Master Apprentice Archive Reinvention Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Archive: M-A and Jacynthe D'Morae's, all others ask, I probably won't say no

Categories: Q/O pairing, PWP. Chapter one is a first-time, chapter two is bondage/power play, chapter three is romance. Fun for everyone!

Feedback: Dying for it, please. padawanhilary@gonwan.com

Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have to make some changes in the way they deal with each other and the Council

Disclaimers:If anyone officially authorized to be involved with them reads this, I hope you see two things: This was done out of utmost adoration, and I have no money.
 
 

Chapter One: Pretend

The Jedi were constant. For millennia, the staunch traditions, rigorous schedule and firmly-adhered-to reputation of the Order had been renowned. Nothing had changed, nothing had even shifted but the tides of Light and Dark. But the Light and Dark moved like Yin and Yang: they swirled around each other, distinctly cleaved, nothing changing within each side.

Within the Light, the Jedi moved as they always had: with calm, stoic precision, displaying neither tumult nor turmoil, even thrust violently into battle. There is no emotion, there is only peace.

Some Jedi sheathed turmoil behind cool masks, bringing it to rein tightly, quickly, and absolutely; some Jedi felt no turmoil. Two, however, neither lacked nor hid emotional tumult, and this was rapidly becoming a problem: The Padawan displayed his to the Master; the Master, in turn, to the Council.

It was a classic case of bantha shit rolling uphill.

Of course, it always came back down, eventually. And so the pendulum swung, to the mutual dissatisfaction of all parties. Somehow, it never interfered with the dutiful obligations of either the Jedi pair, nor did it interfere with the ability of the Council to deliver orders.

That is, until, one rather eventful day in which the clear words, "We will not accept the mission" rang through the glassy, stony Council chamber.

Obi-Wan braced for impact.

His Master shot him a look, cool and unreadable to the casual observer, but to Obi-Wan there was a warning as distinct as the words to the Council had been.

Small green eyebrows had gone up markedly at the rejection. "Reject a Council-sanctioned assignment, do you, Master Jinn? Explanation you have for this action, I am quite sure."

"Yes, Master Yoda, if you will permit me," Qui-Gon replied smoothly, his voice as wooden as his expression. "It is documented that our mission success ratio is higher than that of any other pair in the Order. It is also documented that we have had fewer leave days -- and more days designated to healers' quarters -- than any other pair. We require rest, peace, and latitude that does not involve a bacta tank or a long cross-galaxy trip on a cruiser."

Obi-Wan could hear the acid etching on those words. So, apparently, could Master Windu. "What you require, Master Jinn, is a formal reprimand. The Council have tolerated your insubordination for decades, and the latitude you seem to require has been given you, time and again."

Master Mundi spoke then. "Your actions betray nothing of your words. But your words have never gone unmarked. To reject a Council-assigned mission and demand personal leave time in its stead is a most unsavoury and selfish mannerism on your part."

"Grant you personal leave we shall," Master Yoda spoke suddenly, his words drawing a cool jolt of surprise through the chamber. "However, Master Qui-Gon," he emphasized the endearment, displaying that the latitude Qui-Gon had demanded had always been there, "consider you must the weight of your actions here today. Much trouble have you placed upon us. Operatives we must find for the mission, now, when the best operatives we had already selected. Created delays and problems you have, in the interest of sleeping late." He laced his own words with a dour note. "Question the Council, you do, so often. Wonder we must if you are truly at peace here, or if you require permanent reassignment to another system. Or, desire you resignation from the Order altogether?"

The words fell in the hall, rocking back and forth among the collective consciousness. It was unthinkable... leave the Order? And yet, there it was. For the first time in his service to the Light, Qui-Gon Jinn was speechless.

Yoda nodded decisively, moving on as though he had never asked his latter question. He tapped his stick on the side of his seat. "Yes, yes. Leave you shall have. Find your center, you shall, and your Padawan, too." Masters Yoda and Qui-Gon both turned to Obi-Wan. "Much has he to learn as well, about patience, peace, and silence."

Qui-Gon could only raise his eyebrows in mute agreement. He was quite sure he would hear about this particular incident later -- in the Gardens, in the dining hall, in their rooms; it mattered little where they went, Obi-Wan was continuously plying his will toward the older Jedi, and continuously failing. Qui-Gon had been lax in the breaking of this particular habit because he wished to encourage free thinking in his Padawan.

Plus, he found it vaguely endearing. Until, that is, Obi-Wan would start pushing for Qui-Gon to settle down so he could secure a Council seat. Then, Qui-Gon would generally clip the discussion short, pulling rank if necessary. Familiarity and endearment only went so far.

"Go, go," Master Yoda said impatiently, seeing the distant look in his former Padawan's eyes. "Submitted your leave will be. Begin tomorrow it will. Require transports, you do not, I hope?"

"No, Master," Qui-Gon murmured, sounding rather humbled, bowing, and turning to go. Obi-Wan bowed as well, and followed after his Master.

"Master," Obi-Wan began hesitantly, as he always did before he picked up steam and blazed ahead. "The Council today --" He paused, as if on cue.

"Not now, Padawan," Qui-Gon fairly growled, plying his tray with some kind of Tyderian salad. His response came fully as expected, just as he had fully expected his Padawan to broach the subject. Still, he was curious to know what possible argument Obi-Wan could pose: the venerable Master had found Obi-Wan to be at fault as well.

"Master, I only wanted to say, I am sorry for being so vocal about my opinions. I am not experienced in the Force and in politics as you are, and so I have no right. It's not my place."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Well, this was about as new a concept as -- well, as he himself growing humble before the Council.

"What shall we do, then, Padawan?" he asked seriously, nodding his head in the direction of a table and indicating Obi-Wan precede him through the crowded dining hall. "We are instructed in no uncertain terms to be at peace with each other and the Council. The inability to do so will find us shuffled off to the Outer Rim settling gambling disputes among the Hutts." He settled himself at the table and bent toward his meal, not very intent on it.

Obi-Wan glanced away, his clear blue eyes suddenly filled with disturbance. "I-- I am sure I don't know, Master." He, too, picked at his plate without interest. Qui-Gon sent a questioning tendril along the training bond, testing for some unforseen problem between them, but whatever it was, it did not seem to involve him. He withdrew and sat up straight.

"I am not much for this meal, Padawan," he muttered abruptly, trying to soften the gruffness in his voice, but clearly failing. "I shall see you in our quarters." And he rose and took his tray straight to the washers, untouched; Obi-Wan watched him leave the dining hall.

He shoved a faintly blue cube of colo fish meat to one side and, elbow propped on the tabletop, slumped his cheek into his palm. He knew exactly why he questioned his Master. That is, he knew the underlying cause but could not determine what he expected to gain from his actions. Being in love and in deep, terrible lust with one's Master sometimes produced stress and tension, but in and of itself did not lend itself to continued argument with the Master's opinions.

It certainly wasn't that Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon to be wrong in most cases: today, in fact, he had been most impressed that his Master had gone in having already done research into the statistics of the Order's deployments, and was concerned enough about him, about both of them, to forgo mission over sanity. Sith knew, Obi-Wan didn't want to go out on another mission right now; they'd only just come back from the last one. So what was it? Was it along the same lines as pulling a female Initiate's hair in the creche because you liked her? Surely he was old enough to be past that kind of behaviour now.

Perhaps, truly, he wasn't. But what then, his nearly-fifty Master was supposed to pick up fourth-year behavior and respond to it knowingly? Obi-Wan cringed, thinking of all the arguments he had started over Qui-Gon's problems with the Council. Qui-Gon fought because he was right; Obi-Wan fought because he wanted make-up sex.

He sullenly poked a vegetable with his fork and banged it on the plate softly, wielding it like a small, idle hammer. He was pouting, but he didn't care. Something had to happen, and soon: and he had a sinking feeling it was up to him to initiate it.

The rooms were dim when he returned to them, the light streaking up from the base of the walls softly. He assumed his Master was meditating, and moved to do the same himself. He needed to clear his mind. He needed a cleansing respite. I need to get laid, he thought irreverently, and shoved it aside. He moved silently to his room, palmed the door closed, dropped the lights completely and drew the drapes tightly against Coruscant's perpetual ambient light, embracing the darkness. Darkness seemed to be so abused. He found it comforting. Here in the dark, in privacy, he could do, be, think anything he wanted to, and purge his small, few demons as they cropped up. Slay them in anger with a metaphysical lightsaber, rage at them, scream in his mind at their very existence. Tradition, complacence, compliance! What were the good of them if one went stir crazy inside their boundaries?

Sighing, he settled on his knees into a meditative stance. He sank to a low consciousness almost immediately, the product of long years of practice. The Jedi tradition of peace and calm was difficult to bear at times, regardless of training. It was hinged theoretically on the premises of honor and respect, but this didn't help in the practical application. Respect leads to admiration, admiration leads to affection, affection leads to lust, lust leads to love. Or something like that. That was how it had gone for Obi-Wan, in the case of his Master. So now he knelt in his room in the cavelike darkness, a hermit to his own emotions. Emotions too tumultous to display. He practiced at burying them.

But to be buried, they at least had to lie still. He had never found a way to make this happen. They snickered at him, taunting, circling him, little monsters that they were. Unrequited desire and one-sided love, the sense of incompletion, loneliness, desperate lust. Ah, me, he thought, unable to find his center. Standing impatiently, he flexed and bent his knees and began to pace in the dark, his hand rubbing at his eyes and forehead.

Edgy. He had always been too edgy, Qui-Gon said. He hid it well, but Qui-Gon generally felt it, and Obi-Wan supposed it made him edgy as well. Obi-Wan could stifle bitchy irritation beneath a veneer of complacency as readily as most Jedi take complacency to heart. Obi-Wan had always wondered which was the greater skill. He paced restlessly in the pitch blackness. Oh, for one chance to rail angrily, fists clenched, pacing like this, gesturing wildly at the Council without the constant assumption that he was crossing over to the damned Dark Side.

