Surrender

by Bright

Title: Surrender
Author: Bright
Archive: if ya wanna
Category: PWP
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Newbie-Fic!! The last time I wrote even a little piece of fiction...let's just say it was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. You have been warned!
Spoilers: None
Summary: Cramped space leads to MMoM fun. Oh, and there are thin sleep pants!
Feedback: yes, please, as long as it's constructive.
NOTE: For Emila-Wan's MMoM first line challenge

"I can explain."

Qui-Gon's voice was soft and uncharacteristically hesitant, so at odds with the deep and confident rumble that had commanded Obi-Wan's unquestioning obedience for the better part of eight years. Obi-Wan couldn't say which was more shocking to him, the sound of that voice tinged with quiet embarrassment or the sensation of his Master's erection pressing insistently against his backside.

"Don't worry, Master, it was all covered in Basic Humanoid Anatomy class." He knew it had come out too flippant when he felt the small puff of air against his neck as Qui-Gon exhaled suddenly. "Besides, I've got one too," he added.

The hardness pulsed against him, and he realized he'd been misunderstood. He had only meant to say that he possessed a penis as well, and was thus quite familiar with the various unauthorized activities it could get up to. But he couldn't deny that he was fast living up to his statement as his surprise began to fade and the sheer sexual nature of their situation penetrated his mind. Here he was crammed onto his master's lap in a tiny escape pod, strong arms wrapping around him for lack of anyplace else to be. His back was pressed hard against Qui-Gon's chest, held firmly in place by the cramped environment and possibly the force of the pod's ejection from their space-craft. This had been the stuff of his wet dreams, but those were years ago, back when he'd had the requisite Padawan Crush, the one he'd most definitely outgrown.

"It's probably from the excitement of the escape," Qui-Gon offered, his voice still unusually soft, and Obi-wan quickly nodded agreement, seeking some way to reassure the master who had never in his experience needed reassurance about anything.

They'd been sleeping when the ship had been forced out of hyperspace and come under attack by pirates. With Jedi assistance, the pilots had been able to repel the attack, but the ship had been too damaged to sustain life-support. Emergency beacons had been prepared, which would guide a search party to their location, and Master, Padawan, and the ship's small crew had made their way to the escape pods, grateful to find a planet with a suitable moon in range of the pods.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had stepped together into a single pod, clad only in thin sleep pants. These staples of Jedi attire seemed suitably modest in appearance, but Obi-Wan could now feel his Master's heat radiating through both sets of pants, could feel exactly the shape of the swollen cock throbbing suggestively against him, the base of it pressed between the cheeks of his ass. And he suddenly couldn't focus on anything else.

"Definitely the excitement of the escape," Obi-Wan echoed Qui-Gon, and he was surprised to hear how husky his voice had become in just a few seconds.

He felt another soft breath against his neck, another pulse against his ass, and the arms around him tightened for an instant before they seemed to force themselves to loosen. Obi-Wan felt a rush of blood in his temple, an answering throb in his own cock, and he was sure, almost sure, that his master was caught up in far more than thoughts about their confrontation with the pirates.

"Still," he went on, keeping his voice purposefully low. "This is quite an erotic…position… we've found ourselves in." The muscular body behind him tensed, and he thought there was a hint of a thrust withheld, tamped down by the force of a will that could project consummate Jedi serenity in almost any situation. Except this one.

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered, and his voice broke on just that one syllable.

"It's the kind of thing I used to imagine, alone in my room, the sort of fantasies I had about you back in those days." Obi-Wan could feel the tension mingle with embarrassment, overwhelming in the tiny compartment, and he questioned himself. This was going someplace that might not be an altogether good idea. "I stopped though. I mean after we had that talk. I mean I stopped fantasizing about you." His words had started to trip over one another.

"I see." Qui-Gon sounded suddenly calm and carefully neutral, but why could Obi-Wan sense something else in his words? Something like disappointment?

"I mean, it was either stop completely or go mad with wanting you."

"Yes, Padawan."

Qui-Gon was shielding strongly, but Obi-Wan was certain he could feel that particular strain in the Force, definitely a sense of disappointment overlaying the embarrassment and discomfort that still dominated the space around them. Did his master *want* to be desired by his padawan? That thought was startling, powerfully arousing, and disturbing all at the same time. His hips gave a small involuntary shift, his erection seeking friction, seeking contact, and there was an audible gasp behind him.

It was almost unbearably intimate, the closeness of their bodies. Nothing could be truly hidden, desire exposed by the flush of blood pulsing through their bodies, the feel of quickening breath, and the sound a pounding heart. He felt Qui-Gon thrust just the smallest bit, heard him bite down on a sigh. There is no passion indeed!

