by Lilith Sedai (lilith_sedai@hotmail.com) and Cori Lannam
(CoriLannam@aol.com)
Archive: Yes to any list we post this to. All others, please
ask.
Category: Crossover, Angst, First Time
Pairings: Q/C, O/C, Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: a rather... autoerotic, faintly incestuous pairing
Spoilers: for Velvet Goldmine. None for TPM
Summary: Qui-Gon seeks Obi-Wan and finds him... and more of him
than he'd bargained for. A Velvet Goldmine/Phantom Menace
crossover.
Feedback: Yes, please! We crave feedback of all sorts,
especially the kind where you tell us what you liked or didn't
like.
Notes: Our most fervent thanks to Kate Evans, our own LapisLaz,
for not only providing what shreds of a plot this story has,
but also writing and editing bits of this for the last couple
of months, and prodding/coddling us whenever needed.
hugs Thanks also to the usual suspects on #tpm, also for
extensive prodding/coddling. We hope it's worth the wait.
Qui-Gon stood quietly, composing his mind, in front of the
portal. The vastness of time and space, and of the many
universes that lay beyond this spot seemed to press in on him,
but it was empty. The fading traces of Obi-Wan were stronger
here, more recent than he had felt them elsewhere. The energy
of the boy's terror, focused as he fell through the portal and
out of the continuum he had shared with his Master,
reverberated around this ancient, hidden place.
The memory of that moment shuddered through him.
Such a simple rescue mission, at the outset. The Nomorian
ambassador and her consort had vanished in this system less
than two days before, their small pleasure yacht leaving only
the slightest trace to guide the Jedi along the path of
descent. At the end of that path, twisted wreckage marked the
hilltop crash site.
The two Knights paced around the crumpled ship, looking for any
sign of survivors. At last Qui-Gon reached out with the Force
to the interior of the ship, reluctantly confirming what they
had surmised from the start. No signs of life within the yacht,
but the Force still faintly vibrated from the sudden ending of
two lives there. He closed his eyes briefly in respect, then
looked over at his apprentice. Obi-Wan returned his glance with
a grave nod and moved to further inspect the ship as Qui-Gon
pulled out his comlink to contact the captain of their own
ship.
"There are no survivors," he said when the captain picked up
the call. "Inform the Chancellor and the Nomorian government.
We will continue with the recovery."
"Yes, sir," the captain replied. Qui-Gon waited just long
enough for the acknowledgment before switching off the comlink
and turning back toward the wreckage. Recovery would likely
mean cutting through the seared metal until they reached
whatever remained of the ambassador and her spouse, an
unpleasant task he did not look forward to. Force willing, the
second component of their mission - determining the cause of
the crash - would be a good deal less gruesome.
"Master, here!" Obi-Wan called from the other side of the main
body of the wreckage. Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan's voice until he
stood beside his apprentice, examining the section of hull
Obi-Wan was looking at. Deep, blackened scores marred the metal
surface in a distinct pattern leading toward where the
hyperdrive had been.
"Shot down," Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan nodded his
agreement. Qui-Gon lifted his comlink again; they would need
more sophisticated scanning equipment than what they carried on
their belts. His thumb brushed the power button, then a warning
flare burned up his spine. An instant later, he deflected two
blaster shots with his lightsaber. Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Obi-Wan do the same.
Whirling and setting themselves back-to-back, the two Jedi
faced their attackers. Pirates, by the looks of them, come back
to loot their kill, perhaps. At least twenty, with more coming
up the hill every second. Too many for even Jedi to fight off
on their own, but they had no choice.
They deflected the blaster bolts with inhuman speed, slowly
inching in the direction of their own ship. The pirates
muttered at their abilities, and a few backed away as their
comrades fell to their own ricocheted shots, but more rushed in
toward the Jedi than fell back.
Qui-Gon reached out to the Force, seeking a path to safety
through the overwhelming surge of foes. He let his instincts
seize him and made an abrupt move through a breach in the
haphazard attack line, coming out at the edge of the hill --
just as Obi-Wan twisted into the air, coming down almost on top
of him.
With a grunt of pain, Qui-Gon absorbed the impact of his
apprentice's body striking his, managing to turn off his saber
just in time to avoid skewering Obi-Wan on it. He shoved
Obi-Wan off -- they could hardly fight or escape if they were
jumbled together like clumsy kittens -- but instead of
immediately regaining his fighting stance, Obi-Wan staggered,
then tripped and tumbled head over feet down the hill. Cursing
silently, Qui-Gon started to follow, hoping Jedi speed could
help both of them get out of range before the pirates caught
them. Then, suddenly, Obi-Wan vanished, blinking out of
existence on the muddy grass as though...
As though sliding through a doorway.
He stumbled with the shock of losing Obi-Wan's presence in the
Force; the next moment, the pirates swarmed over him, binding
him even as a hypodermic injected drugs into him that made the
world go black before he could gather himself to resist.
The days that followed blurred in his memory. The Council told
him, afterward, of how the Nomorians had ransomed him and
returned him to the Jedi, frantic to keep their goodwill and
blaming themselves for Obi-Wan's loss. They presumed him dead,
but the Council had known better... and then they told Qui-Gon
of the portal. The sole known gateway to... other... places and
times. Other dimensions, continuums, worlds. One of which now
held Obi-Wan.
It had taken months to convince the Council to permit him to
search, and more time to find again the delicately rippling
patch of air before him. There was no way to be sure that if he
stepped through he would even find himself in the same
continuum with Obi-Wan. It was more likely, the Council had
agreed, that there were many alternate realities, all holding
Obi-Wans and Qui-Gons of their own, and that he might meddle in
them and destroy them accidentally.
But Qui-Gon could not give up, could not release Obi-Wan. His
miscalculation had been the cause, but his apprentice had paid
the price. Everything that was Jedi within his soul screamed
that he was honor-bound to find and rescue his Padawan. He knew
with Force-born surety that the path they walked together had
not yet reached its end. At last, the Council had shrugged
their collective shoulders and left him to his doom.
He took a deep breath. He was a Jedi Master, and the Force ran
strong throughout every reality, he was certain. It would guide
him, and he would find Obi-Wan, hopefully wreaking as little
havoc as possible in the process.
With another deep breath, he focused his entire being on
Obi-Wan and stepped through the portal.
Bone-weary, he stumbled from the dizzying transition into yet
another alien world. He had long since lost count of the places
he had been, the distance he had traveled, the people he had
met. In each new place, he had felt Obi-Wan's presence and gone
in search, only to encounter the shock, again and again, of
seeing someone who was not his padawan - and yet was.
Doppelgangers, the Council had warned him. Be wary.
He grew to hate them, after a while. They were ever-present
reminders of his own guilt and self-abnegation, with Obi-Wan's
face, but never his soul. Their presence in the Force felt
familiar enough to set off a wave of longing within him, and
yet it was twisted. These men were not his padawan, but it was
still like seeing Obi-Wan, trapped in lives he would despise...
pain, crime, dull routine... and, more than once, ugly death.
Abruptly he closed off that image. Obi-Wan dead. He accepted
the possibility; he would not contemplate it as a reality.
This time, he filtered into a cold tall woods. His breath very
nearly crystallized before his face. The tranquility of the
pastoral scene was shattered by explosive noise, voices, and a
shrieking he could not identify, but that did not sound
organic.
This was another burned run. He could sense the aura of
Obi-Wan's planar parallel, but the aura was cloudy, muddied,
insubstantial and flickering. This was neither the cold,
calculating hedonism of the young dandy nor the desperation of
the young robber. This was... a scream of defiance covering an
endless void of emptiness and aching need.
It impelled him, forced his boots to move, though he knew from
the pain of his previous experiences that he should simply step
away the moment he identified that the planar aura was not that
of his padawan. But the primal howl struck something inside him
he could not identify, and a tiny shiver of Force,
unconsciously answering the call of a completely untrained
mind, traveled through him.
The trees gave way at last to a clearing filled with people
standing or sitting on the ground. Their attention focused on a
raised platform at one end of the open area, where a handful of
people stood among masses of some sort of electronic equipment.
The pulsating noise he had heard emanated from that equipment
and seemed to be what held the attention of the spectators.
After the first moment, Qui-Gon barely heard it at all.
The unexpected scream pierced him, cresting over the raw,
violent torrent of emotions surging between the assembly of
people and the ones on stage. Qui-Gon's eyes locked to the
central figure as his soul was subsumed in the cry of lust.
Such a thing he had never seen.
Barechested, hips covered with tight leather trousers,
screaming a heart full of need and defiance into the night, was
the image of his padawan. So close and yet so far, aching
flickers of the man he knew intermingled with shocking
silences, crudities, and with an all-consuming frenzied need in
place of the cool, controlled serenity of his own Obi-Wan.
This being was badly damaged in mind, had been abused in body
and soul, but those things had coalesced in him to form
something that Obi-Wan might never even understand existed,
much less wish to possess. There was nothing that could be done
to heal this one, and little that could further harm him. All
he knew was the need and whatever might fill it for the moment.
The audience froze, then wailed, pressing forward, and Qui-Gon
found himself among them. His simple tunic, trousers, and boots
were lost among the glittering glow of the young people who
surrounded him and parted around the inexorable motion of his
passage as he forced his way to the foot of the stage and
stared up at what he found there.
This close, the music seized him like a living thing, driven by
the reckless energy of the shining creature above him. Around
him, the listeners responded with frantic shrieks, and the man
fed their excitement into his own sensual frenzy. It seemed not
to be enough, and one slender white hand found its way into the
tight black pants, rubbing, teasing, building the arousal of
his audience as much as his own.