What kind of arrangement was that, anyway? One stray thought in the wrong direction and poof, you were a Sith Lord. What would the Council make of his anger, his lust? What about angry lust? What about the idea that he could stride right into Qui-Gon's room and take him, immediately, on the floor? That would absolve years of frustration right there. "Yes, Padawan, take me now!" he heard in his head, and lust poured through him like molten rock. What about hunger, and burning need? What about tenderness and devotion? He tried to calm his raging desire but tenderness and devotion were pushed roughly aside like a couple of unwanted layers of clothing under roving hands.

Was that it then? Were all his difficulties with his Master so easily tallied up to years of one-sided lust? He doubted it. But Obi-Wan realized that frustration and loneliness were larger demons to him than he'd first wanted to admit. He'd stared into those deep cerulean eyes too long, been guided by the large, firm hands, felt the tension in battle of that tall, lithe body. Now he wanted the hands and eyes and body to be doing entirely new things to him, and the want wasn't going away the longer the things didn't happen.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was muffled by the door before it slid open under his hand. He was surprised to see, in the light that fell into the room from the hall, Obi-Wan standing tensely in the middle of the dark room, obviously in distress. "For one so quiet, Padawan, you are creating quite a disturbance." Obi-Wan flushed, realizing he must have projected quite a distance.

Qui-Gon turned on the light a little, enough to see but low, so that it wouldn't bother Obi-Wan's eyes after the darkness. "Would you care to tell me what's going on?" the Master asked softly, moving in to sit on Obi-Wan's bunk.

Unable to contain it, blurting out his problems suddenly, with key dramatis personae left out of course, Obi-Wan vented his problem with the Code in respect to emotion, and the sexual desire and love he had been repressing.

Qui-Gon regarded him steadily. Even sitting, with Obi-Wan standing a fair distance away from him, Qui-Gon was striking an imposing figure. Would that he would only impose a little more, Obi-Wan thought recklessly, and squelched it before it could escape. Damn demons.

"You know that the Code refers to those emotions which we cannot control, which we allow to rule us. Emotions released into the Force are not the same, Obi-Wan. We have been over this before." There was no note of disapproval, nor was there a sense of resignation. Obi-Wan was how he was.

"Yes Master, but-- "Obi-Wan paced some more, rubbing at the back of his neck, fiddling with his braid. Qui-Gon could see how nervous he was.

"So you have had feelings for someone for years, feelings that involve sexual desire, and now you feel that this is a difficulty and is interfering with your sense of calm." Qui-Gon had always had an infuriating knack for breaking down Obi-Wan's vehement emotions to clinical simplicity. "Have you... approached the individual?" Qui-Gon peered at his Padawan in the dimness, and Obi-Wan stopped pacing and met his eyes, wondering at the expression on Qui-Gon's face... but there was no expression. He was, as always, inscrutable.

"Not..." Obi-Wan paused, licking his lips. "Not as such," he murmured lamely. Oh there had been lots of times when he had wished his Master would only tune in to the training bond at certain times. Sometimes he thought that getting caught at it would be easier and more acceptable somehow than confessing to it. After so long, it was difficult to think of how a discussion like that could be breached.

"Well then, there's your answer," Qui-Gon said brightly. "Surely one so attractive as you will win out," he added, inscrutably. Obi-Wan couldn't decide if he was speaking from personal opinion or in generalities. Of course, there was always the maddening possibility that he could see that Obi-Wan was attractive but not be attracted to him.

Obi-Wan pulled a veneer of stillness and calm over himself, forcibly. "Master, I am not sure that's an option at this juncture," he informed the almost-too-beautiful older man, and his heart clenched at the contradiction between his cool voice and his hot feelings.

Qui-Gon gazed at him steadily. "Have you considered the possiblity of acting out your desires with someone else?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, rooted to the floor. He cast his eyes away. That would be unthinkable. Not even he had that good an imagination, to pretend--

"No, Master, it hadn't crossed my mind." Not in a millenium could that have crossed his mind.

"Let's see then," Qui-Gon suggested amiably. "Is the ... individual ... human?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Oh, that's convenient. Male or female?"

"M-male." Obi-Wan wondered how much further Qui-Gon was going to try to narrow down the possibilities.

"Age?"

Obi-Wan made a noise and a vague gesture with his hand in the air, shaking his head, signifying nothing.

"Well then. Perhaps, in the interest of bringing you some personal peace, I might indulge you."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in mute shock.

"I mean, Padawan, that if you could act them out with me, perhaps you could dismiss this particular difficulty. Resolve it in your mind."

Obi-Wan stared harder, if that were possible. "So you would do this for me-- and what of your difficulties?"

Qui-Gon smiled a little. "Oh, I am sure we shall find a way to resolve mine eventually. We do what we can when we can, Padawan."

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking away, but the wheels were clicking: what if. What if. His gaze went distant at the idea of pretending to pretend to be with someone else. He shook his head again, wondering which was more ridiculous, doing it, or refusing it. Here was a chance to fulfill his desires: but would he want Qui-Gon to do this out of a clinical desire to improve his social skills?

And of course the more important question was, did he care?

"That would-- be a kindness," he stammered, finding vaguely that he did care, in fact he cared a great deal about how Qui-Gon came to him. But his Jedi veneer was dissolving under his Master's calm, questioning looks, like candy on the tongue.

He closed his eyes tightly. Now's not the time for that kind of imagery, Kenobi, he reprimanded himself. "But I am not sure that would be a good idea, Master," he heard himself saying almost distantly, and wanted to shake himself. Was he an idiot, or did he really enjoy long, slow torture at the hands of his cackling little demons? Maybe this would be the thing, maybe this could help him cast them out. Maybe they would be completely incompatible in bed, and the fantasizing and broken sleep would end there, abruptly. But his mouth went on talking, heedless of his brain's bent: "I wouldn't want to do anything to damage our training relationship, and sexual relations have a way of complicating things." Sith hells, Kenobi, you pick now to channel his intellectualism?

Qui-Gon shrugged. "As your Master, I feel I should do whatever I can to alleviate your difficulties. Especially now, as we have been dealt an ultimatum." He looked pointedly at Obi-Wan, who groaned inwardly. The duty trump card. He hated that one, but it worked a treat, and Qui-Gon knew it.

"It is our responsibility to explore and test every option," Obi-Wan admitted, his voice sounding more and more as though it might fail him as his mind took every phrase and turned it into a sexual position. "Viewing from every angle," he added with internal perversity. Might as well make it good.

Qui-Gon nodded approvingly. "I am sure we are both mature enough to speak of any hard issues that may arise before they become problematic," he assured his Padawan, who was quite sure that Qui-Gon was doing this on purpose now. "After all, it is an exercise in roleplay," he rose from Obi-Wan's bunk, shedding his voluminous brown robe onto a nearby chair. "Visualize your desired partner," he instructed as smoothly as though he were directing 'saber exercises (and Obi-Wan scoffed at the direction his mind took that mental comment).

Qui-Gon stepped close to Obi-Wan, inspecting his tunic, tugging at it, straightening it, as though the Padawan were about to appear before a review board. Obi-Wan's breath hooked in his throat and he looked off to one side. What, exactly was he supposed to do now?

"Reinvent yourself. Pretend," Qui-Gon rephrased simply, tipping Obi-Wan's chin up to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan couldn't tell if he had sent his thought through the bond or not. It was too close, how was he supposed to pull this off? Pretend, indeed. As if he needed personal reinvention to act like he wanted-- and then Qui-Gon was cupping the back of his Padawan's neck in a large, gentle hand, drawing him close, slowly, as though to allow Obi-Wan time to escape if need be.

Escape, hell. Obi-Wan was like a Tirellian antelope caught in floodlights. His perception narrowed to the mouth moving toward his, that word, "pretend," echoing between the two of them guiltily. Warm breath caressed his lips a scant second before he was trapped, completely trapped by that questioning, soft mouth. Clinical no more, Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan with an exploratory sweetness that was rapidly breaking down Obi-Wan's resolve. He was here, doing this, kissing his Master, the man he had adored and lusted after for years, but ... but ... pretending.

He clamped down tightly on the thought before it could interfere, and thrust his tongue firmly between Qui-Gon's parted lips, met in turn with a newer, more demanding kiss. Pulling from deep inside himself, he dragged out the frustration of the past years, dragged out the loneliness, the love, the fiery lust and shoved it all to the surface. Acting, roleplay, pretending, it was all about putting oneself in the Moment. Adjusting to it. It was just a different Jedi order: placing the desired face on whatever undesired reaction might be inside.

It was all useless knowledge, Obi-Wan knew, as he poured long-stagnant frustration and need into the kiss, sure that some of it was leaking through the training bond. His lips slid over Qui-Gon's, catching and playing, his tongue dancing with that other soft, quick, clever one. He couldn't recall exactly when he had wound his arms about Qui-Gon's neck, or when it had been, quite, that they had pressed their bodies together, standing flush against each other in the middle of the floor. Pretending? The longing vented itself in waves; surely this could only be good, even if it wasn't exactly-- no, it wasn't at all-- what Qui-Gon thought it was.

He tugged at Qui-Gon's mouth with his teeth, and reveled in the groan the small action produced. His long fingers weaved through Qui-Gon's hair, as soft and sensual as it always had been, every day as he helped his Master put it back. But now, to be combing his fingers through it in the middle of such a kiss-- he moaned into Qui-Gon's mouth.

Years, he thought wildly, pushing it through the bond without thinking. One look, one word, I would come running to you, he babbled mentally, then pulled back, shocked at himself. Qui-Gon seemed more bothered that the kissing had stopped so abruptly. "Let it all go, Padawan," he soothed, and Obi-Wan realized he was still thinking in third-party terms. He didn't know then if he was relieved or disappointed. Qui-Gon's mouth came down on his again, hard, teeth biting and tongue slashing through his mouth. Let it all go, Obi-Wan thought. Let it all go. Pour the pain and fear of rejection and the sleepless nights into Qui-Gon. Release them, and then you will be able to breathe again.

