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Never Too Late

by Jane Sehrn-Ta

Title -- Never Too Late.
Author -- Jane Sehrn-Ta (jane.sehrnta at gmail dot com).
Archive -- M-A archive and my livejournal only.
Category -- Qui/Obi, Alternate Universe, First-Time, PWP, Romance.
Rating -- Adult.
Summary -- Some things are worth waiting for.
Feedback -- Is greatly valued, on or off-list.

Qui-Gon Jinn was a Jedi Master, not a saint. He had long known that his strength in the Living Force opened him to vulnerability, relying as he did on sensation and intuition. It also opened him to criticism and charges of recklessness. However, he had no choice but to follow where the Force guided him, even when it led him in the opposite direction to everyone else. As a result, he had earned a reputation as a troublemaker with not only the Jedi Council, but also his Code-abiding third Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The Jedi Code could be stored on a datapad, but that fact belied the weight of tradition and dogma upon which it rested. The Master's section of the Code, prefaced to those who trained the Order's forthcoming Masters, was no exception. In his time as a Jedi, he had only read the document in its entirety twice. He preferred to rely on the Force to guide him where training his Padawans was concerned: instinctively choosing when to direct them, and when to let them learn from their mistakes. This course had generally served him and his apprentices well. Until his catastrophic failure with Xanatos de Crion, his second Padawan, who fell to the Dark Side just before his knighting.

In hindsight, his early years with Obi-Wan had been shaky, despite his focus on the Moment. He had second-guessed himself several times in the shadow of Xanatos' fall. He supposed he had done an adequate job in training Obi-Wan, although the boy's lack of confidence -- something he had been instrumental in fostering -- had been a problem at first. Once Obi-Wan had entered his sexual awakening, it seemed even that difficulty had been resolved. However, that change had created a new source of stress, which had subsequently plagued Qui-Gon for many years.

It had once been simple to maintain the professional distance required of him as Obi-Wan's teacher. Finally secure in his sexuality, Obi-Wan had maddened him with barely-shielded youthful fantasies: becoming a walking, breathing incentive to self-pleasure. He could resist temptation, but once the Force had begun to suggest that there could be more between them, he had been forced to fight his own way of interacting with Obi-Wan and the Force itself.

That was the first time in nearly thirty years he had studied the Code. He remembered that Obi-Wan's eyebrow had quirked on discovering his copy on the couch one day. 'Are you looking for new ways to wilfully break the Code, Master?' Obi-Wan had asked with a grin. He had given Obi-Wan a stern, Masterly look, but was sure that the grin had remained on Obi-Wan's face long after he had grabbed the datapad and left the room.

Betrayed as he was by instinct, he had needed ammunition to deter Obi-Wan's interest. He had found it in the Code: standard responses and behaviours for curbing the inevitable Padawan crushes and his own feelings of attraction. Having always relied on the Living Force, he had found himself cautious of his own leanings toward sensation. Whereas he had once gained a better reading of Obi-Wan's mood by laying a hand on his shoulder, he had begun to shy away from contact, going so far as to lock his hands into his sleeves to resist the instinctual drive to read Obi-Wan by touch. The bond between them had remained strong, as evidenced by their easy telepathy. Consequently, despite his great experience with shielding, he had seldom released the sexual tension in his own body for fear of transmitting inappropriate suggestions to his Padawan. The result had been five of the most challenging years of his career.

That time, however, was past. Qui-Gon knelt in the common room of their once shared quarters, his head bowed, contemplating the aura of silence that surrounded him. In his mind, he drifted in a sea of deep indigo, and it felt restful to his soul: a soul that had nearly gone on to join with the Force. That thought didn't disturb him. Joining with the Force would be, he thought, an ecstatic experience. Indeed, it was only due to Obi-Wan's determination when fighting the Sith they had encountered on Naboo that he had survived. A second later, and Obi-Wan would have been prevented from joining the battle. He would have been crushed under the onslaught of his age. It was a sobering thought that the Force had swung that Moment in battle in his favour, but having survived to be kneeling now in his empty room, he had to accept that he was where the Force intended him to be.

Obi-Wan was knighted now, earlier in the day by his own hand, and had already moved his personal effects to shared quarters with another three young Knights. Tonight, Obi-Wan would be out quietly celebrating with his friends. He had been invited to join them, but given the evidence of his advancing mortality and the empty ache in his mind, which only hours before had been filled with Obi-Wan's light through the now-severed training bond, he had gently refused. Obi-Wan had bowed, promising to drop by to share firstmeal one last time in the morning. For the first time in years, he was alone in his room and in his mind.

