With or Without Consent (mirror version)

by Rushlight (n_sanity75@hotmail.com)

Author's Webpage: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight/

Pairing: Q/O

Category: PWP, Angst, RAPE

Rating: NC-17

WARNINGS!!: Partner rape.

Summary: Some temptations just cannot be resisted... (from Obi- Wan's POV)

Feedback: yes, please <whimper>

Disclaimers: Not mine, never will be, not that this is going to do me a bit of good if George ever decides to go postal on us.


It had started so innocently.

There were demons in the Temple garden that morning: half-formed bits of apparition, hopes, fears, longings, forbidden desires. A lifetime erased in the space of a few tremulous heartbeats. Betrayal. A universe shattered beyond repair.

Obi-Wan knelt among the flowering shrubs and tried desperately to pick up the broken pieces.

A soft breeze touched his hair, making him shiver. Around him, the garden unfolded in all of its majestic splendor, a delicate cocoon of emerald green dotted here and there with dark splashes of color. The silver-furred branches of the farrhia trees were etched delicate as spiders' legs against the deepening sky. Somewhere in the hidden distance, a fountain chuckled merrily.

For a Jedi, there is only peace.

The sterile beauty of the garden seemed suddenly suffocating. There was something almost sinister about it, as if it were a painted backdrop designed to conceal something far less wholesome. The galaxy was filled with things that were beautiful on the outside, but rotten within. Sweat clung to his skin beneath the voluminous folds of his robes.

Fear leads to anger.

Outwardly, he was the picture of glacial calm, but inside he was screaming. He wanted to yell, to kick, to bite, to howl his frustration at the unfeeling sky, but that was not the Jedi way. One word pounded in ruthless cadence inside the prison of his skull, echoing through him until he had to clench his jaws against the force of it: Why?

Why?

He struggled to focus, to rein his traitorous feelings under some semblance of control, but his efforts were swept away under the whirlwind of emotion. His breathing was shallow, hunted.

Anger leads to hate.

An insidious numbness crept through him, completely at odds with the warm summer morning, coolly soothing in the wake of the banked rage that surged in him. He felt chilled, barren, as if he'd never known what it was to be warm, and never would.

Hate leads to...

Memory sank its ripping claws into the fragile fabric of his soul, refusing to let go. He closed his eyes against its slow tide, fighting it, but it was insatiable, washing over him with the force of a meteor storm, pulling him down into its clutching embrace. The warm familiarity of the garden seemed to recede around him, thrusting him back into that other time, that other place, when the world as he knew it had come to an unexpected and violent end.

His thoughts that morning had been of his impending astrophysics exam. It was not a class he was particularly fond of, although he excelled at it as he did everything he put his mind to. He had been studying for it for the past two weeks, putting in the extra time he knew he would need to make an adequate showing.

He could still feel the sinuous slide of the water down his skin as he stood in the shower, preparing to start his day. It had been sheer sensual indulgence, the temperature of the water turned up just a bit higher than he usually allowed, its fierce heat pounding the fatigue from muscles that were still stiff from sleep. It was one of the rare luxuries he let himself give into - the glorious pleasure of a hot, hot shower.

Qui-Gon had been in the kitchen, making tea. Obi-Wan murmured a distracted "good morning" as he emerged from the shower, still fitting the beads and fastenings on the end of his freshly tied braid. He was wearing only a thin towel draped around his hips, which, in retrospect, had probably not been wise. But there had never been cause for modesty between him and his Master; they'd been through so much together, in so many different situations. It seemed ludicrous to be concerned with matters of bodily humility.

"Good morning, Padawan."

Had there been something off about Qui-Gon's voice then? Obi-Wan honestly could not remember. He'd gone into the kitchen to get his tea, and was struck immediately by the oddity of his Master's posture. Qui-Gon held himself stiffly, his gaze sliding away from his padawan as if he were painful to look at, and his face was strangely flushed.

"Master, is everything all right?"

