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Archive: MA, QAJ

Category: POV (Qui), Qui/Obi, Qui/Xan, AU

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Qui-Gon and Xanatos try to start over. Qui-Gon finds this harder than he expected.

Series: QAJ, follows "Awakenings". See http://www.queerasjedi.net/index2.html for chronology

Feedback: Yes, please! Any kind of feedback is appreciated.

Disclaimer: Lucas and Watson. We're just playing in their sandbox, not trying to mess up their lovely sandcastles. Note how the sandcastles are over there and the fic we're doing is way over here...

Notes: Many thanks to my partner in crime Emma and our Executive Producer Rita for sticking with me for this one. It had a number of false starts of its own.

Click here for the complete episode list.

I'm still reeling from seeing Xan yesterday. How many people knew, and didn't tell me? Mace, certainly Yoda -- who else? Xanatos was every bit as shocked to see me as I was at seeing him. Did he think he could come back to Coruscant and just avoid me? Perhaps he did; after the things he said, perhaps he was hoping so. He's still angry. It's been ten years, and he still hates me.

But he commed. He wants to see me now. I clear my thoughts, release my despair into the Force. We will get through this, somehow.

I reach out for the buzzer at his door, but the door slides open when my hand is halfway there. I imagine he felt me approach; I've been aware of him more with every step I've taken down this hall. Even so, seeing him face-to-face is almost like a physical blow. It hurts; it reminds me of the years we lost. It reminds me that I've never understood why we had to lose them. I hold fast to my control and stay centered. It isn't easy.

"Qui-Gon. Come in."

I step into his quarters, and the door closes behind me. I can hardly keep from staring. He looks -- different. Not just different from the way I remembered him; different from yesterday morning. His hair is neatly trimmed, and he's wearing standard Jedi robes instead of the more casual civilian gear he had on earlier. He looks like the Jedi I thought he was going to be, years ago. I hold my breath while he squares his shoulders and looks me in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you yesterday," he tells me. "I've been angry with you for long enough. We need to talk." He gestures at his couch. "Have a seat."

I sit down, and he remains standing. I can see the tension in his face, can feel it through his shielding. I want to stand, want to go to him, but after yesterday I don't dare. My chest is bruised from the way he pushed me away yesterday; what in hell did he hit me with? I fold my hands together, watch him, and wait. He looks up at me, then shakes his head.

"I don't know where to begin," he says. "I've rehearsed this conversation so many times, you'd think I'd--" He cuts himself off, seems to center. When he continues, his voice is quiet, and some of the tension has drained from it. "I've spent so long blaming you that it's become second nature. It's going to be hard for me to give that up."

"Xan--"

"No, please." He holds out a hand, and I stop. "I don't want to blame you for the life I've had to lead since my knighting. For my father's death. For..." His voice trails off. "For not understanding what I needed from you on the transport back to Coruscant."

I want to say something, and I know I can't. It's his turn, and I owe him this. None of it surprises me; I've spent the last ten years wondering what I've done, and all these things have occurred to me. Dear Force, let the words come to him; he needs them more than I do.

"It was difficult for me, more difficult than you can possibly imagine, going back to Telos with you ten years ago. I'd already chosen the Order over my home planet, at sixteen. Did you think I hadn't considered what I was doing? It wasn't easy, coming to the conclusion that I didn't belong on Telos anymore. My father..." He trails off. "Actually, let's not get into what my father had to say. The point is, walking away from Telos when I was sixteen was a choice I made knowing I'd have to live with it for the rest of my life. I knew I wasn't going to see my father again. I chose the Order over my home and my family then, and I hadn't looked back since." He pauses, rubbing his temples with one hand. "Surely I'm not the first Jedi who was so distraught over losing his master that I needed some time to meditate on what I would do with the rest of my life. Was it really so suspicious of me that I went home?"

He sounds as if he expects an answer to that. "Not many Jedi remember a home outside the Temple, or a family outside the Order."

He shakes his head. "I imagine not. The Council always did seem to wonder if I was conflicted. I wasn't, though, and it seemed condescending of them to assume I was. I was bitter about going back from the start of the mission. It felt like I was being asked to prove my loyalty again. I resented the Council. I resented you." He laughs, and the sound is harsh in the silence of the room. "You should have known what my choice would be before we set foot on Telos."

"I did," I tell him, and he looks away from me. "I never doubted you."

He still won't look at me. "I know," he tells me. I don't know whether to believe him. I wonder if he believes himself. "Can you imagine what it was like for me? Being asked to prove my loyalty to the family I'd grown up with for the last sixteen years; being told I was a traitor by the man who'd sired me and raised me for the first six years of my life? I had nowhere left to turn. The Order didn't trust me. My father spent his dying breath condemning me. And then there was you."

I close my eyes now, knowing what's coming. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't." His voice shakes as he says it. "Don't apologize. Please. I don't think I can stand it." He turns around and paces across the room, and the leftover bits of emotion trail in his wake, so clear I can nearly see them, no matter that he's shielding. The ghosts of hurt and anger and defeat follow him, clinging to him like smoke. "I never had any illusions that you loved me," he says. He turns back to look at me, and his eyes betray nothing of what he's feeling, nothing of what the words mean to him. I have to stop myself from reaching out to him through my feelings; you have no right, he said yesterday, and he's right. I don't. "I knew it wouldn't mean to you what it meant to me. But I was--" He stops, takes a breath. "I wanted it to mean something."

