Master Apprentice Archive Quick search:

Archive: M_A, QAJ, me, Emma -- anywhere else, just ask first.

Category: Q/O, POV (Obi)

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Mild QAJ universe spoilers.

Summary: QAJ flashback: takes place a few weeks after "Hands Clean" by Emma. The time Obi-Wan surprised Qui-Gon in the fresher...

Feedback: Yes, please!

Warnings: Helens is a tease. Expect cliffhangers.

Disclaimer: Lucas and stuff.

Click here for the complete episode list.

He's been staring at me again. He thinks I haven't noticed, but I notice everything about him, and have since I was seventeen. That was when I realized I wanted him. I never tried to hide it from him, and I noticed the way he absorbed my affection -- often with a quiet sense of satisfaction. Remembering that eventually gave me the courage to push for what I wanted. He thought he was hiding that satisfaction well -- and he was, really. Right up until I opened up his robe and began to touch him...

I've missed his body. I really have. Not that I haven't had some other wonderful lovers -- well, maybe "some" is an understatement -- but there was something different about being with Qui-Gon. Maybe it was just our years of closeness, I don't know. In all honesty, he is quite a lot older than me, and some would say he's a few years past his prime. Still... the wanting is always there. Sometimes it's far enough below the surface that I can pretend it doesn't exist. Other times it's all I can do to keep my hands off him.

I can't blame T'nell for bringing it back to the surface. Seducing Qui-Gon might have been his idea, but it's not as if my sex drive took a break over the past two and some years. Qui is fucking gorgeous, and I know every inch of his body, inside and out. I've never forgotten how he made me feel, and have never stopped craving his touch. He was very clear on it, though, when he cut things off with me. We couldn't pretend not to be attracted to each other, but we could choose not to act on it. It became a matter of look, but don't touch. Not always easy. Sometimes the looks themselves crossed lines... I've lost count of the number of times I've looked up from across the room, met his eyes, and known somewhere in the back of his mind, he had me bent over a table with my pants around my knees. And Force knows I've done more than that to him with my eyes...

When T'nell had called me on it that night, knowing full well who was in my thoughts while he kissed me, I didn't argue. When he suggested the threesome, I decided I didn't have anything to lose. And when Qui came home that night...

Look, but don't touch. It was his phrase in the first place. I just... gave him something to look at. And I knew he wouldn't say no.

He was gone as soon as T'nell had worn himself out that night, and didn't come out of his rooms until after T'nell left the next morning. I really should have followed him. He probably would have been able to keep going for hours. Then again, if he'd wanted to stay, he could have stayed.

It's not exactly like we're pretending it didn't happen -- we just haven't talked about it, either. Which is fine. Who wants to talk when you can have a hard cock down your throat instead? The only time we've ever talked was when he broke things off with me after we'd been lovers for six months. That was plenty, thank you. He was nervous and uncomfortable, and I did my best to make it clear that I was going to be fine, so he wouldn't feel the need to keep going on about it.

It amazes me that I can go out every night to get fucked, and come home every night to want him. Doesn't matter who I've been with or what I've done -- he still makes my balls hurt. I still want him, and when was the last time I didn't get something -- someone -- I wanted?

It's just a matter of the approach. I can't give him time to think about it, and I certainly can't wait for him to come to me. He won't. I just have to pick the right time, the right place. He wants me as much as I want him, and I can prove it...

He's been tense lately, and he hasn't admitted it to anyone. He's disappeared a few times into the gardens. He's spent a great deal of time meditating.

Poor master. I recognize this tension. He hasn't acted like this since the month after he broke things off with me. He keeps a tight leash on his emotions, but he's irritable, easily frustrated. He touches himself and lets go of his tenuous grip on his shields fracture when he does, which has given me some frustrating nights of my own. He did try spending the night with someone once, but it just seemed to irritate him further. He wants me. He won't admit it, but that's what's happening here.

And I don't see what's so wrong about doing something about it. I have no ulterior motives. I'm not trying to prove anything to him or present myself as "the one who got away". I'm not angry with him or resentful of the way he broke things off -- it was probably time. But it's ridiculous to pretend this isn't happening between us, that we aren't beginning to go just a little bit insane from this need. He was always so concerned about the possibility that I'd fall in love with him. Does he understand that I don't want to fall in love with him? I just want to fuck him.

He's spent the evening meditating on the balcony, and I've been watching him, halfheartedly scanning a boring text on Darcon literature. Nothing the Darcons have ever written could possibly hold a candle to watching my master try to rein in his desires, his needs. He's never been as good at releasing his feelings into the Force as he'd like. This is like watching a loved, tamed cat turn into a wild animal: caged for fear of what it might do in its madness, it prowls back and forth, barely managing to hold itself back from leaping at the bars. I keep wondering when he's going to start yowling.

The text finally loses all interest for me as I remember the way he looked when he was pressing into me, my legs up on his shoulders, T'nell collapsed on the couch, watching us, touching himself, while Qui-Gon and I made excellent use of the floor. Qui-Gon's expression was guarded, thanks to T'nell, but his eyes were focused on me as if there were no one but me in the world. He's always been good at keeping his thoughts in the here-and-now. It was... memorable. I'm getting hard just thinking about the look in his eyes and the feeling of having him fill me, and I'm considering undoing the tie to my leggings and slipping my hand inside them...

He meets my eyes, and stands up in a burst of energy. So much for meditation. He walks inside, still a coiled mass of frustration. Doesn't he realize all he has to do is ask? This tension is starting to affect me, and I don't care for that. This has gone far enough.

I follow him inside. I hear running water. I follow the sound to the fresher, where the shower is running so hot that the mirrors are already fogged with steam. I walk in.