He had been honestly concerned at this point. This was very uncharacteristic behavior for his Master, although Obi-Wan had to admit that he'd been seeing more and more of it lately. A strange sort of detachment whenever they were alone together, a tendency to avoid eye contact, an odd reluctance to touch his apprentice, even during training sessions.

"You should get dressed, Obi-Wan. You have an astrophysics test this morning."

Obi-Wan had been deaf to the quiet plea behind those words. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, ever the concerned padawan, laying a gentle hand on Qui-Gon's arm. Those muscles felt hard as iron under his fingers, tensed with some unnamable emotion.

Qui-Gon pulled away from him roughly, all but snarling at him. There was an odd light in his eyes that made Obi-Wan think of the way an Alsaarian tyger might look at its prey just before it pounced. It unnerved him. "Master...?" Uncertain now.

Perhaps he should have realized just what his Master was thinking as his eyes slid down over his apprentice's face, drinking him in. But this was not something he had ever thought of in connection with his Master, who had been all but father to him since he was twelve years old. The light in those eyes deepened, hot as blue flame, and Obi-Wan nearly jumped out of his skin when Qui-Gon reached out to touch him lightly on the cheek. There was nothing threatening about the contact per se, but there had been so little touching between them lately. It felt wrong somehow, even as his mind rebelled against the notion that it could be.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said heavily, with a weight of inevitability. "Go into my bedroom."

He truly had not understood what those words portended. "But my astrophysics exam-" he protested automatically.

"You will not be taking your exam this morning."

Now this was the point where he should have walked away. Everything was always so clear in hindsight. His heart had actually seemed to skip a beat, but his mind steadfastly refused to grasp the meaning of the unexpected command. Maybe a part of him really had known, deep inside where he locked away all of his deepest doubts and fears, but it was an admission he was not yet ready to make to himself. This was his Master, after all. Qui- Gon.

So he had followed the path of least resistance. Obedience was a habit that had been trained into him from his first days in the Temple, and it was a comfortable fallback in a world that had abruptly become strange and unfathomable.

He had only been inside his Master's bedroom a handful of times in all the years that he'd lived here. Qui-Gon actually spent very little time in this room, and it was barely functional. Low dresser and nightstand of dark, honey-colored wood, thick dark carpet, large bed, tall lamp beside the door. But there were enough personal touches to keep it from seeming entirely forbidding: the soft, embroidered coverlet on the bed, the small jade statue on the nightstand that was a gift from the governor of Araya, a holo of a thirteen-year-old Obi-Wan holding aloft the trophy for the Padawans' Saber Competition.

It was a few minutes before Qui-Gon joined him. The Jedi Master stopped just inside the doorway, his expression unreadable. The shades were drawn over the windows still, and in the murky half- light he looked like a stranger, cold and detached and utterly alien.

"You are beautiful." There was a depth of unspoken feeling behind the words.

For the first time, Obi-Wan felt afraid. He barely recognized the man who stood before him, although they'd known each other for many years. He was struck with the sudden thought that if this had been anyone else, he never would have allowed himself to be cornered in a darkened bedroom like this.

Then Qui-Gon moved towards him, with slow, easy grace. Obi-Wan tensed before he realized he was doing so. There was an almost feral expression on his Master's face, and Obi-Wan's heart was pounding rapidly now. Those narrow blue eyes were cold, so cold. He found that he couldn't look away from them. Qui-Gon reached out to finger his braid absently.

"Master..." Obi-Wan said, licking suddenly dry lips. There had to be an explanation for this; surely he was misinterpreting the weight of that heavy gaze. "Master, I-"

Something in Qui-Gon's expression made him stop, and the hand around his braid tugged slightly, stinging him where the hair met his scalp. "You will not speak unless I give you leave to do so."

He had to have misunderstood. "Master-"

The blow came out of nowhere. It impacted squarely with his left cheekbone, making stars explode behind his eyes, and suddenly the floor was rushing up to meet him. So startled was he by the unexpected attack, he barely managed to catch himself, the coarse weave of the carpet digging into his palms. His long braid flew across his face and stung lightly on his abused cheek. He felt the towel around his hips start to slip and reached for it without thinking, his thoughts spinning. He could feel the imprint of Qui-Gon's hand throbbing on his skin, and the utter surprise of it held him frozen in place as he gazed up at his Master in stunned disbelief.