Qui-Gon's throat dried until each breath came as a rasp as he
watched. Never. Never, not if they lived until every sun had
burned down to an ember, would he see this display, this need,
in Obi-Wan. If such a need lurked within the young Jedi's soul,
it was and would always be buried beyond the reach of anyone,
including himself.
Including Obi-Wan's master.
His master, who had trained him so well in the ways of
serenity. His master, whose clumsy error had sent the person he
treasured most in all the universes tumbling into nothingness.
His master, whose own need they never spoke of, never
acknowledged, but which now boiled up in him with every twitch
of this doppelganger's body.
From the moment the youth had upended the vessel, letting the
slick oil pour onto his body and then smearing it over himself,
Qui-Gon knew he had been lost.
Now the demon angel sang, his breath forcing passion into the
words, a thick smoky voice that devoured the audience; the boy
was feeding, black-blue eyes sucking the response, and he
stoked the fires in his own body, reaching behind with one slim
hand.
Qui-Gon felt his fists clench as the tongue flickered out over
curled lips, and the singer jerked, sensing his passion, and
began to writhe in response to it, in response to the entire
audience. To have this one, take him, fill that need... feel it
draw forth from Qui-Gon what it required....
And again the double responded, lust snapping his muscles into
wild contortions, passion and sex rippling from his very skin
as he danced.
Qui-Gon tried to breathe, but couldn't, transfixed. The boy
snatched up a small canister, began to shake it over him.
Sparkling flecks fell over him, settling to caress the oiled
body, flying wildly as he snapped into an ecstatic pivot, then
cascading forth as he taunted the audience, taunted Qui-Gon,
with the parody of self-pleasure. The glittering flakes settled
over Qui-Gon like fine metallic snow.
He lifted his face to the downpour and closed his eyes,
accepting the shower of glitter covering him as though taking
in the very essence of the young man.
Another shower cascaded over him as the singer shook off the
glitter still clinging to his body and his limbs jerked wildly
with the pounding music. Qui-Gon felt his own muscles twitch in
response, just as a handful of ragged youths a few feet away
stood and began yelling what must have been obscenities at the
stage. The heckling broke through the edge of his trance-like
state, but it only energized the strangely graceful, if
convulsive, dance all the more.
The young man responded with a series of gestures; vulgar, and
yet compelling in a way the Jedi had never experienced. Hips
thrust forward, he spread his arms, inviting the gazes upon him
to feast their fill, almost inviting them to do more than look.
Qui-Gon's hands clenched restlessly with their own response to
the display.
Then his entire body clenched. Surprised, aroused.
With a fluid motion like the striking of a snake, the boy had
unzipped the single garment he wore and his hands were within
it again, teasing, offering, gleefully contemptuous.
It was torment unbearable, watching those hands part the
leather over the slim muscular hipbones, watching the youthful
ecstasy spill over into senseless movement. He bit blood out of
his cheek, trying to keep control, as the boy bent, revealing
himself, hard vicious gestures inviting the audience, the crude
swearing men, daring them to try to fill him.
And then he was standing straight again, turning, bounding
toward the audience with condescending eagerness. Ah, none of
them could touch him and the boy knew it, knew it and hated it
and let his contempt fly along with the pleasure in tormenting
and depriving them. Through the strange link woven between
them, he felt Qui-Gon's desperation, his eyes flickering to
touch the Jedi's, his mouth opening in a lascivious, wide grin
as he devoured the despairing need he saw there.
He turned that grin on the crowd, fingertips flickering, urging
someone, anyone, to come to him. Someone else to feel such
beautiful need, to distract him from his own and eclipse it, at
least for the heated fire-filled moment. But for a moment it
was nearly too much for him, and he twisted, fell, writhing on
the stage, tangled in the garment that had fallen, forgotten,
at his ankles.
He disappeared briefly from Qui-Gon's view, and the Jedi fought
the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to jump to his rescue.
This was not his apprentice... and any such rescue would only
be an excuse for his hands to touch that hot, damp skin.
But then the boy was on his feet again, pulling up his trousers
so casually over the slick, sparkling flesh. His hips shifted
gently, unconsciously, with the simmering beat of the music,
the movement carrying up into his torso as he surveyed his
audience with the gleaming eyes of the triumphant conqueror.
Then those eyes met Qui-Gon's again and the connection
completed.
Desire became a current through his body as his seducer held
out his arms and beckoned to him. His entire being focused on
this one moment of pure need, and he groaned as the boy's face
went slack, surrendering himself to the pull he'd created
between them. Qui-Gon gasped for air, body shaking, as the
driving guitar neared its climax.
Light flashed in the corner of his eye, and the boy kicked
without looking, lashing out with almost Jedi instinct to
deflect the thrown fire, and suddenly the stage was in flames,
the heat searing across his face. He let out a strangled cry as
the young singer broke away from his gaze, moving back from the
flames only a step, lifting his arms and writhing ecstatically
as the orange tongues flickered around him.
A tortured moan escaped Qui-Gon's lips. The fire burned hotter,
higher, and then the boy met his gaze again.
With a wide grin, he flung himself from the stage, clearing the
flames with almost Jedi-like precision... but the loose limbs,
the expression of abandon as he plunged down toward Qui-Gon's
instinctively upraised arms, had nothing of the Jedi in them.
Nothing of Obi-Wan.
And, as his hands rose to meet that feverishly hot, slippery
flesh for the first time, Qui-Gon was deeply glad of that fact.
The slender body arched in the air, tight as a wire as he fell
heavily against Qui-Gon, a welcome impact. But even as Qui-Gon
reached to draw him in, other hands flailed around them,
pushing them apart as they lifted their fallen idol up over
their heads.
Dizzy from the flames, agonized by the sudden loss of contact,
Qui-Gon blindly groped in the air until his hand found the
solid heat of the boy's side once more. His fingers trailed
over the skin as the crowd pulled the young man away, glancing
against the bare arm and brushing his hand. Slender fingers
clutched at his, and he saw the boy's head twist around,
seeking him, knowing his touch, even he vanished over a crest
in the screaming mass.
Qui-Gon staggered back as the crowd shifted away from the
stage, following the demon boy who had captivated them. He drew
several harsh, panting breaths, shaking his head to clear the
fog of desire. Shakily, he took a halting step away. Control.
He needed control. He needed... Force, no! Whatever he needed,
such things were out of the question. Time, space, the Council,
Obi-Wan... out of the question.
Another step, then another, then he was moving quickly,
wrapping the shreds of his composure around him, heading for
the woods once more. The spell was fading, slowly, the sight of
that body and those eyes had burned into his retinas but the
immediate visual and auditory stimulus was reduced enough to
permit him to put one foot in front of the other. Guilt drove
him onward now, the knowledge that he had allowed himself to
become distracted by desire burned him worse than the lust he
still felt in his heart.
Force preserve him, though, he could still feel the boy on his
skin; the oil and sweat and glitter and the musk of the boy's
own scent was all over him now. He'd have to clean it away
before he could go on.
He sensed emptiness inside a tent and slipped inside, picking
up a rag in shaky hands, scrubbing at the residue of the boy,
knowing he would never be free of the memory of that lascivious
satyr and his dance of need, even if he should find his Obi-Wan
again.
To taste that. Ah... he could. He could. Without reservation
and without direct consequence to Obi-Wan's innocence or their
training bond... if he ever even saw his apprentice again....
Qui-Gon felt a terrible emptiness sweep through him, rolling
over him, engulfing him. So many shadows he had visited in
vain, and so many of them so different from his own Obi-Wan!
The worst were these shattered ones, the ones that had found no
ground to cling to. And so many of them had been rampantly
sexual, also unlike his Obi-Wan. He wondered with a pang if he
was what had driven that sensuality from the soul of his
padawan, or if it were merely a result of Jedi training.
Perhaps Obi-Wan had harnessed that energy and used it to drive
himself through the training, made it feed the incredible
technical excellence he had developed. There was, after all, a
fine line between passion and aggression.
But he was lying to himself, saying that there would be no
consequences from this visit. Already there were consequences,
for the worst of this experience... the worst was that this
time there were not just the changes Qui-Gon had found in the
shadow of his lost padawan. This time, the shadow being had
created changes in him, enticed his desire. He would carry that
desire always, he would see that shadow lingering near every
time Obi-Wan moved or spoke....
"You're different from the others," a sultry voice breathed
from behind him, and Qui-Gon froze. "You're like me." The
singer's voice was soft, but it held a breath of triumph and of
foresight.
He turned slowly, met the electric gaze once more. "Like you?"
he said hoarsely, wondering how much of what he was about to
say was a lie. "My young friend, I assure you, I am nothing at
all like you."
The boy merely smiled and took a step inside the tent, letting
the entrance flap fall back into place. Qui-Gon held his
ground, even as every nerve screamed a warning.
"No, man, you're right where I am. You think I don't feel it?"
Two more steps, and the heat of his bare flesh became a
palpable sensation.
"I don't know what you feel," Qui-Gon ground out.
The smile brightened to incandescence, and the boy's eyes
glowed with a strange, magnetic light. "You do. You feel it,
too, you feel me." He reached out and, as Qui-Gon held himself
very still, laid his hand on Qui-Gon's chest. "Right here." The
pale fingers stroked lightly, working their way into the folds
of his tunic, and Qui-Gon bowed his head in defeat.
"You got the signals," the voice sounded so strange without the
familiar lilt of Obi-Wan's accent, sharp and rough. "So you're
not into glam. Think I give a damn what you're into, old man?"
Qui-Gon barely heard the words as those painted fingernails
teased at his chest.
