Master Apprentice Archive Regrets and Losses Quick search:

Archive at MA, please, lovely Laura.

Summary: Qui-Gon has suffered one too many emotional blows, and is reaching the end of his strength.

Q/O, Hurt/Comfort (more comfort than hurt), Angst, First-Time. Is there a category for 'Cuddly Blanket Fic for reading at the end of a bad day'? This would go in that box.

Rated R for sex.

Warnings: This story was produced in a modern household and may contain traces of nuts. Also possibly stray pubes.

Dr Squidlove is exceedingly fond of feedback.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are the financial property of Mr Lucas. Used with love.

Okay, this is as per a direct onlist request from Master Elayna a few months ago for Qui-Gon to be comforted by Obi-Wan, and to my own shock, I've finished it. Also shocked because I've stuck almost exactly to the letter of her request, though I never do as I'm told.

The door swished open and Obi-Wan was on his feet, tossing the mission-briefing details on the table. "Qui-Gon. I realise we have different views on Council interference but I never thought you would dismiss a Council briefing entirely. I looked like an idiot today, trying to justify your absence. Here I am, four years knighted and it still doesn't occur to you that one day I may choose not to cover your back."

Qui-Gon turned from the hook where he was hanging his robe, and grimaced as though Obi-Wan were a twinge in his aching back. "Could we not do this today, Obi-Wan? Could you please choose another day to chastise me like a poorly-behaved initiate?"

"May I have an explanation, at least, for why I was left stranded in a mission briefing?"

Qui-Gon raised his hands. "May I have my rooms, Obi-Wan? You're correct, you are a knight, and I seem to remember that the promotion came with independent quarters."

Obi-Wan's mouth flapped, empty. In all their years, Qui-Gon had never asked him to go away. Even this year, with all its troubles... In the silence Obi-Wan saw, suddenly, that the air had been let out of his master; the man was sagging, hollowed. "Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon turned his head away slightly, eyes closed and throat bobbing, and Obi-Wan pulled back. He oughtn't to be seeing this. He had never... He wanted to do as Qui-Gon asked, and hide in his own quarters, but he stepped forward. "What has happened?"

A great sigh almost built him up again, almost made him look his own size for a moment. "Propolis is dead. He was killed in a flight accident." As the words escaped, he shrank once more.

Obi-Wan came close enough to touch Qui-Gon's sleeve. "You have mentioned him, but..."

"My dearest friend in our padawan days," he explained, "but over the years... He sent me a voice comm last year, and it is still sitting in my file of-" A stop and a start like a skipping holorecording, and Qui-Gon frowned at him, vaguely. "The Council? What did they want?"

"A mission. They are pairing us for..."

Qui-Gon's head was turning back and forth, slowly. "Another mission. Another war? Another company, squeezing its people dry? Another petty, squabbling..." His hand came up to rub his brow. "I am beginning to understand my master."

"No." Obi-Wan jerked Qui-Gon's hand from his face. Qui-Gon had doubted many things over the years, but never his work, never his place in the Jedi. Not even when Dooku left the Order, without farewell, without explanation. "That's not why he left."

For the first time Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's gaze, weariness glazing his eyes. "You don't know why he left."

"Neither do you."

Qui-Gon only continued to watch him, as though waiting. Seventeen years with this man, many more of psychology and people-reading, and Obi-Wan ought to have known what to do, but he stood, uselessly, as his brain raced for the words of comfort that had been eluding him since Dooku's abrupt and mysterious departure, since the bloody mess of the Tibolic mission, since Qui-Gon had quietly told him his friend was dead.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon nodded, accepting it for the trite offer it was.

"A message a year seemed often enough. Everything is always later... too late."

Awkwardly, Obi-Wan reached his arms around Qui-Gon's stiff body, not knowing what else to do. He had never hugged Qui- Gon, never been offered more than an arm slung around his shoulders. Qui-Gon was a tactile man, comforting and congratulating with touches more than words, but they'd never embraced, never tried to fit the length of themselves together and now, it felt somehow unnatural. Obi-Wan wished he hadn't done it, until two long arms slipped around his back, and Qui- Gon's chest swelled against his own. It swelled again, and then again, long breaths growing shorter, and then shaking.

Obi-Wan stood frozen. This wasn't his master.

Obi-Wan was no awe-struck initiate. He knew his master was human, knew he made mistakes, knew he grieved. But when stripped vulnerable, Qui-Gon was always grim-faced and irritable. Sometimes he was very quiet, and that was when Qui- Gon's vulnerability became strength. This man, with his quaking and hitching, wasn't Qui-Gon at all.

Still, he held him tighter, and began to stroke his palm down the man's spine, and he realised that closer, like this, the fit of their bodies wasn't so unnatural after all. Qui-Gon was solid, not hollow.

They stood that way a long time, until it was comfortable, until Qui-Gon was still. By then, Obi-Wan didn't want to let go.

Qui-Gon's grip loosened first, and Obi-Wan released him, reluctantly, though his hands couldn't quite leave, reaching up of their own accord to smooth Qui-Gon's hair. "You need to sleep. Leave all this for the morning."

Qui-Gon nodded, and followed placidly.

