Poetry

by Sage (greensage2@yahoo.com)

Archive: m_a, my site http://www.geocities.com/greensage2, all others please ask.

Rating: NC-17

Categories: First Time, Romance

Summary: Qui-Gon writes a poem and gets his feelings hurt. Obi-Wan puts his foot in his mouth and then runs damage control.

Notes: My very first attempt at mild angst. I'm much better at happy fics, so please be nice. :) Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine. This is my response to Ruth Gifford's first-line challenge. Thanks, Ruth! It is written with a nod to Lady Salieri, who posted a poetry- fic before I did. This started out as a ficlet, then took on a life of its own. Hope you like it!

Feedback: Oh please, oh please, oh PLEASE! On or off list - I'll take anything.

Disclaimers: Not mine. No money. All hail the mighty Lucas.

"It's a funny feeling, this feeling inside..."

Qui-Gon entered his quarters to Obi-Wan's recited line followed by uproarious laughter. His padawan was sprawled comfortably on the floor in the common room, surrounded by several other Padawans, all of them Obi-Wan's good friends. Obi-Wan had a sheet of paper in one hand and was reading aloud from it. Whatever it was had the other Padawans fairly convulsing in their glee.

Obi-Wan read a few more stanzas of poetry aloud, much to the amusement of the rest of his friends.

"Who writes this sort of drivel?" Obi-Wan demanded of nobody in particular.

"Probably some sweet young thing who's got her eye on you, Obi," Bant chortled. The other Padawans immediately began taunting Obi-Wan about the anonymous secret admirer who'd sent him the verse.

"Whoever it is needs to take Master Tanli's introductory poetry class," Obi-Wan muttered, his face aflame.

Qui-Gon wondered for a moment if it were possible to die of terminal mortification. Well, nothing for it but to deny, deny, deny, and, above all, to play along. He cleared his throat. A half-dozen startled heads snapped up.

"Good afternoon, Padawans," he greeted them politely.

They scrambled to their feet and bowed respectfully. "Master Jinn," they murmured.

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't realize you'd be back from the Council audience so soon," Obi-Wan said. "My friends and I can meet again later if this is an inconvenient time."

"Not at all, Padawan. I have some reading to do. I'll retire and leave you to your amusements." Qui-Gon picked up a couple of lightslates on his way to his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

Obi-Wan watched him go, puzzled. The room was silent.

"Obi?" Bant asked tentatively.

Obi-Wan turned to look at her. "Something's not right. He probably had a rough time with the Council," he addressed the group at large. "Time for me to be a good Padawan and take care of my master."

The other Padawans nodded. They knew what it was like to look after a Master, as well. They all promised to meet later and filed out of the Jinn/Kenobi quarters. Finally, only Bant remained.

"What're you going to do about that, Obi?" she gurgled, gesturing at the paper clutched in Obi-Wan's fist.

"The poem? It's really not half-bad, if you like that sort of thing."

Bant cuffed the back of his head in exasperation. "No, genius, I meant the being who wrote it."

"Oh." Obi-Wan sighed. "Bant, you know how I feel. I'm hoping that, after our little reading session this afternoon, the others sort of quietly spread it around that I really am NOT interested in the author. I'd hate to embarrass whatever Padawan wrote this for me by having to refuse them to their face."

Bant's eyes gleamed sympathetically. "He's still given you no sign, then?"

Obi-Wan stared steadfastly at his boots. "No," he muttered. "C'mon, Bant. He could have anyone he wanted; why in the world would he notice me? Besides, he'll never see me as anything but a student."

"You still haven't told him?"

Obi-Wan snorted. "No, definitely not. I'm sure it'd be grounds for assigning me to another Master. I couldn't bear that, if he handed me off to somebody else because I'm in love with him."

Bant sighed and grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder, a silent avowal of friendship and support. "If you ever need a sympathetic ear, Obi..."

"I know. Thanks, Bant," he said quietly. "Okay, I really need to see to my master now."

Bant smiled. "Take good care of him, Obi."