But Obi-Wan found he was clinging to the angst almost jealously as Qui-Gon's fevered kisses slid along his jawbone to his ear. He shuddered hard as Qui-Gon's breath rasped against his skin, whispering, "Give it all up to me, Obi-Wan. Don't pen it up anymore." But Obi-Wan was sure now that he couldn't. How would that be possible, when he knew that Qui-Gon wasn't aware of his true feelings? Relief and release would only come with truth.

An opportunity will present itself, his Master's sage voice echoed in his mind. It was a favored maxim, and Obi-Wan was able then to release at least his anxiety into the Force.

Qui-Gon's mouth was trailing hotly down his throat now, breath heavy and tongue cool in comparison. Obi-Wan clung to him, eyes tightly closed, savoring the tickling, shooting fire as his Master's beard stroked his neck and collarbone. Qui-Gon was tugging at his belt and sash then, and Obi-Wan took cue from that, shakily and impatiently removing his Master's tunics. Clothing slid to the floor, unheeded, in piles, boots impatiently toed then yanked off. Qui-Gon pulled his young Padawan back toward the bed, sitting roughly as the backs of his knees struck the edge of it. Obi-Wan did not follow suit; he knelt.

Years of dreams came to fruition as he tucked his torso between those knees, sliding his hands possessively along the hard thighs to Qui-Gon's hips. Obi-Wan stared at his Master, mentor, trainer, his breath shallow with need. Qui-Gon looked equally desperate, eyes glazed and cock erect and dark. Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon's head forcefully down to his own, kissing him savagely, and Qui-Gon's response matched the kiss perfectly, fitting mouths together in raging desire. Years, Obi-Wan thought again. Qui-Gon moaned as Obi-Wan's flat, firm stomach pressed against his erection, hot and throbbing greedily. He pumped his hips slightly, but Obi-Wan curved his back, no longer arching up to kiss his Master, but leaning down to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking and flicking his tongue over it as his teeth grazed it delicately. Qui-Gon groaned loudly, from the sensation on his nipple, or the lack of sensation on his completely lose control, to drop the cool, elevated demeanor and fuck his mouth. No more distance, no more fighting, nothing, just come for me, he almost pleaded now. He gripped Qui-Gon's hips, encouraging his deep thrusts as Obi-Wan's mouth sucked hard, licking.

But then his mouth slowed, and Qui-Gon moaned as the fervent sucking shifted to soft, slow movement. Obi-Wan was momentarily distracted as he reached to one side and felt under the corner of the mattress. His hand withdrew quickly, holding a small tube, and Qui-Gon stared raptly in anticipation, his breath harsh and hot. "Yes," he said throatily, parting his legs wide as Obi-Wan applied the cool lubricant to a finger. He removed his mouth from Qui-Gon's cock, causing a flare of disappointment through the bond and a noise that sounded somewhat like a whimper. Quickly Obi-Wan redeemed himself by trailing his tongue down Qui-Gon's length to his sack, breathing hot air onto it as his tongue lapped at it, tightening it. Qui-Gon's breath was shallow and fast, then shuddering as Obi-Wan's tongue found his entrance, circling it, deliberately teasing, darting around it quickly.

"Padawan." It was half-plea, half threat.

Obi-Wan eased his finger slowly into Qui-Gon, turning it, withdrawing slightly to press it back inside again. He was rewarded with a long, hissing groan that issued through Qui-Gon's clenched teeth. Gently, he set a rhythm that did not match the flaring need of his years-long lust, but it set the stage. Moving now, pulsing, his mouth wrapped itself around Qui-Gon's cock again, cool from the wet lack of contact but still hard, hard as stone. Now Qui-Gon's hips rocked forward, matching the rhythm of Obi-Wan's mouth and hand as he added another finger, teasing the sensitized prostate and eliciting a gasp and a hard shudder. Qui-Gon's hands were in his short hair, grasping the short ponytail at the back of his head, guiding him up and down, mostly down, harder, further. Obi-Wan moaned around Qui-Gon's cock and Qui-Gon hissed some incoherent blessing at him as the vibrations from his throat caressed the head of his shaft. Hand and mouth worked in unison now, and Obi-Wan was lost.

Yes, I've waited so long for this, for you, Obi-Wan's mental voice uttered, and he moaned again, deliberately low, sending shudders through Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon felt the years of self-imposed denial and fear melting into him as Obi-Wan's desire rose and fell, washing over him like waves on sand. Obi-Wan let go a small amount of the frustration he had felt, carefully, and the greed with which Qui-Gon took it and assimilated it astonished him. He moaned again, and it proved too much.

Good! he encouraged disjointedly as Qui-Gon tensed and came, screaming out his pleasure, holding Obi-Wan's head to him, and clenching around his fingers. Oh gods, yes, Obi-Wan licked and sucked and swallowed, and his Master bucked into his mouth uncontrollably, head tipped back, neck arched, hands in his Padawan's hair.

He slumped back onto the bed, breath heaving in and out, and Obi-Wan withdrew hand and mouth, staring. His Master looked more spectacular in ecstacy than even he could have fantasized: his long brown and silver hair fanned out around his head, stray strands clinging in the beard. His eyes were clenched closed but his mouth gasped for air, the frantic breaths slowing somewhat. The chest, that muscular, beautiful chest-- Obi-Wan reached out and slid his hand along it, soothing when Qui-Gon jumped a little-- sculpted by years of training. One arm was cocked back by his head, the other bent downward so that a hand rested on his smooth, flat stomach.

Beautiful, he whispered mentally to himself, astonishment fueling his desire. "I--" he tried to begin, voice caught in his throat. His Master tilted his head up, beckoning lazily with the hand that rested on his stomach. Obi-Wan climbed onto the bed, straddling Qui-Gon's hips, gaze darting over his Master's face.

"Now, Padawan, I think it would be best for this exercise if you voiced some of the things that bother you most about this unrequited lust of yours." His voice was low and amazingly calm, considering the screaming orgasm he had just reached moments ago. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Remember, we are still in role," he breathed.

Obi-Wan floundered for words. He knelt over his Master's body, both of them gleaming damply with sweat. His erection was yet unattended, and it was distracting that Qui-Gon, pressed beneath him closely, was shifting and growing firm again. But he drew up his boldness-- bravado, actually-- and leaned forward, pinning their erections between them, side by side. Qui-Gon stifled a gasp, and Obi-Wan smiled inwardly. Role or no, the physical chemistry was blatantly apparent. Obi-Wan leaned on his elbows, his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders, stroking idly. He pressed a soft, almost delicate kiss on Qui-Gon's throat, darting his tongue out to taste the skin, inhaling deeply. Oh, he could just eat this man alive! Qui-Gon shivered.

Obi-Wan laid his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, sure that his pulsing erection was enough of a display of how his control was flagging. He kept his face turned into Qui-Gon's throat, whispering softly. "It bothers me that the desire goes unacknowledged," he began. "It bothers me that the Council would frown upon it, thinking--" he grasped for wording, his breath falling on Qui-Gon's skin, "thinking that a relationship is the last thing their best Padawan operative needs to worry about." Not to mention their best Master, he added internally, but to say that out loud would be stepping out of character, so he continued. "I lay awake some nights, thinking about this-- about you," he amended, struggling for enough of his mental facilities to remember the ruse. "Sometimes it makes me angry... I think about simply tearing off your uniforms and--" he flushed, swallowing hard. He tasted Qui-Gon, still, and his heart beat faster at the thought of all of this. "It isn't fair, the duty, the tradition, I am human, and I deserve love and lust and reciprocation." Some of his muted frustration returned, and he rose a little, looking into Qui-Gon's eyes. Even if this was just pretend, surely his Master would understand that these were basic needs. Rights, even. Even for a Jedi.

"And so the adherence to duty bothers you, when you aren't getting the other half of what would make you whole," Qui-Gon finished for him, his voice soft but noncommittal. Obi-Wan nodded. Qui-Gon nodded as well, understanding. "How is it, then, that you deal with the feelings for... this person?"

Obi-Wan looked away, moving his hand to pluck at the coverlet in feigned interest. There was no honest answer he could give that would be correct, he knew that now. "I have been pushing them down," he replied, his voice ever quieter. "It-- is very hard." He swallowed again. This tenderness he was feeling, it wasn't supposed to be part of this sociological experiement. This was supposed to be a pressure valve for his long-standing lust. But he knew that he loved Qui-Gon, had known for so long, and now, wondered despairingly what would become of it.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon tilted his head to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "How long have you had these feelings?"

"I have loved him since I was fifteen," he replied simply, and Qui-Gon's eyes softened.

"For eight years you have felt all this and never said a word," Qui-Gon said wonderingly, his voice and his eyes distant.

Obi-Wan began to see.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, unable to think anymore rational thoughts. His senses were torn between the conflicting emotions his Master seemed intent upon rousing, and the body beneath his.

"So... if given a chance, then?" Qui-Gon looked up at him, keeping his voice even, and Obi-Wan blinked at him. "Tonight, when you were pacing madly and sending sheets of irrepressible lust over every Force-sensitive within this quadrant of the building," he teased, and Obi-Wan flushed and buried his face again, but Qui-Gon coaxed him up, looking into his eyes, his voice growing soft and tender again. "If you had a chance then, right then, what would you have done?" The words were whispered and were accompanied by something Qui-Gon had done before in more mundane settings: He recalled the turbulence of Obi-Wan's earlier mood and sent it to him through the training bond. He had no specifics, Obi-Wan knew, but he had picked up on the demanding desire and the anger of self-imposed denial. And Obi-Wan got it all back in a rush.