"I see the stars in your eyes and I know what you need." The
voice grew softer now, husky. The demon was leaning closer,
reaching up, painted lids lowering, the exhalation of his
desire hot on Qui-Gon's mouth. "Give it up."
The hand on his chest slid around his ribs inside his shirt
with shocking speed, and the boy's hips ground against his, but
the mouth was feather-light, the pungent taste of the oil
spreading between them. The demonic tongue flickered out with
the blinding speed and skill it had shown before when offered
to all. It pushed past Qui-Gon's lips and tickled at his
palate. The taste was raw with alcohol, but beneath it... the
spice and musk... the scent of sweat so achingly familiar....
And then it was all withdrawn from him, and the boy stood away,
one hip cocked, his fingers sliding so very slightly into the
waistband of the trousers, the very line of his body a wordless
promise of carnal ecstasy.
Aching hunger lanced through Qui-Gon. Too much, the memory of
the boy's gyrating body, his frenzied abandon. If he turned his
back now, it would never be offered him again.
The narrow, sensual lips curled as the boy read his expression.
Confident, triumphant, he stalked forward and lifted the rough
tunic, sliding both hands into the Jedi's trousers. "That's
it," he purred.
Strong fingers gripped his flesh and Qui-Gon let go. Damn the
Jedi, damn the danger, damn his need for Obi-Wan. The moment
was here; he would not deny it. No one would ever know.
With a soft release of breath, he let his hips move forward
against the boy. Once, twice, and he hardened, gently returning
the triumphant laugh of his companion. "I'm not such an old man
as you think," he murmured, running his fingers up the
stubble-roughened jaw until they tangled in the sweat-damp
hair. Then he pulled the boy's mouth to his and let his hunger
have control.
The younger man thrust against him, hands still exploring his
hidden flesh, guiding the slow, undulating motion of their
bodies. Qui-Gon kept one hand cupping the singer's head, while
the other worked its way down his body, mapping each eerily
familiar inch. He tasted the wet mouth beneath his over and
over, memorizing each sensation as it washed over him.
"Your name, lad," Qui-Gon gasped, between kisses. "What's your
name?"
"Curt. Curt Wild." And the eyes that looked up into his...
were.
The unfamiliar label and the knowledge in those eyes broke the
final barriers in Qui-Gon, and he dragged the singer up to meet
his kiss, not caring when Curt pushed his trousers down over
his hips and undulated gently against Qui-Gon until they fell.
Effortless experience, a lifetime of debauchery in the gesture,
and Curt's hands were on Qui-Gon's hips, sliding smoothly to be
where they wanted, opening him, entering him, both forefingers
at once. Qui-Gon gasped, almost a sob, and drove his mouth
against the younger man's. Curt laughed very softly and slipped
them away, his oil-soaked chest slithering against Qui-Gon
until he knelt. Eyes ringed with kohl, sparkling above red
lips, never left Qui-Gon's as Curt nipped the tip of his
erection and then slid over it effortlessly, teeth scraping,
tongue playing over the straining flesh with maddening
delicacy.
Qui-Gon hissed; he had never felt anything like it. No lover
had ever achieved this level of skill that could only come with
complete wanton abandon. Nor had he ever had a connection with
a lover like he had with this one, this man who was, but was
not, his padawan.
Tiny points of fire sprang up wherever Curt's teeth grazed,
spreading into him with each stroke of soft lips. When Curt
leaned back and tugged hard at his hips, Qui-Gon fell onto his
knees and covered the smaller body in one smooth motion,
already eager for more.
Curt arched beneath him and tried to wrap his legs around
Qui-Gon's waist, but Qui-Gon pushed down on the soft inner
thighs, keeping the younger man spread out beneath him.
Lowering his mouth to Curt's shoulder, he ravenously tasted the
sweet, oil-slicked skin, sucking it and nipping it with his
teeth. Slowly he made his way down the oiled chest, circling
the navel before trailing along his hip. Even as Curt moaned
and thrashed beneath the ministrations, Qui-Gon was mapping out
his body, learning each curve and dip on the smooth, flawless
skin.
No scars, no marks. No faint pink line from an errant
lightsaber swing, no jagged white remnant from a pirate's
knife. Whatever part of him could still think wondered when he
had learned his padawan's body so well, that he could compare
it in such detail to the lover now squirming beneath his hands
and lips.
"Come on," Curt said, gasping as Qui-Gon rubbed a hand along
his chest until it was covered in oil, then closed his fist
around Curt's thick, curving cock, pulling upwards in quick
strokes. "Yeah. Oh, fuck. Fuck. More." He lifted his legs
again, and this time Qui-Gon allowed him to drape his calves
around Qui-Gon's hips. "Oh, fuck. More."
An arm flailed up, and Qui-Gon seized the elbow, pulling Curt
up into his lap and letting himself be borne back onto the
padded floor of the tent. Curt straddled him, a feral grin
twisting his mouth just before it closed bruisingly over
Qui-Gon's. He sucked at Qui-Gon's lips before sliding down his
body once more, chest rubbing Qui-Gon's erection as he bit at
stiff nipples. Qui-Gon cried out softly and raised his knees;
Curt knelt between his spread legs and lifted him.
Penetration was fast, almost brutal, despite the ample
lubrication, and Qui-Gon bit his swollen lip as Curt pushed
hard into him. The boy grunted with each thrust, and Qui-Gon
echoed him, glorying in the invasion of his trembling body, the
spikes of pleasure shooting up his spine every time the thick
cock filled him. Lust, pure and unapologetic... relief washed
over him at finally surrendering to it.
Curt's thrusts shortened, quickened, until Qui-Gon heard a
strangled cry through the haze of need and felt the heat of the
boy's climax bathe him. Qui-Gon groaned in pleasure and
frustration as his partner withdrew, reaching down to take his
own cock in his hand and relieve the maddening pressure, but
Curt grabbed at his hand. "No," he gasped, eyes blinking
rapidly. "You want me? Fuck. Just take it."
He was well beyond refusing such an offer. With a growl that
was almost a groan, he surged up and threw Curt down onto his
stomach before coming down hard onto the boy's back. His cock
rubbed between the tight cheeks and Qui-Gon dazedly kissed the
back of the boy's neck as his hips sought the best angle for
entry. He lifted himself up enough to kiss along Curt's
shoulder as he shifted for the first thrust, rubbing a hand
down his back to soothe the anticipatory tremors in the muscles
there, his thumb brushing along the bottom of the boy's left
shoulder blade.
Then he froze.
There, just under the bone, a small scar. A silly accident,
really. A tiny burn from a speeder engine he had not been old
enough to know not to go near. It had healed well enough,
leaving only the small smooth mark as a reminder of youthful
folly.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the sight of the identical mark
on this strange almost-twin's back. The double of his padawan,
whose body he was only the slightest movement away from
penetrating. He shook with the effort of holding himself back -
it was wrong, it had to be - but in seconds he had lost the
battle, as he knew he would.
With a groan, he buried himself deep in the tight, sweet
warmth, pressing his face into the damp hair so he wouldn't
have to see, wouldn't have to think. Curt jerked in his arms
with each hard thrust, which only made it feel better for
Qui-Gon. He groaned and hissed, again and again, as everything
faded into a blur except for the intense focus of sexual bliss
in his cock.
He dug his fingernails into Curt's biceps, pressed his gritted
teeth to the young man's shoulder, and thrust hard and deep
until the pressure became unbearable, until one last shove was
enough to still him, deep within the hot body under him, as he
shouted his orgasm.
Panting, still shivering with the last tremors of climax, he
sucked gently at the mark he had left on the pale skin beneath
his lips. Curt murmured appreciatively, head buried in his
arms. Qui-Gon gave one last gentle thrust into the younger man,
then withdrew and reluctantly pulled himself off Curt's back. A
languid warmth filled his legs, and for a moment he wondered if
they would hold him. But they did, at least enough for him to
stumble across the earthen floor of the tent.
Curt remained on the ground, forehead still pressed into his
forearms. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to once again blanket the
slender form with his own body, and settled for returning to
kneel momentarily, stroking his fingers through the fine dark
blond hair. He had taken what he needed; he wondered if he had
given his savage young lover anything in return.
Curt turned his head enough to give Qui-Gon a lazy, feline
smile. When he spoke, his voice was low and roughened with
smoke and booze and sex. "Who is he?"
Qui-Gon frowned, puzzled by the question. "Who is who?"
Curt rolled onto his back and stretched indolently, closing his
eyes. "The guy... your guy. You said his name when you got
off."
"What?"
The blue-green eyes opened again and fastened their gaze on him
with mellow amusement. "You fucking screamed it, man. Some
weird-ass name... wasn't mine." He grinned briefly, a flash of
white in the dim light. "Knew it wasn't mine. I'm not that
stoned."
Qui-Gon could find no reply. Slowly, with a last caress, he
stood. "Be well, my young friend," he said softly, knowing
mention of the Force would mean nothing to him.
"He's fucking lucky, whoever he is," Curt's voice called behind
him, and Qui-Gon paused in the entranceway. "Fucking lucky."
Still no answer rose in his mind, and he slipped out of the
tent and vanished into the woods.
The crowd had dispersed and the woods were silent. Qui-Gon
realized that in spite of his subjective sense of time, it was
very nearly dawn. His... loss of control... had taken far
longer than he had anticipated or been aware of.
The portal beckoned to him, but what he had left behind
beckoned also. Qui-Gon cast a final, longing look over his
shoulder, and heeled off into the fading night at an easy lope.
He did not hesitate at the lip of the portal. Obi-Wan,
his heart called, and he flashed through, stumbling as height
and terrain changed.
