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Rating: NC-17

Series: Stars (Stars, Dance, Rain, Stripes)

Categories: Q/O, PWP, romance, AU

Archive: MA

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: It started out as "Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan get warm," but quickly developed into much more than that.

Spoilers/Warnings: None.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

Notes: For Kimdy because she is talented and indulgent of me and my silly little icon visions. Original series concept by Wednesday. Beta'ed by Cuimne, as always.

/.... / Denotes thoughts.

"Amazing," Qui-Gon breathed, staring out over the valley from the edge of the cliff where he and Obi-Wan stood. His breath puffed out, stark white against the charcoal landscape and the darkening purple sky. The split between the mountain ranges had been craggy and difficult to navigate, a veritable impossibility of sharp, volcanic structures that had been sheared apart and shoved back together again by the shifting of P'cea's crust.

It would have seemed a strange planet by any account but a Jedi's. The surface was black, sometimes glassy with bright, shattered outcroppings, sometimes dull and bubbled with once-molten eruptive flows. There was absolutely no life here but for the extremely technological, extremely isolated bubble-dome communities--three of them--that had settled here. None of the communities interacted with any of the others; all trade was conducted independently. It was for this reason that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were on P'cea to begin with--each community had insisted that it be independently evaluated for acceptance into the Republic; each was unwilling to rely on the viability of the others.

"It is amazing," Obi-Wan agreed, leaning closer to his master. "Beautiful, but dangerous." He bent and took up a shard of once-molten glass. It was a deep, wet-looking black and very cold, even through the sub-freezing-appropriate mittens he wore. "Why do you suppose so many things meet that description?"

Qui-Gon cast a look at his former apprentice, still inquisitive so many years after his training had ended. The master appraised the features that he had fallen in love with long ago--features that he continued to fall in love with as they changed and matured.

"Sometimes, beauty is a warning," he said, and Obi-Wan listened intently, though he had heard this many times before. "Many poisonous creatures and flowers are brightly colored and beautiful. Sometimes," he added quietly, stepping closer and placing a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, "the danger of beauty is that there is no poison. We simply lose ourselves in it and never... ever wish to come out again." His voice had grown very soft, and now he stared at his lover unabashedly, realizing for the ten-thousandth time that he was, himself, lost.

Obi-Wan pushed his furred hood back a bit so that he could better see Qui-Gon's eyes. "I can't tell where the lesson ended and the desire began, Master," he teased.

Smiling in return, Qui-Gon shook his head a little. "They've been one and the same since you became a man, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan grinned broadly, unable to help himself. "I love you too, Qui-Gon," he sighed, touched.

They remained where they were a moment longer, simply taking in the landscape. In moments like these, Obi-Wan wished they still had the connection of the training bond. Qui-Gon had such a deep connection with the Living Force; even in a barren place such as this one, he could feel a oneness with the Moment that Obi-Wan perpetually struggled for. As a padawan, Obi-Wan had always relished that training bond; it had shared with him that oneness that he could not find on his own. Now he was bereft of it, left with the cavernous future of Unification. He could feel the distant past: the roiling volcanic blasts and steaming rains of warmer centuries. He could project the distant future: as the core cooled, the planet would ice over and die completely, unless the individualized technologies of the communities could carry them through. He supposed it was possible--there were, after all, small settlements on Hoth.

But he wanted something now: something warm and real. Something he could touch. A clear sense of the Living Force had eluded him always; Obi-Wan understood consequences and possibilities. Now he longed for immediacy.

"Master," he murmured, "I think we should set up the camp now."

Nodding, Qui-Gon moved away from the edge of the cliff, leading them to the lee of a broad, wedge-shaped projection. It, too, was glassy and broken, like all of the other shards and broken ends about. They were all great, blank, obsidian pieces, and Obi-Wan knew that once, this planet had been smooth and lifeless between volcanic channels. Before they had all covered over and begun to tear the planet apart from the inside, P'cea had been, over the entirety of its surface, as flat and shining as the angle of glass in his hand.

A heavy melancholy settled over him. How could these people live here, so secluded, even from each other? Oh, it was not for a Jedi to judge, but he wondered. If his own connection to the Unifying side of the Force were not so strong, it would feel as though there were nothing here in the vast stretches between the encased communities.

