Storms I: Lightning

by DBKate

Category: PWP, Angst, Smut

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of George Lucas and IL&M. No profit is being made here.

Summary: First story in the "Storms" challenge series. PWP's based on storms.

My student, Obi-Wan, was hit by lightning, many years ago.

On a world called Ytsat, somewhere beyond the well-traveled corridors of the galaxy. The storms are legendary there, with huge pitches of thunder and bolts of lightning that can shear rock away from the mountains themselves.

This particular storm struck suddenly, with a terrible fury, and I couldn't find us shelter fast enough.

It was only a tiny ground bolt that struck him, but it was enough to throw him meters away, burning him badly on his saber arm and shaking him to his very core. He was but a boy then and I still remember gathering him in my arms, his eyes wide and his teeth chattering with shock.

I found us an overhang and began the healing process immediately, but healing of the body can only do so much ... go so far.

The healing of his fears, that was something I couldn't do alone.

But it went well for us that afternoon and he survived, the scars on his arm minimal. The scars on his psyche are still apparent, even now, years later, as a similar tempest howls outside of our quarters on Coruscant.

I can tell he's not enjoying this particular storm.

It's nothing that can be seen in his face, or even felt over the bond we share. It's something I simply understand, take for granted as being an unshakable part of his make up as the Force itself. He is still calm as he serves me tea, still smiles when I make a small joke, but the underlying anxiety is there.

Every crash of thunder causes rippling gooseflesh up an arm that hasn't forgotten its trauma. Every burst of light causes his eyes to blink twice. Once against the brightness ... once against the memory.

It hurts me to see it.

But I don't comment on it. I know he feels this fear as a failing, even though it really isn't. There are some traumas even a Jedi can't shake, for we are still bound to this crude matter, our flesh ... and that cannot change while we are alive, no matter how we try to rationalize otherwise. Obi-Wan will never shake this particular fear, not until he is one with the Force, which, fate willing, will be a very long time in coming.

The storm outside turns particularly violent, and the teacup in his hand trembles, just the tiniest bit. Again, I bite back the urge to send him comfort ... to offer him reassurance and tell him that this particular fear need not worry him much. That he is doing as well as he possibly can and that I know. I know.

But then there is a huge crash, followed by a very close, crackling strike.

The teacup falls from his hand and shatters.

His eyes turn huge as a bitter smell of sulfur seeps into the room and the hot tea drips from his fingers. I can feel the memories rushing back, the terror, the burning and awful shock. Feel how certain he was that he was going to die, as the skipping beats of his heart ripped each breath away.

It only lasts a moment, but to him ... and to me, it feels a lifetime.

Flushed and still shaking he rises quickly to get a cloth to clean up the tea. "I'm sorry, Master" he says wiping it up with hasty strokes. "That was clumsy and foolish of me."

"Not so, Padawan," I reply gently. "You could not help it."

His mouth sets grimly as he gathers up the remains of the shattered cup into the soiled cloth. "I should be long over any such fears by now, Master and I'm ashamed that you had to see that. But I will correct it, I promise." He looks up at me and swallows hard, his eyes impossibly sad at the knowledge that he won't. Ever.

"I promise," he whispers and breaks my heart with the sound.

For a moment, he looks so young ... so innocent, the temptation to gather him into my arms feels almost sacrilegious. But I know him, my Obi-Wan, know him well enough by now to see there are occasions when that is exactly what he needs the most.

So, I follow my feelings and fold him to my heart.

He is still trembling, still denying, but does not push me away. Instead he leans against me, curling into my embrace, as I kiss him softly, once on his forehead and then on the corner of his lips, which are set into a hard line, marring his features.

"Your face will stay this way forever if you aren't careful," I jest, kissing his temple lightly.

"You used to tell me that when I crossed my eyes," he replies with a rueful chuckle. "And when I stuck out my tongue at Master Trik'an."

"No," I correct him. "I used to tell you that Master Trik'an would take that tongue away and sell it to the highest bidder if you weren't careful."

