Master Apprentice Archive The Morning After Quick search:

Billions of crystal-bright suns crashed together and shattered inside his head in a perfectly timed chain reaction, hurling intense needles of agony throughout every part of his body north of his navel. The brilliant shards clawed at his eyeballs and jolted the already sensitive nerves, from the peak of his forehead to the very tips of his slender fingers. His hands jerked and trembled uncontrollably as his biceps twitched with pain.

Qui-Gon's esophagus clenched shut against the heaving acid-like juice in his stomach. He would sell his soul at this moment for a glass of water to soothe his throat and pry his desiccated tongue away from its palate. But even the smallest movement caused his body to scream at him to cease and desist. It was probably just as well his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive,
because if pain was any indication he really shouldn't be moving anything.

Breathing slowly and deeply, he reached for the pain and let it settle gingerly around his shoulders like a cloak of stinging whipweed. Then he eased it back to a barely tolerable level and released it into the Force. For a moment he succeeded. It skulked into the dark corners of his consciousness, compressing itself into a dull throb of alternating heat and chill. He couldn't hold back the moan, however, as his stomach's sour contents repeatedly rose up and crashed against its tender walls like a
stormy sea at high tide.

He shook his head slightly as he tried to recall the night before, and the tiny movement caused another burst of pain to slice through his head. Deep, even breaths, he told himself as he lay deadly still. His body rebelled at first, demanding painful retribution for the insults inflicted upon it. Eventually, however, the storm passed and left nothing but the quiet brain
hemorrhage inside his skull.

He was on a small planet close to Coruscant where the Jedi held many of their retreats, attending the reunion that his yearmates held every 10 years. He and Obi-Wan had arrived late yesterday afternoon, travelling here directly from their last assignment because Qui-Gon had promised his friends that he wouldn't miss this one as he'd missed all of the others.

Mace was bartending for the night, his memory offered. He remembered an image of the grinning councillor pouring some pale blue fluid into his glass as they talked. Mace called it liquid moonlight or something like that. Sounded innocent enough and tasted quite pleasant.

Surely those two drinks couldn't be responsible for this living hell. He called on every ounce of discipline he had accumulated as a Jedi master - all the training he'd used in the past to resist or endure suffering. He needed to retreat to a safe place in his mind. Yes, somewhere pleasant, where the pain didn't exist. Sunshine, fresh air, the gentle sounds of waves... Yes, almost there.

He pressed two large hands against the sides of his sweaty face, trying to hold his head still as the two sides of his brain sloshed back and forth within the fragile confines of his skull. Carefully he changed his position on the bed, rolling over onto his back. And froze. Fear gripped his spine with a cold, clammy hand and turned every muscle in his body to solid rock. He was not alone.

The war-drum pounding of his heart - which echoed ten times louder inside his head - subsided long enough for him to hear the soft steady breathing of the person next to him. The legendary Jinn courage instantly hightailed it out the door screaming gibberish, and if he had dared to move, he would have hidden under the blankets and played dead. He could manage dead, but
hiding was useless. The other's presence was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He knew who it was without looking, without knowing how he'd gotten to bed last night.

Obi-Wan. His padawan.

There were two bedrooms in their cabin. Why wasn't his student in his own bed? Qui-Gon tried to calm his thoughts long enough to pluck out the missing scenes from last night, but they kept sliding through his clumsy fingers like water through a sieve.

He gritted his teeth and cautiously turned his head towards the young man, slowly peeling back one crusty eyelid. With a bit of effort, the blurred image next to him gradually sharpened into the familiar, well-loved form of his student. Unfortunately, it was also accompanied by the physical sensation that his body was lurching back and forth, even though he knew he couldn't be moving.

Obi-Wan was lying on his side, facing Qui-Gon. So young and perfect and so very beautiful, he thought, as he studied the smooth, untroubled face only inches away from his own. So close that Qui-Gon could make out the fine gossamer hair that covered his padawan's chin and upper lip. It glinted in the first light of morning and highlighted soft lips that tempted him like
the fresh, sweet drops of a morning rainfall.

Qui-Gon tried to lick his own dry lips with a heavy, coated tongue, and fought back the impulse to run an unsteady finger along that pale, lightly furred cheek. And over the inviting slender column of throat. And across the flushed cinnamon peaks that stood out from the well-muscled chest.

Headache forgotten for the moment, he explored with his one eye the naked expanse of his young apprentice - from the spiky russet hair edging his forehead, to the blanket that lightly rested over lean hips, exposing just a hint of that tempting line of soft golden hair below his navel.

His curious fingers crept forward along the blanket, inching their way towards the young man, needing to reach over and tug aside the blanket to see what lay beneath it.

No. He bit his tongue before he could say it out loud. His fingers trembled with indecision, foiled in their mission to expose that firm young flesh, warm and smooth as it rested beneath the covers. Or maybe he could convince himself it was just the hangover.

Hells of the Beelzebub Nebulae, he slapped himself mentally. What was he doing?  Obi-Wan was just a boy, barely 20. Still young and innocent, and placing altogether too much trust in his master. Oh, if only he could remember what happened last night.

Bits of conversation with Mace teasingly flashed through his brain, too quick at first for comprehension. Concentrating on it, he grasped enough to know that they were talking about Obi-Wan. They were laughing. Laughing about...what? Qui-Gon's drink was sloshing over the sides of the glass and Mace was trying to hold his hand and the glass steady. Then they were both
stumbling outside to get some fresh air. Still laughing.