His eyes and his mood became feral. Memories of years... seven years' worth of sometimes painful, sometimes sweet longing overtook him, and flashes of Qui-Gon in the training room (Oh I wish I could just touch him), in the Council hall (He's so strong-- I want--), on missions (Complicated, infuriating, maddeningly beautiful) came instantly to his recall. His erection flared to life as he remembered in all the ways, for all the reasons that he had ever wanted Qui-Gon, and all the ways and reasons he had denied himself this. He ground his hips downward against Qui-Gon's and made a noise that was half-purr, half-sigh.

What, indeed, would he have done tonight, if he had been of the mind to act?

"I would have gone to your room," he began to speak, staring down at his Master, who stared back, enrapt. "I would have found you there meditating, and pulled you to your feet, and --" he broke off speaking, taking Qui-Gon's lips in a searing kiss, his tongue churning against Qui-Gon's. He completed the thought by sending images of himself bent over Qui-Gon's back, buried inside him, both men gasping in ecstatic union. Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's head then and began kissing him madly, with a sudden intensity that hadn't been before. Qui-Gon shifted and turned on the bed, carrying Obi-Wan with him, till they were lengthwise on it. His hands roamed over Obi-Wan's back, but it was more than a desire to pleasure: it was a desire to memorise curve and contour, warm skin, a scar there, small dips at the backs of hipbones, and then he was grasping Obi-Wan's hips, his long fingers curving around the firm, smooth ass, pulling him downward as his own hips pushed up. Obi-Wan moaned and bit Qui-Gon's bottom lip, running his tongue along it. Qui-Gon dragged a fingertip along the cleft of Obi-Wan's ass and Obi-Wan shivered and rocked his hips back toward that hand. Then Qui-Gon was holding the lubricant, pressing Obi-Wan up and away from him. Obi-Wan stared down, lips parted as they tried to catch air, his chest rising and falling with effort. You make me forget to breathe, he sent, and Qui-Gon's eyes caught his but he said nothing. He squeezed lubricant into his hand and smeared it unceremoniously over Obi-Wan's cock, and Obi-Wan sucked in air and tipped his head back, letting out a long, deep noise.

Qui-Gon parted his legs and angled his hips upward. "I thought," he whispered, his voice catching oddly, "that it might be better this way, so we don't--" he licked his lips-- "forget who--"

His breath left him suddenly as the Padawan pressed his cock into him fluidly, levering Qui-Gon's hips up so they were resting against Obi-Wan's thighs. Obi-Wan dropped his head, overwhelmed, and nearly climaxed instantly.

Tell me what you would have done, Qui-Gon sent.

Tight, was all Obi-Wan could think at him at first, and Qui-Gon waited.

"Wanted you... hard," Obi-Wan muttered, sliding out slowly, exhaling shakily and hoping the effort of speech through this thick pleasure would keep him focused. "I wanted to see you lose control," he said more clearly, slipping inside again, and moaning in spite of himself. Qui-Gon was making small writhing movements and it was driving him mad. He held Qui-Gon's hips firmly and looked at him. "Don't move," he said, his voice as hard as his hands. He pulled out again, then thrust back inside, tight velvety warmth enveloping him, so he began to speak, to distract himself, because thinking about the tight slickness on his shaft was not doing anything for his resolve.

"I wanted to hear my name from your lips, I wanted to hear how badly you wanted me. Maybe to tease you until you begged me to take you." He shuddered and tensed, stopping his movement, and Qui-Gon rolled his head to one side, hissing his frustration. This wasn't working, it was going to end too fast this way.

He tried again. "The Code--" he started to say, and Qui-Gon huffed the beginning of a laugh, contracting around Obi-Wan abruptly. Obi-Wan gasped and laughed too, in spite of himself. The Jedi Code was a common thing human males recited to stave off orgasm. He began yet again. "The Code forbids fear, lust, greed, gluttony, but you inspire all of these in me," he began to breathe irregularly, shifting in and out of Qui-Gon in small pulses, drawing a veil of control around himself from the Force. "I wanted you tonight, to be mine, forever, starting with one immediate, demanding fuck," he said bluntly. Qui-Gon shuddered beneath him and reached for his own tense, hot erection. Obi-Wan swatted his hand away and took the cock himself, stroking it lightly with his fingers, delighting in the noises Qui-Gon was making.

"I wanted to be buried in you, like this, with you screaming out my name. That would have resolved my fear, my loneliness--" he made a noise like a sob and stopped talking. It was enough, enough, he thought, knowing they were no longer playing at this, knowing it was all out now, his anger, his love, his hunger was all there, laid out plainly.

"Make me scream out your name, then, Padawan."

The words were issued like a training command, and Obi-Wan withdrew from Qui-Gon's body abruptly, a little stunned. Qui-Gon looked for an instant as though he would scream Obi-Wan's name, in irritation if not in pleasure. "Turn over," Obi-Wan uttered hoarsely, and Qui-Gon did so, grasping the headboard, knees spread wide. Oh, delicious, he thought out loud, running his hands over the broad back and ribs, relishing the sight of the tight, huge body made so available to him. He pressed himself against Qui-Gon's backside, thighs on thighs, and drove in quickly, Qui-Gon crying out and pressing back insistently. Obi-Wan leaned forward, his chest against the solid back, and reached around for Qui-Gon's cock. His hips began to rock slowly, but soon enough, the pretense of control was lost. Qui-Gon was caught between his hand and the shaft impaling him, and Obi-Wan grew hotly excited at the very idea. My Master, he thought, if you had any idea... He gripped Qui-Gon's cock, squeezed it, stroked it more slowly. He could tell.... it was close... so close, the end of this, and he wanted it to last, but he ached desperately.

"Need you," Qui-Gon bucked backwards onto him, then forward into his hand "Don't stop," he urged, panting.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, thrusting hard. Almost pounding. And he breathed, just so it was known, "It was you. You." In, and in again, hard, skin slapping against glistening skin. Qui-Gon had no words, but Obi-Wan felt understanding shiver through the bond they shared.

Obi-Wan felt himself grow impossibly hard, his head swollen and sensitive, and the fire began to build over him in waves. Qui-Gon groaned, trying to push back. Obi-Wan held him off, battling for control. He pressed inside, slowly... agonizingly slowly... he shuddered and withdrew quickly, and Qui-Gon tried to push himself backwards again; Obi-Wan actually had to manipulate the Force to make his strength match the larger man's. It became a battle of wills.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon begged finally, "please. Please." And Obi-Wan broke, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon's waist and pushing hard inside him, hips bucking as he finally let go-- all of the anger, all of the fear. He came explosively, shrieking raggedly into Qui-Gon's back, shaking hands finding Qui-Gon's cock almost as an afterthought and stroking hastily. He had barely touched the hardness before Qui-Gon did it: first breathed, then screamed Obi-Wan's name as he, too, came, blinding white ecstasy imploding between them.

They collapsed, Qui-Gon's body falling to the pillows, Obi-Wan gasping at the sudden rush of air around him. He moved into Qui-Gon's arms, and Qui-Gon kissed him tenderly, over and over, raining soft kisses over his face and head.

After a breathless pause, Qui-Gon said, "There now, Padawan, that wasn't so bad." His voice teased, but Obi-Wan leaned up on one elbow and looked at him seriously.

"You knew," he said, almost accusingly: almost. But a beaming, half-embarrassed smile found its way onto his face. He had been caught outright, but had he really expected the roleplay to succeed? Had he even wanted it to?

"Of course I knew," Qui-Gon told him. "When you showed me the image of me..."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, settling back into Qui-Gon's embrace, before rising up again on the elbow and looking hard at his Master.

"Then you do feel the same--." he began, but the anxiety insinuated itself back into his mind, and he trailed off.

"Yes, actually, I do," Qui-Gon murmured, looking at his Padawan's mouth. "I have for a long time." Both could feel the unspoken words reverberating. He caught the beautiful mouth quickly in a kiss, and said, "I am sure that we have found a way past at least a few of our differences?" he quipped.

Obi-Wan grinned. "Some, Master. Perhaps." But he grew serious. Perhaps exploration of darker feelings on a personal level would help keep them out of their lives as diplomats. Qui-Gon caught the feeling and volleyed back several interesting possibilities for dealing with darkness, and his Padawan shivered and licked his lips, half-anxious, half-hungry.

Obi-Wan sank down again, enjoying the hard, warm feel of the body he was nearly twined around. Qui-Gon kissed the top of the head that leaned on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan sighed, belief settling in comfortably. He was here. It was real. He thought he might berate himself for wasting time, but what was the good of that? It was done now. Done, and corrected.

He practically snuggled himself into the crook of Qui-Gon's shoulder, and his Master wrapped himself around his apprentice, looking forward.
 

End Chapter One

Chapter Two: Dream

Qui-Gon bolted upright in the darkness, a low scream tearing itself out of his throat. He would have called his 'saber to him but his outstretched arm came up hard against Obi-Wan's chest as his hand swept backward to summon the Force. Obi-Wan's breath left his lungs in a whoosh-- he had sat up too, instantly, and right into Qui-Gon's steely arm. He rocked backward, eyes wide, and Qui-Gon was murmuring contrite but somehow terse apologies and rubbing his Padawan's chest softly, even as the echoes of his nightmare rocketed back and forth in his mind.

"What was it?" Obi-Wan wondered quietly after a moment, cupping Qui-Gon's face and peering at him in the dark. Before sleeping, Qui-Gon had powered down the lights but had never opened the drapes, and the heavy cloth shut out any light Coruscant might have shed into the room. Obi-Wan could not see his Master's eyes, but he felt a kind of darkness there, deeper than that within the pitch-black room.

"Sith," was all the Master muttered, and Obi-Wan was unsure whether it was a summary of the dream, or simply a curse. Qui-Gon tore his face from Obi-Wan's caresses and rose, swinging his leg over Obi-Wan's body and moving swifly off of the bed, muttering something about having slept on the wrong side. He padded naked to the door, palming it open and leaving it that way. Light flowed into the room, dim beams from the automatic system that kept Temple halls and exits lit perpetually. Qui-Gon strode quickly, crossly, down the hall and into the kitchen. The Padawan could hear him running water and putting on the teapot, the clink of a spoon in a cup and a cabinet door sliding closed.