He doesn't look at me, but he must know I'm here. He isn't so distracted that he can't feel my presence. He's shielded, as he's tried to be since the tension became bad, but he'd still know I'm here. He always knows.

What is he thinking? What does he think of the way I'm watching him now? I can only guess based on his body language and, when he turns his back to the spray, the carefully muted expression on his face. But when his hand reaches down between his legs, I jump. I've crossed lines with the way I'm watching him, and I know it. I expected him to lash out at me for it somehow -- a reprimand, an angry look, something to let me know my place. Instead, I'm frozen to the spot, watching as his already-semi-hard cock grows longer, thicker, coming to full arousal as he slicks his hand with soap and strokes himself. I watch him toss his head back so the water runs over his face. His hair is nearly black when it's wet, only a hint of the silver showing.

His eyes are closed, and I can see it when he nears his climax. I can't stand it. I open the shower door and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock. His expression darkens as his eyes open. He shoves me back out of the shower, eyes not leaving mine as steam pours out of the open shower door. His entire posture is a challenge, one I came here to accept. I take my clothes off, and my chin is tilted up as I join him in the shower.

He pulls me in, slams the door so hard it rattles, pushes me against the wall. I cry out as my back hits the tiles -- despite the steam in this room, they're still cool. He kisses me, hard, and I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss back. His hands come to my wrists and pin them against the wall.

//Don't. Move.// he growls. He's lost the power of speech altogether, and it makes my body scream with lust. I obey, going perfectly still. But I can't help the moan that I let out when his warm, soapy hands envelop my cock and begin stroking me. It's incongruously gentle in this steaming chamber of desperation, and I open my mouth to ask for more...

He takes his hands away, steps away from me. I start to move and realize I can't -- I'm being held firmly in place by powerful tendrils of Force. I know I can break them if I truly want... or I can surrender.

There's no choice at all, is there? Or... maybe I already made it, before I walked in here. We both did.

I hold still, and he comes close again, running one hand through my hair, tugging on my braid, wrapping it around his fist as he leans close to me.

//Couldn't stay away?// he asks. The tug on my braid stings, in an impossibly new way. He's never used it as a sign of command before, even though, in many ways, that's exactly what it is. Others have certainly done this to me, but not him. It's bringing tears to my eyes, but you'd never know them from the water. Or from the way my teeth are bared in a smile that meets and matches his challenge.

There's no shame in my answer. //Didn't want to stay away,// I tell him.

He kisses me, his mouth moving hard against mine, his beard scratching me as he assaults my lips and tongue with his own. His lips move down my throat, and he drops my braid as he moves down my body, going to his knees in front of me and slicking me with soap again. I cry out at the feeling, throwing my head back, hitting it against cold tile. I don't even notice. His hands are so hot, so rough on me now, gentleness all but gone. I was hard already; this is incredible, feels amazing, and he knows it. He knows how good he is at this. He leans back, rinsing me clean with the spray, and takes me into his mouth.

//Don't move,// comes the order again, and I cry out in near-agony, wanting to reach out for him, needing to thrust into his mouth, wishing I could look down to watch what he's doing. He sucks me hard, harder than I can bear, almost. His hands are gripping my hips, pressing me into the tile. It won't leave bruises, but I'll be able to feel each of his fingers for hours after this. His head is sliding back and forth on me, his tongue pressing into me as he slams forward, and oh, it's good, it's good, more than I remembered, harder, faster, oh Force, the need, the hunger, I didn't know it could be this way between us...

I come for him, and all the movement I'm desperate to make channels itself into one long, hoarse yell, bursting out of my chest in a fury of completion. He stands, capturing the last echo of that cry with his mouth, and his hands are all over me, his body grinding into mine. He pulls me away from the wall to put his arms around me, and I can move again, and do, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging as he thrusts against me, squeezing the breath out of me.

//Fuck... yes... needed this... yes...//

He moves his mouth to my neck and bites, and that will leave a bruise, one I'll see on my skin for days afterward. Again, I'm lost, screaming, and the scream I let out seems to drive him over the edge. When he comes, his cry is as loud and long and desperate as mine was moments ago. I feel the warmth of his come on my stomach, and the pulsing of his erection during and after. It takes him a few seconds to catch his breath. I hug him to me, feeling both of us shaking, trembling against each other. He chuckles softly, with his face still buried in the space between my neck and my shoulder.

"Do you feel better?" I whisper. I can't manage anything more; between the rawness of my throat and the lack of air from how tight he's holding me, even that seems like a miracle.

"Much," he says. "You?"

"Yes."

"Good." And he centers -- now he can center, in this shower where the water is burning us both and the evidence of our fucking is still warm on my body. He pulls away, and hands me a washcloth, stepping to the side to give me access to the spray. We wash ourselves. He doesn't even offer to wash my back. I climb out of the shower and am glad for the slightly cooler air that hits me. I grab a towel and leave the room, the much cooler air of the rest of the apartment hitting me like the slap of the tiles in the shower. I leave a trail of water that leads from the fresher to my room, and I know he'll look at it, but he won't follow. He won't dare, because that would mean betraying the story for this little incident that I know he's already making up. He'll say I surprised him in the fresher, although he was anything but surprised when I finally made my move to touch him. He'll remember acquiescing to my need, giving in to my demands, and he'll whitewash the way he held me down and nearly sucked the skin off me. He'll have a story in mind that justifies his desire for me, one that explains why he gave in when he's tried to make it so clear that he doesn't want to be with me this way.

And I'll let him, because it's better than having to talk about it. I really wasn't there to talk in the first place.

FIN