Series/Sequel: i might be convinced to write another one. it
depends on the feedback.
Summary: thirty years from now and tpm didn't happen...for that
matter, none of the movies did <g>
Warnings: really au
Notes: i got a lovely loc from joanne who said (besides the
gushing about my vg fic <g> (thanks!) that she wanted to
read a nice fic about the guys together when they were older,
andi was inspired. this little bit os the result of that
inspiration, so be sure to thank her when you see her <g>
we disagree on qui-gon's age in tpm, but i worked it out, i
think. feedback has been sorely lacking, i slaved all day over
a hot computer, drop me a line already, 'kay? i love nikky and
heidi and most 'specially my squash, my round gourd love.
truly, truly.
"Qui-Gon?"
Stepping into the room silently, Obi-Wan Kenobi scanned
mentally for his partner. Partner, mate, lover, long-term
companion....there were many ways to describe their
relationship, but he hadn't felt a need to put words to it in
years. No one had asked in years - it was simply accepted, even
assumed.
Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and defacto savior of the
Republic, had no need to explain himself.
"How was the Council meeting, beloved?" He asked softly. Their
chamber was dark and he did not want to wake his mate if he
were sleeping. Time was taking its toll on Master Jinn and he
slept more now than he had, but still not much in comparison to
other men his age.
A light flickered on behind him and he grinned to see Qui-Gon
kneeling in meditation before the large window that looked out
upon the verdant green of the gardens.
When the Jedi Temple had been rebuilt, here, on Vergent 5,
after the wars, it had been one of the requests he had made,
using his status carefully, to make sure that he, and his
one-time Master, had access to the gardens.
With his robe draped in heavy folds around him, tall frame
folded neatly into position, Qui-Gon looked as if he hadn't
moved in hours. He might have been a statue, carved from dark
stone, bronzed by the sunlight.
The thought made Obi-Wan shiver. He still remembered, and was
tormented by, the portentous dreams that had haunted him when
he was younger. Dreams of a different world, a different life,
and his failing. The lives it had cost.
Shaking it off, he crossed the room to the food distributor and
programmed alight meal. Though it was after dark and he had
just returned from a teaching session with the older Padawans,
he knew that Qui-Gon hadn't eaten. He always waited until
Obi-Wan returned, if they were apart for the day, as happened
more and more frequently, to their mutual disappointment.
Since his acceptance of a Council position, pressed upon him by
Yoda, they had not had undertaken any missions. He knew that
was out of deference for Qui-Gon's age. Even with the help of
the Force, human lifespan was still limited. Finite. Nearly 80
now, Qui-Gon was well past middle age, though he could safely
anticipate another fifty years or more, with care and
dedication.
And Obi-Wan was no spring chicken either, he chuckled at
himself, setting out a light meal of roast fowl and native
vegetables, with the chewy bread made from native grains. It
had taken some time to get used to, but now he was quite fond
of the texture and oddly sour flavor.
As he poured two glasses of dark wine, he felt the presence at
his back and leaned back just as long arms slid around him and
clasped over his stomach. A warm mouth nuzzled his neck as
words eased into his mind.
/You had a long day./ It was as familiar to him as breathing,
the sensation of qui-Gon speaking in his mind.
"A very long day. Sometimes I think the Skywalker-Solo
twins go out of their way to create new obstacles for us to
leap. They are so gifted, and yet so stubborn."
/They remind me of their grandfather./ There was a hint of
sadness in that, quickly released to the Force. Anakin's fate
had not been theirs to decide, the Council had spoken. He had
lived a good life, rising to the rank of General in Amidala's
army, living beside her as her consort throughout her long
reign. Naboo had become a haven for the Jedi during the wars
and when Anakin had died in battle against the Dark Side two
decades ago Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had vowed that his children,
then unborn, would become the Jedi he had not been allowed to.
Luke had been instrumental in the defeat of the Empire, and his
sister was a worthy ruler of Naboo, sitting on her mother's
throne.