"Always," he said somewhat mournfully.

Bant gripped his shoulder one more time and was gone.

Obi-Wan sighed again, then headed into the kitchen. He put a pot of water on to boil. A cup of tea never failed to soothe his master's frazzled nerves after a trying Council session. He rummaged in a cabinet with a great clattering of pots and pans until he emerged triumphant with a carefully hidden box of Qui-Gon's favorite chocolates, something he kept stashed out of his master's view for just such emergencies. He put an assortment onto a small plate, then prepared a cup of tea exactly the way his master liked it. Balancing the plate carefully atop the familiar mug, he made his way to Qui- Gon's room and knocked softly on the door.

Qui-Gon read the fifth paragraph of the Senate diplomatic committee session minutes. For the seventh time. He sighed. Obviously, he wasn't going to get anything productive done today. He cursed himself roundly for ever sending his padawan that anonymous verse. Sheerest foolishness, that. Sith take it all, he was a Jedi Master, not a lovesick teenager. He wondered briefly what strain of brain fever had him in its clutches.

He'd simply wanted his padawan to know he was loved. Obi-Wan never seemed to have any romantic companionship. Force only knew why, for the young man was as beautiful as anyone in the Padawan ranks, more even. Perhaps the young man had his eye on someone specific, and was trying to deal with an unrequited love.

As a Master, it was not his place to initiate any sort of romantic contact with his or any other Padawan, no matter how much he desired it. Masters simply didn't. Unable to broach the matter with the lad, he'd resorted to the unsigned poem to tell Obi-Wan how very much he was loved.

And he was loved. Qui-Gon felt like he was sixteen again, mooning over his first crush. Obi-Wan's Light was so strong in the Force, so bright, and he was so very beautiful. Qui-Gon's heart had a distressing tendency to beat embarrassingly fast whenever his padawan was near. He was sure his knees would wear out before the young man's Knighting, thanks to all the extra meditations he required to keep his emotions in check. He needed all his formidable control to keep his padawan from sensing the truth. So far, it seemed to be working. Even if Obi-Wan probed the training bond, all he'd sense would be Masterly affection. And that's the way it would stay, he told himself firmly.

A knock on the door interrupted his melancholy.

Obi-Wan knocked again.

"Yes?"

"It's me, Master."

"Enter," the deep voice rumbled.

Obi-Wan palmed the bedroom door open and walked in.

Qui-Gon was seated cross-legged near the edge of his large bed, ostensibly studying a lightslate. He glanced up when the younger man entered.

"You seemed...out of sorts earlier, Master," Obi-Wan ventured. "The Council audience must've been trying. I thought you might like some tea and a little something to eat."

Qui-Gon's eyes lighted on the plate of chocolates, and he smiled. "Trying to coddle me out of an ill humor, Padawan?" he teased.

Obi-Wan flushed endearingly. "Er, well...that is, I thought..."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I don't need to be cosseted, but you know very well I never refuse chocolate. Chocolate, I might add, that you have apparently been hiding from me." He fixed his student with a mock glower.

Obi-Wan grinned impishly, but said nothing.

Qui-Gon took the plate and placed it on his bedside table, then sipped gratefully at the hot tea.

"Ah, thank you, Padawan. Just the way I like it."

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon fished for a safe conversation topic.

"Tell me, Padawan, how were your morning classes? I seem to recall an exam scheduled for today?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, in astrophysics. The exam went well, I think. I was more concerned about the sonnet that was due today in my advanced Tarian poetry class. It's so difficult to write authentic Tarian sonnets; they have so many rules, and even the slightest infractions can render a carefully-written verse useless."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. Anything but poetry...

Obi-Wan continued, oblivious. "Even the best poets in the class could look like country bumpkins in the Tarian Interplanetary Royal Court, from just one misplaced syllable. It's frustrating."

The Master tried misdirection. "So the exam gave you no trouble, then."

Obi-Wan switched gears. "No, Master, but I'm not so hopeful about that blasted sonnet."

