Perchance to Dream

by Rushlight (n_sanity75@hotmail.com)

Author's Website: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight

Category: PWP, romance

Rating: R

Summary: Qui-Gon's musings on his feelings for Obi-Wan take a more passionate turn.

Feedback: yes, please!

** WARNINGS!! **
While no age is specifically stated here, this is an UNDERAGE Obi-Wan story. If this squicks you, then please run away.

My Obi-Wan.

That is how I have always thought of you, since the very first day that I called you "Padawan". My Obi-Wan. My Padawan. Mine.

Some would say that it is unseemly for a Jedi Master to hold such a possessive attitude towards his apprentice, but I cannot control the way in which I think of you. Nor can I control the fierce pride with which I view your every accomplishment. You are a force of nature, my dear one, and I am lost in your shadow. Sometimes you shine so brightly that it burns.

I watch you now, sleeping where you sit beside me, your head pillowed on your arm against the back of the couch. You look so innocent, my young one. The way your lashes lie like black lace against your cheeks. The way your tongue darts out to moisten the skin of your lips as you sigh. Beautiful. I feel as if my heart will break at the sight of you.

And surely it cannot hurt to reach out and straighten the braid that falls in haphazard disarray against the front of your tunics. It cannot be a crime if my fingers linger there, feeling the warmth of your body through the cloth. Such a strong body, still slender in the youth of its development, but with such promise of the man you will someday become. Beautiful. My heart aches for you, my love.

Love. Yes, I can admit it here, in the privacy of my thoughts. I love you. I love the tender strength of you, the way you defer to my instruction, perfectly trusting in all that we set out to do together. At times I feel as if we are two parts of the same whole, working, living, breathing, until I find it hard at times to tell where I leave off and you begin.

With such feelings in my heart, it cannot be wrong of me to want to touch you this way, to feel the pulse of your throat under my fingers. Your skin is so soft, so warm. I have dreamed of this, of touching you, feeling you, experiencing all that you have within you to offer. My Obi-Wan.

You open your eyes now, just the faintest slit of changing color beneath your lashes. I hesitate, not certain how you will respond to the feel of my hand against your throat. It is the only contact between us, but still I feel as if I have violated you in some way, appropriated more from you than you have given leave for me to take. It is a foolish notion - how often have we touched each other, in training, in the daily patterns of our lives? - but the fear remains.

Your eyes are warm, the color of sea and air, sky and surf. I feel as if I can drown in them - and isn't that an overused, over-dramatized description? But it is nonetheless true. Aside from your voice, your eyes have always been your greatest tool, so expressive and full of life.

You do not pull away from my touch, and for some reason I cannot bring myself to withdraw it. Your hand raises to settle over mine, and your lips curl, ever so slightly. I watch, enraptured, as the tip of your tongue slips out to moisten them.

"Master," you say to me, lifting your head from where it rests on your bent arm. Your eyes are sleepy, and yet they are intent as they stare up at me. I can feel the beat of your heart through the fabric of your tunic. "I was dreaming of you."

It seems the most natural thing in the world to kiss you. Your lips open under mine, and they are as soft as I had imagined. Your hand curls over mine at your throat, while the other slides up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me down deeper into the contact between us. I feel as if I am breaking apart under the onslaught of your kiss. You are so hesitant, so endearingly shy, but you are determined to taste what I have to offer you. I cannot help but open myself up to the probing caresses of your lips and tongue.

I have never felt anything so delicious in all my life. The heat of you is overwhelming, the scent of you, the taste. Oh, my love. I desire you with every part of my being. I want to share everything that you are willing to offer me, body, heart, soul, and mind. I slide my tongue into the warm moistness of your mouth, exploring you, tasting you, and I cannot refrain from bending low over you now, deepening the kiss until you moan beneath me. It is such a fragile, lovely sound.