/Occasionally I wonder if they would not have been better off
untrained./
"Not the boy." Obi-wan spoke firmly. "Hech is too gifted, too
volatile, to be left alone, just like Luke was. And his brother
will no doubt become one of our greatest diplomats, perhaps
even succeed his mother's throne. If he can get over his
infatuation with that spacer pilot." He sighed, shaking his
head at the vagaries of youth.
/You did not 'get over' your adolescent infatuation./ Qui-Gon
reminded him, pulling him tighter to his body and kissing his
neck, sighing.
"No, beloved." Turning in his arms, Obi-Wan took a deep, hungry
kiss. "I surely did not."
/Eat first./ Qui-Gon's dark blue eyes sparkled at him, laughing
silently. /Then we will see how old I am tonight./
"Never old." Running his fingers through the long hair, Obi-Wan
marveled at the softness, the steely-grey strands clinging to
his fingers, as if they wished to return the caress. "You will
never be old."
/We shall see./ Complacent, Qui-Gon kissed him once more, and
then sat for the meal, allowing Obi-Wan to serve him.
Talk ranged from the newest child brought to the Temple, an
infant girl that Qui-Gon had accepted responsibility for
testing in the morning, and the current unrest on the borders
of the reformed Republic. There were threats from several
sides, including Tatooine, where a small army may have been
raised by the remnants of the Empire, foot soldiers and
mercenaries unwilling to live without something to fight about.
The conversation wasn't interrupted by the mechanics of eating,
as Obi-Wan switched easily to mental speech, making it flow
smoothly between them as the food was consumed, and he had a
second glass of the dark berry wine.
It wasn't something they spoke of anymore, and he scarcely
noticed it. If asked, he would have been hard-pressed to pick
the date it had actually occurred. When Qui-Gon had stopped
speaking aloud. Sometime around Anakin's death, when the war
had become so bloody and horrible and Jedi were dying right and
left - Obi-Wan had never been clear on whether it had been a
choice, a sacrifice, or an accident. Not that he cared. For
several years afterwards Qui-Gon had been strongly encouraged
to see healers and try different remedies, but he had refused
them all, and his mate had stood beside him through all of it,
silently accepting his decision and backing him. Now it was a
rare Jedi who did not know of it, and there were enough people
on other planets from their many missions that wherever they
went someone had heard of them and told the others what to
expect.
/There is an interesting possibility for us./ Qui-Gon said as
they were cleaning up, sharing the bathroom together. After the
grueling workout the Padawans had given him, Obi-Wan needed a
shower, and Qui-Gon leaned on the counter after his own
ablutions and watched him, smiling slightly, arms crossed over
his chest, clad only in a pair of light sleeping pants that
didn't hide his growing arousal.
/Yes?/ Making a bit of a show of washing himself, hands
lingering at his groin longer than necessary, Obi-Wan teased,
grinning.
/It has been suggested that we return to Tatooine to open talks
with the renegades, before they get up the nerve, or the
firepower, to attack./
"A mission?" Staring, Obi-Wan left his mouth open too long and,
with a graceful hand gesture, Qui-Gon directed a stream of
water at his face, making him sputter a protest. "Hey!"
/Do not look so surprised./ Qui-Gon scolded gently. /And if you
worry - even the slightest bit - I will leave you behind with
your students./
"You would not." His mate retorted. "Who would keep you warm
during those desert nights?"
/I would not./ Qui-Gon agreed, holding a bathing cloth and
wrapping it around the other man as he stepped from the water.
/Your warmth eases my bones./
Pressing close, encouraging his mate to hold him, Obi-Wan
rested his head on the broad shoulder, content.
/I think we should resume daily practice drills./ Stroking the
short, sandy hair, which, at 45, was starting to grey slightly
as well, Qui-Gon was thoughtful. The press of time had caused
them to cut back to drilling together only three of four times
a week, and it had been a marked change - both of them had been
drilling daily for decades. To cut back had seemed
sacrilegious. But the healers had recommended it to Qui-Gon,
when a minor muscle injury had become stubborn about healing,
and they had adapted to the new schedule.
