joined the sash on the floor,
and Qui-Gon reached out and tugged at the knot that held
Obi-Wan's drawstring pants up. "Off."
It was easy to slip out of his abused pants and finally stand
naked, and see Qui-Gon strip off the last of his clothing as
well. He was almost getting used to the thrum of force between
them, enough to be able to handle it, enough that he thought he
could do what he had promised Qui-Gon he would... Obi-Wan
reached out and took Qui-Gon's hand, and pulled him down on the
bed.
Oh, but the first shock of skin to skin, body to body--
They wrestled their way into a kiss, twining together in a
volution of heated flesh, rolling over and nearly falling off
the edge. Passionate and clumsy. Obi-Wan used the force to end
up on top, sprawled over Qui-Gon's larger frame. He tugged his
braid free from the weight of Qui-Gon's shoulder and bent his
head to kiss the collarbone, the soft hollow over it.
Power moved in Qui-Gon, like lightning under the skin. Obi-Wan
kissed his master's neck, nipped his earlobe. "Don't worry," he
whispered, "ja kai ad'evera kadonaa." He rose carefully
on hands and knees, slipping away from Qui-Gon's wanting hands,
and shifted backwards until he could sit at the foot of the
bed, sit and just look for a moment, seeing not merely a
beautiful body but the roil of unsettled energy within it. The
slow drain of a calming meditation would allow that energy to
dissipate, fade away like a heat signature in open space.
Obi-Wan had something more spectacular in mind.
Spectacular... He was familiar enough with Qui-Gon's naked
form. They had sparred together, wrestled together, swum and
bathed and showered together, dressed and undressed in front of
each other countless times, slept huddled together for warmth
or due to lack of space on uncomfortable missions. Seeing
wasn't strange, touching wasn't strange, but the intent made
all the difference.
And the urge he felt to simply fall on Qui-Gon and lick him all
over had to be conquered. Obi-Wan nudged Qui-Gon's legs apart
and settled between them. He trailed his fingertips over the
soles of Qui-Gon's feet, drawing tingles of force up and down,
then pressed down firmly on a point just above the instep, and
heard a gasp. That was... good. He stroked carefully upwards,
pressed down again, smiled a little and then gasped himself as
the overflow from Qui-Gon's arousal washed over him.
He could get lost here.
With the smallest and slowest of movements, he leaned forward
on his knees--a tree growing, you must be, Master Yoda
said in his mind, the memory so unexpectedly appropriate that
he almost laughed--and brushed his hands up along Qui-Gon's
legs, palms just barely grazing hair and skin. Qui-Gon shivered
in response to the light touch, exquisitely sensitive and
seemingly slightly embarrassed about it. Obi-Wan stroked more
firmly down, following the muscles with his fingers, curving
around swirls of energy and pulling them into alignment. Then
once again, a butterfly touch up along the legs, a purposeful
caress down.
Giving in to temptation, he decided to use his mouth for the
next part. He sat back and picked up Qui-Gon's left leg, bent
it until he could press his lips against the soft skin on the
inside of the ankle, just by that little bump of bone that he'd
learned the name of in human anatomy years ago, it was...
was... he licked at the spot, flat strokes at first and then
drawing a circle. Qui-Gon tasted of earth and sweat. Obi-Wan
shifted them both, moved up to kiss the inside of the knee and
then lick it thoroughly. Circle--pattern--don't forget the
pattern.
Careful, purposeful kisses up along the inside of the thigh,
and then he lowered the left leg to the bed again and picked up
the right one, starting again on the inside of the ankle. As
his mouth moved upwards he listened to Qui-Gon's breathing,
which would have sounded steady to anyone who did not know how
well a Jedi could normally control his body.
Obi-Wan smiled. He straightened Qui-Gon's leg and moved forward
on his knees to straddle it. When he was comfortable, he ran
his hands over Qui-Gon's stomach and chest, untangling the
energy flows. He traced bone and muscle, fingers enjoying the
feel of Qui-Gon's skin just as the living force in him enjoyed
touching that of his master. Bending down, Obi-Wan drew his
tongue in a line just below the right side of the ribcage,
heading inwards; then he repeated the action on the left side,
finishing with a flourish just above the center of energy that
pulsed in response to his touch.
Kisses up along the breastbone. Chest hair. His fingertips
skidded over ribs and moved in to caress Qui-Gon's nipples,
stroking in gentle circles. Obi-Wan could feel a faint echo of
the sensation in himself, knew that his own nipples were erect,
responding to a touch they hadn't been given.
Looking up, he was captured by the expression on Qui-Gon's
face, and could no more keep from kissing his master than he
could have stopped sensing the force. And that was--it was--the
kiss, it--
It made him feel as though he'd never really kissed anyone
before--not really--not like this. He pulled back,
lightheaded. "Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly, sounding a little
more breathless now, "what are you doing?"
:Surely you're familiar with the Mekeng technique of energy
dispersion, Master.: Obi-Wan claimed another kiss, wanting what
it did to him, wanting it to do the same thing to Qui-Gon.
:I don't recall the Mekeng technique involving... tongues.: But
there was no real censure in Qui-Gon's inner voice, and no hint
of doubt--there was faith and trust, complete and rich and
somehow voluptuous, rapturous, an ecstatic gift, given in love.
Overwhelming.
"I'm adjusting it a little," Obi-Wan said, breaking away to
smile shakily down at Qui-Gon, "to fit the circumstances..."
His heart was pounding. It was like asking for a piece of
bread, and being told that you own the bakery.