Qui-Gon was getting desperate. Any minute now, Obi-Wan was sure to bring up that thrice-damned verse.

"Speaking of poetry, Master, you might be interested to know that I appear to have a secret admirer. Whoever it is left me an anonymous verse -- handwritten, even."

Oh, stop now, Padawan, Qui-Gon begged silently. It would be so much better for everyone if you would just stop.

Blissfully ignorant of his master's discomfort, Obi-Wan dug into a belt pouch and withdrew a hastily-folded piece of paper.

The sheet crinkled as he unfolded it. "Whoever wrote this, for example, would certainly never pass as a poet in Tarian society," Obi- Wan said. "I mean, the sentiment certainly seems authentic, but the wording is a bit...awkward."

Obi-Wan reread the verse quickly. He halted suddenly, in the middle of a line. Now that he'd taken a second look, there was definitely something familiar about the penmanship, something he'd seen before... He concentrated on it, rifling through the few remembered examples of handwriting at his disposal. Not Master Yoda, of course, and not Master Windu. Definitely not Bant, nor any of his other close friends. And yet, he could have sworn that he knew this hand...

Oh. Oh, Force, no. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have. Surely not. But there it was, plain as day. His master's hand. That was why he recognized it. Oh, and the horrible things he'd said about it! And the way he'd laughed... Laughed along with his friends at the less-than-sublime efforts of the smitten poet.

But the "smitten poet," unbelievably, was his master! Obi-Wan's roiling thoughts halted abruptly. Qui-Gon? Smitten? With him?? His eyes flew to Qui-Gon's face. A face which was, astonishingly, flaming red. Qui-Gon the Unruffleable was blushing.

"Oh, no, Master," Obi-Wan breathed, "You wrote this poem!"

Qui-Gon had seen the recognition in his padawan's face before his startled gaze had risen. At that horrible instant, he plaintively begged the Force for one small favor -- a hole large enough for a dreadfully embarrassed Jedi Master to crawl into and hide. Never had there been a more foolish old man in the Jedi Order, Qui-Gon thought to himself disparagingly.

He cringed at Obi-Wan's incredulous exhalation, and focused his eyes on his worn bed-cover. "My apologies, Obi-Wan," he said in a remarkably steady, if quiet, voice. "Poetry has never been my strong suit."

"But, Master..."

"Please, Obi-Wan," the older man cut in, unable to bear any more, "leave an old man with some semblance of dignity. Leave that here and go now. We never need speak of this again. If you wish to start proceedings requesting a new Master, you've only to visit Master Yoda. He'd help you, I'm sure."

Qui-Gon's eyes remained fixed on his folded legs, steadfastly refusing to look at his apprentice. He started slightly at the gentle touch on his knee. Despite himself, he glanced up. Obi-Wan had dropped to his knees beside the bed.

"Please, Master," he said breathlessly, "will you read it to me?"

There was very little that Qui-Gon wanted less at that moment. But he could deny his beloved apprentice nothing, especially not when the lad's eyes shone just so, and his voice had been so suspiciously shaky.

Obi-Wan knelt, holding his breath, and listened raptly Qui-Gon read the poem aloud in his deep voice.

Almost before Qui-Gon finished reading, Obi-Wan swarmed into his lap and threw his arms around his master's neck. "Oh, Master!" the young man gasped. "That was beautiful."

While Qui-Gon did not object, per se, to having a lapful of attractive young Padawan, he was somewhat confused as to why said Padawan was in his lap and what the reasons were for his sudden change of heart about the poem.

"Obi-Wan..." the Master began.

Slender fingers pressed briefly against his lips, and Qui-Gon scarcely contained a deep groan at the resulting sensations that shot through his body.

"Master," Obi-Wan started softly, then floundered to a halt and blushed furiously. "I have to say this first, don't I, because you're not allowed." It wasn't really a question.