"So did I--" I stand up and begin to close the distance between us.

He shakes his head, cutting me off, making me stop mid-pace. "No, that isn't -- I loved you. I'd been in love with you for years. It wasn't a crush; it wasn't a feeling that simply disappeared in time."

"If I'd known that sooner--"

"Then what? Things would have been different? How?" He advances on me, and I take a step back. My nearness is only going to fuel his volatile emotions now. "I told you how I felt when I was eighteen, and you said it was inappropriate and waited for it to wear off." His voice is growing angry, and his eyes are losing their cool distance. I find myself responding to his anger, knowing full well I shouldn't -- Force, it's like we're picking up where we left off the day of his knighting, neither of us able to hold our tempers worth a damn.

I step forward again, and our emotions brush against each other like the whirling particles of a sandstorm. My frustration meets his resentment, and the emotions blend until I can't seem to tell one from the other. My voice is much angrier than I would have wanted, but Xanatos always draws this out of me, even now, when I'm a Jedi master and should have a firmer grip on my serenity. "I cannot undo my actions of a decade ago, Padawan," I snap. There's a flash of outrage in his eyes at hearing that title from me. I don't care. "I can regret, and learn, and move on, but I cannot unmake mistakes from years past. I am sorry for hurting you; I'm sorry I didn't take your feelings more seriously then. If I'd known then what I know now, things would have been different. I don't know what you expect from me. I don't know how you expect me to make this right." The energy drains from me, the anger bleeding out of me. I'm so tired of this fight, tired of trying to make him understand me. I remember our fight before his knighting ceremony, how angry we were with each other, how easy it was for us to end up shouting -- I don't want to go back to that. "I will do anything I can to make up for how I've hurt you. Don't ask me for something I can't give you." The way you always have, I want to tell him. He flinches at what he sees in my eyes, and I know I didn't cover that thought well enough. I turn away. This is too much. I can't stand it. I can't stay here. I've often imagined how things would be different if we met again. They aren't different at all.

I feel him approaching, and stop before I reach the door. He hesitates. I hold my ground, not knowing what to expect from him. Another angry outburst? Another strike in anger? I stand still, feeling exhausted, and brace myself for whatever he has to offer. I want to be his friend again. I want to be able to start over. Whatever he needs to do, let him do it now.

I feel a light touch on my shoulder, which turns into the steady, solid feeling of Xan's hand, offering me neither hurt nor anger, but comfort. I feel the tension between us loosening, and wonder how it is that the touch of his hand on my shoulder can be so comforting. I want to touch him in return. I want to reach out for him, and rest my head on his shoulder, and breathe in his presence. Force, I've missed him. But for now, if this is all he has to offer, it's enough. I exhale, and the tension drains from me.

"Do you think...?" he begins. "Do you think we can start over, after all this?"

"I don't know, Xan," I tell him, voice barely above a whisper. "I truly don't."

"I need to forgive you," he says. His voice is low and soft. The tension has eased from both of us, and I'm grateful. "Hating you has cost me more than I realized. I can't heal while I feel this way." It hurts, hearing that, even though I've known he must hate me for years; somehow, hearing it still burns me, makes my throat tighten until I can't breathe. The emotion doesn't slip past without his noticing it; he tightens his hold on my shoulder and reaches out, just a little, but enough. I can feel the emotion wrap itself around him, and feel him help me to loosen it. It dissipates enough to let me breathe again. "I'm sorry for hurting you," he whispers.

"I know," I tell him. "So am I."

"I know."

He keeps his hand on me, and the hurt rolling off both of us ebbs, slightly. We stand there, together, breathing, and finally taking comfort in each other, the way we've needed to for so long. It's painful, but it's the kind of pain that comes from healing, from relief, from a much-needed release. Today I'll go home and meditate, and tonight I'll be able to look out at the stars without wondering where my padawan is, and whether he still hates me. This isn't quite resolution, but it's a start.

I went to bed early last night, after a quiet dinner with Obi-Wan. I'm sure I must have dreamed something, given the way my legs are tangled in the covers, but I can't seem to remember what. I remember going to sleep on my side, with my hand curled over my shoulder where Xan touched me last night. I could still feel him, hours later. His grip was warm and steady, and it comforted me more than I'd realized it would.

I blink myself awake, wondering what woke me up if not my chronometer. A few seconds later, I realize it must have been the sound of water running in the fresher. Already? Could I have slept that late? I squint at the chronometer. No; it's barely sixth hour. What could Obi-Wan possibly be doing awake at this hour?

I slump back into bed and think about sleeping more, but I'm distracted enough by thoughts of last night that I can't seem to relax. I get up and head for the fresher. Obi-Wan looks at me through the glass wall of the shower and says, "Good morning, Qui." I yawn at him in response. He smiles and turns around in the spray, water running off his body. For once, he doesn't make me a lewd offer, and I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

He has breakfast and tea ready by the time I'm out of the shower. I sit down heavily and pick up the tea. It's not going to be nearly strong enough. I glare at it, as if I can convince it to double its caffeine content through sheer force of will. Tragically, this fails. I sip at the tea anyway.

"Is something wrong?" Obi-Wan asks.