"Of course," Obi-Wan continued, answering the hip thrust with one of his own, "it will be hard not to think of you that way now."

The sigh did escape Qui-Gon this time, along with a very definite thrust, and Obi-Wan thought the material at his back was becoming damp – the thought of that big cock leaking made his breath catch in his throat and his entire body tense in an effort to stop himself reaching down and taking his own cock in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan had no response. A great part of him wanted to cry out, NO, don't be sorry, Master! It was that same part of him that was busy subconsciously trying to figure out if there was enough room in here to get his pants down, enough room to lift up and slide down atop that bulging heat. The same part of him that idly wondered if he had the nerve to take his Master's hands, currently clasped across his chest, and guide them downward to his own aching erection.

But Obi-Wan remembered only too well his months of painful struggle to accept the reality that Qui-Gon did not return his desire, didn't return his heartrending adolescent love; they were teacher and student, with the attendant love, trust, and respect between them, and that had to be enough. He didn't want to re-visit that particular chapter of his life. He didn't want to hear, "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

He became conscious that Qui-Gon's breathing was growing quicker and more audible, that the muscled hips behind his were moving slightly, the delicious, hard heat of him pressing so near to his opening, and he realized that in his distraction he had let his own shields fall to pieces. Was his master responding to the tangled thoughts and lustful images in his mind?

Without overtly sending the thought, but with a certain deliberation, Obi-Wan let an image form in his mind, let himself fully imagine what it would feel like to be physically joined with his master. Sweet Force, he thought, how I want you inside me, Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon moaned audibly, thrust hard against his padawan once, twice, three times before he seemed to bring himself under some kind of control. Obi-Wan gasped and let one of his hands fall to his straining cock while the other laced itself tightly through Qui-Gon's fingers. He was harder than he could ever remember being, leaking steadily through the thin fabric of his sleep pants.

He thought he might have moaned aloud himself, but he couldn't have said for sure. His brain was so fuzzy with desire, so focused on the man holding him, on the hard muscles shifting in the thighs beneath him, on that column of overheated flesh that pressed so insistently into his back that he could almost feel the bulging veins in it. He could definitely feel his master's cock respond in pulses and twitches to the gentle caresses he traced along the older man's calloused palm and long, shapely fingers.

Obi-Wan loved that strong hand, his master's saber hand. He loved his master completely, and he realized that he always would. Denial can only work for so long, he thought ruefully. Before he could question himself, he was sliding Qui-Gon's surprisingly unresisting hand down his bare stomach, moaning aloud at the exquisite touch on his sensitive skin, thrusting up to meet only air when the hand hesitated at the waistband of his pants.

"Please." Obi-Wan said the word aloud, said it in his mind, sent it along the bond to his master. They both wanted this, needed this.

The response was half moan, half sob that sounded something like his name, and then there was the indescribable sensation of Qui-Gon's hand slipping into his pants and taking a firm hold of his aching cock, brushing a thumb across his tip to spread the slick moisture down his shaft.

The pod began to vibrate as it entered the moon's atmosphere, and Obi-Wan felt simultaneously weightless and on fire. He was so close and struggled against his release, wishing the moment would go on forever, that he could always be just like this, thrusting into Qui-Gon's practiced hand and feeling his master's hips match his own rhythm.

Their skin, where it touched, was slick with sweat, and the breath in his ear was hot and moist and almost gasping, and there was a rhythmic sound to it, and then he realized it was his own name. His master was whispering his name over and over again, and the whisper became a deep, guttural moan and Qui-Gon was coming, and Obi-Wan was coming, and he'd never felt anything like it, never known it could be like this, never known that his heart could clench so powerfully and still continue beating.

Obi-Wan had never known he could experience something so intense in both his body and his spirit; he'd never been brought to gasping sobs and trembling ecstasy in the same moment. He wondered who he would be when the waves stopped crashing into him, because he knew, even as the shudders wracked his body, he knew that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

The pod was motionless. It was filled with the sounds of their breathing as pulses and respiration crept slowly back to normal, but it had definitely come to rest. They had landed.

Obi-Wan was overwhelmed with sudden apprehension. "Master, what – " He broke off, having no idea how to articulate what he was feeling, which encompassed everything from an overriding worry about what it all meant, to a more basic concern about how they might explain the state of their clothing to the ship's crew, who could now be heard approaching the pod.

"What will we do now?" Qui-Gon asked, caressing his apprentice's chest and pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple.

Obi-Wan turned sharply to look at his master, amazed that the customary tone of serenity and command had returned, even if the words were clipped with hard breathing and the voice still rough with newly-sated desire. Qui-Gon was smiling.

"Well, Obi-Wan, we shall open the door and go where the Force leads us."