He flinched as Qui-Gon bent over him, hand latching once again to the length of his padawan's braid. Obi-Wan made an inarticulate cry as he was pulled up to his knees, and he swayed slightly, fighting between shock and indignation as he was held in this undignified position. Qui-Gon's fingers were immovable where they held him.

Qui-Gon nodded approvingly, as if sensing Obi-Wan's inability to fight him. There was an expression of what could almost be called glee in his hooded eyes, which made the situation even more unreal because it was ludicrous to think that this man could ever find pleasure in another's pain. "You will not speak unless I say." He spoke with the weight of a man imparting uncontroversial religious doctrine. "You will not move unless I say. You will do everything I tell you to, without question. Do you understand?"

Oh, the universe had gone crazy at last. "Yes," he managed to gasp out, completely trapped by that unforgiving grip.

Instant pain shot through his skull as Qui-Gon tightened his fist around the braid, and tears splashed down Obi-Wan's cheeks as he struggled to understand what was happening to him. "Yes...Master," he said quickly, knowing instinctively what his Master wanted to hear.

In all the years that they'd been together, Qui-Gon had never so much as raised his voice against his apprentice, much less struck him. Obi-Wan felt as if the universe had split open around him, giving birth to some horrible and artificial thing that was only masquerading as the real world. It gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, made all the more horrifying because he didn't seem able to fight it.

"Get up on the bed."

And then he knew. Oh, Force help him, he knew. His mind rebelled against the realization, his thoughts overlapping into a buzz of incoherent static.

"Do it, Obi-Wan." A finger slid lightly across Obi-Wan's cheek, and it was this small bit of tenderness that completely undid him.

Obi-Wan obeyed, feeling as if he were somehow hovering outside of his body, watching these events unfold. He probably could have resisted, could have brought to bear all of the many self-defense techniques that Qui-Gon had taught him over the years, but it seemed a wasted effort. The thought of actually fighting his Master was incomprehensible. None of this seemed real.

He watched Qui-Gon come towards him with a curious detachment, didn't resist as his Master took gentle hold of one of his hands. The slow caresses that he gave to Obi-Wan's fevered skin could only be called sensual in nature, but still Obi-Wan refused to believe it. As long as he didn't acknowledge what was happening, it wouldn't be real.

Then Qui-Gon kissed the back of his hand. The feel of those lips was paper-dry, soft and warm, the breath that spread between them searing in its intensity. Obi-Wan stared, slack-jawed, as Qui- Gon slowly took one of his fingers into his mouth and then caught his breath at the gentle suction that followed.

Qui-Gon was watching him, trying to gauge his reactions. Obi-Wan felt somehow dirtied by that inquisitive gaze, as if his emotions were on display for public enjoyment. Then he felt Qui-Gon's tongue flicker across the tip of his finger, a warm, wet brush of velvet heat on his skin, and it was like an electrical jolt.

"No," he whispered, trying to pull his hand back out of Qui-Gon's grip. Qui-Gon only tightened his hold, added a slight touch of his teeth, and Obi-Wan was suddenly struck full-force by the horror of his situation.

He jerked back, trying to slide away from the suddenly unbearable heat of his Master's body. That was when Qui-Gon seemed to snap, fierce fingers grabbing at the back of Obi-Wan's neck, pushing him down onto the bed. Obi-Wan flailed, caught completely off- guard, but then Qui-Gon was leaning over him, the lower half of his body pinning Obi-Wan's legs to the mattress. That warm, velvet tongue again flicked out, this time to touch the inside curve of Obi-Wan's ear.

"Do. Not. Move."

Oh, this couldn't be his Master. Qui-Gon could never be capable of such cruelty, such coldness. Obi-Wan screamed inwardly, almost suffocating against the sheets, and reached instinctively out through the Force for help, anyone, oh please, please just make it stop. The tears were hot on his cheeks.