I shake my head, then think better of it and sigh. "I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I take another sip of my tea, then set it on the table and look at him. "Something else first. There's a seminar coming up on covert operations, and Master Windu and I believe you'd be a good candidate for it."

He looks surprised, but then nods. "All right. When does it start?"

"Fourthday afternoon."

He nods again. "I'll look forward to it. Do you know who's teaching it?"

I lean back in my chair, wondering what he'll think of this. I've never talked to him much about Xan, and he's never asked. "Knight Xanatos."

His eyes widen, then narrow. "Xanatos is back on Coruscant?" he asks. "How long has he been here?"

"I have no idea. I only found out two days ago."

"Considerate of him to let you know he was coming, wasn't it?"

"Padawan." I give him a hard look, and he quiets. "I spent the evening talking to him. We've agreed to put the past behind us. Are you going to have a problem working with him?"

"No, Master," he says. His lips are pressed together in a firm line, and I can tell he wants to say more, but for once he holds his tongue. I stifle a sigh of relief; whether he's irritated with Xanatos for disappearing in the first place or irritated with me for not having more to say, I don't know, but either way I don't really care to hear about it.

Obi-Wan leaves after breakfast, saying he has some studying to catch up on. I need to put notes in order for tomorrow's session of my own seminar, and have just settled down to do that when the door chimes. "Come in," I call out.

The door slides open, and in walks T'nell, looking as if he's just come from the gym showers -- skin pink, hair still wet, thin shirt and exercise shorts, with a towel draped around his neck. He smiles at me, and I smile back. "Hello," he says. "How are you today?"

"Fine," I tell him. "Obi-Wan is off in the archives, I believe, but if you're here to see me..." I make a broad welcoming gesture. I find that I like T'nell more every time I see him; he's more cheerful than nearly anyone else I come into contact with, and sometimes -- particularly after dealing with some of the more somber members of the Council -- being around T'nell can be a much-needed breath of fresh air.

"Mmm." He comes over to the couch and bends down to kiss me, and I kiss him back. "I did come to see Obi-Wan, I'm afraid, but I really should thank you for the other night. It was very thoughtful of you to stop by and check up on me." He brushes his lips over mine. "Even if it wasn't necessary."

After what Obi-Wan said about T'nell needing a trip to the Healer's Ward, I thought I should see him and apologize -- I still didn't know precisely what I'd done, but sending him to the healers was hardly what I intended. He looked much more embarrassed than I felt, and told me it was unrelated. He asked if I was doing better, and one thing led to another, and... well. He's a delightful young man, and I'm glad to have shared the pleasure of his company again.

"Well, it isn't necessary to thank me, either," I tease him, "but that doesn't mean I'm not glad to see you."

"Oh, that's nice to hear." He smiles. "Can you tell him I stopped by, though, if you catch up to him before I do?"

"Yes, of course." One more kiss before he goes... he leans in and kisses me again, and I find myself smiling under his lips. "Have a good day, T'nell."

"You, too." He winks at me and heads out of the room. I sigh, wondering if I ever had quite that much energy and enthusiasm, even at his age. Probably not.

I stand up and stretch, and the movement feels good. A run would feel better. I go and change clothes and head out, taking my usual path through the gardens and past the cascading fountains. I stop at the fountains to rest and stretch before heading back, and am somehow not surprised when I hear footsteps coming to a halt behind me. I turn and offer a tentative smile to my former apprentice.

"Good morning," I greet him. He offers a similar tentative smile and bends over at the waist, beginning a stretching routine of his own. I watch him, realizing it's the first time I've truly had a chance to look at him since he arrived on Coruscant. I used to imagine what he'd look like as a knight. Now I know. He has a maturity now that I could barely picture when he was still a padawan, along with a few scars -- most notably, the one on his cheek. I remember that one -- his father pressing the ring into Xan's cheek, and Xan taking it without a sound. I wonder why he kept that scar, if he resents that mission so much. But I doubt he'd want me to ask.

He doesn't look like a character out of a Rogue Jedi holo. I am relieved to see it; so many rumors have surfaced over the years that I haven't really known what to expect. He looks like a proper Jedi, and I'm caught between pride, given my part in his training, and completely improper thoughts about how he'd look if he were sweating from other kinds of physical exertion. Under me, for example.

I look away uncomfortably, taking my eyes deliberately away from his legs as he stretches. I am the last person in the Temple he'd want to have ogling him right now. I shake my head. "How are you?" I ask.

He looks up at me and regards me for a moment before continuing to stretch. "I'm all right," he says. "I slept through the night for once. And you?"

"I'm better."

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, and looks almost surprised by what he's just said. Still, he nods, as if confirming it to himself, and then repeats, "Glad to hear it. Would you like company on your run? I assume you're still taking the path through the gardens, past the old willow and over the stone bridge?"

"Yes, I am. And yes, I would." It's small, but it's a start. I meet his eyes, and he nods briefly before looking away.

We take off together, and he matches my pace easily, though he doesn't pull ahead. I can't help watching him, just a little, and we manage a bit of conversation, even through the exercise. I tell him about the seminar on diplomacy I've been conducting, and he tells me that he's seen the roster for his own seminar and noticed my padawan's name on it.