And this time, it was there. The sudden wrench of contact
through the bond was clear the moment before his feet scuffled
in dead leaves and he fell with a thud. So close he could
almost reach out and touch.
Qui-Gon scrambled to his feet from the spot where his rough
landing had tumbled him, and raced up the nearby ridge in a
most undignified manner, seeking visual evidence of the sense
he had found in himself. Cresting the ridge, he saw his
suspicions confirmed. Like an arrow, the sturdy figure of his
padawan was darting toward him from a rough lean-to, face
alight with joy, calling happily.
"Master!" Obi-Wan's shout was surprised and ecstatic.
Qui-Gon felt his heart swell with overwhelming happiness as he
began to reach out... but then he stopped, as Obi-Wan flew from
the forest edge into a patch of light.
His padawan's Jedi clothes were ragged, the tunic half torn
from his back. The dearth of food from the lack of surrounding
civilization had worn at him, taking flesh, making him
wire-slender. His hair had grown long, flopping to either side
of his face, slightly bleached by the sun... so like Curt's....
Qui-Gon's heart stood still, as this figure merged for a moment
with the one he had so recently touched, but this Obi-Wan's
eyes were clear and sparkling, his skin bronzed by sun, and the
energy he radiated was pure joy unalloyed by any hint of sex.
Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably, unaccountably nervous. Of course
this would happen immediately after he left Curt; the previous
plane was definitely not the best place or time for him to have
given in to lust.
"Obi-Wan," he said, his words perhaps a shade less warm than he
had intended them to be, but the boy didn't bother to notice,
so overwhelmed by the unexpected and long-awaited reunion that
he was launching himself at Qui-Gon with the force of an
uncoiling spring.
The deja-vu stunned him, overwhelmed him, as his arms rose for
the second time in the past few hours to catch an armful of
wildly-flung young man, the abandoned, ecstatic burden bowling
him over this time, and they rolled in a flurry of limbs down
the hill nearly all the way to the portal, Obi-Wan laughing,
almost crying, with relief.
Shaking with relief and shame, Qui-Gon managed to disentangle
himself, rising to his knees and brushing at ragged bits of
leaf in his hair.
"I didn't think you could find me, Master." Obi-Wan lay as he
was for a long moment, sighing, his taut form relaxing for a
moment against the forest loam. "I'm so glad you did."
"I am glad also, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said softly, squinting
against a ray of sunshine that penetrated the canopy. Obi-Wan
rose, stretching a little, but then frowned at him suddenly,
puzzled.
"What's this?" He was definitely amused and nonplussed as he
reached, deftly flicking two fingertips against Qui-Gon's face,
and displayed shiny fingertips, coated with oily, sparkling
flakes of gold and silver.
Qui-Gon's voice failed him as he stared at the condemning
evidence, and he instinctively slammed his mental shields shut
without thinking, then winced as Obi-Wan drew up short, shocked
by the vehemence of his expulsion from Qui-Gon's mind.
Obi-Wan frowned, a little hurt by the sudden exclusion, and
brushed the substance off his fingers against the filthy
trousers he wore. "It's all over you, you know. Whatever it
is."
Qui-Gon stifled a groan and stopped hands that were in the
process of rising to try to clean his face, then pretended he
hadn't been moving to do it.
"Is there anything you wish to take, Obi-Wan?" he asked. "Now
that I've found you, we can return home."
"No, I don't think so, Master." His padawan tilted his head
thoughtfully. "You know a way out of here? Where did you come
from, anyway? It was like you weren't here, and then suddenly
you were."
"I used a portal." Qui-Gon gave the short, almost
incomprehensible explanation, and his quick glance let Obi-Wan
know that more information would have to wait until later.
"Come. I have been long hunting for you. We must return to
Coruscant."
Obi-Wan rose to his feet obediently, dusting himself off, and
turned, clearly seeking visual evidence of the portal.
Qui-Gon's throat almost closed -- visible through a tear in the
back of his tunic was that same scar he had noticed on Curt,
and Qui-Gon almost reached for it with trembling fingertips,
but made himself stop instead.
"This way." He knew his voice was flat, but Obi-Wan didn't
question, falling into step a pace behind and to his left. As
always.
His master was in a temper, Obi-Wan reflected. Perhaps there
was danger. He kept a sharp eye out, regretting the absence of
his lightsaber. There was nothing visibly different to him
about the portion of the forest that Qui-Gon selected, but he
followed close in Qui-Gon's footsteps nonetheless.
His Master reached out, caught Obi-Wan's arm at the wrist, then
changed his mind, drawing his padawan close to his chest. "As
we move through the portal, we must stay together," Qui-Gon
directed.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan permitted himself to be drawn close,
savoring his master's reassuring presence.
His nose wrinkled a little as he settled against the larger
man. There was an acrid smell on Qui-Gon, something oily, and
something musky as well.... Obi-Wan was startled, his head
turning to seek further evidence, when the universe sliced
itself to pieces around them and then reassembled.
"Far out!"
Heads turned in tandem to seek the source of the unexpected
voice.
Qui-Gon went stiff, silent, and Obi-Wan gazed at the witness to
their materialization curiously. A young man, early twenties,
oddly dressed... face in shadow, half obscured by ragged hair.
"Man, I thought I was tripping. Now I'm sure of it." A laugh
rang harsh in the quiet dawn woods.
Obi-Wan frowned, leaning forward to see, felt Qui-Gon's hands
tighten painfully on his shoulders, as though to drag him
backward, but he shrugged the grasp off and stepped forward.
Something strange here, something... his nostrils flared, the
raw acrid scent stronger now, and he could see an oily sheen
fixing the sparkles on the young man's hair, face, and chest...
trailing all the way down to disappear into the waist of his
tight black pants. Obi-Wan's eyes widened a little, and he
struggled to resist the most obvious conclusion, but it was
hard.
"So is this him, old man, or what?" The boy lifted his head
with another abrasive laugh, stepping forward, flipping his
hair back over his forehead.
Qui-Gon did not answer, and Obi-Wan twisted his head to look up
at him. Qui-Gon knew this person? It just looked worse and
worse....
"Master?" he said very softly; the word was meant for Qui-Gon's
ears only, but the stranger heard it too, and laughed.
"Master? Fuck, he calls you Master?" he said, half-bent with
harsh laughter. "Shit, man, that's a sweet deal you got. I
mean, fuck, look at that body. And he calls you Master. I don't
know what the hell you wanted with me when you got that."
The entire world slowed to a stop, dragging Obi-Wan with it to
a single, unavoidable conclusion: Qui-Gon had been with this
boy. With him. Fucked him. So recently that the Jedi Master had
not even had time to wash the evidence from his body.
Or had not wanted to.
Unable to believe, he reached up again to touch the shimmering
residue on Qui-Gon's face, but his master moved with Jedi
reflexes to stop his hand before it could touch him. "Obi-Wan,"
Qui-Gon started hoarsely, but Obi-Wan was already shaking off
his grip, having found his guess confirmed in his master's
eyes.
He turned and took a few long strides toward the strange boy,
uncertain of what he meant to say or do, but filled with an
almost violent need to do something.
Then he saw the boy's face. Shadowy, distorted by the streaks
of dirt and the lines of kohl, but unmistakable. Unmistakably
himself. Obi-Wan.
A wave of dizziness passed over him as he stared in redoubled
horror. His own face stared back at him, equally stunned, but
even as he watched, an expression of intrigue began to form.
It was too much for Obi-Wan, and he turned and ran.
"Obi-Wan!" his master shouted after him, but he did not pause
until the only sound was the crunch of dead leaves beneath his
boots and his own panting breath. Then, finally, he stopped,
heart pounding less from the exertion than from the lingering
shock.
A boy with his face. He knew the theory of parallel dimensions
as well as anyone; he knew that every person had a potential
double in one of those dimensions. To meet with one was
strange, possibly dangerous, but potentially fascinating....
Except that Qui-Gon had already met Obi-Wan's double. And
fucked him.
Obi-Wan drew a breath that shuddered with pain and confusion.
Fucking was all it could have been, he felt sure, having seen
his double. His arms still prickled with the raw energy that
poured off the other boy, energy that seeped into places within
Obi-Wan he had shut away long ago, in accordance with his Jedi
training. And in obedience to the perpetual serenity and
solemnity of his master.
His master, who had just fucked a wild boy who wore Obi-Wan's
face.
Furiously, Obi-Wan slammed his hand against the trunk of the
nearest tree, scraping it down the rough bark until his skin
tore, channeling his anger out through the physical pain. His
mind raced in circles, always returning to Qui-Gon and how he
could have done it. Why he would have done it. Something
Obi-Wan found immensely difficult to contemplate with calm
reason.
"Sith hells," Obi-Wan muttered and slumped against the tree he
had hit. All the years of carefully built trust, constructed
upon their roles as Jedi, all those years of depriving himself,
trying to be what he thought his master most wanted-- shattered
now as if it had all been made of nothing but glass and air. He
drew a deep, gulping breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
His own most personal feelings for his teacher, his mentor, had
grown slowly, and subtly altered from childish adoration into
something of great and delicate beauty that he dared not
express. Something that was now soiled by the oily touch of
someone who was not Obi-Wan, but who seemed to do just as well
in his master's eyes-- no, better, for Qui-Gon had never
touched him so, never even given a hint of wanting him.
He'd simply grown to believe that his master only desired
women. Not unusual, not unexpected. Something Obi-Wan could
live with. But this....
The crunching of approaching footsteps entered his awareness,
and his back stiffened. He turned and pressed his cheek to the
damp bark of the tree, already determined not to acknowledge
Qui-Gon until forced. Maybe by then he would have figured out
what to say to the other man.