Obi-Wan merely folded his legs closer to his chest and wrapped his arms about them, the sheet draped over him loosely. Whatever had disturbed Qui-Gon so completely would keep till he felt comfortable speaking on it. Still, he wondered why the older man seemed... felt... vexed with his apprentice. "Do you want to talk about it, Master?" he called toward the kitchen, and there was no answer, though he felt sure that his Master had heard him.

Tentatively, he threaded a question through the training bond they shared, and felt it batted away in frustration. Obi-Wan recoiled, then grew irritated, himself. Like that then, is it, he thought, and swung his long legs off of the edge of the bed, tugging the sheet out from its place around his hips and flinging it aside, casting his gaze about for his leggings in the thin light coming in the doorway.

Finding them puddled on the floor a bit away, he moved to them and tugged them on, tying the laces quickly, his movements jerky and irritable. He was tired, had been awakened by his Master's reverberating nightmare cry and then stunned by the blow to his chest as Qui-Gon had gone, still dreaming, for his lightsaber. Obi-Wan understood the dynamics of dreams and the fog of waking in strange rooms; he could appreciate the need for quiet and contemplation after such a nightmare. But he certainly didn't need to wait obediently in bed for his lover while being mistreated about it. He moved to his closet, palmed it open, reached inside, counting garments mentally, and dragged out a soft black robe, throwing it over his shoulders and shoving his arms through the sleeves impatiently.

As he moved through the halls and past the kitchen, he paused in the doorway and told Qui-Gon brusquely, "I'll be in the Gardens, if you decide to pull out of this and talk about it. Whatever difficulty you encountered in your nightmare, I am not the cause of it," he added, pointing at his own chest. He bit his lip in contrition but his eyes remained hard.

Qui-Gon, standing in the overly-lit, overly-white kitchen after the dimness of the room, regarded him silently from behind hooded eyes. "It doesn't concern you, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said, his voice smooth and cold.

"It does concern me, Master, when you're rebuffing me over it." His voice had a brittle edge to it now, and he grew frustrated. "Of all the stubborn-- Do you want this?" he asked suddenly, making an expansive, all-encompassing gesture and studying the handsome, bearded face he loved so well.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," Obi-Wan bit out, tired of his Master's evasive techniques. "The Council asked yesterday that you re-evaluate your position here. You question everything, even my concern for you, even after you know--" he cut off the sentence abrubtly, and glossed over it: "Eventually one has to wonder what it is you would be happy with."

Qui-Gon regarded him, eyes still narrowed. "It is my nature to question," he uttered, his voice as formal as though he were speaking to a roomful of Council, not arguing in the kitchen with his lover. His voice grew slowly as he stated, "I question everything all the way back to taking my first Padawan."

Obi-Wan reeled. He knew the words weren't meant to sting the way they did; at least some part of his rational mind knew this. Hesitating, shifting as if to move, then pausing, Obi-Wan searched for something to say, and found nothing. He turned on his heel and left abruptly, leaving his Master with a vision of his Padawan's smooth skin under the unbelted black robe, hurt in his eyes and anger in his voice. He spat out an expletive, his voice low, ducking his head down and closing his eyes. He leaned heavily on the counter, palms splayed and arms locked straight, tense all over.

Obi-Wan felt a half-pleading, wordless tug at the training bond as he left their quarters, but kept moving. If Qui-Gon wanted something, he would just have to come and talk. Now he was annoyed, but didn't really know why. The visions Qui-Gon had seen in his sleep could not account for this anger between them, surely. Perhaps-- and his throat clicked as he swallowed at this worst-case possibility-- perhaps he was regretting last night. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and kept walking.

The soft floor lighting guided him down the halls, but even in the dark, he would know his way easily. The Gardens, when he reached them, embraced him, the Living Force swirling about him. The tension of Qui-Gon's residual feelings slowly ebbed away as he wandered throughout the starlit landscapes, touching the soft green leaves of plants and trees, giving up his anger to the Force.

Then, suddenly, he was shaking, shaking with some vague thing that felt like fear, but wasn't-- and it dawned slowly on him that this, what he was feeling, wasn't his emotion. It was the remnant of dreams and memories, of half-buried anxieties that had refused, like his own demons, to lie still and stay buried. But where were they coming from? He pressed his forehead to the rough gray bark of a tree, spreading his legs and planting his bare feet in the grass, desperately trying to ground the fear that wasn't. It flowed through him, but renewed itself as running water would: coldly, rapidly, rippling over the rest of his emotions, even his waning anger.

What was happening? What was this? Obi-Wan shuddered and drew a breath, pushing harder, but as quickly as he shoved the chilling emotion down into the earth, it regenerated, seemingly hand-over-fist. Soon, he felt the protestations of the earth around him: he was going to start killing plant life if he didn't stop pushing the coldness out of his body, his spirit. So he began to internalize it, storing it away in a cold, tight ball, waiting for the moment to release it.

What in the nine Sith hells is it? he wondered again, now beginning to fear a little himself. He moved to a different landscape, a different area of the Gardens, but found no place where he might expel the rapidly growing knot of ice manifesting in his chest. It was beginning to concern him. Thrusting aside his pride over the rapidly dissolving anger with Qui-Gon, he called out over their bond.

A flare of awareness and urgency let him know that Qui-Gon was on his way.

Now, he was hard-pressed to recall what, exactly, he and his Master had been bickering over. Oh-- the dream... he shivered and moved toward a warmer landscape within the Gardens, settling for a drier, more barren plain. He hoped to minimalize the damage on the Gardens by shoving the ice out into a less fertile area; he wasn't going to be able to hold it much longer.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon came into the garden at a jog, worry creasing his features. He carried both their lightsabers and was in nothing but his leggings: he had come instantly, ready to defend. Obi-Wan was standing in the middle of the flat, dry late-summer plain, bent from the waist, breathing too hard and hands bracing himself on his knees. His black robe gapped open, hanging around his chest and arms. His eyes were taking on a chilled disturbance. He turned his face sideways toward Qui-Gon, and his teeth chattered minutely as he asked without preamble, "Wh--at is it?"

Qui-Gon felt into the training bond, probing, closing his eyes. His eyes flew open when he recognized the source of the frozen, fearful knot: it was him. He hooked the 'sabers into his waistband.

"The dream," he muttered, moving to Obi-Wan and placing his hands on the Padawan's torso, one on his back, and the other on his front. "I must have... shifted the anxiety to you unwittingly." Obi-Wan felt a push, and almost unbearable pressure as Qui-Gon dissipated the knot of cold energy even as he stood, still bent over his own legs. He straightened and tugged his robe shut around his c you. Whatever it was--" He stopped when Qui-Gon's eyes met his. The powerful Knight looked haunted and alone. "What is it that can cause you to do that to me?" Obi-Wan asked, unable to help himself.

"We have talked about Xanatos before," Qui-Gon said quietly, and it was enough. That demon bothered him infrequently, but with a precise completeness, every time. His eyes went distant: "He had you, locked away, as a bargaining chip," he recalled from his nightmare. The wind whipped through his hair, plastering it to his face briefly, unnoticed before it was brushed back again by a crosswind. "I could -- feel everything he was doing to you. By the time I-- got to you, you had turned." His voice was beginning to give way, his eyes lost to the Dark of the dream. Obi-Wan straightened and reached for him, but hesitated. Was this something Qui-Gon had to (he hated this phrase, always) handle on his own?

"Padawan, my... feelings for you may never overcome that part of me where Xanatos keeps residence." His words felt cold; they were a dictum, delivered without any evidence of the feelings Qui-Gon professed to. Obi-Wan tore his gaze away and looked out over the plains, uninterested in them but needing not to be staring into those lost, faraway eyes. His own love warred with itself. He wanted to help, but he needed to stay away from that long-Dark splinter that Qui-Gon seemed to aggravate to inflammation every time he noticed it.

Then the inventive, rebellious Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn rose to the surface, pushing back the lonely boy in love, and he stretched his hand toward his Master briefly, not reaching for a hand to close around his, but for his 'saber. He gave Qui-Gon a scant second's pause before he called his 'saber to him and powered it on.

Seeing the bent of Obi-Wan's mind, Qui-Gon instantly was armed.

"Your feelings," Obi-Wan said, circling Qui-Gon, bracing himself. His voice came out as a sneer but he trembled minutely, hurt for what he was being forced to do. "Your feelings never overcame tradition and orders, so of course I couldn't expect them to overcome the passion Xanatos still inspires."

Qui-Gon flinched, blinking, and Obi-Wan moved in, instantly the aggressor, levering a series of blows toward his Master. He pulled nothing; he knew it would take every bit of his skill and strength to make this happen the way they both needed it to. Their tiff this morning hadn't amounted to much; Qui-Gon had been trying to recover from a dream involving the Dark, and Obi-Wan should have left him alone. How it had grown so huge, so quickly, Obi-Wan was sure he didn't know.

He parried away the defensive response, and recognized the style: it was the technique Qui-Gon so often used with battle droids and simulators. There was no fire; his Master was on autopilot, not even speaking.

"What, now the name means nothing to you? Now Xanatos comes to mind and you fight like a robot. Where was this dispassionate calm this morning when you were insulting your lover with neglect?" Obi-Wan drew on the Force deliberately so that Qui-Gon would know it, and circled, striking and parrying swiftly.

"Obi-Wan," came the familiar growling warning, so often used when the young Padawan forgot himself, or forgot to care that he had. Their 'sabers crossed and they glared at each other, and Obi-Wan could see the flash of anger in his Master's eyes. Come on, he thought, pushing it through the bond. Fight me.