Qui-Gon noticed his lover's sudden pensiveness and asked, "What's wrong, Obi-Wan?" He began to unfold the overnight pack, setting up the dense, warm sleeping pouch. Luckily, the surface temperature of P'cea would not grow much colder as night fell--it was already bitter.

"Tell me what you feel here, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan requested quietly, breaking open a heat stick and setting it on a large piece of the broken, crystalline earth. He piled shards on top of the white-hot stick and immediately they glowed, radiating the warmth.

Qui-Gon paused, bent over the sleeping pouch. After considering a moment, he finished straightening the pouch and abruptly sat on one end of it, rummaging through a pack for their dinner.

"I feel the Force in its purest form, unfiltered by the contexts that life forms place on it." He took up a ration bar and handed it to Obi-Wan, who was moving around the modified heating device to sit next to him. "I feel you," he added, turning slightly toward Obi-Wan and extending a hand, holding it over his lover's aura as though he were feeling heat from a fire. "There is no 'noise' here. There is only you."

"And you," Obi-Wan corrected, wishing he could feel these things as well.

"But I cannot feel myself that way. I feel you, and the cold, and the fire you made, and the solidity of the planet. There is as much Living Force here as there is on any warm paradise with flourishing life, it only constructs itself differently."

Smiling faintly, Obi-Wan looked at the shard he had found and looked at it speculatively, feeling its muffled cold through his thick mittens. "Always teaching, my master."

"After all these years, Padawan, I'm afraid I can no longer help it." Qui-Gon's eyes were bright with a smile as he held his ration bar closer to the heat, relishing the warmth. "Like for like: tell me what you feel."

Obi-Wan longed to give his master a less desolate answer than the one he'd given himself, so he centered briefly and clutched the shard, feeling. He stretched out his senses but could only feel, once again, the bottomless future of this planet's self-destruction.

"I feel slow death," Obi-Wan sighed, putting the shard on the ground in front of him. "This planet should never have had life forms on it. The emigrants will likely die here."

"Hm." Qui-Gon removed the outer shells of his mittens, revealing his leather-gloved hands beneath, and unwrapped his now slightly warmer ration bar. He said nothing more in response, knowing that his former apprentice was wise enough to find his own truth--that there was ever so much more to feel here than death--when it was time.

At this point in his life, Obi-Wan was neither required nor requested to explain himself. Still, he wanted there to be something more he could offer. Shaking his head, he warmed his frozen ration bar as Qui-Gon had done, and silently ate.

They shared the quiet of nightfall together, never bothering to break the stillness with speech, watching the heat source grow seemingly brighter as the sky darkened from purple to black. The ground crunched beneath their feet as they moved about, and Obi-Wan thought on the vast nothing he felt around him, the result of millions of years of molten, shifting rock. He felt the cold, and the massive destructive potential in the ground beneath him, but it only frustrated him to think on it. There was a soul-deep sense of ennui that went along with considering such things too long.

He prepared the sleep pouch, moving it closer to the "fire." Qui-Gon was rummaging in their pack again and preparing to bed down. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, made small preparations of his own. He set his plasteel canteen by the heat and began to undress, draping his outer gear over the sleep pouch and then moving quickly inside it as he reached the inner layers of his clothing. The pouches were designed to sleep two and retain body heat very efficiently, and frankly he was very glad for that, but the thing wasn't warm yet.

"Qui--Qui-Gon it's cold," he stammered, nevertheless stripping down to nothing inside the pouch. He laid his clothing--and an extra item or two--out beside him against the inner shell of it, where it would stay warm and insulate them further. This had been one of those things that'd he'd never considered as a crecheling, the extreme temperatures one had to deal with while traveling on planets' surfaces. He thought that was just as well; it would have been one more thing he'd have worried about.

"I'm coming, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, sounding marginally amused. He knew Obi-Wan was not exactly an outdoorsman. Oh, he comported himself well enough, but inclement weather had always driven Obi-Wan mad.

After situating the pack once more and tying it off, Qui-Gon began to undress as well, rolling up his cold weather gear and pressing it around the pouch. He did as his lover had, undressing completely once he was inside the pouch.

"Force!" Obi-Wan laughed suddenly. "Your feet are cold!"