I pull back then, breathing heavily, and you stare up at me with wide, dazed eyes. Your cheeks are flushed, and your expression is one of pure wonderment. You reach up to touch my beard, and I nuzzle into your palm, closing my eyes against the beauty I see in you. It is wrong for a Master to see such perfection in his Padawan, wrong and dangerous, but I cannot help myself, I am lost where you are concerned. You own every part of me, as you have since I first laid eyes on you and called you mine.

It is with a feeling of reverence that I slide down off the couch to kneel in front of you. Your eyes follow my every move, and I cannot look away from them. I lift the data reader from where it lies forgotten on your lap and set it aside, holding your gaze with my own. I watch those changeable eyes darken as my hands settle onto your thighs, fingers massaging lightly into the fabric of your leggings. You catch your lower lip between your teeth as you realize what it is I want to do for you.

"Yes," you whisper, a single word, an invitation, a promise. It sighs through the air between us, igniting warm tingles across the surface of my skin.

"I love you, Obi-Wan," I say, as I open your tunics to touch the skin of your chest. Your flesh is so warm, so smooth, and you arch up into my touch with a small hiss of breath. Yes, my Obi-Wan. Turn on for me. Let me hear you moan, let me see the way your eyes darken with desire when I touch you. I have dreamed of this for so very long.

"Master," you sigh, as I lean forward to kiss you again. You are so responsive under my hands, so eager. Your hands are trembling as they slide through my hair. "I love you, Master. I have always loved you."

I cannot keep you from sliding down off the couch and into my arms. Your slender legs embrace my thighs, your arms tight around me. Your head tips back with a soft cry when our erections touch through the fabric of our leggings, and I give into the temptation to suckle the skin of that exposed throat, drawing more delicious cries out of you.

It is too much. I am so hot for you, my love, so very hot, and your body is so warm and sinuous as it slides against me. You are moaning now in time to the thrusts your hips make against my aching body, and I hold you, rocking with you, desperate to give you that which we both hunger for. I kiss you again, and you whimper into my open mouth, the faint refrain of "love you" panting over and over past your parted lips. I swallow the words, making them a part of me, and the taste of you in your arousal is so heady, so overwhelming, that it eclipses the world.

The sound of your cry as you come is irresistible, and I hold you tightly as the shudders work through your slim frame, your face buried against the skin of my neck as you scream. I throw my head back, hissing through my teeth at the sounds of your pleasure, and then I am crushing you to me, groaning low in my throat as the pleasure rocks through me in spirals of giddy laughter, light and life and love coalescing in the heart of my being until I am utterly claimed by it, remade by the strength of its passing.

Yes, it is a pleasant dream. If only it could truly happen that way. I blink, clearing my mind of these imaginings and refocus on you where you sit sleeping beside me. The light from the shuttered window paints strange patterns across your face as I watch you, enhancing your beauty, and the pain in my heart deepens as I acknowledge again the desire I have for you. It is a desire that I dare not express, not until you are older. More mature. More ready to make the decision to accept or deny that which I have to offer you.

But I will still be here when that day comes. I will wait for you, my Obi-Wan. And, on that day, maybe I will at last find the courage to touch you in the way that I have dreamed.

Your eyes open now, hazy with sleep, and I smile to soothe the sudden question that rises in your eyes.

"It's all right, Obi-Wan," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

You smile at me, ever trusting, as your eyes drift shut again.

I set your data reader aside and gently take you up in my arms, careful not to jar you too heavily as you sigh and curl against me. I wonder what fanciful imaginings are prancing through your mind as you sleep, my love. I wonder if I exist somewhere within your dreams.

The warmth of your body seeps through me as I carry you to your bed. No dream can compare to the reality of holding you in my arms, no matter how unobtainable you are.

I love you, Obi-Wan. Let me say it once more, here in the privacy of my thoughts, before I return to my cold bed to sleep alone. And let me touch you, here against the throat, just this one time, so that the memory of your heat will warm me. How smooth your skin is, how very warm. Your pulse speeds like a bird's under my traitorous fingers.

Goodnight, my Obi-Wan. Dream well. When you awaken, I will still be here.

Waiting.

Waiting for your love.

Finis.

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