by Pamela "Hutch" Thalner
(Padawan Paj'the Katci, hutch@subreality.com)
Author's Notes: This was a plot bunny given to me by TC Regan
just before I left for work. It's her fault, therefore, that I
got nothing done today. You can also blame her for the fic
itself. *smiles innocently* But, well, she did suggest that I
write a smut scene to get over my fear of writing m/m smut. And
who am I to deny the smut? (It is not her fault, however, that
this goes on so long. That's all Qui-Gon's. Geez, you'd think
*he'd* be quiet, but get him started and he doesn't shut up...)
Oh, yeah; I know SW doesn't have showers, per se, but there's a
bathtub described in "Shadows of the Empire", so I took some
artistic license.
Finally, thanks of immense proportions go to TC Regan and kaly
for being wonderful beta-readers/cheerleaders. Many, many
chocolate-covered Obi-Wans to you both.
Continuity: Takes place shortly before TPM, probably around
three or four months.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Qui-Gon comes to some realizations about his Padawan.
Smut ensues.
Rating: Very NC-17. (It's all at the end, though.)
Category: Thinly-disguised PWP.
Disclaimer: Though I've spent enough on Star Wars and
SW-related stuff that I could probably claim *something* if I
wanted to, I claim no ownership of these characters; they
belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilms, Ltd.
Normally the sight of his Padawan clothed in nothing but
droplets of water would not have rattled Qui-Gon Jinn so much.
But it had been a rough day.
He and Obi-Wan had only just returned that morning from their
most recent mission, settling a dispute among two Quarren clans
on the watery world of Mon Calamari. Their return, aboard a Mon
Cal cruiser climatically designed for the amphibious species,
had been less than comfortable. To make matters worse, upon
their arrival at Coruscant, Qui-Gon had been immediately
summoned before the Jedi Council, without a chance to change or
bathe. As a result, he still smelled strongly of briny
seawater, salty air, and Mon Calamari flesh; his clothes had
dried into stiff, salt-encrusted bits of sandpaper; and his
lengthy debriefing before the Council - wherein he'd been
forced to defend several critical decisions made during the
mission - had left him weary in both body and soul. Now, all he
wanted was food, hot water, and sleep, in roughly that order.
The sight of Obi-Wan, clean out of the 'fresher unit and naked
as the day he was born - save a towel over his head - stopped
him completely in his tracks.
"Master, you're back." Hastily, Obi-Wan wrapped the towel with
which he'd been drying his hair around his waist, moving to
help the exhausted Qui-Gon to a chair. The Master Jedi sank
into it with a sigh of relief, as Obi-Wan moved to the food
preparation area and began to fix a restorative drink.
"I take it the Council weren't too pleased with the
negotiations," commented the Padawan drily.
Qui-Gon shook his head, his drifting thoughts shifting back to
the ordeal he'd so recently escaped. "They were not," he agreed
heavily.
Obi-Wan had already delivered the drink and gone back to begin
preparing a basic meal for his Master. At that mild statement,
so telling, he sighed and shook his head. "I warned you that
they would be displeased."
"The Council's opinion was not as important to me as was the
need to make sure no more Quarren died," Qui-Gon retorted. "If
the Council had been out there, they may very well have seen
why I handled it the way I did."
It was an argument they'd had for years; only the names and
specific situations had changed. As Obi-Wan puttered around the
food-prep area of the suite of rooms reserved for Master and
Apprentice during their brief stays on Coruscant, Qui-Gon gave
himself over to the argument, sipped at the stimulant, and felt
energy gradually flow back into him.
Once the meal had been prepared and consumed, the two fell into
a companionable silence. Qui-Gon frowned to himself as he found
his thoughts returning to his Padawan's appearance. After
finishing the meal, Obi-Wan had changed into a pair of trousers
and a light over-tunic; his feet, sprawled on a hassock, were
bare. The image from before - as Qui-Gon had first seen him
upon returning to their rooms - sprang into Qui-Gon's mind
again unbidden, and he found himself not thoroughly surprised
by the capriciousness of his thoughts.
It wasn't as if they'd never been nude before each other in the
past; after all, they were both men, both raised in the Jedi
culture that had no taboo of any kind against nudity. Yet
suddenly Qui-Gon could not banish that image from his mind:
Obi-Wan bare before him, skin soft and glowing, droplets of
water clinging to him, rivulets trickling down his smooth
flesh, dampening the curls--
"Master?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan." With a wrench, he forced his thoughts back to
the present, realizing that Obi-Wan had been repeating his
title.