Grinning broadly, Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan to him and sealed off the pouch, leaving nothing more than the breathing vents open. He wrapped his long legs around his lover's slender body and laughed as Obi-Wan squirmed, trying to get away from his icy feet.

They stilled after a moment, playfulness fading to the comfortable familiarity of each other's bodies. Obi-Wan pressed close, clinging, and Qui-Gon, while never one to complain about his lover's intense physicality, wondered at it sometimes.

"What's wrong, Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly, after a while. "Are you still worrying over the feel of this place?"

Pulling in a slow breath, enjoying the heat of Qui-Gon's body against his, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "It has no feel, Qui-Gon. All I have here to feel is you."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest that, but, as he had done since Obi-Wan's knighting, felt that discretion was the better part of teaching. His former padawan had transcended his training in more ways than one, and did not need his old master tugging at him for answers anymore.

Obi-Wan brought his hand up, touching Qui-Gon's face in the darkness. He could feel the tiredness of an aging master there, and while he would never let Qui-Gon say so, Obi-Wan knew that his lover would, much sooner than either of them liked, grow old. It had been years since they'd first confessed to their love, and Obi-Wan was well over thirty now. He had never been the carefree sort--no Jedi truly was--but he could feel the weight of age pressing upon himself, as well.

Inevitability was. It simply was. Qui-Gon would grow old and die, as would this world they lay on. Obi-Wan would grow old and die as well, and then... and then, no one knew what awaited. No one could say. There were legends, and some had seen ghosts, but those who transcended into the Force with the ability to take visible form were wise in ways that precluded the spilling of universal secrets. The living were not meant to know, and there was nothing to be done about it. Most who went into the Force simply dispersed.

Unless....

Suddenly, Obi-Wan thought of his canteen of water and his meager planning. He'd intended a brief seduction, little more than a light-hearted generation of heat and a bit of reconnection--but that was no longer all that he wanted. He touched Qui-Gon's face again, stroking the angular cheekbones, the tight, brief beard, the broken nose, and was overwhelmed at the idea that one day, that face might no longer be visible to him. He could not stand it. A low sob escaped him.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, alarmed. "Please, my own, you must tell me what is bothering you so much."

"Nothing," Obi-Wan said, too quickly, but immediately regretted the lie. "Please--I promise I will tell you about it later, only--please--" He found Qui-Gon's mouth in the darkness and ravished it, desperate for the connection. He needed to soak himself in his lover's aura, in his scent, in the feel of that skin dotted with the scars of their life together. That Obi-Wan had only belonged to Qui-Gon a short while in the scheme of things did not matter to him. To him, the master had become everything.

That sense of all-importance rose suddenly and demandingly to the surface. Obi-Wan shifted over his master's body, constricted in his movements by the closeness of the sleep pouch but not bothering with that. He kissed Qui-Gon hard, almost frantically, cupping the beloved face in his hands. He touched what he wanted to see but couldn't: Qui-Gon's hair, his throat, his mouth.

"I need you," Obi-Wan breathed tensely between kisses. "I--I can't get close enough to you, Qui-Gon." He moaned when his lover put those large, warm hands on his back, sliding them over Obi-Wan's skin.

"I'm here," Qui-Gon murmured, his voice rich in the closeness of the sleep pouch. He tightened his arms around the slender body and arched upward against him, displaying a heat that matched Obi-Wan's. Their lips met again, tongues sliding together, and Obi-Wan groaned and began to thrust, his need so great and abrupt that he could not think to do more. His plans had been simple but now they narrowed down to this: a need for release, a need for skin and heat and nothing more.

Qui-Gon's answering groan was gorgeous and thick. He slid his hands down to cup Obi-Wan's hips, encouraging him as he thrust upward. Hot pleasure shot between them, almost shared in its intensity. Their cocks slid together, each against the other, the friction soft and demanding at once.

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered, moving steadily against his master's stomach. Words fled as those strong hands pulled him down almost painfully hard, that thick cock under him grinding against his. He moaned again, helpless, swept up in something he'd intended to lead and no longer could.