"Small Temple, isn't it?" he asks. I nod agreement, not sure whether he wants to hear about Obi-Wan or not. He doesn't ask anything else, so I don't offer. Somehow the idea of Xan asking about my padawan, when there are so many parallels between the relationship he and I shared and the relationship I share with Obi-Wan -- it's an uncomfortable thought, so I'm happy to let the subject drop.

At the end of my running path, he slows down and walks with me. We cool off together and make light conversation. I tell him stories of some of the more amusing missions I've been on in the last few years; he tells me stories about missions he's been on -- with a proviso that since most of his missions are classified, he's under no obligation to tell the entire truth, so long as he tells a good story. His stories are good, although in some cases they sound very much like Rogue Jedi holovids. He appears to know this, and tells those stories with a grin and a bit of a flourish. I laugh at him, and it feels good; it's nice to share a good-natured laugh together for the first time in what feels like forever. It's good to have his company without needing to fight or have deep conversation. I wonder what it's like for masters whose apprentices have been knighted and are now close friends; whether we'll ever develop the kind of easy contentment that exists between Master Bellis Cordai and Knight Hanterem, for example. I decide this is enough for now, and am careful not to press Xanatos for more.

Sleep that evening comes in fits and starts, and I have dreams of Xan -- those terrible frustrating dreams where you've just gotten someone's clothes off, and suddenly you're chasing a herd of Bantha through the streets of Marengos City. When I feel a soft, warm sensation on my inner thigh, I hold fast to it, hoping I won't end up unceremoniously dropped into some kind of surreal dream about jellyfish.

The sensation continues, clearer with every passing second. It's several minutes before I realize that gentle feeling of a mouth on my thigh is not part of a dream, but part of my waking reality. By the time I'm fully awake, Obi-Wan has my cock in his mouth and is sucking softly. I look down at him, grinning slightly, wondering what brought this on, whether this is truly a good idea... deciding I don't care, just now. He is impossibly slow, gentle, and it's so early -- I lie back and enjoy his attention, letting him give me pleasure.

He's not broadcasting his feelings this morning, and the slight mental distance leaves me free to let my mind wander as he licks and works his way up and down the length of my erection. I've missed mornings like this, sex just for the physical pleasure of it, not because he has something to prove. I've been thinking too much lately. I really should just enjoy myself.

Images float by as Obi-Wan rubs his tongue ever-so-gently over my cock. I let them pass, one after another, thoughts of sex with Obi-Wan, of the incredible sweetness of being with T'nell a few nights ago, and then suddenly I remember the way Xan's legs moved as he ran next to me. Xan's body -- active, moving, glowing... Xan's dark hair, his longer, slightly leaner body; Xan's long, elegant fingers caressing my shaft, his hand cupping my balls and... the image is enough to send me spiralling over the edge, gasping my pleasure and biting off the name I'm thinking of before I can say it. I open my eyes and am almost surprised to see Obi-Wan in my bed. He slips his mouth off my cock, swallowing as he climbs up the bed. He grins at me.

"Good morning."

"Morning?" I croak. It was still dark when he first started -- it's only sixth hour now. "Not that I'm complaining, but an hour this early doesn't even qualify as morning yet. Have you been having trouble sleeping?"

He shakes his head. "I've been waking up to watch the sun rise. You should try it sometime." He smiles and trails a fingertip across my chest. "I'm going to shower. Want to join me?"

"I'd like to go back to sleep," I tell him, half-grumbling, half-laughing.

He shakes his head at me. "Don't sleep too late," he says. I slide back into the covers, and he brushes his fingertips across my forehead and over my cheek before disappearing into the fresher. I smile, still feeling that small touch. He can be very sweet when he puts his mind to it.

I get another hour and a half of sleep before I have to get up and gather the materials for today's session. Obi-Wan has tea ready for me when I come out of the shower, and has an assortment of fruit arranged on the table. I look over at him; he's sitting on the couch tapping lightly at a datapad. "This is unexpectedly artistic," I tease, gesturing at the fruit arrangement. The fruits are organized by color, and he's taken extra effort with the table setting. The napkin is neatly folded, the flatware precisely placed. He never puts this kind of effort into breakfast. He's been acting very oddly in the mornings lately.

He looks up with a grin. "It's amazing what you can do with an extra hour or two in the morning," he says, echoing my thoughts. "It's been a while since I put an effort into making breakfast. I thought you might enjoy it."

"I do." My heart hurts a bit, though. I could get used to this sort of treatment in the mornings, and I know it doesn't really mean as much as I'd like it to. Still, it does mean something, and I don't want to seem ungrateful. "Thank you," I tell him.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thank you." I drink my tea, eat my breakfast, and review my notes one last time before today's session. Obi-Wan nods at me as I leave, and I make my way to the meeting room.

My seminar takes place in a small conference room, and by the time I arrive, a few of my regular attendees have already taken their places around the table. I have a diverse group, all of whom are talented young knights or senior padawans who will make excellent diplomats and negotiators someday. Two in particular are already showing a great deal of potential: a Caamasi padawan named Llyith, and a human Knight named Aubris. Llyith and Aubris are talking to another knight, and people are beginning to show up a bit more rapidly now. A flash of movement at the door catches my eye, and I glance up -- then have to glance back and look again. I grin broadly without thinking. It's Xanatos. He nods in acknowledgement, and then glances around for a seat. Aubris offers him the seat on his other side, and Xan takes it. I notice that a few of the senior padawans are glancing at Xan oddly -- I fear his reputation precedes him.