Tipping his head back to look up into the dark eyes he loved -
there were more lines around them now, more lines of tension
etched into the noble forehead - Obi-Wan agreed with a smile.
The large hands that had been petting him tightened in his
hair, which was worn at barely chin-length, save for a lock at
the side, where his Padawan braid had once been. That small
section, uncut since he passed his Knighthood trial, trailed
almost to his waist, flipped back over his shoulder.
Occasionally he did braid it, to keep it out of the way, but
never in public, that would confuse the students - a Master
with a Padawan braid? Not to mention making him feel quite odd.
/You reserve the practice ring, I will be there./ He returned,
rolling his head slowly in the massaging hands. /But for
tonight, why don't we get some horizontal exercise?/ He
grinned, an echo of the mischievous boy he had been, then
laughed out loud when Qui-Gon scooped him up, carrying him back
into the chamber, where their large, comfortable bed waited. Of
course the older man used the Force to augment his waning
physical strength, but he did it so deftly that Obi- Wan
couldn't even detect the currents. If worst came to worst and
they were forced into battle, he had no doubt his mate would
hold his own, despite his age, or perhaps he would be even
better than he had been before.
Not likely, he thought giddily, mind flashing on vivid memories
of Qui-Gon in battle. One of the greatest Jedi warriors to ever
live, even Obi-Wan had never surpassed his swordsmanship.
/I use a different sword now./ Qui-Gon teased, slipping out of
his light pants and displaying it boldly. /Ever called to
battle./
"As is mine." Smiling, filled with such love that, as had
happened before, he was afraid he would simply explode if he
didn't get the chance to express it, Obi-Wan reached for
Qui-Gon and toppled him into the bed, squirming to be beneath
him when he landed, with a bounce, hair flying in all
directions, smiling back.
/Qui-Gon./ He sighed as his mouth was taken, large hands,
roughly calloused from the years of weapon use, grasping his
face and holding it still for plundering.
/Obi-Wan./ Such a wealth of emotion could be held in his name,
and he shivered to hear it.
Kissing was a favorite pastime of both, seldom indulged to
their complete satisfaction, and tonight they strove to set a
new record, bodies moving slowly together, mouth and lips and
teeth and tongues tangled, tangling, stroked and stroking.
With Qui-Gon's hands roaming his face and neck and shoulders
Obi-Wan was free to caress and stroke his lover's body as much
as he wished. The muscle was much the same as it had always
been, the ribs perhaps a bit more prominent, hence the urge to
feed his lover, and the movements carried the same fluid grace
Qui-Gon had always had. Of the many things that had changed,
the younger man was always more pleased by the ones that
hadn't.
Qui-Gon's desire for him had never ebbed, though sometimes it
took more work to draw it out. Obi-Wan himself was still the
same hungry lover he had always been, ready at a moment's
notice, though he suspected that wouldn't last much longer. If
they slept more nights than made love now, it was as much a
reflection on him as his lover. And the nights when they did
make love - it only got better. Extensive knowledge of his
partner combined with complete trust made beautiful nights the
norm, not the exception.
Finally kissing wasn't enough, and Qui-Gon moved to roll to his
stomach, but Obi-Wan stopped him, drew him close again, kissed
him ever more deeply.
/Your turn tonight, beloved./ It was half-plea. /I want you
inside me, I need to feel that power again./
/Anything you want./ Sliding his arms around and under his
lover, Qui-Gon turned to lean his back against the head board
of the bed. /Everything./ Arranging himself with his legs
outspread, he turned Obi-Wan in his arms, manipulating the
younger man and the Force with equal ease until Obi-Wan's back
was to him, and then he lowered him carefully onto his own
throbbing shaft, until his lover was seated firmly in his lap,
impaled. Obi-Wan groaned and spread his own legs, leaning back
into the wall of Qui-Gon's chest, and tilted his head, mouth
begging for attention it was quickly given.