But Qui-Gon knew this wasn't enough: he understood that Obi-Wan's hesitancy and confessed sense of emptiness here were guiding this encounter. "Move with me," he breathed, and slowly, awkwardly, he turned them over, settling atop his former apprentice's body and allowing his weight and heat to ground Obi-Wan in him. Continuing to thrust, Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's hair, kissed his lips and his throat, nipped at his collarbone and shoulder. Contact was what Obi-Wan needed, and so Qui-Gon lavished him with it.

"Oh..." Obi-Wan moaned, pressing his face against his master's throat. "Oh, yes..." Heat sparked every time he moved, but still it wasn't enough. He ground upward, wrapping his legs around Qui-Gon's, and let out a long, broken whimper. "There," he gasped as his lover thrust harder, accommodating his need.

Qui-Gon groaned in response, shattered by the uncontrolled, shaking heat with which Obi-Wan moved. It was out of character, it was unlike them both, but Qui-Gon could no more change it than call down the stars.

Obi-Wan's movements grew frenetic, his noises pleading and sharp. With a final, broken yelp he came, shaking and arching, scarcely realizing he'd dug his fingernails into Qui-Gon's back.

"There," Qui-Gon soothed, kissing the soft lips under his. He slowed his rapid movement and sighed out Obi-Wan's name, coming gently, a profound, mature counterpart to the knight's driving urgency.

It was too much. "Oh, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan breathed, and then fell silent, his throat too tight for words.

"Please, my own, please tell me," the master whispered. "You know I will hear anything you say and never judge you."

"Bond with me," the knight said quickly, his voice tight. "It is huge, a massive step, I know, and you will tell me you don't wish me to be saddled with an old man. But Qui-Gon, I don't ever want to be without you. I can't... I simply can't be without you. You will die, and I will, too--and then there will be nothing left but the Force. I have never let myself think about it, but now that I have, I'm not strong enough for the knowledge that it will be that way."

Qui-Gon fell silent, stunned. It was a massive step; it required approval, Healer evaluations, assistance from a quorum of the Council itself... he himself had never considered it. It was rarely done.

Holding his breath, Obi-Wan desperately longed to see his master's eyes. He felt cold suddenly, in the silence his declarations had created. He pulled his hand away from his lover's face and tucked it to himself, waiting.

There were so many responses Qui-Gon could give, but only one right one. Obi-Wan was so young, little though he thought it anymore, and Qui-Gon was well nigh twice his age. The younger man was a bright spot in the Order, a wise, serious knight who should take a padawan and share that light. But it had always proven devastating for a Jedi to try to maintain two bonds: bonding to Qui-Gon would preclude a training bond for a padawan altogether.

Qui-Gon was a man of the moment, and there were consequences here that he could not even fathom. But Obi-Wan was a man of the future, and he understood his own heart--so Qui-Gon gave the only right answer there was.

"Yes, Obi-Wan." His voice trembled. "Yes, I would be--pleased and--honored--"

His broken, choked-out affirmations were silenced under a warm, grateful kiss. Obi-Wan's relief was palpable. "Thank you..." he breathed between kisses. "Thank you... oh, thank you." His heart eased at last and that looming, cavernous sense of slow death left him. He drew in a startled breath as he realized that the planet's desolation had not been the cause of his melancholy, because now that sense had lifted and had been replaced with bright, intense promise. His brief depression had been the result of wondering--about Qui-Gon, about their place together, about the future. He hadn't even known these things had concerned him until now, and now, just as quickly, he was relieved of that wondering.

He kissed Qui-Gon over and over, feeling the rightness of his request, and of Qui-Gon's answer, resonating in the future. Now he felt more inside the moment than he'd ever felt before, with the intensity of his master's presence so close to him. The knight moaned, relishing the feel of warm, taut skin against his, and the fact that he could feel little else was no longer a detriment. He was steeped in his lover, soaked in him.

"You're certain?" he whispered, his voice full of questioning need.

"Yes," Qui-Gon rasped. "Yes, Obi-Wan, a bond. I want it, too. I want you beside me forever." He swallowed, combing his fingers through his former apprentice's shoulder-length hair. It was so much to think about, bound as they were for a cold, technological society another day's walk away. Still, Qui-Gon could not help but admit: the Force resonated with the rightness of it.

Overwhelming love filled Obi-Wan's heart. He smiled in the darkness, thrilled and sated. "We will bond, then."

"We will," Qui-Gon confirmed, and kissed his lover happily.

End.