The Padawan arched an eyebrow. "I was just wondering if you'd
like to take a shower and get out of those clothes."
/Now there's a line if I ever heard one./ He shook off the
inadvertent thought and nodded. "That sounds heavenly." Setting
aside his empty cup, he pushed himself to his feet. His muscles
seemed to have stiffened up while he'd been seated, and as he
took a step, he felt himself falter.
In an instant, Obi-Wan was at his side, offering support. The
quick spike of worry that emanated through the Force had the
unfortunate side effect of irritating Qui-Gon.
"Stop treating me like an old man, damn it," he snapped,
flaring enough that Obi-Wan took a couple of uncertain steps
back.
But he wasn't being coddled, of course; as weariness overtook
him again, Qui-Gon recognized that his Padawan was only trying
to help.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head. "I'm tired, and the
climate from the Mon Calamari ship still has my joints hurting.
A hand would not be amiss."
Obi-Wan stepped forward again, a careful smile on his face. "Of
course, Master."
Shortly thereafter, in the shower, Qui-Gon felt himself
relaxing into a state of bliss. Steam billowed around him,
obscuring the true dimensions of the shower stall - itself
large enough to hold at least four people, or five if they were
friendly. The hot water pounding down from above did much to
restore the last edges of sanity to his mind, and while he
still felt tired, it was no longer that bone-deep exhaustion
from before. Outside, Obi-Wan was waiting in case he should
need anything.
He really was a very good Padawan, Qui-Gon mused as he
diligently scrubbed salt out of his hair. Obi-Wan's
attentiveness to the living Force could still use some work,
but overall, Qui-Gon felt that his apprentice would soon be
ready to face the Trials.
How far the young man had come from the boy he once was, a
soon-to-be-ex-Jedi initiate on a ship to Bandomeer. Full of
courage he had been then, but full of anger and fear, too. The
intervening years, spent in Qui-Gon's tutelage - as well as the
occasional lessons from other Masters in the Jedi Temple - had
seen Obi-Wan's full talents come to fruition. Qui-Gon was glad
he'd been there to see the growth of boy into man. He had to
admit that he'd be sad to lose Obi-Wan's companionship.
/Is that all you'll miss, Qui-Gon?/ His mind's voice was
rueful. He gave a low chuckle as the image of Obi-Wan naked
appeared in his mind's eye again. /No, I suppose not. But it's
been left alone for so long - best not to try and bring it up
now./
He couldn't deny that he found his Padawan attractive. When
he'd first realized this, he wasn't sure; but he thought it
might have been sometime around Obi-Wan's seventeenth birthday.
Youth and a new adult status had given him an excited glow, and
when Qui-Gon had dismissed him from exercises that day, the
grin on Obi-Wan's face shone bright enough to make Qui-Gon's
heart flip.
But how did one tell one's Padawan that one found him
desirable? One didn't. It wasn't done; or if it was, it was
kept discreet. Qui-Gon had wondered if he might find an
appropriate moment, but he'd never found one.
Better left unsaid, anyway. Obi-Wan could do much better than
his old Master.
Qui-Gon finished rinsing out his hair and shut the water off.
Pushing the door open, he reached for a towel, nodding thanks
to Obi-Wan as the Padawan stood.
"Go to bed, Obi-Wan," he said with a slight hint of
remonstration. "I can carry myself to my own rest."
Obi-Wan nodded, but didn't move quite yet. He seemed somewhat
frozen to the spot, his eyes locked somewhere at Qui-Gon's
chest.
"What is it?" Qui-Gon asked, rubbing the towel over his hair.
"Master, I--" Obi-Wan fidgeted for a moment; then his eyes came
up to meet Qui-Gon's. "It was what you were thinking about. In
the shower. You were, ah--"
Qui-Gon nodded before he realized the full impact of Obi-Wan's
words. "Broadcasting?" he finished.
"I think it was because you were so tired..." Already Obi-Wan
was trying to come up with excuses, Qui-Gon recognized vaguely.
He had thought himself well past the age to be embarrassed, but
apparently he wasn't after all, for he felt a blush staining
his face.
"What exactly did you pick up?" he asked carefully.
"You were thinking about - how you wanted me." Somehow Obi-Wan
managed to push past his own embarrassment and speak plainly.
"I was," Qui-Gon acknowledged. Though the awareness had been
made clear in a way that he would not have preferred, there it
was nonetheless.