"Some far-out shit, huh?"
At the unexpected voice, Obi-Wan straightened and turned
sharply. His doppelganger faced him, not two paces away, an odd
smile playing around the eerily familiar lips. The young man
looked as ragged and noisome as he had before. Even after weeks
alone in the wilderness, Obi-Wan felt ready to appear before
the Supreme Chancellor in comparison.
"Are you real?" the other asked, the words a half-whisper, face
fading in and out of the dawn light as he moved closer, shining
eyes fastened to Obi-Wan's.
Though he tried, Obi-Wan couldn't deny the magnetic draw of
those eyes. He wondered if his own had as much pull. Evidently
not, if one asked Qui-Gon Jinn. "Yes," he replied at last to
both questions, forcing the word stiffly.
"I'm Curt," the other said, voice as raggedly sensual as
Obi-Wan's was precise. "Curt Wild." A most appropriate name, if
appearances were any indication. The boy stood as though he
intended to pounce on something. Or someone.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Curt's lips turned upward briefly. "Man, I knew it. I knew when
I saw you with the old man that you were the one he meant."
Obi-Wan bristled slightly at hearing Qui-Gon called an old man;
his master was still in his prime, despite the wisdom of his
years.
Curt ignored the slight flicker of hostility. "But I didn't
know you'd be...." He gestured vaguely to himself, then to
Obi-Wan, his meaning clear.
"I wasn't expecting you at all," Obi-Wan said, half to himself.
The other boy radiated sexuality, moved with every confidence
in his own erotic power. Unnatural passion shone from his eyes,
born from a life wholly different from what Obi-Wan had known,
but with a hint of yearning and naivete belied by the alluring
swing of his hips and enhanced by the softness of his mouth.
Endearing. Compelling. Riveting. He could almost forgive
Qui-Gon a moment of weakness... if he could honestly believe
that was what it was. His own knees were weakening, as was the
power of his resentment. Curt was eyeing him openly, an
expression of wonder growing on his face.
His double stepped forward until Obi-Wan could feel the hot
breath against his skin. Slowly, Curt raised his hand to cup
Obi-Wan's face; Obi-Wan held himself very still, unable to
respond, but unwilling to break the spell.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You're fucking
amazing," Curt breathed and bent forward.
This, then, was what Qui-Gon would have felt. It must be. Like
some incredible dream... Obi-Wan let his eyes drift half-shut,
tilting his own face until Curt's mouth met his own. After a
moment of hesitation on Obi-Wan's part, their lips moved softly
together in a bizarre but intensely sensual exploration.
Obi-Wan drew back first, discomfort and disbelief making him
break the spell, shocked at the response he felt to that wicked
mouth. "This is crazy," he objected, taking a step back. Curt
pursued, stalking.
"Ever jerk off?" His half-mad, half doe-like eyes taunted
Obi-Wan. "You did that with yourself. This can't be that much
different." Curt's smile grew wider, softer, more genuine.
Obi-Wan cast a desperate, nervous glance over Curt's shoulder,
as though Qui-Gon might appear and rescue him. Reaching for
something, anything, to defend against the sensuality that was
threatening to overwhelm him, Obi-Wan came up with anger.
"You seduced my master," he accused, and Curt shrugged, a
gleeful little smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
"I'll seduce you, if you let me," Curt promised, the smile
escaping. "Wouldn't you like to get... a piece of your own,
Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan felt tree-bark at his shoulders, and the world narrowed
again, focusing in on the lips that drifted toward his own for
a second time, sealing over his for a moment to steal his
breath, soft wise instinct, gentle suction. "Come on," Curt
whispered without backing off, his lips brushing tingling fire
against Obi-Wan's. "Before the old man breaks up the party and
takes you back to Neverland."
Obi-Wan felt a shiver course cool fire though him and realized
he was nodding, brushing those lips with his own movement. "All
right," he breathed, his voice half-catching in his chest. Oh,
this was insane. He had never done anything like this before...
but perhaps, in the end, that was the point.
Quicker than thought, Curt pulled back and his hand caught
Obi-Wan's, tugging him along. Obi-Wan matched the frenetic
energy of the run. Curt laughed, exhilarated, and Obi-Wan
joined him in that too, branches whipping against his face with
a sting like tears.
Curt cracked open a beer, casually ignoring his visitor,
negotiating the shambles of the trailer with indifferent
familiarity. Obi-Wan swallowed, ill at ease in this squalor,
not knowing how to cope with the familiar stranger who wore his
body, his face. He couldn't rip his eyes from Curt, looking
longingly at what Qui-Gon had taken, wishing he could trade
places somehow and become the one his master had wanted.
"Can I borrow some clothes?" Obi-Wan asked at last, shrugging
uncomfortably against the grit and sweat in his own ragged
outfit.
"Sure. Grab what you want. Get a shower." Curt could have used
his own advice, but he lay back on the squeaking yellow
mattress instead, staring at the ceiling, a cigarette burning
down between his lips and the remains of the beer in his hand.
Some of the energy had dissipated, Obi-Wan understood, and
emptiness was taking its place.
"Shit, I'm coming down," Curt complained. "Make it fast, kid,
then come to bed." He lay back, squirming lasciviously.
Obi-Wan shucked away his tattered tunic without thinking. "I'm
not a kid, and I'm not going to sleep with you," Obi-Wan
denied, after pausing a second too long. Curt just laughed.
"Fuck, yes, you're a kid." Curt shook his head, amused. "You're
a kid here." He tapped his temple significantly, smirking. "It
shines all through you. And you wonder why the old bastard
won't touch you." Curt's eyes gleamed with familiarity and
amusement, and a shaft of faded sunlight from a dirty window
filtered over his chest, catching the last flakes of glitter on
his body.
"He--" Obi-Wan's anger hitched in his voice, but the demon
self's intuitions were razor-sharp. No hiding from him, no
escape from this relentless alter-self. "I'm as old as you
are," he managed, defiantly, kicking off his second boot.
"You'll have to teach him that," Curt observed, rolling over
lazily, stretching to ease his shoulders. "Have you ever made
love with a man?" Curt licked his lips unconsciously, half
turning to face Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan froze in mid motion, his thumbs hooked in the waistband
of the trousers he was discarding to prepare for bathing. A
little love-play between curious, half-shy padawans, some
touching, once or twice a little more serious
experimentation... but no. He hadn't.
"I was in a circle-jerk," he responded defiantly, the next best
thing he could think of. Curt rolled his eyes, laughing.
"That's your problem, kid. You never felt a man inside you,
never sucked one off, never spread yourself over his body and
licked the sweat off him cause it just tasted so good." Curt's
voice became a wistful croon. "Never bent over and spread your
cheeks for that big rough master of yours to drive it in." Curt
rose fluidly, bending forward, hands on his hips, a sudden
humorless grin splitting his face as he pantomimed the words he
spoke, jerking forward with an exaggerated sigh of bliss, as
though what he described were being done to him.
Obi-Wan's face went hot with anger, and then pale, and he
shoved the dirty cloth down his waist and hips, kicked it off,
ignoring Curt's appreciative, lazy eyes on him, ignoring his
suggestive pose.
"You've never put it to him, either." Curt's grin was evil now,
speculative, as he probed Obi-Wan for reaction. "Never laid on
top and saw that mane of hair spread out all over, seen his
eyes fall shut and heard him gasp when you shoved it in, felt
him hiss when you pulled it out. You've never seen him lick
those sweet lips and then sucked the taste of his tongue off
them for yourself." Curt's hand slid over his front, teasing
the prominent swelling that lay inside the leather pants he
still wore.
Obi-Wan was shaking with rage and shame, fists clenched, on the
verge of murder and tears. "You're evil." His voice was low,
choked.
"Yeah." Curt chuckled low for a moment, his eyes shifting
through a spectrum of light, from glee to pity, warmth
blossoming in them suddenly. "He screamed your name when he
fucked me."
Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat, and a shudder wracked
him. Oh, Force... how badly he needed to believe....
Curt's voice was low and wistful, matching Obi-Wan's in
intensity, its ragged edge dangerous. "He knew we were twins or
whatever the hell it is the minute he saw me, oh yeah. I could
feel his eyes and I knew he wanted me so bad he could taste it.
He didn't much care who I was and he didn't want to think about
who I wasn't. I didn't know I was a stand-in till it was done,
didn't know we were the same till you popped out of thin air,
but who gives a shit, right? A man like that doesn't come along
too often... I just wish it had been me he wanted."
Obi-Wan shivered, horrified and intrigued at once. "It was," he
whispered, grief threaded in his voice.
"I don't think so." Curt shook his head, gazing at Obi-Wan for
a long moment, his eyes darkening with desire. His tongue
slicked his lips suddenly. "Why don't you do it, kid? Come over
here and see if you can take what he left on me. Taste him on
me. Feel him in me." Curt's free hand slipped into the back of
his trousers, stroking himself, his eyes narrow, the makeup
startling on him. "Or are you gonna stay his little unfuckable
virgin angel forever?"
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, teeth moving to savage his lower lip
for a moment of agonized indecision.
He stepped forward.
Curt was sticky with sweat and oil, dirt smeared over his body.
Obi-Wan's stomach turned at the thought of kissing him, tasting
that, but Curt laughed softly and fell on the bed, rolling to
his stomach with feline grace, offering the join of neck and
shoulder. A crease drew between Obi-Wan's brows as he bent
forward, unable to resist what he saw there. A rose blush of
blood dappled the pale skin.
It was a fresh love bite. Qui-Gon's.