I am encouraged by Xan's presence here. When I mentioned my seminar yesterday, I didn't mention the times or dates or location -- he must have looked it up on the intranet. Perhaps I'm not the only one hoping we can become friends again. The idea pleases me immensely. The day's session is more enjoyable than any in recent memory.

Xan approaches me afterwards and asks if I have plans for noonmeal. I tell him no, and he invites me to meet him at the refectory at half past twelfth hour. I agree, and hope the feeling of anticipation isn't too obvious. I watch him leave and can't help noticing the way he fills out his uniform -- his shoulders... I shake myself, mentally, and turn back to the other students who have approached me after the session with questions or comments. I'm going to be distracted for a while, I fear.

Xan is settled at a table near the back of the refectory when I arrive, reading something from a datapad. He stands up when he notices me, and joins me in the line. We manage to talk about absolutely nothing, which is surprisingly pleasant. Eventually, the conversation turns toward matters at the Temple. "Have you seen Master Yoda yet?" I ask.

"Of course," he says. He grins. "Which reminds me -- Master Yoda 'suggested' I brush up on my 'saber skills." The tone of his voice implies that the suggestion came with an accompanying thwack of gimer stick on shins, and I wince slightly in sympathy. "Would you be interested in sparring with me sometime soon? Just to let me know how out of practice I am. It's been a while since I carried a 'saber on a regular basis. Nothing screams 'Jedi Knight' like a lightsaber in the middle of a seedy hole-in-the-wall bar."

"I can imagine," I tell him. "I'd be happy to spar with you. What time would be best for you?"

"Tomorrow afternoon?" he suggests. "Say third hour? I'll reserve a training salle."

"That should be fine."

"So are you still third best swordsman in the Order, or have you managed to move up in rank since I was last here?"

My face falls; he hasn't heard. "My master..." I begin. I still don't know how to tell this to people, even when they ask.

Xanatos misinterprets the look on my face, and he reaches across the table to take my hand. "Oh, Qui, I'm sorry--"

I take his hand, thrilled he's reaching out for me, but I have to shake my head. "He isn't dead," I tell him. A look of confusion crosses his face. "He's left the Order."

"Left? When is he coming back?" Xan stares at me. "He is coming back, isn't he?"

"No. He's left the Order permanently." I try for a noncommital shrug, but it comes off poorly. "He'd been threatening to do so for years."

"When was this?"

"A few years ago." Three and a half years ago; I still remember the look on his face when he'd told me he was leaving, and how badly it had hurt to know he was gone. I haven't talked about that conversation with anyone, and don't intend to do so now. I clear my throat. "If you--"

"Have you heard from him since?"

I shake my head, not in answer but in dismissal. That's another question I've been shaking off for three and a half years, and one I won't talk about with anyone. "It's all right. I miss him, but I have more than enough responsibilities here that keep me occupied. Speaking of which, I ought to be heading home..." I look down at his hand, still clutching mine. Force, those hands... The thought of his hands on my skin is distracting, and I welcome the distraction at the moment. I look back up at him, and find him looking at me oddly. I frown slightly and tug my hand back a bit, and he lets go, almost reluctantly. His fingers brush the inside of my wrist as they slide back and he sits back in his chair. I suppress a shiver; that felt too good.

"Tomorrow afternoon, then?" he asks.

"Yes," I manage. "Take care, Xan."

"And you, Qui."

My quarters are empty when I get home, and I'm somehow disappointed. I head to the fresher and shed my clothes. Then I start the shower going, getting the water hot, as hot as I want it, and step into the glass-walled chamber.

Yes. Steam is already filling the room, and the hot water stings as it hits my skin, sears me, and makes me close my eyes. I wrap my hand around my cock and imagine Obi-Wan touching me. The image gives way almost immediately, though, and suddenly it's Xan's hand on me instead. The image is too real; I can clearly remember the way he touched me on the transport back to Coruscant after that disastrous mission on Telos. I remember the way he was almost desperate to please me, how some of the tension and misery in him began to dissipate when he saw how he was affecting me. It's wrong, beyond wrong, to let those memories arouse me like this, but I can't help it -- I need this release now, and the images of him are thick in my head as I squeeze tight, stifle all the sounds I want to make, and come. I lean forward, bracing myself against the wall of the shower with one hand, panting.

I fumble for the dial and eventually manage to shut the water off. I lean my head against my arm. Why the hell did I do that? I can't imagine that Xan would be pleased to find out I've been fantasizing about him lately.

I towel off and look at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is red where the water needled into me. I try to look at myself through Xan's eyes, reading the passage of time on my body. There's more silver in my hair now, more lines around my eyes, but otherwise I think I look very much the same. I'm not old -- Obi-Wan's jab about my age the night we fought aside -- and I know I still attract more than my share of interested young men and women. I've had a weakness for younger men most of my life. Relationships with agemates notwithstanding, there's something about the enthusiasm of youth that always turns me on, gets me hard, makes me want to show off the benefits of another decade or two of experience. Xanatos is twelve years my junior; not an agemate, but hardly a youth anymore. I wonder what he's been doing since he's been away from the Temple. Has he had experiences that put mine to shame, or is he still the tentative but enthusiastic lover he was when I had him? I want to find out first-hand. I scowl at myself. Enough, Jinn.