The moment hung between them, silent, awkward. Qui-Gon took a
step forward, reaching for Obi-Wan, though he expected the
Padawan to step away. He didn't, though, and Qui-Gon's large
hand rested on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You shouldn't have ever had to know
that, to learn about that. It was never my intention to--"
"Master." Obi-Wan's eyes met his. To his surprise, there was no
revulsion or shame in Obi-Wan's eyes: stranger yet, he thought
he saw hope there. Though he had to be reading his own emotions
into this, for surely--
Then Obi-Wan was stepping closer to him, reaching up to touch
his face. The apprentice's fingers were curiously tender on
Qui-Gon's skin, light as they traveled over the worn lines of
the Master's face to clasp behind his neck. Qui-Gon was
startled enough that his eyes stayed open as Obi-Wan leaned up,
ever so slightly, to kiss him.
Qui-Gon's hand floated up to caress Obi-Wan's wrist, feeling,
with some wonder, the roughness of the pale brown hairs
sprinkled over the back of his hand, contrasting with the
calluses of his own hand. Strangely, he could find nothing to
say, except, "Obi-Wan," in a slightly shaky voice.
Obi-Wan's smile was slightly rueful. "No need to be ashamed,"
he said, voice soft. "I've been wanting this, too."
"You're saying this to please me, to -- to make me feel
better," Qui-Gon began, grasping at straws. A moment later, he
blinked, feeling a sudden surge of emotion in the Force. The
ripples, the intensity of feeling, were undeniable, as were
their origin point. Though he and Obi-Wan had not shared an
emotional connection of this kind in some time, there was no
mistaking the mental signature.
The slight smile was gone from the Padawan's face; the earnest,
serious look in his pale eyes one of raw truth. "This is /not/
out of some sophomoric effort to please you, Qui-Gon," he said,
and the elder Jedi shuddered to hear his name on Obi-Wan's
lips. "I want you. I've never wanted anyone else."
He felt himself shaking, his hand on Obi-Wan's arm trembling
under the force of the emotions. The wave of lust that swept
over him pounded at his heart with its intensity, and suddenly
Qui-Gon wanted nothing more than to drag Obi-Wan to the floor
and have his way with him.
Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes dark with desire. "Yes, Master," he
said in a tone equally charged with desire.
As if hearing those words were the final catalyst, Qui-Gon
pulled Obi-Wan to him, one shaking hand cupping the back of the
Padawan's head, the other going around his waist. The blaze of
anticipation ignited in the kiss that followed.
Only a minute or so later, Qui-Gon found himself sprawled back
in his bed, his Padawan laying beside him. How they had managed
to get from the bathroom to the bed without seriously injuring
one or both of them still surprised him, as he hadn't been
paying attention to where they were going. Neither, he
suspected, had Obi-Wan; but he wasn't in the mind to dwell on
such minor details.
The heat between them was unmistakable; it billowed in waves
with every kiss, every touch, as they divested each other of
what little remained of their clothing, hands sliding over bare
skin and through damp hair. Qui-Gon's senses were inflamed with
Obi-Wan, his scent, his touch, everything about him; he found
himself torn between wanting to make their first time slow and
special and the driving desire to shove his Padawan to the bed
and Take Him Now.
Instead, he found the breath going out of him when Obi-Wan's
hand found its way to the throbbing erection rising between his
legs. An inarticulate groan his only response, he arched into
the firm, experienced caress.
Obi-Wan's lazy smile grew wider, a devilish light dancing in
his eyes as his thumb played around the head of Qui-Gon's stiff
cock. He gave his lover another long, lingering kiss, then
gently pushed Qui-Gon back against the mattress and straddled
his knees.
His breath coming in shallower pants, Qui-Gon closed his eyes
with anticipatory desire. Smooth lips nuzzled his earlobe,
tasted his neck, then moved easily down his collarbone, his
shoulders, the small hollow at the base of his neck, swirling a
wet trail down his torso. Obi-Wan took his time discovering the
sensitivity of Qui-Gon's nipples, taking delight in rasping the
flat of his tongue over one hardened nub to get another moan
out of his Master.
It seemed decades to Qui-Gon before Obi-Wan finally resumed his
journey down his torso, the younger Jedi's tongue slicking a
path across lean abdominal muscles, taut with tension, closer
to that part of him that seemed raging with fire.
Curiously, the wetness of Obi-Wan's mouth did not extinguish
the flame; instead, it only exacerbated the heat. Qui-Gon gave
another shuddering, wordless moan, his hips arching up to meet
the warm, lips and tongue that so eagerly took him in.
The room grew completely silent, save for the shallowest of
breathing and a soft, wet suckling noise.
"You're trying to kill me," Qui-Gon said, some time later, in a
strained voice. There was no response but a muffled chuckle,
and a flicker of Obi-Wan's tongue that made the elder Jedi grip
the sheets and cry out, shuddering.