In his bedroom, he looked as lost as ever, and Obi-Wan found himself unlatching Qui-Gon's belt, unwrapping his obi as though he were injured. His tunic peeled away, and he sat on the bed as directed so Obi-Wan could tug off his boots. Obi-Wan scooped up his feet and turned him to lie on the bed in his trousers, and then perched on the edge.

Qui-Gon watched him through tired eyes, seeming to consider and discard at least four things to say before finally whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Obi-Wan really didn't want him to be. The year had been filled with regrets and losses, and he didn't want this closeness to be one of them. He touched a tendril of the silvering hair, then reached over to untangle the band from its hold, catching his fingers to tumble Qui-Gon's hair loose.

Qui-Gon needed him, as he never had, and the thought filled Obi-Wan with tenderness. Something here was fragile - not Qui- Gon... the moment, this trust. He let Qui-Gon's hair slide though his hands, tugging out the gnarls. Qui-Gon's gaze pressed him, waiting for something. Wisdom. Guidance. His eyes were red.

Obi-Wan summoned a tiny smile, but it did nothing to break the strange tension between them. He didn't know why he was leaning closer until he felt warm lips press against his own, beard prickling his chin.

Space crept between them, and they were both wide-eyed.

The weight of a hand pressed on the back of his neck, pulling him closer; the softest, gentlest of sounds escaped Qui-Gon's throat, and it stirred somewhere deep in Obi-Wan's stomach. He was lying half-across Qui-Gon's body, his fingers tangled in the soft hair, their chests pressed together.

It was a timid kiss, their lips barely touching, barely parting. They didn't know what this was, yet, or where it was going, but Qui-Gon's breath tickled over Obi-Wan's tongue. The scents of Qui-Gon's hair and skin were warm and familiar, and then Qui- Gon's fingers pressed into Obi-Wan's waist and their bodies pushed closer and their mouths opened together, and the taste of him was new, this soft wet mouth.

Qui-Gon's hands covered his back, firm, restless strokes from shoulder to waist, never quite further, not sure enough to make this move, but those huge hands had Obi-Wan aroused already, and though he wasn't sure what he wanted from this, Obi-Wan knew he wanted more, to press the length of them together, to feel Qui-Gon's powerful thighs between his own, all the power of Qui-Gon's body beneath his own, wanted the depth of these kisses shared in their bodies. He drew back and Qui-Gon resisted, but Obi-Wan pulled until he could see his master's face, swollen red lips and eyes that needed, and the lines that spidered from the corners of his eyes were damp, and Obi-Wan was abruptly ashamed.

How quickly he'd forgotten Qui-Gon's sorrow in his own desire, trust no sooner given than he had abused it. "I'm sorry." Qui- Gon's lips parted, a new pain in his eyes, and Obi-Wan caressed his cheek, soothing. "I am taking advantage."

A tiny frown. "You?" Qui-Gon's hands swept up Obi-Wan's back. "Of me?"

Obi-Wan blinked. "You want this?"

"Of course. Why else would I..." A sad huff of laughter, his head pressing back into the pillow, and Qui-Gon drew a thick forefinger along Obi-Wan's lip. "I thought I was taking advantage of you. Your kindness. Your sympathy."

Take advantage of him. Obi-Wan didn't know Qui-Gon at all. He tried to catch his gaze, hoping the wavering blue eyes might suddenly reveal everything the man had held back all these years, but Qui-Gon only watched his own finger on Obi-Wan's mouth.

He didn't need to read Qui-Gon's mind. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and kissed the straying finger, and then leaned past it, down to kiss the man. Softly, sweetly, showing as best he could how much this meant. "Does this feel like pity?" Another kiss, still slow, tasting inside Qui-Gon as he ground their hips, breathing, "Is this pity?" into his open mouth.

Qui-Gon's fists twisted in Obi-Wan's tunics, guiding him up until he lay atop the length of Qui-Gon's beautiful, strong body.

The prod of a hard shaft against Obi-Wan's belly brought momentary shock and then a dizzy rush of excitement. The gritty rude need of a thick cock made Qui-Gon suddenly real in a way Obi-Wan realised he had never been. Not just a Jedi master with human frailties and needs, but... a man, with a stiff, greedy prick, a man who masturbated and fucked, and the thought aroused Obi-Wan completely.

The last time he'd fantasised about this man, it had been the romantic, formless imaginings of an adolescent, a virgin. To be held close, to be kissed and cared for. Now... now he wondered if Qui-Gon liked it on his knees or his back. If he liked rough hands on his cock and balls. How far he would let Obi-Wan take him in public places.

Qui-Gon was kissing him hard, beard scraping his chin, tongue filling his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulder and arse to drag him deeper. Desperate for Obi-Wan.

And then they were waiting, bodies gasping together for air, Qui-Gon's breath hot and damp in Obi-Wan's ear. "I wish I'd found you years ago."

Obi-Wan sat up, astride Qui-Gon's hips, to yank off his tunics in one great tangle of cloth, feeling the hungry stare as he tugged them over his head and tossed them into a corner. He smiled at Qui-Gon's wild look. "It's not too late."

Qui-Gon's lips pressed tight, and he grasped Obi-Wan's hips with both hands as he curled up to bury his face against his chest. Obi-Wan's arms came around to hold him, to draw him closer with a handful of hair, and now it was the most natural fit in the world, and now it was all right, it was right that Qui-Gon's shoulders hitched, and then let go a long, shuddering breath.

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