I am trembling all over now. I close my eyes and focus. This is unacceptable. I need to center. I need to stop this; he is only beginning to forgive me. I have no idea what it would do to him to find out that I'm attracted to him, but I'm sure it wouldn't be welcome. How much damage could this feeling do if I let it out? Too much; it isn't worth it.

I have until tomorrow afternoon to dampen this feeling until I can live with it. Whether that means meditating all afternoon or fucking someone until my head clears or jerking off until I'm sore and can't get hard anymore, I'll manage. I have to. I owe him that.

Another restless night. I wake up several times, out of dreams of Xanatos, Obi-Wan -- even Mace, at one point. I finally realize around fifth hour that I'm unlikely to get much more sleep, and I go out to the balcony to meditate.

Meditation comes, as it always does, and I find my center. It's a relief to know I still can center; I haven't been this frustrated in months, not since before Obi-Wan and I agreed to share sex again. Obi-Wan... A soft noise from Obi-Wan's room breaks my concentration a bit. I pull myself out of meditation, remembering that he's been up quite early these last few days. I went to bed before he came home last night -- when is he sleeping? If he's awake now, though... the thought, the temptation, the need is too much. I go back inside and press the buzzer at the door to his room.

A few seconds pass, and I start to wonder if I imagined hearing something. I'm about to turn away when I hear him call out, "Come in."

I open the door and look at him. He's half-upright in bed, and his eyes are squinting in my direction. He looks tired, but awake. Awake enough. I rein in the urge to walk over to him and just take him. His gaze shifts over my body, realizing that I'm not dressed, and he stops with his eyes on my erection.

Interested. That's a start.

"I thought I heard you moving around," I tell him. "Have you been awake long?"

"No," he says. He sits up a little more. "Have you?"

"A while."

I walk over and climb into his bed. He shifts, making room for me, parting his legs and letting me settle myself between them. He wraps his arms around me, and I kiss him. I'm starved for it this morning, and he moans into my mouth, responding to it. I can feel him getting hard against my stomach, and reach between us to take his growing erection in my hand. He jerks back, away from the kiss, his head falling back into the pillows, his eyes closing.

"What's gotten into you this morning?" he asks, voice still ragged from sleep.

This from the boy who awakened me with oral sex yesterday? "Are you complaining?" I squeeze tighter and twist my hand as I draw it up the length of his cock; he gasps for me, moans as I give him exactly the kind of pressure he likes.

"No, not... complaining, but..." He gasps again and thrusts his hips up against me. "Oh, Qui... no, stop, I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Don't come yet." I drop my head to his neck and suck on the skin there, my eyes closed. I suck hard enough to leave a mark, and he gasps. I can feel him vibrating under me. He clutches me with his arms and then reaches between us with one hand, groping for my cock. I grab his hand and pull it back above his head, pressing it into the pillow. He reaches for me with his other hand, and I grab that one, not even trying to be gentle anymore, crossing his wrists above his head and pinning them there.

"Qui, please," he pants. "I want to touch you."

"Later," I growl at him. I draw away slightly so I can watch his face as I touch him. His eyes are shut, and he's breathing hard and fast now, trying to hold back the way I asked him to. He struggles against my grip on his hands, and his fingers dig into his palms. I grin and let go of his cock. He moans softly, but I turn him over and press him down into the mattress, hard. He tilts his hips back for me, offering. Not yet, though -- he's not nearly desperate enough yet.

I lick a hard, hot line down the center of his back and pull his cheeks apart so I can get to his opening. I dart my tongue into him without warning. He tastes like sweat and a bit of lube -- it must have been a later night than I thought. I can imagine it so easily -- his eyes searching the dance floor at Rising as almost everyone has gone home for the night, looking for one last fuck before he comes home and falls into bed. I stop licking and look up the bed at him. "Tell me about him," I say. Obi-Wan shudders under me, and I flick my tongue across his opening again. "Was he good?"

He tenses for a moment. "Oh, Force, Qui..." His voice trembles as I lick him. He must be closer than I thought. Force, to be twenty again; the one thing I do envy about his youth is his ability to come so many times in an evening. I grin and stab my tongue into him again. "Need... oh, Force, need you so much. Please..."

My eyes flick to the nightstand and I reach over for one of the lubes that has a pleasant flavor, something that goes perfectly with the taste of sex and come and Obi-Wan's gorgeous ass. I slick two fingers with the lube and slide them into him, and he goes nearly rigid around me, the muscles of his ass clenching tight around my fingers. I reach out to him mentally, and the emotions swirl into me -- how close he is, how desperate, how much he wants me, the way I make him feel, the way no one else does this for him. I allow myself the briefest moment of smugness before becoming distracted by the way my fingers look moving in and out of him. I bend my head down again to lap at the stretched skin of his opening, brushing my tongue across skin and feeling the movement of my own fingers under my tongue. Obi-Wan shudders, and I share my sensation of utter hedonistic pride at being able to bring him to this kind of feeling.