He sensed it when Qui-Gon caught up his frantic plea, with almost insulting ease, and crumbled it to dust between them. Then Obi- Wan felt the strange silence begin to fall over him, a wall of blindness that cut him off from the Unifying Force around him, sealing him away inside the screaming terror of his mind. How could Qui-Gon do this to him? He was cut off now, completely, alone with his fear and his pain. Alone as he had never been before in his life.

He was still adjusting to the shock of it when Qui-Gon released him. Those large, warm hands moved to touch the backs of his shoulders, massaging lightly, feeling his contours with what could only be called carnal pleasure. Obi-Wan held himself very still, afraid to provoke another attack, and trembled under that exploring touch. The hands moved lower, down his arms, and closed firmly around his wrists, imprisoning him.

Before he could react to his sudden immobility, Qui-Gon's lips were pressing against the skin between his shoulder blades. Obi- Wan gasped, unable for a moment to think beyond this very unanticipated moment. His Master was kissing him. And touching him. And wanting him. Despite the feeling of horror that accompanied the thought, there was a deeply provocative satisfaction to it. Almost a feeling of power, that he could make his Master feel these things. Hadn't he long been dreaming of this very thing? His Master was a handsome man, strong and beautiful, and Obi-Wan had found himself in recent years to be drawn to that harsh feline beauty, and the tender strength of the soul that inhabited it.

But not like this. Never like this.

Qui-Gon slowly pulled the towel down off of his hips then, and Obi-Wan moaned as he was laid naked beneath his Master's searching gaze. Humiliation at his helplessness made fresh tears fall down his cheeks. The way Qui-Gon touched him was inexpressibly intimate, and the fact that it was being done without his consent made him feel dirty, used.

He was just gathering breath to start protesting again when he felt the wet, heated glide of his Master's tongue slide across the surface of his ass. The shock of it stunned him to silence. Oh, this was wrong, it was a nightmare, everything he'd ever counted on as sane and honorable was lost to him now, lost. He felt the gibbering whisper of hysteria begin to claw its way up from his throat, but before he could give voice to it, he felt something soft and feathery tickle the skin that Qui-Gon had just licked.

He knew what that was without having to see it. And he knew what his Master intended to do with it.

"Master, please." What use was there in attempting to reason with the completely unreasonable? But he could not hold back his tremulous plea. "Please, don't..."

"Hush, Obi-Wan."

The length of his Master's sash was drawn tightly around his protesting hands, binding them seamlessly while still allowing room for the blood to circulate through them. There was certainly nothing painful about it, or even particularly uncomfortable, but as his wrists were confined within the grasp of that clinging fabric, he felt as if a part of himself was being cut out and thrown away. He had never felt so insignificant, so helpless. He cried, heartbroken, and his tears tasted bitter on his lips. He couldn't look at Qui-Gon, didn't want to see; better to pretend it was someone else altogether, putting him through this misery.

Several minutes passed before he felt the slight shifting of the mattress as Qui-Gon sat down next to him. He tensed, feeling the slight brush of bare skin against his shoulder; Qui-Gon was undressed now.

"Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon touched the back of his neck almost tenderly, running his fingers through his apprentice's short, thick hair. "You don't know how long I've wanted this."

"Master, please-" How could the man seem so affectionate, even as he was doing this unspeakable thing?

Qui-Gon's fingers pressed hard into the curve of his neck, evidencing his displeasure with his student's continued insistence on speaking when he had been forbidden to do so. "Don't beg, Obi-Wan. I don't want to hear you beg."

Obi-Wan fell silent, trembling. Another slight shifting of the mattress, and then Qui-Gon's beard was brushing across his hands were they lay confined at his back, nipping lightly at his vulnerable fingers. Before Obi-Wan could even react to this, he felt his Master's finger probing at the cleft of his buttocks, tracing the line of it with lazy indulgence.

No. No, no, no. Not like this, Master, please...