He raised his voice a little. "Xanatos has been dead a long time, Master. Yet you insist on treating him as though he were a viable threat to you." He pushed off his Master's 'saber, hard, when this drew no reaction. He pulled on the Force again, feeling a lance of pain with the effort-- now he was growing frustrated, and treading thin ice.

His Master felt it, and lowered his 'saber, concerned, beginning to see the point. "Obi-Wan," he said quietly, extending a hand, "that's enough. I'm sorry I--" His words were cut off with a humming swing of 'saber, and he defended quickly.

"No, Master," Obi-Wan pulled on the flare of anger they had exchanged this morning, and thrust it back through the bond. "That is enough." He lunged and thrust, but was parried away with infuriatingly calm efficiency. His Master hadn't even broken a sweat. But the deep blue eyes widened now at the sight of his own brusque behavior, and he did grow angry then: at himself, at Xanatos, even at Obi-Wan for showing it to him. It was nothing, nothing they couldn't have talked about briefly and simply put behind them, but now? Now it involved Dark, swirling eddies around them, because Obi-Wan had drawn on the Force in anger.

Qui-Gon's training struggled with his emotions. This was wrong; with horror he realized he was beginning to fear for his Padawan. Why was this happening? He continued to block 'saber swings, and the exertion fueled his anger and puffed it into a low, muted fury.

"You don't know what you're playing with here, Padawan," he growled. "Are you going to save me from the memory of Xanatos by fighting with me? Send me to the edge of the Dark Side and then yank me back by my hair to the Light?" He parried several thrusts and set his expression. He found the idea ludicrous, but he knew that his Padawan was attempting exactly this. His indignation at the idea flared. It was definitely too much, who did Obi-Wan really think he was?

So stop fighting, Jinn. You're both angry, one of you is going to get hurt-- toss the 'saber down now.

But he found that he couldn't. Or, more properly, wouldn't. The Force ebbed and flowed around them angrily, and he took advantage of a swell of it (he refused to draw on it) and used a Force blow to send Obi-Wan's 'saber spinning out of his hand, deactivated. Immediately his Padawan, ever-resourceful, tried to call his Master's lightsaber into his own hand.

It stopped, mid-flight, spinning and twitching in the air, as the two Jedi fought for control: hands outstretched, faces frozen with their own violent feelings, both of them breathing too hard, hearts beating entirely too fast. Qui-Gon was lent strength by his sense of rightness-- and his sense of his Padawan's overreaching temerity. With a frustrated snarl of defeat, Obi-Wan sank to the ground and let go his Force hold on the 'saber. It flew into Qui-Gon's hand, powered down.

"Are you quite finished desecrating the Gardens?" came a resonant voice behind Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan, breathing heavily and leaning to one side to peer around Qui-Gon's leg at Mace Windu. He didn't bother getting up: he should have, but was still of a fiery enough mood not to care. Mace stood aggressively, feet parted, brown robes billowing in the plains wind.

As soon as he determined he had both Jedis' attention, he went on coldly, "Half the creche is in tears. Some of the stronger Force-users within the confines of the Temple are sure the Dark Side has deposited an agent here. What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Exorcising demons," Obi-Wan replied tightly without missing a beat, rising smoothly and recalling his 'saber to him.

Mace was unamused. "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to cleanse the Gardens now? The entire Gardens!" he barked, eyes wide, voice vibrating with indignation and disappointment. "Jinn, I just can't believe you. How could you possibly--" He stopped, stared, waved his hand in a gesture of defeated resignation, obviously struggling to bring himself under control in the midst of the stir of Dark energy. "Go to your quarters. Meditate on your deplorable actions. Purge all this negativity you have conjured up within yourselves. Then prepare to spend the next several days purging the Gardens of the blackness you have summoned here. Both of you." He glared from one to the other, then turned on his heel and strode away, rubbing his temples.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan faced each other, nerves strained, neither sure they were entirely finished. Wordlessly they turned and walked quickly back to their rooms, the silence and tension palpable, arcing between them like lightning. Obi-Wan, striding before Qui-Gon quickly, thought he might have gone too far, but there was no starting over. Qui-Gon knew he had allowed it to go too far, but also knew there was no help for it. But the fury had felt so good... the anger-- he had relished it. He had sunk into it willingly. They both had.

What does it mean? he wondered, and Obi-Wan turned before him, palming the door to their quarters coolly, and said implacably, "It means nothing."

Qui-Gon felt the fire of rage light, right in the pit of his gut where the cold fear of the memory of Xanatos had been. "You did this on purpose." His eyes narrowed, glittering, as they entered their rooms.

Obi-Wan's noncommittal shrug and cold expression pushed him over the edge.

Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's arm in a bitingly harsh hand and whirled him around. He wound his fists in the front of the black bedrobe Obi-Wan wore, and slammed his Padawan hard against a wall, driving the air out of his chest and stunning him.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous you just became? How dangerous you just made me?" Qui-Gon demanded.

Obi-Wan's blue eyes were shielded and cold. You make yourself so, he thought across the bond, and Qui-Gon blinked at him. You make yourself a slave to the memory of the one Padawan who failed you. I am not that Padawan.

Qui-Gon's eyes widened. You nearly are, today! his mind snarled, and he watched, waiting for his Padawan's expression to change. Obi-Wan's hair and skin was damp from exertion. His stormy blue green eyes shone with daring, his lips parted to receive air to the heaving chest. A moist, pink tongue darted out and lapped itself once, quickly, over those lips, sheening them, and Qui-Gon's distracted gaze dropped to that mouth. Oh, that mouth, he could not keep from thinking, yearningly.

"Then save me," Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon knew the game instantly for what it was. He resented it, was infuriated by it. "How dare you?" he hissed. "How dare you draw us so close to the Dark over your own jealousy?"

Obi-Wan's expression did not change. "Do you love me?" he asked abruptly, his eyes still holding the coldness of the Dark, and the contrast was disarming and confusing.

"I--" Qui-Gon frowned and turned his face slightly away from Obi-Wan's, looking at him sidelong. He examined his feelings then, in that instant: now, he was so furious at his Padawan's deception and assumption that he could simply be fixed this way, like a child given candy. He felt defeated, lost... Abruptly he pressed himself forward against Obi-Wan's body, pinning him hard to the wall, kissing him savagely. It came from another part of him, a soft, teasing demon voice coaxing, "Take him, take him, show him Darkness." His mouth covered Obi-Wan's bruisingly, teeth biting, tongue searching madly for something... something...

The kiss was returned with an eager hunger that Qui-Gon found maddening. Kisses like--

... like those of Xanatos.

But not. Light, edged with Darkness, that was familiar. His own need, that was familiar as well. But the mouth moved in an irrepressible rhythm, the tongue danced differently, undeniably not Xanatos. He pulled back, looking into the hungry eyes of his Padawan.

I can, you know, his low, impish voice intruded cryptically. He felt something give, a shield of some kind, and felt his own memories, his own thoughts being plundered, borrowed, returned. His mouth opened in shock. Before he could question the how of it, Obi-Wan was kissing him as Xanatos had, mouth taking on a different feel altogether, tongue moving in a new dance that did not belong to it. Qui-Gon grunted in surprise but did not pull back. He closed his eyes and saw Xanatos... he could not decide whether he wanted to, or not, and so he opened his eyes again.

I could blindfold you, too, Obi-Wan threatened, and both of them felt the twitch of arousal arcing between them as readily as the anger had before. He tugged the black sash of his robe out of its loops and held it up, brought it toward Qui-Gon's face, and was stunned once again, physically, as Qui-Gon grabbed Obi-Wan's hands and pinned them against the wall on either side of his head, holding him there.

"I," Qui-Gon said darkly, "am not going back there."

"Then stay here with me, if you can." And Obi-Wan shoved strongly with the Force, pushing Qui-Gon's hands off of his arms, pushing the whole of his Master's body backward, inexorably. Moving with him, Obi-Wan smiled dangerously.

Qui-Gon pushed back against the Force, using his own power over it. He stopped walking backwards and dropped his hands to his sides.

"Just as well," Obi-Wan breathed, and bent his head to catch a soft nipple into his teeth, causing Qui-Gon to let out a sharp, pained yelp. He held Obi-Wan's head and pushed him away, but Obi-Wan was not to be denied. He captured Qui-Gon's mouth with his own, augmenting his strength with that of the Force, biting his Master's lips, pushing his tongue against the other's. Qui-Gon felt mingled relief and disappointment: the kisses were completely Obi-Wan.

But at that realization, they changed again. Qui-Gon let out a startled moan and sank into the fantasy this time, of Xanatos as he had been, before. Light, almost delicate kisses, even in their most burning need. Hands that slipped over him in hesitant desire, unsure, inexperienced even after many, many nights. Qui-Gon found himself craving the certainty of Obi-Wan's mouth and hands. He opened his eyes and instantly, Force-guided, the black sash came up and wrapped around his head.

He allowed it.

He allowed himself to be pressed toward the bed, then onto it, the uncertain hands that so easily could have been Xanatos' removing his leggings. Whispered pet names, the names he had heard innumerable times back when he was younger, simpler, before his sweet, loving Xan had turned. Oh, Xanatos, why? Did I love you too much? Not enough? What could I have done?

The illusion dissappeared, melting under kisses that morphed into Obi-Wan's, the touches becoming sure again, sure, firm, and needed. Obi-Wan traced his tongue around a now-firm nipple, and Qui-Gon gasped, "Yes..." arching into the mouth before it shifted down his ribcage, over his fluttering, ticklish stomach, over one flank. The sensations did not allow him the wash of guilt and sorrow he had begun; with Obi-Wan, he felt neither. He reached to grip his Padawan's head, to guide it, and felt his arms pressed over his head, again with the Force, holding him. He allowed this, too.