He laughs at that, and the laughter pulls him off the edge slightly. "You're so good," he mumbles, then goes back to panting, desperate attempts to suck in enough air to keep himself from becoming lightheaded. I bend my fingers a little and brush up against his prostate, and he buries his head in the pillow and lets out a long, harsh groan. //Please.//

Begging for it; I have him begging for it, and I need it as badly as he does. I pull him up onto his knees and kneel behind him, lining my cock up with his slicked entrance and just leaning forward and there, exactly what I needed, what we both needed. He curses, and I share his sensation of being stretched, the burn, and the need for that burn, the way he wanted that feeling. I hold still, panting, and images of just taking him hard, just holding on tight and fucking him until he's sore and bruised, fill me until I'm blinded by them. He notices, couldn't help but notice, and presses hard back against me. It's all the encouragement I need; I grip his hips, tight, and lose myself, lose everything in the feel of joining with him, the feel of being able to satisfy this need, finally, being inside him, pounding into him until he cries out and comes for me, comes without my even needing to touch his cock. I follow him over the edge, my own cries lost in a torrent of incoherent words, curses, the word Padawan. I collapse beside him, and he curls up with me, both of us so sated we barely notice the sticky wet mess we've left on his sheets. It hasn't been like this in a long time. I've missed just sharing sex with him, without worrying so much about my feelings, his feelings, the future -- this is exactly how it should be between us right now, and it feels good.

I doze, lightly, and wake up to the feel of his lips brushing over mine. I blink my eyes open. He smiles at me.

"I don't know what brought that on, but any time you feel like that in the morning, please -- you don't even need to knock." He smiles at me.

I can feel the hard ache of lust clenching in my groin at the idea, and have to close my eyes. "Don't say that unless you mean it," I murmur.

"Trust me."

He kisses me again, and this time takes his time with it, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair as he strokes gently into my mouth with his tongue. I wrap my arms around him, and he changes the tempo of his movements, brushing his tongue lightly against mine before retreating, so I have to thrust forward into his mouth with my tongue to catch him. He draws his tongue around the edges of my lips, then rubs his lips across mine. Force, where has he learned to kiss like this? Since when does Obi-Wan take the time to kiss anyone? I moan, and he turns so he's half on top of me, tongue plundering my mouth, stroking up the length of my tongue as if he's imagining the way he'd lick my cock before swallowing me whole. I moan for him. He clutches at me and rolls us over so I'm back on top of him, and I take over, thrusting my tongue eagerly into his mouth, crushing my lips against his, feeling the scrape of his fingernails down my back.

He's hard again. I shift my hips so I can reach down for his cock, keeping my lips firmly pressed against his. I time the strokes of my tongue to the strokes of my hand, hard and solid and long, and he loses focus completely as I twist my hand around him. He moans under me, shaking, and comes very suddenly, almost convulsively, under my hand. I finally let go of him, take my mouth off his and slide off him. His eyes are closed and he's panting, gasping for breath.

"That was..." he moans. "That was amazing."

I smile at him, but turn to check the chronometer. I wince. "It's getting late."

"Oh, Force," he mumbles. "How late?"

"Just past eighth hour."

"I'm going to be late to class. Fuck."

"You've still got enough time to get up and shower."

"What, you think I can move now?" He laughs. "I might never be able to move again." He blinks his eyes open and looks at me. "That was unbelievable. Come here."

He manages to lean up, and I kiss him again. He's never been so eager for a kiss before; I think I may have created a monster. I pull away and chuckle at his disappointed groan. "I'll shower first," I offer. "See if you can pull yourself together."

"I'll try."

I can't keep the smug grin from my face as I head to the shower. That's much better. I might be able to make it through the day now.

Xanatos is already at the training salle by the time I get there. He's in light training tunics and leggings, and is going through a series of warm-up motions with his 'saber. He's still fast. The 'saber flashes, and I hear it cutting through the air as he twirls it around in his hand. He spots me as he turns, and salutes with a flourish. "Master Jinn," he says, teasing me with the formality of it.

I unclip my saber from my belt and bow at the waist. "Knight Xanatos," I tease in return. He grins at me, the corner of his mouth going up and making me think of grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing that smirk right off his face, and, Force, what the fuck is wrong with me? I shake my head and begin stretching, activate my 'saber and perform some of the twirling warm-up movements, ghosts of blocks and feints and parries. He watches me, eyes narrowed slightly, the hint of a smile on his face.

"Shall we begin?" I ask him. He nods. I take a defensive stance and wait for him to come at me.

He was always fast, and when he was my padawan he was even faster than I was. He's still fast, but he's lost a lot of the edge and the finesse that he had then. I match his skill level and spend much of my time parrying and feinting, taking his measure through a flurry of attacks, some clever enough to earn him a nod of approval or a word of praise, but none quite enough to make me jump. Ten years is a long time to go without a constant sparring partner, without the daily practice that keeps us sharp. He knew that coming in, though; I only hope it doesn't frustrate him too badly. He's good; he can be outstanding again. It's only a matter of time and practice.

I shift tactics and put him on the defensive, coming in with a blinding number of attacks that he barely manages to block and deflect. It backs him across the room until his back is to the wall and our hilts are locked.

Too close. He's much too close. My entire body is aware of how he's pressed back against the wall, how easy it would be to rip the 'saber out of his hand and press him back against the wall, kiss him until we're both tearing at each other's clothes, get his legs around my waist and fuck him here, hard, against the wall.