He opened his eyes, moving with the deliberateness of a ritual, as he picked up the bundle beside him and entered the fresher. He set the contents of the bundle out on the shelf carefully, allowing himself to stroke the curves of the silken, synthplas objects and the large bottle of oil he had purchased in anticipation of this day. He removed the stopper, allowing the faint, earthy scent to flare into his awareness. Stripping away his tunics and leggings, he set the shower running.

With a sigh, he stepped into the water, letting it cool skin that was already heated with anticipation. He closed his eyes and opened himself to the Living Force. His fingers moved slowly, exploring the pathways that the water took over his skin, as he renewed acquaintance with his own body. He felt a quiet pleasure in the touch. He poured some oil into his hand, stroking it over his skin and tracing hidden, dusky folds of flesh, before penetrating himself with his fingers.

Even now, he couldn't bring himself to think of Obi-Wan, as much as he wanted to. Control was a difficult thing to relinquish after so many years, and he was unsure if even thinking of his now former Padawan with desire was somehow dishonourable to the young man who had watched him with expectant green eyes as he had severed the braid, mere hours ago. Instead, he focussed on sensation, on gestures that had become luxurious, made only when he was separated from Obi-Wan and certain that he would not impinge on his student's boundaries. Those opportunities had become rarer in the last few years. It was with a sense of delight that he explored, noting wryly that his skin was much less supple than it used to be. It absorbed the oil eagerly, and water droplets beaded on his skin as he tipped his face into the spray, letting it ripple through his hair and cascade down his back.

He let oiled fingers play against his nipples, then drift lower, caressing ribs, tracing the outlines of old and new scars alike, dipping into his navel, detouring to his hipbone, before ghosting along the length of his cock. Reminding himself that this night was truly his, he allowed himself an audible moan, and used one hand to lean against the shower wall as he stroked himself with the other. He sank within the Force and released the rapidly mounting pressure: he didn't want his climax to be over too quickly. Turning to the shelf, he picked up a small synthplas plug. A shiver passed through him as he slid the plug into place. A touch sent ripples passing through it, mimicking the action of skilled lips and tongue.

He slowed his breathing, and sank into awareness of the pleasure radiating up his spine. He moaned then, bracing himself against the shower wall again as he resumed his exploration. He alternated languorous strokes with light caresses to other parts of his body, deliberately delaying the moment of release.

He found himself wanting more. He removed the small plug and selected the next. This one was longer and thicker, and he coated it liberally with oil, leaning against the wall once more as he guided the plug into himself. Again, he stroked the head of the plug and vibrations rippled against his prostate, sending the tingling feeling in a rush along his spine. He poured more oil into his hand, before using the Force to manipulate the small controller on the shelf beside him. He shuddered as the plug separated, plunging the synthplas core slowly and smoothly into him. He began to roughly stroke his cock, encasing it in slick fingers, and moving his hips in rhythm with the thrusts inside him. After a few such movements, he touched the control again. He gasped as the core thrust deeper and faster, speeding up his movements and increasing the friction until he could no longer delay his release.

With a gasp of pleasure, he thrust once more to his completion. He manipulated the control again, and the core of the plug retracted. He continued the light touches until he had drawn all the pleasure from his spent body. A trifle unsteady on his feet now, he reached back and extricated the quiescent plug with a satisfied groan, and some regret that the warmth of the water flooding his skin could not be matched by the sticky release of a lover buried inside him.

He straightened, regulating his breathing, and turned to the last plug on the shelf. It was shorter than the second, but thicker. He oiled the plug and then, relaxing himself, guided it to fill the place that his solitary encounter had left behind. The slight pressure on his prostate was stimulating, but he was too wrung out to attempt anything further.

He carefully put the evidence of his session away, turning off the water and drying himself as best he could, given that bending was now more of a challenging activity. Leaving his robes and towel on the fresher floor, he dimmed the glowers as he made his way to his room, closing the door and stretching out on the bed on his stomach, pulling a sheet over him for modesty.

He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift a little, starting from the warm and very full depths of his body, extending across sensitized skin and out beyond, to where Obi-Wan would be celebrating his Knighthood with Bant, Garen and other friends who were presently based on Coruscant. Again, he wondered about the Force's plan for him, given the mere second that had separated him from death. He had no doubt that Obi-Wan had spared him. He knew the moment his Padawan had sunk beside him -- the duel finished. He had seen his own mortality in Obi-Wan's eyes.

Whatever the Force planned, it seemed that Anakin's training had been put before him. Perhaps that was just as well, given that Obi-Wan was now moving out of his life.