With a deep breath, he sat back a little and put his fingers
lightly on Qui-Gon's shoulders, then stroked down along the
arms. He picked up the left hand and kissed the palm, licked
it, drew a spiral with his tongue that wound up towards the
wrist. Next came the inside of the elbow with its soft,
tempting crease, inviting his tongue; then a slow progression
up towards the shoulder. When he leaned forward to reach the
shoulder joint, his erection brushed against Qui-Gon's hip and
he shuddered--they both shuddered. Obi-Wan forced himself to
move. Right arm. Same pattern. Nice and slow. Qui-Gon was lying
still, except for the occasional shiver; he must be able to
sense that being touched in return might startle Obi-Wan
disastrously off-balance. Once started, this had to be ended
right.
Finished with Qui-Gon's arms, Obi-Wan sat back again and looked
at what he had done. The overload of energy was no longer a
tangled mess sparking this way and that, it had begun to move
as he had asked it, towards the points he had marked out on
Qui-Gon's body. That was good, that meant it was time for the
next step. He licked his lips a little nervously, then called
the small jar to his hand, scooped out almost half the contents
and rubbed the soft paste between his fingers, feeling it heat
up and change consistency before he stroked it onto Qui-Gon's
cock.
The shock of contact ran through both of them, and Obi-Wan sank
his teeth into his lower lip. That it could feel so good to
touch someone--
He let go, before either or both of them exploded.
Then he prepared himself with as much care and patience as he
could muster. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what was shakier at the
moment, his fingers or his grip on the force, but he managed to
get himself slicked and stretched, trying very hard not to look
at Qui-Gon and the expression in Qui-Gon's eyes. Although not
looking didn't really help when he could feel everything
through the link between them.
He straddled the other man's hips, paused, and breathed.
Control, he had to keep some measure of control, but for a
moment all he could think was that this was Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan
had wanted him for so long and now he was going to have
him, take him intimately, body to body, energy to energy. He
steadied his master's erection with one hand and pressed
himself down, with slow determination, into a joining that made
him feel the way he'd felt when he'd turned on his newly-built
lightsaber for the first time. Yes. This was right.
Qui-Gon's hands clenched on the sheets. "Oh. Obi-Wan."
:Yes...:
He moved, rocking very slowly up and down, barely enough for
any real friction but oh, it felt so good. It had to be very
slow, to build right... Qui-Gon's body was calling to him,
asking for a speedier rhythm, but he kept the pace easy, lazy.
Qui-Gon let go of the sheets and lay with his arms outflung and
his head tilted back, a willing sacrifice. It ran through
Obi-Wan like water, the passion, the faith. That what was
between them quietly unspoken could become such a great and
amazing thing, filling his soul.
He felt the discordant hum of energy in Qui-Gon begin to turn
into a harmony that his own body knew and could answer, and
moved a little faster in response, feeling the force flow
through all the right points and rise up, gathering smoothly
just where he wanted it. Just where he wanted it and just as
he'd planned, except that he hadn't known, hadn't dreamed it
would feel like this and he swayed, feeling his breath
come helplessly faster. It was one thing to know the Mekeng
technique well enough to be able to adapt it to an unusual
situation, and another thing entirely to adapt anything at all
or even remember his own name when every twist of his hips and
every thrust of Qui-Gon's sent a rush of pleasure through his
entire body that threatened to take the top of his head off.
Obi-Wan centered himself with an effort, reached for the energy
flows, sorted through them, directed them outwards, and let
them go. And then he gave himself over to sensation and to
Qui-Gon, to the slick heated push and thrust that was their
bodies joining, to the bright intoxicating tenderness that was
their minds touching. It was good, it was so good and so right
and he didn't think he could take it and he wanted more, and
then Qui-Gon's hands grasped his hips and pulled him into a new
rhythm, and Qui-Gon's mind-touch was shining with a kind of
blinding passionate surprise, the force rushed through them
like a spring flood and they both came apart at the seams,
shattering into a thousand ecstatic pieces.
Obi-Wan thought muzzily that either he'd just had something
that was to an orgasm as the Chadriel Palace was to a potted
plant, or he'd died. Or possibly both. But if he'd just become
one with the force, he probably wouldn't be lying sprawled over
Qui-Gon's sticky, sweaty body, listening to the reassuring
thunder of Qui-Gon's heart. And although he was tingling with
the aftermath of stunning pleasure, his left calf was
threatening to cramp.
Alive, then. And... He blinked, drew a deep breath, and looked
up--to see that his little improvisation with the Mekeng
technique had, indeed, worked.
Yes, the palace had taken back the energy he'd channeled out,
and used it. Obi-Wan flopped over on his back and laughed in
sheer delight. The bed had grown under them, curving up to
cradle them in smooth wood and springy moss. The walls were
green with leaves, and thin delicate garlands of blossoming
vines hung fom the ceiling, swaying in the cool breeze from the
window, dropping an occasional pale yellow petal onto the soft,
grass-carpeted floor. As he watched, a cluster of buds above
them unfolded into thousandleaved red flowers.
Obi-Wan levered himself up on one elbow and kissed Qui-Gon's
chest, slowly and sloppily. "Lady Za was right when she called
you gardener," he said. "Apparently you do have a green...
thumb."
Qui-Gon made a disgusted noise, but the feel of him was all
warmth, all delight. "Obi-Wan..."
He licked a path up along the lovely strong throat, rubbed his
cheek against the beard, then lifted his head to look down into
his master's blue, blue eyes, and smiled. "That was wonderful.
Do you think we could do it again, without the floral
arrangements?"
"And without the mud," Qui-Gon suggested, rubbing at a dried
smear on his forehead. "It's starting to itch... Yes. Yes, I
think we could."
Obi-Wan sighed in deep contentment. It was a night for lovers,
after all.
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