Lust hammered through Obi-Wan with that sudden knowledge,
singing with the blood in his veins, a deafening tide in his
ears, and he sank down on Curt, his mouth sealing over the spot
as though he could suck Qui-Gon's touch from his double's salty
skin.
"That's it." Curt's voice was soft, almost dreamy. "That's the
last place he kissed me." The lithe body shifted luxuriously
under Obi-Wan. "Come on, let's go outside," he murmured. "Where
we can see the sky together."
Obi-Wan let Curt up and followed him, half mesmerized by the
shifting lines of the other's... of his own... body. Curt
paused to shrug out of his leather pants and threw them aside
at the door. Obi-Wan hesitated to step out into the open, but
Curt was still moving, and he slipped in behind, darting for
the concealing shadow of the woods.
Qui-Gon was near, he could sense it. Looking for him. Looking
for them. The training bond drew him to Obi-Wan inexorably in
spite of his padawan's shields. There wasn't much time. Obi-Wan
felt his jaw clench. Very well... if that was to be the way of
it, then... he reinforced his shielding as completely as
possible, moving up behind Curt as they stepped into a clearing
under blown veils of cloud and dazzling blue sky. Obi-Wan
lengthened his stride and caught the other boy's hips, pulling
his double against him. "Right here, Curt," he breathed, and
nuzzled a kiss against his double's ear. "Show me how to do
what you do."
Curt half-turned back to him, his smile a flash of white. He
dropped his head back to take a tiny lick at Obi-Wan's face. "I
knew you had it in you, Obi-Wan," he said, then reached back to
pull the Jedi's hips roughly against his.
Obi-Wan let his hands slide around Curt's waist, feeling the
lingering slickness on his body. Curt caught his wrist, drawing
him around and forward, raising his hands to Obi-Wan's
shoulders, lifting the padawan braid in his hand, letting it
slide over the deep V between thumb and forefinger.
"You want me to show you what he did with me... what he wanted
to do with you." Curt's voice was oddly tender. Obi-Wan bit his
lip and nodded, half shamed.
"First, he kissed me." Curt leaned forward, pushing Obi-Wan to
his knees gently, until his hips were on his heels, and then
joining him without sinking so far, hips straight. "Like this."
His hand slid behind Obi-Wan's neck and he lifted the other's
chin with his thumb, dragging Obi-Wan's mouth up to his own.
He devoured Obi-Wan with soft, seeking kisses that gradually
grew desperate, tasting, plunging, exploring. Obi-Wan
shuddered, falling into the fantasy, the close contact brushing
his mind against Curt's, enhancing the moment with sensual
memory. Obi-Wan could almost feel the long silky wings of hair
brushing his face and throat, and he whimpered, struggling for
more.
Curt laughed softly. "That's it," he whispered. "I knew you
couldn't be as cold as you try to act." Obi-Wan silenced him,
reaching up and sliding his fingers into Curt's hair, bringing
the kiss together again, and Curt obliged him eagerly.
And then there it was. The spike and surge of irresistible
desire. Curt sensed it and pulled Obi-Wan closer, sinking to
press his hips forward so that his erection pressed against
Obi-Wan's own. And suddenly the kiss wasn't about a fantasy of
Qui-Gon anymore; it was about Obi-Wan and the man in his arms,
and his right to be what Qui-Gon's silent sternness had never
permitted.
Obi-Wan slid his hands to Curt's taut shoulders, enjoying the
rippling of the compact muscles, less developed than his own,
but lithe and feline beneath his palms. "Are you going to do
that all night, or are you going to have me?" Obi-Wan invited,
voice sultry, and pulled Curt hard against him, flicking his
tongue out to lick the thin lips. He slid his knees apart, his
spine curving inward, hands going behind Curt's neck. Dropping
backward suddenly, he pulled his double down atop him, wrapping
his legs around the tight ass, trapping them together, tumbling
them through the silky carpet of grass.
"Any way you want it," Curt laughed, biting at his jaw. Obi-Wan
nuzzled into the rasp of stubble. He arched, hard and high
enough to lift the other man, moaning aloud as Curt's skilled
hand curled around his hardness. Obi-Wan twisted, moving to
bite his way down Curt's shoulder, then licking and nipping his
ribs. The other man gasped, but let Obi-Wan shift,
understanding what he wanted, guiding his hips and knees until
they settled over him.
Matching bodies, legs, and torsos; a perfect fit. Obi-Wan felt
Curt clasp him between both hands, felt himself guided into a
warm, soft mouth, a wicked tongue dancing over him, and he
groaned aloud, letting a shudder run through him, then bent his
head, imitating those darting licks and caresses. He knew quite
well what pleased the body under him, and he exploited the
knowledge, was rewarded with Curt's own muffled moaning.
Obi-Wan clenched his hips, moving gently, and Curt opened,
angling his head, letting him fuck his willing, hungry mouth.
Obi-Wan tilted his own head forward and surged over Curt down
to the root of his erection, feeling crisp hair tickle his
nose. Curt jerked, rolling them over again, melded bodies
gleaming in the sun, thrashing, groaning...
Obi-Wan withdrew and teased Curt slowly, dropping light kisses
on the straining penis, nipping and stroking with teeth and
tongue, devouring the pleasure he gave and received. After a
few minutes Curt collapsed, moaning, letting it be done to him,
his arms stretching over his head luxuriantly.
"Ohhhh, that's good," Curt groaned. "Thought you never did
this."
"What made you so sure?" Obi-Wan's voice was as mild as his
master's might have been. He stopped, though, rising to his
knees, shaking the braid back over his shoulder with a casual
toss of his head, inhaling and exhaling slowly, luxuriantly.
"Fuck me, Curt," Obi-Wan said, his eyes smoldering down at that
mirror image of himself. "Take me the way he took you."
Oh, he wasn't ready for this, not at all... but the sunlight
was molten in dark honey hair, and Curt's eyes were almost
midnight with desire, and Obi-Wan could feel it too, radiant
waves of lust rolling off him, and he opened himself to them,
let them fill him. Deliberately he let them into the quiet
places he had shut away deep within himself and hidden from the
light of day ever since he first realized his desire for his
master.
He let himself be caught against that lean, sensual body,
melting back into it, savoring the touches of Curt's hair,
teeth, and tongue on his neck and shoulders. The other boy held
his hips, steadying him, and Obi-Wan gazed up into the
brilliant sun with heavy-lidded eyes, letting one hand rise to
run over his chest in a slow, deliberate self-caress. His mouth
fell open, his breath beginning to come in deep, heavy gasps.
He dampened his lower lip with his tongue.
A hand closed over his penis, and he circled his hips, pumping
into it gently for a moment. "He's watching us," Curt hissed, a
tone of pleased amusement in his voice.
Obi-Wan jerked hard, shying from the gaze he couldn't let
himself feel, but Curt held him firmly. "Don't think." Curt's
voice was taut with desire, hypnotic and melodic, like rough
velvet. "Don't let him stop you now." His double's hand went to
his nape and pressed him forward.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and closed his mind, trembling, and he
was bent forward and pushed into the waiting pillow of his
crossed arms. He shifted his hips, parting his legs, and Curt
knelt behind him, a soft exultant laugh in his throat.
"Doesn't he think you'll do it? Doesn't he think you want it,
want him?" Curt's voice was soft and gentle. "Let him watch and
learn." Obi-Wan's teeth sank into his lower lip. All he let
himself know was Curt behind him, palms on the inside of
Obi-Wan's thighs, urgently positioning his knees. He heard the
other man spit, felt it slicked onto him, into him. He hissed
at the intrusion, then involuntarily arched back into it, back
bowing high like a cat's.
His double knew more of pleasure than Obi-Wan had ever dreamed,
one hand curled tight on his penis, the other tormenting him
from the inside with pulsing explosions of fire. He heard his
own low, growling moans as he shoved back onto the teasing
fingers, and Curt's satisfied sigh as he removed them and
replaced them with something more urgent.
Curt's memories were inescapable, the similarity of their minds
attuning them to telepathy, and as the other man thrust into
him, Obi-Wan was aware of his memories, aware of Curt doing
this to Qui-Gon and receiving it in return. Pain sizzled
faintly in the back of his mind, overlaid by layers of memory,
pleasure, and the inescapable awareness that somewhere his
Master's blue eyes watched this, furious, chastened, aroused.
Obi-Wan turned from them, deliberately, focusing on the man who
was having him, accepting and devouring the fierceness of the
forces that drove Curt Wild, feeling them awaken his own
tightly repressed needs and desires.
Curt was ready, on the verge, and Obi-Wan tightened on him,
bringing him off almost immediately, eager to move on to the
next phase. His lover slid out of him, backing away, and
Obi-Wan pushed himself up into a crouch, rounding on him, fire
and promise in his eyes.
Curt's lips curled very slightly, his eyes amused, almost fond,
almost vulnerable. Obi-Wan leaned in and took a long kiss,
sucking and biting his double's lips. Irresistible, and he
would have this, it was all his, all theirs, no one could take
it from him, deny it to him, tell him it wasn't prudent or
permitted. There was only hot willing flesh and that odd
affinity that had sparked between them from the beginning.
When they finished Curt led him by the hand, unresisting and
shy, from the clearing, and they showered together, which
Obi-Wan thought was probably the best idea for all concerned,
since Curt seemed to care very little about actually getting
clean. He liked to be touched though, and Obi-Wan washed him,
washed them, carefully. It took a long time, and the loss of
hot water finally drove them out, lean bodies shivering in
tandem. Curt tossed Obi-Wan a pair of jeans and put on some of
his own.