The slow, building pressure of that finger as it sought to burrow into his body was almost too much to be borne. He cried out, horrified at this relentless intrusion, and tried desperately to pull away from the unwelcome touch. Qui-Gon held him down without any undue effort, kissing the sensitive skin below the small of his back and murmuring soft, soothing phrases.

Obi-Wan barely heard him. He was mad with revulsion, with terror, as he felt the muscles of his anus giving way before that unrelenting invasion. He couldn't keep still; his body seemed to have a life of its own as it thrashed frantically in Qui-Gon's grip. Anger and fear and vicious denial exploded out of him, came up short against the wall of Force that Qui-Gon had built around him, and he screamed silently as he beat futilely against it, struggling in desperation to punch his way through.

Then he was being held down beneath a constricting weight of Force, as his Master bent his own considerable power to restraining his struggling apprentice. Helpless under that smothering weight, Obi-Wan cried out in mindless protest.

His body made its first betrayal then when it granted Qui-Gon the entrance he sought. Obi-Wan froze, not moving even when the weight of Force was lifted from him. He was no virgin, but he had never had sexual relations with someone of the same gender before, and this intimate touch inside of him was completely outside of his experience. It hurt, this slow stretching of the deepest part of him, not excruciatingly, but enough to command his attention for the moment. He stared at the wall in front of him without seeing it, his breaths uneven and shallow.

"Just relax, Obi-Wan. It'll hurt less if you just let yourself relax..." Qui-Gon was massaging the small of his back now, forcing the muscles there to loosen up, and the familiarity of this touch that Obi-Wan had felt after countless training sessions was somehow the most horrifying thing of all.

Slowly, the pain eased, and he could breathe normally again. He was just starting to draw his first deep, ragged breath when Qui- Gon sank his teeth into his ass, taking him completely by surprise.

The pain of it shot straight through him, stealing his breath away, but at the same time he felt deeply consumed by the eroticism of the act. There would be a bruise there for quite some time, even if Qui-Gon hadn't broken the skin. His Master had just marked him. He was now wearing his Master's mark. The notion spiraled through his broken thoughts until he could think of nothing else: his Master's mark, there, on his skin.

He moaned aloud.

Then Qui-Gon's finger was moving inside of him. Obi-Wan tensed, but a moment later he was drawing his breath in shock as that finger brushed up against a part of him that he'd never known existed, and pure, guilty pleasure arced through him, straight to his cock. He shrank back, whimpering, but Qui-Gon ignored him. His cries grew more frantic as that secret place was stroked again and again, and his cock started to twitch where it was trapped between his stomach and the mattress, fueled by the liquid heat of his Master's touch.

"That's it, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was thick with arousal. "That's it, Obi-Wan. So good..."

Obi-Wan felt like he wanted to vomit as he felt a second finger press at the opening of his anus, demanding entrance. He felt Qui-Gon use the Force to smooth his way inside, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but arch up into that touch, pressing his face into the blankets under him to smother his cries.

"Shh, Obi-Wan. That's it, now. Just lay still..."

Those fingers worked him steadily, and before he could so much as brace himself against it, there was a third pushing inside of him. Oh gods, oh Force, this was impossible, this couldn't be happening, it had to be a dream, a nightmare, NO! Pain lanced through him as he was stretched beyond his capacity, but then Qui-Gon was smoothing his movements with the Force again, and those fingers glided in and out of Obi-Wan's body with surprising ease, stretching him, forcing him to accept their slow intrusion. The pain bled away as his muscles compensated for the presence inside of him.

Then Qui-Gon was pulling Obi-Wan's hips up off the bed, forcing him up onto his knees. Obi-Wan squirmed as this action put constricting pressure on his neck, and by the time he had maneuvered himself into a less painful position, letting his shoulders take the brunt of his weight instead of his head, Qui- Gon was pressing up behind him. It had happened so fast; and now Qui-Gon was shoving his padawan's knees apart so that he was made even more vulnerable. Helpless tears stung Obi-Wan's eyes, and he closed them with a sense of finality. There was nothing he could do to stop this from happening, nothing he could do to restrain the monster that his Master had become.