He started again, trying to say to his master everything that needed to be said without damaging the older man's dignity. "Master, I owe you an apology. It was unfeeling of me to speak ill of your poem with my friends. To be completely honest, I was very flattered by the verse. But since I couldn't let on to my friends. If it had been written by another Padawan, chances are they'd know who. They would have known who wrote it and who was interested in me, and they would've reported my reaction back to the poet. They had to believe I was absolutely uninterested, because I was. You see, Master, I love someone else. I have for a very long time."

Hope sputtered and died in Qui-Gon's heart, but he was strangely at peace with his padawan's revelation. He loved his Obi-Wan enough to want to see him happy. He smiled gently, his embarrassment forgotten in a rush of concern for his student..

"An unrequited love, Obi-Wan? Surely you don't think the object of your affections would refuse you. Have you ever approached...," he trailed off.

"Him," Obi-Wan offered.

"Have you ever approached him?"

"No, Master. There are...obstacles to be dealt with."

Ah, so his apprentice's love interest very likely wasn't another Padawan, then.

"Is it a matter of rank?"

Obi-Wan's courage deserted him. His Master clearly had not figured out that Obi-Wan was in love with him and thought he was referring to someone else. Even worse, Qui-Gon did not seem upset by that assumption. Perhaps Obi-Wan had misinterpreted the meaning of the poem after all. Unfortunately, he'd gone too far to back out of the conversation now. He took a deep breath.

"Yes. Well, partly. Age is also an issue. At least, I think it might be for him even though I couldn't care less. Also, revealing my affections would...place him in an awkward position, and it might drive him away completely."

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed. It sounded like Obi-Wan was enamored of someone very high up in the Order. While relationships between individuals of different ranks were not unheard of, they did pose challenges for the people involved. If either a Knight or Master wished a relationship with a Padawan, the Padawan's master had to be informed of, and preferably consent to, the relationship.

"Obi-Wan, you know I would consent to any relationship you desired, provided it didn't undermine your training. You do know that, don't you?"

Oh, Master, you might not say that if you knew what sort of relationship I desire with you.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan didn't sound convinced.

Qui-Gon tightened his arms in what he hoped was perceived as a purely chaste, Masterly embrace. "I want you to be happy, Padawan. I wouldn't deny you a chance to be with the person you love."

"Yes, Master." Still not convinced.

"There is some other overriding concern, then?"

"Um..."

Qui-Gon could tell the younger man was becoming uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. "Obi-Wan, I understand if you would rather not discuss some things with me at present; you don't have to. Why don't you tell me about the other 'obstacles' that worry you -- as much or as little as you like."

Obi-Wan nodded. He'd never been so nervous in his life, not even five years ago when he'd been approaching his 13th birthday and still hadn't been chosen. The butterflies in his stomach had long since become a herd of stampeding banthas. But he took a deep breath and forged ahead anyhow.

"My...the person I love is a great deal older than I. I don't care about his age, but I am afraid he will think I am just a child."

"Obi-Wan, you are a very attractive young man. You're not a boy anymore. If even your Master sees that, surely the one you love will see it, too."

Obi-Wan flushed and didn't acknowledge the oblique compliment. "He is in a position of...authority. His sense of ethics is very strong, and I fear he might refuse me out of a sense of duty."

Qui-Gon frowned. Could Obi-Wan have his eye on a Council member? The only biologically compatible male on the Council was...Mace Windu?? The Master swallowed hard.

"Obi-Wan? Is it possible that you are speaking of Master Windu?" he blurted.

Whatever Obi-Wan had been expecting his master to say, THAT certainly hadn't been it. "What?" he spluttered. "Master Windu?" he said incredulously. He fought to keep from laughing hysterically. "Um, Master, I have every respect for Master Windu, but I would never think of him in that way."

Qui-Gon's sigh of relief was involuntary. It was swiftly replaced by confusion. "Obi-Wan, if it isn't Mace, then I don't see why rank would be a problem. There's nobody else with any kind of direct authority over you -- at least, nobody who is both male and biologically compatible with humans."

Obi-Wan's face turned twelve shades of red. "One other, Master," he mumbled.

Qui-Gon's brain worked furiously. Try though he might, he couldn't think of anyone else who had any authority over the lad. Wait, unless...