Obi-Wan watched openly, amazed, as Curt moved, sexual energy
still pulsating from even his most casual gestures. Putting on
the jeans, snugging them against his firm, slim hips as he drew
them up and casually buttoned the waistband.... Could he look
like that? Obi-Wan's mouth was dry. It was hard to believe that
his lover was, in a real way, himself.
"You move like you're ready to fight," Curt commented slyly,
and Obi-Wan realized he'd spoken aloud. "I move like I want to
fuck." He turned, zipping up the jeans, his pelvis angled
forward provocatively. Obi-Wan nodded, lips opening to speak
and then closing reluctantly as Curt shifted his weight to one
heel.
"Do you ever get enough?" Obi-Wan suddenly asked. "Ever not
want it?"
"Stupid question," Curt laughed. "Come on, let's get you fucked
up. I got a gig later."
Getting fucked up, Obi-Wan discovered, consisted of imbibing an
alarming variety of consciousness-altering substances.
Cautiously he refused all except the most familiar: alcohol. He
could be sure that it, at least, was not instantly addictive or
prone to cause permanent psychological changes. Curt seemed
content to let Obi-Wan stick to beer. He sprawled on the dirty
mattress, drowsing until the accumulation of depressants in his
system pulled him into unconsciousness.
For his part, Obi-Wan barely noticed his companion's state,
using the beer to help him set aside his growing realization
that Qui-Gon had watched him have sex with Curt. Watched, and
done nothing to intervene. Even now, he was conspicuously
absent. Obi-Wan felt his lips thin and harden, and he took
another swig of the foul liquid, feeling the glow in his
stomach.
Qui-Gon Jinn found himself lingering outside the grimy trailer,
ignoring stares from suspicious eyes, not really able to care
what anyone thought at seeing him there. He was still in shock.
Together, they had been two peas in a pod. One sheerly,
aggressively sensual, the other... the other, purely beautiful,
stunning in unaccustomed passion. Force. The image of them
entwined... it had nearly caused Qui-Gon's heart and certain
other organs to burst, even as it enraged him, shamed him,
tortured him.
He had never thought Obi-Wan capable of such a thing, such a
casual liaison. Never thought of his padawan wanting and
accepting a man, particularly not such a one as Curt Wild-- but
Obi-Wan had done it for spite, had he not? Purely for spite,
for vengeance, to get even with Qui-Gon for his earlier
indiscretion....
His fist clenched tight, knuckles whitening, teeth setting in
impotent fury. If Obi-Wan's first lover was to have been a
man... then by rights, it should have been him.
But his regrets came too late. What Obi-Wan had given Curt
Wild, Qui-Gon could never have back, just as Obi-Wan could
never have what Qui-Gon had given Curt. The fact that neither
of them had known the other wanted it made little difference.
Defeated, he sank down onto the steps of the trailer, slumped
forward with total disregard of dignity or pride. Those things
mattered so little when parts of his universe he had not even
known mattered at all had turned inside out. The passion, the
fire, the freedom -- he had never known Obi-Wan possessed such
rawness within his soul. Not knowing, he had very nearly
extinguished those embers inadvertently under the smothering
weight of his Jedi philosophy.
And now, just as he discovered those embers flaring to life, he
had lost them to another's touch.
The trailer door clicked behind him, but he did not move. Soft
footsteps padded down the steps; from the corner of his eye, he
saw bare feet pausing beside him. Familiar feet, but that meant
less than it once had.
A few more steps, and he felt the warmth of his padawan
settling next to him. He had always taken Obi-Wan's presence at
his shoulder for granted, until Obi-Wan had gotten lost. If
only he could be sure he had found him.
"We must return to Coruscant," he said at last, falling back
into the old pattern of command as a last resort to avoid
emotional connection.
"No."
His head turned sharply before he had even fully processed the
insubordination. "No?" he repeated, dumbfounded.
Obi-Wan met his gaze briefly, then looked out into the woods.
Toward their link with home, Qui-Gon thought with a sudden pang
of longing for the familiar. "I'm not ready. I have more to
learn here. Things you won't teach me."
A sharp empathic pain in his gut told him the remark had been
meant to wound. "We have duties to attend," he said, voice
colder than he wanted it to be, from long habit.
"Duty!" Obi-Wan spat. "Is that truly the only thing important
to you? Is that why you came after me? Is that the only thing
you care about?"
He started to rise, but Qui-Gon's hand snapped out to seize his
arm and stop him. "No," he said with a low growl. Obi-Wan's
eyes widened, startled and dark with another, indefinable,
reaction. "I care about you. Don't you want me to?"
They remained there, Obi-Wan half-crouched before him, for a
long moment. "Yes," Obi-Wan whispered at last. A flare of
triumph and hope shot through Qui-Gon even as Obi-Wan rose,
pulling out of Qui-Gon's grip and taking the steps with a
single leap back into the shelter of the shoddy trailer.
Even now, after everything... perhaps not too late after all.
Qui-Gon's meditations were interrupted suddenly by the click of
a latch and the sudden banging of a screen. He straightened,
keeping his arms firmly placed in his sleeves.
The two men trotted agilely down the rickety stairs, and for a
moment in the gleam of late afternoon sun, he wasn't sure which
of them was his padawan. The relaxed, casual gait of both, the
tight pants they wore... one in black leather, the other in
faded denim jeans and short tight matching jacket, low-cut,
pointed boots... the padawan braid gave Obi-Wan away, flashing
in the sun.
They roared away in Curt's battered vehicle, and Qui-Gon took a
moment to let himself into the trailer and gather Obi-Wan's
things before he fell in behind them to follow them to the
concert.
It was dark when Curt stepped onto stage to perform, and
Qui-Gon found himself grateful for the cover of dimness. He
tried to lose himself in the performance, as he had done the
previous night, but instead he found his eyes drawn
irresistibly to Obi-Wan. His Obi-Wan, his padawan. Standing in
the crowd, eyes fixed on Curt Wild like a worshipper might gaze
on an idol. Learning those lessons he thought he needed, the
lessons Qui-Gon had failed to teach him.
If only he knew. Compared to Curt, Obi-Wan Kenobi needed no
glitter. He already shone like the sun.
Qui-Gon swallowed a heavy lump in his throat.
Obi-Wan was dancing, buoyed by the excitement of the crowd, but
he held back on the fringes, and Qui-Gon could see him clearly,
could flicker his eyes between the two young men. The
similarities, the differences... heartbreaking, and
heartwarming. And oh, Obi-Wan's trim young body, highlighted by
the tight denim jeans as it never was by Jedi tunics and
leggings... the raw, unashamed sensuality Curt had helped him
unleash in himself....
He remembered how his padawan had arched and gasped under
Curt's skilled hands, abandoning himself to passion. Golden
light shining on his skin, the healthy glow of him. Such hidden
depths in Obi-Wan, so much of Curt that had lain hidden in him,
shy, fearful of Qui-Gon's condemnation.
No longer.
Qui-Gon glided forward, noiseless though none could have heard
him over Curt's frenzied song, and slid his arms gently around
Obi-Wan's bare ribs, big hands clasping over his padawan's
taut, rippled belly. "Please come away, my padawan," he
breathed in the young man's ear, a soft plea. "Let it be. His
mind is so broken, he will never be sure we were real...."
He felt a shiver course through Obi-Wan, felt a warm drop fall
onto his hand. Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, then took a shaky
breath. "Master...."
"Shhhh." He drew Obi-Wan back, steered him toward the shadows
until they were hidden from the crowd. Then he turned Obi-Wan
and pulled him close, tucking Obi-Wan's head beneath his chin
and waiting until he felt his embrace returned.
"Master," Obi-Wan whispered again. Soft lips moved against
Qui-Gon's throat in a tiny, hesitant kiss, testing him and his
desire. Desire he had hidden from his padawan for too long;
desire Obi-Wan had suppressed within himself for far too long,
but which now trickled steadily into the natural bond between
them.
Tentatively, Obi-Wan slid his body against Qui-Gon. Another
test. Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's waist, pulled the
younger man's hips to his and let him feel how real Qui-Gon's
desire was. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, and Qui-Gon felt the
answering surge of arousal against his thigh.
The music from the now-hidden stage stopped for a moment, and
Qui-Gon could hear only his own and Obi-Wan's ragged breathing.
Obi-Wan's arms wrapped around Qui-Gon's waist, body pressed
close, breath hot against his ear, but still Qui-Gon felt a
distance that should not have been there. A vague
dissatisfaction, a lacking, as though his lungs were not
drawing quite enough air. Only when another small wave of
longing shivered its way through the Force did Qui-Gon
understand what he needed. Then he reached for his padawan with
mind as well as with body.
His seeking took the path most open to him: their training
bond, which he had followed across a dozen worlds, his only
constant, however tense or faint, during this ordeal. Obi-Wan
gasped, then reached back. They clung to each other for a long
time, rocked by the unaccustomed flood of emotion trying to
crowd into the suddenly fragile link between them. The normal
bond between master and apprentice was not meant to carry such
intensity of feeling, Qui-Gon realized even as he tried to lose
himself in Obi-Wan as he had never been able to before.
His knees weakened dangerously; Obi-Wan was almost a dead
weight against him, and the need to twine himself tightly
around his padawan was becoming overwhelming. With an effort of
will almost greater than he could manage, he pulled himself
away from the compelling heat of Obi-Wan's body. The young man
gave a grunt of protest, but stood still enough while Qui-Gon
pulled off his robe and lay it upon the ground.
Then Obi-Wan stepped forward and wrapped himself around Qui-Gon
again, mouth still hungry on his master's neck, and Qui-Gon
embraced him gladly. Willing, wanton... so very much like Curt,
but not him at all.