The warm, wet mouth became unsure again, the change almost too slow to register. But then there it was, the mouth of Xanatos, guided by his own memories, superimposed over Obi-Wan's sureness and desire. The way the tongue flicked softly, anxiously over the tip of his swollen erection, then slid down the length of it. Oh, Obi-Wan, he called mentally, grievously. I remember the night... it was the last night--

And the unseen mouth plunged over his cock, denying him his painful memory as Obi-Wan returned with vengeance and hunger. He could see the battle clearly: Xanatos and Obi-Wan, fighting over their Master. But the Master in question had placed a glossy sheen over the memory of his former love, dimming the lighting to hide the flaws, dousing the memory in sweet wine and hazy vision to perfect it. Yes, the two memories struggled in Qui-Gon's mind: his lost Padawan, so uncertain after months, never trusting fully, never completely engaged in his Master's presence, and his new Padawan, sure and solid after one night. One night, and Obi-Wan knew what pleased him, knew what he needed, sucking expertly, teeth and tongue involved together, giving pleasure the way Xanatos never had.

Qui-Gon was gifted then with the knowledge that he should have felt all along: Xanatos had never been strong, and it mattered not a whit that Qui-Gon had tried to be strong for him. Just as it mattered not a whit that Qui-Gon had been with him so often, loved him gently, coaxingly, trying to bring the certainty out of him. He had never been sure, had never trusted in Qui-Gon's love. And Obi-Wan, with a half-declaration of love a scant nine hours prior, was here, trusting him to be able to pull up out of the Dark and keep them both safe.

Qui-Gon knew then what he needed. With great effort, he removed the sash from his eyes, and Obi-Wan raised his head to stare at him quizzically. Qui-Gon pulled the strands of Dark within him and stretched them, elongating them as he sat up and drew Obi-Wan close to him. He kissed his lover greedily, as savagely as he had before, against the wall, and let the Dark swell inside him unheeded. Obi-Wan felt it, moaning into his mouth in anticipation and fear.

What have I unleashed? Obi-Wan wondered, before he was flipped ungracefully onto his stomach and left there. The sash came up around his eyes unexpectedly, and he fought it, clawing at it, but it remained steadfastly tied. He tried to rise and found himself being bound Forcefully to the bed, wrists together, feet apart.

That is for playing games with me, Qui-Gon said mildly, and Obi-Wan's fists clenched. When he would have cursed, the ends of the sash came around his head and into his mouth, between his teeth, binding his mouth open and rendering it useless.

Oh really, Obi-Wan thought smugly, but felt and heard his Master's shields slamming up into place, hard and unyielding. Well, he had to admire the man's ingeniuity. It was very hard to silence a Jedi.

"No more Xanatos," Qui-Gon muttered, his mouth tracing the back of Obi-Wan's neck, beard tickling softly, but Obi-Wan could feel the Darkness lurking just beneath the surface, and he was helpless. His Master was no longer, altogether, the man he trusted, and he was more than a little afraid. He struggled against the Force bonds, and Qui-Gon chuckled coolly. "If you can undo that, I will resign as your Master." Obi-Wan struggled harder, testing, pulling, unable to do more than get his hips off the bed. He had no leverage, no slack. He couldn't even glare angrily. He made a muffled, furious noise but his Master did not chuckle again.

"Actually," Qui-Gon's soft voice was suddenly very near his ear, "I like it when you fight."

Obi-Wan went very still.

Qui-Gon sighed. "You just have to have the last word, don't you? Very well." He moved up onto the bed, and to his horror, Obi-Wan felt himself being spread, his buttocks parted. The idea of being penetrated, this way, unlubricated, shielded, gagged, blind-- he made a fearful noise, a terrified noise, and squirmed frantically.

But then, he stopped. No matter how much Darkness moved around them, this was still his Master. This was still Qui-Gon Jinn, who, he knew, would sooner die than willingly hurt him. He steeled himself, then slumped, pushing the tension out of his body, relaxing instantly. The hard fingers released him, then caressed him, roaming over his skin, moving along his back. He felt his Master's long, firm body sliding alongside him on the bed.

"You aren't off the hook yet," Qui-Gon said menacingly, and his voice contained a hard edge to it, but the edge was strained-- Obi-Wan could tell he was close to breaking, giving up this charade on the edge of Darkness. Qui-Gon fumbled with something, and Obi-Wan heard slick, wet noises and a muted groan, and moaned into the fabric wrapped between his lips. He felt hands against his buttocks again, but they were somewhat gentler now, and he shifted his hips upward invitingly, trying to imply that he could do so much more if he were freed.

He yelped into the sash as he was spanked sharply, twice. "Stop it," Qui-Gon growled. Obi-Wan settled petulantly, but his legs were released, and his knees pushed under him roughly, legs still spread. Qui-Gon's thick, wet thumb found his opening and massaged it softly, and Obi-Wan held very still, resisting the urge to back onto Qui-Gon's hand. He shuddered as Qui-Gon pressed against him, rubbing the hard head of his cock against Obi-Wan, teasing, and then he plunged inward, and Obi-Wan shouted into his makeshift gag in pain and startled pleasure. Now he fought, trying to pull away from Qui-Gon, angry at the pain, ignoring the pleasure in favor of indignation that his Master should so mistreat the gift he was trying to give. Immediately he was subdued, Qui-Gon using the Force to yank Obi-Wan's knees out from under him and causing them both to fall heavily to the mattress, still engaged. Obi-Wan cried out against the material again in frustration. Now he was pinned with the heaviness of his much larger lover over him, inside him, and what was even more frustrating was that Qui-Gon was moving very slowly, deliberately teasing, sometimes holding very still, leaving Obi-Wan filled and aching with need, unable to move to remedy it.

Qui-Gon began to kiss Obi-Wan's back and neck softly, brushing his beard along the sensitive skin. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how long he could tolerate being shielded from his Master like this, but he willed himself to relax into it, and he sighed and moaned at the light, gentle kisses. Qui-Gon must have felt the change; he began to move then, thrusting slowly but steadily, bracing himself on his arms, allowing Obi-Wan just enough room to raise his hips slightly: just enough room to move back onto the hot erection impaling him. Qui-Gon grasped his hips, pulling Obi-Wan onto him, harder now, encouraged by Obi-Wan's muffled, pleasured sounds. No, he knew that Xanatos had never been like this, would never have tolerated this, and yet here was Obi-Wan, arching backwards onto him, gagged and bound as he was. Love burst inside him, and Obi-Wan made urgent noises, rocking back harder, questing, as though he could feel Qui-Gon's still-shielded emotions.

It overwhelmed him. Qui-Gon came, clutching Obi-Wan to him, brightness evaporating the Dark suddenly and completely, burning it away in love and need. In that moment he would have given anything to be looking into those well-loved eyes, but his body won out over his heart, this time. He collapsed, pushing Obi-Wan into the mattress under him, unfulfilled still. But Obi-Wan was smart enough to take his opportunity when it was presented him. He continued his thrusting, groaning into the gag, clenching around Qui-Gon's remaining erection, and Qui-Gon felt himself stirring again, felt his shields melting under Obi-Wan's desperate, tugging thrusts. Obi-Wan took the chink in the armour and pried at it, pushing his way in, and carrying his pleasure with him, the soft sheets under his thrusting hardness, Qui-Gon's cock still filling him. Qui-Gon moaned in spite of himself and began to move again, in time with his Padawan. Slick and relaxed, Obi-Wan clenched around him, still hot and so, so willing, and Qui-Gon heard in his mind, Yes, yes... please....

The bond exploded then with the two of them, shuddering and springing open, winding them together as they came, wide-eyed and astonished as it broke over their skin and through their blood and nerves, wracking them, each feeling the other's waning orgasm and shock.

Qui-Gon collapsed to one side, careful not to hurt Obi-Wan's abused body any more. The sash fell away from Obi-Wan's eyes, and he pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue, allowing Qui-Gon to unwrap it from his neck. The tension around his wrists dissipated, and he moved into Qui-Gon's arms, each kissing the other with soft urgency.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Qui-Gon sighed, feeling the last twinges of pain inside Obi-Wan's body as they sank into each other. Obi-Wan shook his head wordlessly, tucking himself yet further into Qui-Gon's embrace.

None of that, he admonished. They had both been right: they knew what the other would respond to, and grow angry at. And they had both been wrong to use it. But it had seared away the last of the Darkness holding Qui-Gon prisoner, and that would be worth a hundred similar encounters and a lifetime's more pain than had been endured.

"You have taught me something today, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered, his voice soft and warm. "Xanatos is gone. That time is finished. And dreams are only dreams."

Obi-Wan sighed in relief and gladness. His heart soared as he said silently, I knew you would find the answers. I knew I could trust you to come back to me.

Your faith in me is my greatest weakness, Qui-Gon murmured to Obi-Wan's thoughts.

Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon over him, the larger man tracing his beloved, bearded kisses over Obi-Wan's throat and collarbone. Obi-Wan reached absently upward to wind his fingers through the long, silvered hair, but Qui-Gon stayed his hand, gently, drawing it back down between them and kissing the open palm in supplication and gratefulness. Obi-Wan looked into the dark blue eyes, and his brow furrowed to see such intense and yet unreadable emotion there.

"I love you," Qui-Gon said quietly, casting his eyes away, then closing them, drawing his cheek against the open hand he held captive. "I have, for at least as long as you have loved me. And I will, for as long as you will have me."

"I will." Obi-Wan used the hand held against his Master's cheek to tip the chin upward. "As long as you'll keep humoring your dangerous and irreverent Padawan," he whispered, and his eyes were serious a second before he succumbed to a smile, unable to contain it. Qui-Gon smiled then, too, a rare, joyful smile, and Obi-Wan kissed the smiling mouth intently.
 

End Chapter Two

Chapter Three: The Gardens

Mace had been right.

It was going to be a lot of work to purge the Gardens of the Dark they had dragged in. Obi-Wan knelt just inside the locked entrance, eyes closed, feeling the coldness in the Dark and watching with his inner eye as it swirled in roiling purple waves.

Qui-Gon, kneeling beside him, sighed heavily. "I never should have allowed this to happen."