He was very close. Sensing this, Obi-Wan quickened the pace,
tightening the thumb and forefinger wrapped around the base of
Qui-Gon's erection. He had prolonged it long enough, drawing
out his master's enjoyment as far as he could; now he
intensified the sensations, suckling hard--
The cry seemed to come from deep within Qui-Gon; his hips
arched upward, his hands clutching the sheets, as the force of
the orgasm shot through him. He felt the disconnection of mind
and body that he always felt at that moment; at the same time
he felt a strange kind of complete connection with both the
physical and spiritual elements of himself, though his head was
spinning too rapidly; and all he really wanted to do was lay
back and savor this moment.
Warmth next to him, then; he sighed contentedly, wrapping his
arm around Obi-Wan's waist and leaning into the shoulder to his
side. He felt suddenly territorial as he slid his other hand
into Obi-Wan's hair and pulling the Padawan close for a deep,
satisfying kiss. /Mine,/ something inside him seemed to growl.
The heat of a stiff erection pressed to him aroused another,
equally intense emotion from somewhere deep inside of him.
It was a need to have his Padawan, here, now, in his bed. With
a growl, he rolled over, pressing Obi-Wan to the mattress. The
younger Jedi moaned aloud, willingly surrendering to his
Master's desire; and the sight of Obi-Wan thus - sprawled in
the sheets, skin flushed with heat and a look of lust on his
face - drove Qui-Gon to greater depths of longing. Feeling the
blood rush again to his stiffening cock, he knew a moment of
sharp clarity in his desire to take possession of his Padawan.
One hand on Obi-Wan's stomach to keep him in place, Qui-Gon
reached over to his bedside table, rummaging in the drawer for
a bottle of massage oil he kept there. Normally, he used the
cool liquid to ease the burn from aching muscles after long
exercise sessions. As he knelt over Obi-Wan, spreading a puddle
of the oil on his hands, he felt more than saw the Padawan's
excitement and equal need, and knew it would be put to good
use.
He made sure that both of them were well-prepared; watching and
feeling Obi-Wan's ecstacy as he slid a finger, then two, in and
out of the younger man's anus was almost enough to make Qui-Gon
climax again. Qui-Gon had to apply a Jedi mind-calming trick to
keep himself ready for the joining.
Leaning over Obi-Wan again, he held the head of his cock to the
puckered opening of his lover's anus. Obi-Wan arranged his legs
around Qui-Gon's hips, getting comfortable, the look on his
face one of excited anticipation; he knew no fear, fully aware
of what was to come, and the elder Jedi felt a mild sense of
relief at that. Qui-Gon bent his head and kissed Obi-Wan
tenderly, then pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan's shoulder as he
began to push into him.
Obi-Wan's tight passage seemed to caress him, the muscles
rippling tightly around his rock-hard cock. Though he wanted to
go slow, he couldn't seem to; and when Obi-Wan relaxed
momentarily and then tightened again, Qui-Gon felt his entire
erection fill up Obi-Wan's anus. He let go of a shuddering moan
at that intense sensation, gripping the bedclothes on either
side of Obi-Wan's head.
The younger Jedi's fingernails raked up and down Qui-Gon's
back, the intensity of his own feelings transmitted in the arch
of his back, the way he pushed into Qui-Gon's thrusts. Slowly,
a tentative push became a rhythm as the lovers became familiar
with the movements of each others' bodies, as they fed off the
heightened sensations brought about by their connection in the
bond of the Force.
Qui-Gon found, very rapidly, that he could not maintain control
for long. He wanted to stretch it out, make it last, but his
body had other ideas, and he pulled back to try and make it
last. One hand went to Obi-Wan's own stiff cock, where it began
to move up and down in an irregular rhythm. Obi-Wan's hand
overlaid his; together they began to move, in and out of each
other, finding the pattern again.
Obi-Wan came all at once, with an almost tortured cry, his
semen pouring over their joined fists. The combination of his
physical reaction, the muscles contracting, rippling around
Qui-Gon's cock, and the emotion release, finally pushed Qui-Gon
over the edge he had been fighting to stay above. He let the
rhythm go, abandoning himself in his lover's body and the
intense release that touched him from his toes to the roots of
his hair.
They curled up together, almost naturally finding themselves
cuddling spoon-style, with Qui-Gon's chest pressed protectively
to Obi-Wan's back. Sweat- and semen- and oil-coated, they
slept, warm and new in each others' arms; secure in their
newfound feelings and the bone-deep peace that left no words to
be spoken.
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