The Master's hand reached out and cupped Obi-Wan's chin, gently forcing the blushing young man to raise his gaze. "What are you saying, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan was certain his heart would pound it's way right out of his chest. He looked up into deep sapphire eyes that seemed to see into his very soul. Something welled up from deep within him and spilled forth as a torrent of half-whispered words.

"You, Master. Always you, only you. Love you, Master, loved you forever," the words tumbled breathlessly from his lips.

For an instant, Qui-Gon was stunned motionless, helplessly lost in grey-green eyes that gazed adoringly at him, and then the Jedi Master in him reasserted itself. "Obi-Wan," he said in a voice gone strangely hoarse, "are you sure you know the true nature of your feelings for me?"

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed, his brows furrowed, and his lips tightened into a grim line, making him the very picture of righteous indignation. "I figured out the difference between love and hero- worship a long time ago, Master," he said defensively.

"You understand that, as your Master, I have to be certain."

For a moment, Obi-Wan was furious that his Master would doubt him. Then two realizations popped into his brain. First, he knew his master was right. As a Master, he was responsible for his student. Something warm bloomed again in Obi-Wan's chest that his master was looking out for him even in this. Secondly, he gulped nervously, Qui- Gon was not protesting. Not protesting. Hadn't turned him down flat. Obi-Wan made a decision.

Qui-Gon's breath hitched when his padawan turned darkening eyes on him. "Then see what I feel, Master. See me." With that, he closed his eyes and dropped his shields -- every last one of them.

Qui-Gon swallowed hard around the lump that materialized in his throat at the level of Obi-Wan's trust in him. He probed gently in the young man's mind, trying to keep it as non-invasive as possible. He knew how difficult it was to consciously drop one's shields and let another into the deepest parts of one's psyche. What he found in Obi-Wan's mind humbled him. Not hero-worship, though there was certainly strong admiration for him as a man and as a Jedi Master. Not a crush, intense but insubstantial. Not infatuation, brightly burning, but short-lived. Obi-Wan did indeed know his own heart, and Qui-Gon was both honored and humbled by what he found there.

There was little he could do but return trust with trust. He took Obi-Wan's hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart. "Your trust honors me, Obi-Wan. Now I ask you to see me. See what has always been in my heart."

It took a significant effort, but Qui-Gon finally managed to drop shields that had stood for decades.

Obi-Wan gasped as his master's love washed over him in a great wave. He swayed forward unconsciously. "Oh, Master," he breathed. Obi-Wan still needed one more piece of information. He knew his master loved him; all Masters love their Padawans on some level. Obi-Wan needed to see just exactly which level that was. He probed delicately and was suddenly inundated with a desire just as huge as the love he'd found. Obi-Wan whimpered and sagged against his master's chest.

It was such a little thing, that soft sound, but it shattered Qui- Gon's much-vaunted control like so much glass. He dipped his head and captured the young man's lips in a gentle kiss.

Obi-Wan was sure he'd died and joined the Force. He simply dissolved in Qui-Gon's embrace, certain that in a very few moments, his master would be left with a Padawan puddle on the bed and a heck of a lot of explaining to do once the Council discovered his ignoble demise.

Qui-Gon's head was spinning, and the kiss deepened and deepened until he finally broke it when his body reminded him that he needed oxygen if he wished to remain conscious and enjoy more of Obi-Wan's kisses.

Obi-Wan dimly registered the separation and instantly decided that he much preferred to have his master's lips against his own rather than an infuriating inch away. He grabbed a double handful of Qui-Gon's tunics and pulled the older man's lips back to his own. He moaned into his master's mouth as Qui-Gon's tongue dipped between his lips and rubbed against his own.

Qui-Gon eagerly captured the sound and dove right into another searing kiss.

Obi-Wan finally became cognizant of the fact that he was still clutching his master's tunics. Silly Padawan, he said to himself, don't just sit here; get the man's clothes off! He began tearing at the tunics, trying to get them off the big shoulders.