Obi-Wan struggled with his own guilty part in it, but then gave it up to the Force and said quietly, "Master, what we did yesterday needed to be done."

Qui-Gon shifted his vision out of phase and looked around as Obi-Wan was doing, intending to start where the Dark was deepest. He remembered the pocket of chilled fear he had sent Obi-Wan inadvertently, remembered how it felt to wake up from that dream, not even relieved to be awake but only worrying about how many more nights he would be subjected to Xanatos' memory. He knew that Xanatos was, finally, gone, even as he sat in the midst of the mess they had created purging him. He tested the memory, pushed on it, deliberately conjuring recollections that he could not have tolerated only yesterday. He found that it no longer hurt him--Amazing, he thought, and sent a wash of love and gratefulness to Obi-Wan through the bond. Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes still closed.

Obi-Wan felt a shift, and opened his eyes. His Master was gone, and Obi-Wan wondered how he could have disappeared so quickly. Still, he could still be found through the bond they shared.

Padawan, have you any idea where we might start with this? Qui-Gon sent him, and Obi-Wan rose and looked around, but couldn't see his Master anywhere.

No, Master. There's so much of it. Where did you go?

Qui-Gon veered away from the question mentally and murmured, thoughtfully, The balance of Dark is Light. What would be rys. Peace.

Qui-Gon wasn't satisified. Don't recite the Code in your head, Padawan, think. Fear is balanced by....?

Courage, Obi-Wan suggested, and was enveloped in warm approval. He started into what should have been a balmy area of the Gardens but still could not see where Qui-Gon had disappeared to. The Dark was thickening like fog the farther he went, and the air was growing cold all around him. Master, shouldn't we be together? There is a lot of Darkness here. Still, he plunged into the ink he felt around him, pushing it back by drawing on the Force within him, a candle in mist.

What is the balance to anger? Qui-Gon persisted, and Obi-Wan could almost feel him slipping around a grassy little corner, just ahead, but then the sensation was obscured again. Qui-Gon was deliberately avoiding him. Obi-Wan smiled as realization dawned, and made up his mind simply to give chase. He felt the Darkness recoil from him a little, like a living thing in fear.

Serenity? Obi-Wan didn't understand the purpose to the word game, though. They had been through this before, and now didn't seem to be the time to be reinventing the Code. Master, what is the point of this exercise? The Garden--

What is the balance to anger? Qui-Gon repeated, and Obi-Wan felt a brush of energy, warmth amid the cold, and turned to his right. He started down another path, and opened his mind, seeking Qui-Gon but also knowing he would be required to fulfill this lesson-- for whatever reason-- before Qui-Gon would proceed with the cleansing.

Forgiveness, Obi-Wan smiled, thinking of the previous night. He began to see.

And when one is tempted to become lost in dark memories of the past, what is a good balance for that?

Obi-Wan found, then, his Master's deep brown robe, draped carefully over a stone. Picking it up, he held it to him, inhaling its scent, briefly lost in a memory of a day in the training hall, watching Qui-Gon spar with another Master-- Obi-Wan had been so lonely then, and despairing that his love would ever be returned. But then there was the bright, hot feeling of that mild, Masterly smile turned upon him when he had done well, and hope had returned. He answered, Anticipation. He shivered in the chill but noticed that it was beginning to abate somewhat. He felt a flare of energy ahead, and jogged forward, sensing now where his Master had cut a wide swath of Light through the middle of this garden. He followed it.

Qui-Gon seemed to be increasing speed now. Obi-Wan found his boots and laughed softly, amused-- and aroused. He could feel the love coursing through the bond now, as well as encouragement and desire as he grew closer to his target. He realized that he could easily find his Master-- it would be as simple as stretching the bond open and feeling what his Master felt. But he understood now. He followed the path his Master had taken, feeling his way, so clearly seeing the widening path of Light as it burned a trail through the Darkness. He pressed love back through the bond, remembering how he had first come to Qui-Gon years ago, and his joy at having been chosen, and then later when he had first realized he was in love with his Master. He found a sash. He picked it up, draping it around his neck. He moved on, stepping over a rock and ducking under a tree branch.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the new love springing up for the wise man who was his mentor. He saw the Darkness scattering from around him, cut through with the Light from Qui-Gon's heart, like the prow of a watercraft parting the waves and sending them in ever-widening billows. He could feel the contentment wherever his Master had been as he picked his way around trees both graceful and squat, small knolls and rocky patches, decorative and scented herbs.

He found Qui-Gon's tunic, and hugged it, inhaling from it, filling his lungs and his mind with memories and scents of the electric beginnings of love and happiness. He could feel the vibrations his Master left behind-- he was very close. He turned toward a small glade of trees, and moved into it, carrying Qui-Gon's things. The feelings drifting through and around Obi-Wan were reminiscent of the days when he had first felt the stirrings of desire for his Master, but they were so much more, imbued with the history they had built together. In spite of himself, he let his mind wander over the previous night's journey into the Dark. It had been reckless and dangerous, and so, so impudent of him, but oh... to know that Qui-Gon was suddenly free! He felt a swell of pride and happiness he could never have imagined in the "I love you" reverberating between them.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was husky as he stepped from behind a tree, clad only in his leggings. Obi-Wan who turned at the sound of his Master's voice, resonant with desire. The Darkness was evaporating everywhere Qui-Gon had been, and Obi-Wan could feel himself encased in the heat of the spirit and body that had driven the Darkness away. Obi-Wan looked around him and could see the last tendrils of dark energy swirling away, swallowed by the trails of Light Qui-Gon had laid out. "What balances lust?" It seemed no longer an academic question-- but then, had any of them been? Obi-Wan dropped his Master's clothing in a heavy pile to one side.

"Fulfillment," Obi-Wan whispered without thinking, and Qui-Gon moved very close, and took his mouth in a soft, tender kiss, gently stroking Obi-Wan's cheeks with his fingertips.

"Well done, Padawan," Qui-Gon breathed, and tugged at the sash holding Obi-Wan's tunics closed around his body. "A lesson well learned." Qui-Gon's voice was steady and smooth, soft, sweetly edged with adoration and admiration. He slid his hands upwards along Obi-Wan's torso, to his shoulders, pushing the tunics off.

Obi-Wan shivered. "It was... " He swallowed as Qui-Gon's mouth found his earlobe and teased it delicately. "A good lesson," he barely managed as he clung to Qui-Gon's shoulders for support. "....Master."

Qui-Gon's kiss and touch were light and soft, and Obi-Wan's skin rose to gooseflesh at the delicate brushing of fingertips over his exposed skin. Qui-Gon bent his head to Obi-Wan's shoulder and slipped his tongue and lips along the smooth skin, and Obi-Wan shivered and then gasped as Qui-Gon suddenly knelt before him, looking up at him with something akin to awe on his face. Obi-Wan's eyebrows drew together in consternation as he stared down, his eyes casting about on that well-loved face for an explanation. "Master-- what--"

Qui-Gon pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan's stomach, head tilted downward, struggling with some inner difficulty Obi-Wan could not fathom. Qui-Gon slid his hands to Obi-Wan's waist, and held him for a moment, silent, his fingertips stroking the skin under them. Without raising his head, Qui-Gon began to speak, his voice husky and soft.

"I have never thanked you, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan opened his mouth, shook his head-- but when he would utter a denial, Qui-Gon tighened his hands minutely on his Padawan's waist, and Obi-Wan stayed silent. "It goes unrecognized in the Order how important an apprentice is to a Master." He searched for words briefly. "In a place brim full of people declaring peace and serenity, it is --" he faltered, swallowing. "--It is hard to be one who embraces passion. Even harder to find another who does. To have a match in you is --" His voice caught, but he moved on, finally looking up at Obi-Wan, his expression truly serene, no mask drawn over him to hide roiling emotions. "Thank you," he breathed.

Obi-Wan swallowed, lost in his Master's shining blue eyes and the words that had fallen from his lips. He touched Qui-Gon's bearded cheek, stroked his hair, floundering for words that would do credit to his Master's heart laid bare for him. Finding nothing, he knelt. His heart ached. He stroked Qui-Gon's cheek again, his hair, brushed a thumb over his lips... he couldn't think of anything worth saying. Instead he leaned very close to his Master and kissed him, hesitantly, suddenly shy. He couldn't imagine where this rush of gratefulness had come from-- perhaps the last remnant of Xanatos' memory, or the triumph of dispelling the Dark so readily. He sank his hands into Qui-Gon's soft hair, brushing his lips over his Master's mouth in small, reverent kisses. It didn't matter where it had come from, it was accepted, and returned, eagerly. After so much pain and darkness, how could it not be?

He pulled back, and Qui-Gon could see the realization dawning in his eyes.

"The balance of pain is release," Obi-Wan whispered, softly, feeling it, closing his eyes under the relief of finally being understood and accepted, unhidden.

"Yes," Qui-Gon's voice was choked with emotion, and Obi-Wan kissed him again.

---

"Feel better, do you, for your rest?" Yoda asked pointedly, looking hard at both Master and Padawan.

Qui-Gon bowed his head, and smiled. Mace looked at him suspiciously. "Then... you are prepared to accept a mission." He did not bother to conceal his skepticism.

"Yes, we are quite ready for deployment," Qui-Gon assured the Council easily, and they regarded his relaxed stance and the thrumming bond between him and Padawan Kenobi. Kenobi, too, looked completely at east. Yoda perked his ears up and studied them.

"A difference, then, there is in how you feel, hm?" he asked, and nodded his head. "Yes, yes. Very peaceful are you. Your Padawan as well. How came you by this change?" His eyes sparked with curiosity

Qui-Gon quirked another smile, and exchanged a glance with his Padawan, whose eyes shone with amusement.

"You might say we underwent a paradigm shift, my Master," Qui-Gon explained, and looked at Obi-Wan again. And Obi-Wan added, "Yes, Master. A reinvention."
 

End. maybe.