It was dark outside. He was leaning against a stone wall. Yes, he remembered how good the warm air smelled and the sound of leaves rustling together in the breeze. And... He was talking to Mace. Telling Mace about his padawan. About Obi-Wan. About how much he loved Obi-Wan. About how much he longed for his beloved apprentice.

Qui-Gon squeezed both eyes shut and covered his face with both hands. He shivered as a cold sweat ran down the back of his neck and across his ribs in rivulets. No. How could he have told anyone *that*. How could he have disclosed the secret he'd kept so well hidden for almost two years? And to tell Mace of all people and who the Sith else? They'd never let him hear
the end of it. Eventually it would reach Obi-Wan, who would be horrified to find out that his master was a crazy love-sick old fool. He turned his face into his pillow, clutching it with both hands as heated waves of shame swept through his body.

Fragments of Obi-Wan looking at him fluttered through his memory, his padawan saying words that he was too drunk to remember, with a melting smile on his lips and eyes full of love. And Qui-Gon remembered crushing the young man close to him as Obi-Wan held him up and steered him towards their cabin.

I don't deserve to live, he moaned silently as he sunk deeper into the pillow, pulling the corner across his face.

The mattress lurched slightly and Qui-Gon looked up to meet the sleepy green-gray eyes next to him. His mind raced wildly in all directions as it searched for something to say. An apology? An excuse? A plea? Maybe an invitation for Obi-Wan to stab him through the heart with his own lightsabre and get it over with.

"Good morning, Master." Obi-Wan smiled at him, adoration quickly warming those eyes to a jade-green. The young Jedi stretched, his arms high above his head, and Qui-Gon couldn't resist watching as the morning sunlight deepened the ripple of soft creamy skin across firm muscle and bone.

"Obi-Wan," croaked the older man. He tried to clear his throat and start again, but his voice sounded worse if anything. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry."

Sorry for what, he wasn't sure. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to reach the washroom fast before last night's supper presented itself for review. He rolled over to his side of the bed and landed on his feet, ignoring the screaming fireworks inside his head.

His knees wobbled like jelly and the floor beneath him lurched from side to side as though several large earthquakes chose that very second to strike the planet. He felt a steadying hand on his elbow and an unwavering source of strength next to him.

"Let me help you, Master."

Qui-Gon pried his eyelids apart and looked at his student. Thank the stars Obi-Wan was still wearing his trousers from last night. Maybe...

Obi-Wan brushed aside his master's weak, raspy protests and ushered him to the entrance of the washroom. Qui-Gon steadied himself against the wall, trying to look as masterly as he could with sweat rolling down his faintly greenish-tinged skin, and took a deep breath.

"Obi-Wan, why were we in the same bed?" He winced inwardly, embarrassed to have to ask, and afraid to hear the answer.

"Forgive me, Master," the young man replied, smiling shyly. "After I helped you to bed last night I was concerned for your wellbeing, so I stayed with you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Relief, as precious and welcome as the first morning of the world, poked Qui-Gon in the back of his rubbery knees and brushed away the heavy black cloud of guilt that hung over his head. "Then... then, I..." Qui-Gon gasped. He circled his padawan with strong arms and felt Obi-Wan's arms gently hug him in return. They stood there for a moment before he gently
pulled back.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." I don't deserve you, he added to himself alone. With that and a brush of his lips against his padawan's hair he turned and staggered towards the shower.

Obi-Wan reluctantly looked away as his master started to undress for his shower. He shivered slightly and rubbed his hands over his arms. His body was already feeling chilled and abandoned by the loss of the larger man's presence.

He walked back to the bedroom and began picking up strewn clothing and straightening the bed while the shower sprang to life behind him. He glanced at the untidy sheets that were still imprinted with both their bodies and sighed.

So close this time. It had been so very close. Qui-Gon had been all over him last night as soon as they'd stepped inside the door to their cabin, his lips smearing drunken kisses across his face and down his neck while his hands... Obi-Wan smiled and hugged himself tightly as he lost himself in his memories. Those hands had been *everywhere*, clumsily tugging at buckles and fastenings, groping virgin territory with the same single-mindedness his master displayed in everything else.

He forgot about the folding and tidying and looked at himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. Except for the knowing smile, he didn't look any different. Maybe his lips were a little puffy. He traced a wet a finger across one nipple and his eyes lidded shut in remembered pleasure. Definitely more sensitive this morning.

Obi-Wan could have taken Qui-Gon's eager and willing passion last night if he'd been of a mind to, but he could not, would not ever take advantage of his master's intoxicated state, regardless of the desire either one of them felt. It wasn't right. He knew his master would have flayed himself with guilt come morning while absolving his padawan of everything.

He allowed that it was probably a good thing that Qui-Gon had fallen asleep when he did, without pushing the limits of his padawan's self-control any more than he had. He shook his head as he finished straightening the bed and headed for the kitchen to make a hangover cure for his master.

There'll be a next time, Obi-Wan assured himself. One of these nights he'd get Qui-Gon into bed with him again, with only their passion for each other to intoxicate them. "And then, Master," he whispered in the washroom's general direction, "I'll give you a night that you'll never forget."