Qui-Gon realized what Obi-Wan was trying to do. Being the helpful Jedi Master that he was, he happily assisted. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and groped blindly for the bedside table so that it would be within easy reach. His hand bumped against the plate of chocolates, and a wicked grin threatened to interrupt their kiss. Qui-Gon restrained himself. Get the clothes off first, and THEN the fun could begin, and oh, the possibilities!

Sashes, belts, tunics, boots and trousers went flying in their haste to be skin-to-skin. In Obi-Wan's rush to disrobe his master, he managed to overbalance the taller man and sent him toppling backwards onto the bed.

Obi-Wan stopped stock still and stared. He'd seen his master unclothed before, to be sure, but he hadn't really been paying close attention. Not overtly, at least. But now, the big man was spread out on the bed like a huge feast, gloriously naked and aroused, and all for him. Heady thoughts, indeed.

"Force, Master, you're magnificent!"

Qui-Gon quirked an amused eyebrow at the young man. "I rather think we should be on a first-name basis in this particular situation, don't you?"

Obi-Wan flushed. "Sorry...Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Old habits die hard, my own, I know. And you should know that you are very beautiful to me, as well." He extended one large hand in invitation.

Spellbound, Obi-Wan took the hand and was pulled forward until he tumbled into bed atop his master. He groaned and Qui-Gon hissed at the electric charge that passed between them as their skins met and caressed.

Qui-Gon deftly flipped the smaller man onto his back and loomed above him.

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed hotly. "Mmm, you look like some kind of huge tree from this perspective, Qui." With a Force-assisted shove, Obi- Wan shot up off the bed and wrapped himself around Qui-Gon's torso, locking his legs about the Master's hips and his arms about the Master's neck. "I feel like climbing trees today," he said huskily.

A surprised laugh burst from Qui-Gon's lips as Obi-Wan's weight pulled him down to the bed. He landed on his elbows and grinned at his padawan before he pounced, nosing Obi-Wan's braid out of the way and latching onto his earlobe. Obi-Wan moaned and arched up, his hands burying themselves in long, silky silver-brown hair. Qui-Gon abandoned the earlobe and proceeded downward, kissing and nibbling Obi-Wan's pale flesh until he reached one pink nipple. He took the little peak into his mouth and suckled with single-minded intent. Obi-Wan gasped and started squirming uncontrollably. When Qui-Gon judged that his young lover was sufficiently driven out of his mind with arousal, he reached over and retrieved a piece of chocolate from the plate on the bedside table.

Qui-Gon reared up off his apprentice and ran a teasing finger the length of Obi-Wan's throbbing arousal. "I have yet to thank you properly for the chocolate, Obi-Wan," he said in an astonishingly wicked voice. He swiped the chocolate over his lover's overheated flesh, leaving a dark, glistening trail behind it. He traced intricate designs on Obi-Wan's sleekly muscled torso and sensitive groin until the candy melted away entirely.

Obi-Wan was going out of his mind. The maddeningly light, slick caress of the chocolate against his skin set nerves firing all over his body. He lay there panting, utterly tongue tied and unable to formulate a coherent thought.

Finished with his artwork at last, Qui-Gon drew back and eyed the younger man with indigo eyes stained almost black with arousal. "Very nice," he purred. "But you should know better than anyone, Obi-Wan, that I never...waste...chocolate." He lowered his head and licked at his lover's shoulder. He proceeded down, tracing the sweet chocolate on Obi-Wan's sweet flesh, inch by tortuous inch.

Obi-Wan was whimpering steadily, alternately cursing his devious master and then begging for more. He twitched and writhed as Qui- Gon's tongue rasped against the sensitive skin at his hipbones, then headed inward, lapping maddeningly close to his straining arousal.

Obi-Wan screamed aloud when Qui-Gon swallowed his chocolate-smeared erection whole. He grinned around his mouthful. He'd been correct in his initial hypothesis; Obi-Wan even made imported Taroian chocolate taste better, and that was saying a lot.