Qui-Gon's hands roamed his sweating body, rolling his nipples
and teasing his aching cock which thrust defiantly from his
body, demanding attention, cupping and tenderly rubbing his
tight balls, all while Obi-Wan continued to moan and shifted on
the organ that held him fast, beginning to rock on it, at first
slowly and then faster as the pleasure grew in leaps and
bounds..
The position wasn't one that lent itself to vigorous movement,
but they didn't need it. The depth of penetration ensured that
Qui-Gon's cock was firmly settled on Obi-wan's prostate, and
the endless pleasure it sent through him made him wriggle all
the harder, the dignity he wore like a cloak flung away in the
heat of the moment.
The more he wiggled, the tighter Qui-Gon held him and it became
a loving competition.
Trying to gasp out a complaint, Obi-Wan brought his legs
together and bent his knees, gaining leverage and rocked back
harder against his lover, which made Qui-Gon jerk and moan
deeply, biting at his neck roughly.
His big hands, strong hands, pumped his lover's cock harder,
making the younger man arch back further as Qui-Gon slumped,
Obi-Wan's shaggy head hung over his shoulder, Qui-Gon sucking
at his neck, drawing blood to the surface.
Their bodies tingled with the Force around them.
It seemed that there was no time between the making love, and
the ending. They were there, moving, the Force surging through
them, and then they were coming, as if they hadn't started, but
yet were finished, the world spinning into brilliant light and
crashed to comforting darkness.
A comfort exceeded by the comfort Obi-Wan found, lying still,
panting softly, in Qui-Gon's arms.
/Lovely, Obi-Wan./ Qui-Gon sighed, arms loosening around him.
/I touch your soul everytime we touch./
/Yes./
Obi-Wan sighed, shifting down to lie on the bed. With a
gesture, less graceful than Qui-Gon's but no less powerful, he
drew a towel to them and they tidied up, easing to cuddle
together in the center of the big bed.
During another marathon bout of kissing, Qui-Gon drifted off,
his mouth still pressed to Obi-Wan's, who shifted them both and
settled his lover's head on his chest, an arm around the broad
shoulders.
A soft snore, a sign that the older man was over-tired, rumbled
through the room and he petted the silky hair, feeling mildly
guilty.
But Qui-Gon would have no pampering, and the few concessions he
made to age were deeply resented for at least a few moments
before that, too, was given over to the Force.
For some reason, sleep came to him slowly. It had been a long
day, topped of by completely relaxing sex. He was pleasantly
tired, mildly achy, and should have been fast asleep, sharing
his lover's dreams.
Instead he was awake, body resting, feeling alert.
There were no portents in the air, no feeling of prescience, he
checked carefully.
Perhaps it was the echo of the old ones that he'd been thinking
of earlier.
He had been tormented by those dream demons for years; watching
Qui-Gon die, himself becoming a recluse, ignoring and
neglecting a Padawan, the end of the world as they knew it,
Jedi dead across the Republic....
Qui-Gon shifted, disturbed by his thoughts, and Obi-Wan leaned,
kissing his head softly, repeatedly.
/Obi-Wan?/ The mental voice was blurred by sleep and the man in
his arms shifted again, stretching one long leg over both of
Obi-wan's.
/Go to sleep, beloved./ Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan determined to
take his own advice.
/It didn't happen./ Qui-Gon soothed, still mostly asleep,
roused by his lover's anxiety.
"I love you." Obi-Wan said aloud, the words floating in the
quiet room, a hint of past desperation coloring them, rounded
by exasperated affection.
/I love you too./ The words were warm in his head and there was
a breath of laughter beneath them. /And if you don't go to
sleep right now, I am going to put you to sleep./
Startled into a laugh, remembering many nights as a youth when
his Master had done exactly that, Obi-wan closed his eyes, and
sleep came.
Archive 