I pull away abruptly and turn on my heel, walking a few paces away. A safer distance. I turn around, and he's still staring at me, eyes wide with surprise, breath quicker than it was from just the duel. I deactivate my 'saber and drag my sleeve across my forehead, brushing off some of the sweat. He seems stunned, as if he can't take his eyes off me. I can't stop watching him.

"Qui," he begins, then stops. He deactivates his 'saber and pushes off from the wall. Our eyes stay focused on each other for a few seconds before he looks away, breaking our gaze deliberately. He stares at the wall of the training salle for a few seconds before looking back at me. "Sorry about that," he says.

"For what? Getting backed up against the wall?"

He smirks, and I can read that thought without a hint of help from the Force: No, Qui, for enjoying it. He shakes his head. "Well. Back to the reason we're here -- how am I doing?"

"Not bad," I tell him, grateful for the change in topic. "You could use a sparring partner who's on about your level, someone you can work with a few times a week as you get your bearings back."

"I agree," he says. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Obi-Wan, I think."

He looks at me in shock, and then his eyes flash. "Your padawan?"

"Xanatos--"

"No, come on. I'm not that out of practice. Should I sign up for a Basic Lightsaber Techniques class? Maybe I should join Yoda's younglings and start over from the beginning." He sneers at me. "I'd love to see how you'd do with a blaster in your hands. I'd lay odds you couldn't hit the broad side of a freighter."

"Enough!" I snap. "You're being unnecessarily defensive. It's been ten years since you trained seriously; can you honestly expect to be on a level with Masters who have been developing their skills for the last thirty years of their lives?"

"No, but a padawan?"

"My padawan," I fire back. "I am not underestimating your skills, Xanatos. Obi-Wan is well above the level of the senior padawans his age and older; he teaches beginning lightsaber techniques himself, and can hold his own against some of the better knights here on Coruscant. I am not trying to insult you."

"Oh, my mistake. You're only holding me up to the example of the padawan you think I should have been. Someone who doesn't remember when you were a padawan yourself and who doesn't have to put up with a master who has no fucking idea what he's doing."

"If you're so certain I have no idea what I'm doing, why even bother to ask for my opinion?" I ask, voice raised. "I'm not here to hold your hand or stroke your ego. You've never been able to deal with honesty or candor, have you? Is that why you're so skilled at missions requiring subterfuge?"

"I've never been able to--?" he sputters. "You don't have an ounce of tact, and you never did! 'No, it didn't mean anything, it was just a pity fuck.' 'Even a padawan could kick your ass the way your skills have degraded.' 'You can't face the truth.' Have you been saving up all your memories of my shortcomings for the last ten years so you could hit me with them when I came back?"

"You always have to make everything personal, don't you?" I ask, shouting at him now, frustrated and angry -- he can set me off so easily, more easily than anyone I've ever known.

"It's all personal with you, and it always has been!" he yells back at me. "Or haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Then maybe we're not ready to deal with each other on any kind of personal level," I shoot back. "I want to be your friend, I want to be able to talk to you, but you hear everything I say as an attack. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?"

"I don't know," he says, his rant coming to an abrupt stop. He lets out an angry breath. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we shouldn't talk to each other unless we're assigned to deal with each other. You don't exactly bring out my better side."

I laugh at that, but it sounds harsh and angry, even to me. "You destroy any semblance of serenity I have whenever I come near you. You always did."

He shakes his head, and his laugh is something different, not so harsh now. "I always wanted to," he says. The meaning of that tiny admission takes my breath away, and I have to turn away from him. How does he do this to me? How can I feel anger gripping me at the same time as I want him the way I do? How can I want to grab him by the arms and shake him, and throw him to the floor and fuck him, all at once?

"I should go," I tell him. "If you're still interested in a sparring partner, ask Mace. He'll find you a partner who won't bruise your ego too badly."

"Oh, fuck you." Xan's eyes flash. "Now you're being condescending."

"I can't fucking win with you, can I?" I ask, suddenly feeling very tired. "I'm going. Have a good afternoon." I turn on my heel and stalk toward the door of the salle.

I hear Xan let out a breath behind me. "Qui, wait." I don't turn, but I hear him walk up to me, feel him at my side. "I'm sorry. You -- maybe you're right." He sighs. "Perhaps we'd be better off keeping our relationship professional. I did ask for your advice on getting back into shape. I'd be willing to spar with Obi-Wan if he's interested." I look at him, and his eyes are serious. "I mean it. Let's see if we can put our personal differences aside." He offers me his hand. "A truce?"

I close my eyes, breathe out, release some of my irritation and frustration into the Force. "All right," I tell him. I open my eyes and look back at him. I take his hand. His grip is solid, and the skin on my hand where I'm touching him feels alive and warm and electric -- I can feel his touch all the way up my arm. I drop his hand immediately and take a step back. "Comm me later and let me know what your schedule looks like. We'll set up some time for training."

"I'll do that." He steps back as well and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then nods. "Have a good afternoon, Qui."

"Yes -- you, too."

I walk out of the training salle, still irritated, but knowing full well that the irritation is entirely with myself now. As much as he gets under my skin, as much as I know dealing with him is a bad idea, I can't deny that I want him. Badly. And it's going to be hell dealing with this, now that he's back on Coruscant.

FIN