Seconds later, unable to stand it anymore, Obi-Wan's hips bucked upwards, burying his cock deep in the Master's throat. He howled as he came explosively, and Qui-Gon moaned his appreciation as he swallowed every drop.

Sweaty and disheveled, Obi-Wan flopped back against the pillows, gasping for breath. Qui-Gon grinned delightedly. He kissed Obi- Wan's parted lips gently. "Did you enjoy that, love?"

"Gah," Obi-Wan said eloquently.

Qui-Gon chuckled and toyed idly with his lover's braid. Obi-Wan gathered his scattered wits and realized that Qui-Gon was still hard and throbbing against his thigh. Hard and throbbing because of him. Never mind that he'd just had the most intense orgasm of his life. The very thought of Qui-Gon's response to him had him hard and aching again in seconds. He reached up and took a handful of his master's long mane.

"In me," he hissed. "Now!"

Qui-Gon blinked. "Are you sure? I mean, have you ever...?"

"No," Obi-Wan rasped. "Wanted it to be you. Want it to be you NOW."

Before Qui-Gon knew fully what he was doing, he'd called a vial of massage oil to his hand. Obi-Wan spread his legs invitingly and licked his lips very deliberately. Qui-Gon growled and started preparing his lover.

"Open to me, beloved," he whispered. "I need to feel what you feel. I will not hurt you."

"Yes!" Obi-Wan gasped both in response to the request and in reaction to his master's probing touch against something deep inside him that set off firecrackers all along his nerves. He dropped his shields and swarmed into Qui-Gon's mind, taking his lover by surprise and flooding him with an intoxicating mix of love, lust, and passion.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon cried and entered him in one huge stroke.

Obi-Wan keened aloud and arched against the unexpected intrusion. Qui-Gon shielded him from the pain until his body adjusted to the Master's considerable size. He held himself still with an iron control until Obi-Wan twitched his hips impatiently.

"Move!" Obi-Wan gasped, "oh, please!"

Qui-Gon groaned and followed instructions. They surged and writhed against each other, their intimate mental contact creating groundswell of sensation that took them higher and higher until Obi- Wan flung himself off the edge of the precipice, screaming his lover's name. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan convulse around his shaft and shouted as he slammed himself home one last time, then came with a roar deep within his lover's beautiful body. The two Jedi surrendered to the blackness that rose up to claim them.

Sometime later, Obi-Wan became vaguely aware of the mildly alarming fact that he was suffocating. He debated moving to ease the strain on his chest, then decided his liquefied bones were not up to the task. The weight pressing down on his ribcage shifted suddenly, and Obi-Wan drew in a huge breath.

"Mm?" the weight mumbled in his master's voice. The events of the evening abruptly came flooding back to the Padawan, and he blushed to the roots of his hair.

Qui-Gon heard the gasp next to his left ear when he stirred and tried to get his addled brain to operate properly. "Obi-Wan?" he murmured.

"Heavy," Obi-Wan panted.

"Oh, sorry." Qui-Gon wrapped strong arms round his lover and rolled over onto his back, draping the smaller man over him like a blanket and calling the scattered bed-linens to cover them snugly. "Better?"

"Mm-hmm," Obi-Wan sighed, snuggling in comfortably against his master's broad chest. "Tell me again why we didn't do that a long time ago," he mumbled.

Qui-Gon's deep chuckle rumbled out of him. "Damn good question." He unwound one long arm and retrieved the rest of the chocolates. He popped one into his own mouth, then offered another to Obi-Wan. The young man accepted it, licking Qui-Gon's fingers in a playful caress.

"Mmm. You're right, Qui. This is really good chocolate," Obi-Wan murmured around a mouthful of candy.

Qui-Gon stroked his beloved's cheek. "You taste better, you know," he said softly.

Obi-Wan laughed, a sleepy, sated sound. Qui-Gon held him close and pressed an affectionate, chocolate-scented kiss to the top of his head.

"You know, Master, you can write me poetry anytime you want. Your version is much more fun than Tarian sonnets."

Fin.