He peers up at me, a smile now playing on his lips. "Well, since neither of those predictions came true, perhaps I knew more then than I do now." A flash of sadness and he buries his cheek against my cloak. "Actually, that wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Padawan," I say, carefully ... slowly. "There are fears that even a Jedi cannot shake. Ones that no amount of meditation, correction or discipline will ever erase. They are there, as much a part of us as our flesh, and we must deal with their intrusion as best we can, for, like the flesh, they are temporary, and in the end, not as important as we'd like to believe. Your fear of storms is natural ... and I fear permanent. But that does not say that you cannot limit it or deal with it. For you can and you will."

Another sigh. "Yes, Master."

I pull away, tilting his chin up toward me and force him to look into my eyes. "You don't believe me. Well, Padawan, perhaps you will believe me when I tell you I have fears of my own that I cannot shake."

His eyes grow wide and his mouth opens but shuts again quickly. "No," he stutters after a moment. "I mean ... I'd never think ..."

I put a gentle finger to his lips. "It's true. And the greatest one of these is the fear that I will never be able to make you see when you are being too hard on yourself. That I have taught you that all fears are failures and that you will never be quite perfect enough. Because my dearest Obi-Wan ..."

Another kiss, this time on lips that are soft and accepting. "You are often as close to perfection as any student, friend and lover could possibly be."

For a moment, he looks stunned, but the smile I'm rewarded with next is worth a year of confessions. I receive a kiss of my own, this one passionate and bold.

For he is often completely fearless, my Obi-Wan, more often than not.

It is but a moment later we tumble to the nearby pallet, with him pulling me down beside him. I am glad to follow, glad to lead as well, undressing him and kissing him warmly along his throat. while listening to the small, sweet sounds he makes when I uncover and caress a favorite spot.

He tries to return the caresses in equal measure, but I'm not interested in that.

For now.

No, right now I want him beneath me, forgetting his worries, forgetting the storm outside and concentrating on the fire within, celebrating his flesh ... his humanity, and a few of the wonderful, uncontrollable things that come being such.

But he fights me, just a bit. He can't help himself, that is as much a part of him as his fear of storms, but luckily I am still the teacher. I pin him down, laughing lightly as he struggles and silently complains, but he gives in when I rub slowly against him, kissing him hard all the while.

He arches against the touch, moaning into my mouth and suddenly I am in danger of being consumed by fire as well. I pull back and he whimpers a complaint, but I keep to my goal. Licking and nipping my way down his chest, uncovering smooth skin, feeling the nerves themselves pulsing beneath my touch. Undoing his breeches and setting him free from them, while slowly, very slowly, taking him into my mouth, the smallest bit at time.

He sits up quickly, gasping and then falls back down when I pull away, my eyes disapproving. Receives a tiny lick as a reward and I can see him biting his lip in restraint. The breeches are pushed down further and I explore more carelessly, kissing, suckling ... a small bite on the inside of his thigh, only to go reach back up and take him in again, this time fully, feeling him hard and hot in my throat, tasting both salt and the sea.

Letting him slide slowly from my mouth and watching his expression go from disbelief to mindless ecstasy. Groaning and spreading open further, begging me for things he can't name. Pleading in different languages, crying out my name and beseeching his release.

Which isn't what I want at all. "Let go," I whisper against his thigh, refusing him further caresses. "Let go."

He moans, shakes his head, but soon, agrees. "Yes," he gasps finally. "Yes."

And when he does, its as explosive as the storm itself. He takes my mouth and makes it his own, his hips rising from the pallet and falling back hard ... pistoning quickly in their own impossible rhythm. No longer pleading, he is ordering; taking what he wants and I allow him to. Allow him to revel in all the things he desires, but cannot control.

At least for tonight.

He comes very quickly, sobbing as he does and I gently release him. Kiss my way back up his trembling body and take him into my arms, letting the storm that rages inside pass away. He curls against me, whispering my name and words of love so desperate, they almost hurt to listen to.

But, as always ... I listen, and I watch, and letting him drift off to sleep in my arms, I wait for the next storm to arrive.

Because my student, Obi-Wan, was hit by lightning, oh, many years ago.

End