Obi-Wan. His own. How had he ever thought this flesh, this man,
too prim and reservedly proper for him to touch?
His knees buckled finally as Obi-Wan's mouth found a
particularly sweet spot, and he allowed them to sink onto his
outspread robe. Obi-Wan landed half in his lap, one leg around
his waist, and when Qui-Gon's hands came up to brace against
Obi-Wan's shoulders, he found only hot, willing skin. The music
began again, a rhythm he did not know, but felt sweep over them
both with a strange familiarity. Curt sang again. For them.
He lifted his gaze to blue eyes gone black in the dim light.
Obi-Wan stared at him, evaluating and coveting with equal
openness. Gripping and kneading the muscles beneath the silken
skin, Qui-Gon leaned slowly forward. The hypnotic gaze remained
locked on him until the moment their lips touched; then the
shadowed lids drifted shut as Obi-Wan gave himself over to
their kiss.
Only when he probed deeply could Qui-Gon find a taint of
alcohol that reminded him of the other, and even that faded
quickly, until all he could taste was Obi-Wan. He groaned
deeply into his padawan's - his lover's - mouth, and Obi-Wan
responded by moving still closer into Qui-Gon's body.
Another pulse of lust, tempered with the deep tenderness they
had always held for one another, rushed between them, opening
their bond wider. They rocked together, kissing slowly, each
surge of physical pleasure forcing its way between them until
they were almost painfully open to each other. Qui-Gon let
himself drift easily into the strange communion, buffeted by
the raw sensuality and need in Obi-Wan -- more powerful than
Curt Wild's, and purer, it came from love and strength rather
than pain.
Obi-Wan tangled his fingers in Qui-Gon's hair, palms curving to
hold his head still as the younger man pressed strong, sweet
kisses to Qui-Gon's mouth. "Want you," Obi-Wan breathed against
his lips with another sharp push against his body.
"Always wanted you," Qui-Gon returned with a soft gasp. He
found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything
except how hard he was, and how hard Obi-Wan was, and how
soul-wrenchingly sweet it would be to pour himself into the
warm body he held. Another rub of his erection against
Obi-Wan's made his entire body convulse with need, and then he
was pushing Obi-Wan over onto their makeshift blanket.
Obi-Wan lay sprawled on his back, panting, eyes glittering up
at Qui-Gon with anticipation as he hastily disrobed. Laughing
softly, Obi-Wan lifted his hips obligingly as Qui-Gon fumbled
open the odd pants he wore, then slid them down and off his
legs, leaving him naked to his master's gaze. Qui-Gon sat there
beside Obi-Wan for a long moment, drinking in the sight of the
body that lay open to him, fully aroused and faintly trembling
in the chill air. Then he gave in to his need to touch, running
his hand over Obi-Wan from shoulder to thigh in a shaky caress.
Obi-Wan drew a sharp breath.
Arching the slightest bit, Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's hand and held
it flat against his stomach as he rolled onto his side, his
back to Qui-Gon. Without protest or thought, Qui-Gon moved with
him and settled against his back with a sense of homecoming. He
closed his eyes as Obi-Wan guided his hand in slow, expanding
circles over the sleek muscle of the younger man's stomach,
memorizing every inch. Briefly, he buried his face in the crook
of Obi-Wan's neck, inhaled deeply, then tasted the damp skin
along his shoulder, indulging every sense.
Obi-Wan sighed and pushed back against him, tension burning
along their link. Qui-Gon felt the silent demand for more, for
what would lead them both to climax and relief. He groaned his
acquiescence helplessly and felt Obi-Wan stretch, hand leaving
Qui-Gon's to reach for the spot where Qui-Gon had piled their
clothing. When Obi-Wan lay back, he pressed a small container
into Qui-Gon's hand. Fumbling it open, Qui-Gon smoothed the
slick oil over his fingers; Obi-Wan must have taken it from the
trailer.
"Don't worry," Obi-Wan said over his shoulder. "He had quite a
lot of it." His humor was clear even through the urgency in
their bond, and Qui-Gon huffed his amusement softly against
Obi-Wan's shoulder before sliding his fingers in where more of
him longed to be.
They entered easily; Obi-Wan was still loose from his earlier
experience, and in contrast to his previous jealousy, Qui-Gon
found himself aroused almost to orgasm by the very thought of
it. Obi-Wan squirmed and made a frantic noise, prompting
Qui-Gon to withdraw his fingers and finish his preparations
hastily.
He wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's waist once more and threw
one leg over Obi-Wan's thigh until he found the alignment he
needed. Obi-Wan tangled their legs together even as Qui-Gon
made his first firm thrust, joining their bodies. Even
stretched by Curt's considerable size, Obi-Wan was deliciously
tight around him as Qui-Gon sank his first few needy inches
into his lover. "Obi-Wan... my Obi-Wan," he said hoarsely,
beginning to rock them gently together.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said simply and matched Qui-Gon's movement,
pushing back with each thrust to draw Qui-Gon deeper.
Qui-Gon panted into Obi-Wan's hair when his hips finally
pressed against Obi-Wan's buttocks, his length sheathed fully
in the torturously soft passage. Moaning restlessly, Obi-Wan
moved Qui-Gon's slick hand to his own hard flesh. Qui-Gon
closed his fist around it, tightly enough to give pleasure
while allowing Obi-Wan to move at will, the pace of their
coupling growing more frenzied.
Body still wrapped around his apprentice, Qui-Gon thrust harder
until the leverage wasn't enough. Instinctively he rolled their
joined bodies forward until Obi-Wan lay face down, arms flung
out over his head. Qui-Gon groaned with relief as he pulled
back, then sank his full length smoothly into Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan shuddered beneath him, then began pushing back again,
forcing himself and Qui-Gon up as he straightened his braced
arms. "Tell me," he demanded from between gritted teeth,
muscles shaking with the strain, hips pushing back until he
forced Qui-Gon's knees to support their combined weight.
The words themselves made little sense, but their meaning was
clear in the maelstrom of Force-borne emotion raging between
them. "Always you. Only you," Qui-Gon gasped. He pulled Obi-Wan
fully into his lap, his lover's legs splaying to either side of
Qui-Gon's knees as he grunted with the increasing force of
their thrusting. "You I held, you I saw, you I wanted...
beneath me, inside me... you, Obi-Wan."
"Only me," Obi-Wan whispered; then his head lolled back against
Qui-Gon's shoulder, eyes closed and face slack with relief as
he finally came. Qui-Gon pumped the shuddering flesh in his
fist until Obi-Wan's entire body went limp, then released it.
Both arms now tight around Obi-Wan's waist, Qui-Gon let the
last pulses of his lover's orgasm bring his own arousal to a
peak as he thrust frantically until completion washed over him.
He groaned his joy aloud and blindly kissed the spot behind
Obi-Wan's ear where the padawan braid began, hips still jerking
slightly as he spent the last few surges of his pleasure deep
within Obi-Wan's body.
Even his knees could not hold them, then, as the tension
drained from him and left him as boneless as his padawan. They
slumped forward again, flesh still joined, face down on the
ground. Obi-Wan groped with one hand until he found Qui-Gon's
fingers and twined them with his own. Then they lay still save
for their labored breathing as the newly-enhanced bond between
them shook, then steadied itself in strength, in the aftermath
of their lovemaking.
After a while Qui-Gon groaned again, lifting himself up enough
to withdraw. He felt Obi-Wan's mental brush of thanks as his
weight left the younger man. Qui-Gon smiled and pressed a
gentle kiss between Obi-Wan's shoulder blades; then, after a
moment, he touched his lips again to the small scar a few
inches away.
"Master," Obi-Wan mumbled drowsily as Qui-Gon managed to get
himself into a sitting position, then tugged Obi-Wan up into
his arms.
"Padawan." He kissed the young man tenderly, then held him
close, enjoying the contact of their sated bodies. The music
had long since stopped; footsteps and murmuring voices provided
a softer backdrop of sound, but none came near to them.
Obi-Wan nuzzled against Qui-Gon's neck after a time, then
sighed with reluctance before sitting up in his master's
embrace. "We should go, shouldn't we?"
Qui-Gon nodded and kissed him again. "Duty awaits." He smiled
faintly and brushed his padawan's lip with his thumb.
His apprentice nodded soberly and started to pull away to stand
up, but Qui-Gon caught his hand before he gained his feet,
bringing him back to kneel at eye level with Qui-Gon.
"Obi-Wan... Padawan...." He hesitated, seeking the words he
needed. Obi-Wan waited patiently, gaze fixed attentively on
Qui-Gon as it always was - the only thing new was the rush of
love and encouragement Obi-Wan sent to him through their
deepened bond. "If I have held you back, held you down...
caused you fear... if my harshness has kept you from expressing
the beauty inside you... then I must beg your forgiveness, my
love."
Obi-Wan regarded him for a moment in silence, then leaned in to
touch Qui-Gon's lips fleetingly, solemnly, with his own. "We
walk our own path as Jedi, my Master. You taught me as you
must; that you could not teach me this is no failing of yours.
The Force has made it right."
He sought the Force itself for the truth of Obi-Wan's words; it
hummed around them and through them, filled with their joy, the
source of their strength. Qui-Gon bowed his head briefly in
acceptance, then looked again to his apprentice with a small
smile playing at his mouth. "I would, however, continue the
teaching now that it has begun."
Eyes sparkling, Obi-Wan chewed on his lower lip for a moment
before grinning widely. "Oh, Master, I think there is a great
deal more we have to teach each other." He kissed Qui-Gon one
more time, with passion, before rising and holding out his hand
to his master. "Now, let's go home."
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