When the fingers left his body, he knew exactly what it portended. He felt curiously hollow, and there was a dull ache inside of him where his tears had once been. He felt the hard, blunt tip of his Master's penis nudge up against him, and he tried to think of other things, other places, anything but the reality of what was happening to him right now.

The hot thrust of his Master's cock was like and at the same time unlike the reaching domination of his fingers. Obi-Wan observed this with cool detachment, as he felt its thick hardness fill him. It stroked against the pleasure spot within him, bringing a low growl to Obi-Wan's lips, but he clamped his jaws together and tried to ignore the pulsing heat of his own erection, hanging vulnerably between his legs. It seemed wrong to experience pleasure from this act, this... He could not bring himself to acknowledge the word for what was happening to him.

He did not fight as Qui-Gon moved within him. So much easier just to accept it, ride through it, and somehow keep a semblance of his sanity intact. He felt as if he were drifting, cut off from his body, cut off from the Force, alone within the prison of his mind. It was not entirely an unpleasant feeling, certainly preferable to admitting what was happening to him.

Qui-Gon's hands slid up his arms, cooling over the fevered skin. They clenched in Obi-Wan's hair for one breathless moment, then moved back down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs with lightly questing fingers. Obi-Wan sighed, trembling under the assault of the conflicting emotions that surged through him: pleasure warred with despair, love with anger, submission with denial. The feelings twisted and writhed within him, leaving him the limp and weary battlefield. He floated above it all, disconnected.

Then Qui-Gon's hands closed around his cock, bringing him back to reality abruptly. Obi-Wan cried out, but he had no defense against the steady hands that stroked him, teasing him with expert skill. He fought the tide of pleasure that crested in him, hating himself for feeling it, for giving into it, but the growing wave of sensations echoed through him in an ever- increasing spiral, completely washing away his will to resist.

He was aware of the exact moment that Qui-Gon climaxed. There was a primal power to it as the man convulsed behind him, and for one startling second those large hands dug with searing strength into the bones of Obi-Wan's hips, stealing the breath from him. Then there was a long moment of disorientation as they both collapsed down onto the mattress in a tumble of warm bodies and sweat-sheened skin. Obi-Wan felt the world spin around him, but then Qui-Gon's hands were on his cock again, rooting him to reality - this reality - anmself swirling apart in the maelstrom of his own emotions, completely at the mercy of the fierce winds that buffeted him. He felt tiny, insignificant, despite the sheer size of the feeling that surged through him, and when it was over he could do nothing but lie there, still and lost and utterly spent, his every resistance gone.

He felt the rough abrasion of his Master's beard brush across the side of his face, but he made no acknowledgment of it, choosing for the moment to pretend that the world around him did not exist, as he struggled with the demons that danced and rattled in his mind. Who would have guessed that reality could be so malleable, to be shaped and molded at will? It was something he had never considered before, and he would certainly spend time exploring this phenomenon when he-

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice broke into the gentle confusion of Obi-Wan's thoughts, shattering them in a rainbow of crystal splinters. Warm lips traced the curve of Obi-Wan's ear. "Obi- Wan, there is more I require from you this morning."

More? What more could Obi-Wan possibly have that he had not already given? It seemed impossible; his Master asked too much. But then Qui-Gon had always taken joy in pushing his padawan beyond his self-imposed limits.

A sharp tug at his braid then, making his eyes water. "Up, my Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan obeyed, struggling up onto his knees as Qui-Gon applied gentle pressure to his trapped braid. It was not easy, with his hands bound behind his back, and a part of him was deeply angry at the humiliation of being forced to do so. But that part of him had no power here, and was thus suppressed. He concentrated his whole being to the task before him, following the placid authority of Qui-Gon's hand. Obedience truly was the path of least resistance.

On the floor then, as Qui-Gon indicated that he was to do so. The rough cords of the carpet dug into Obi-Wan's knees as he knelt as gracefully as he was able, led by the aching length of his braid. The world swam around him, and he steadied himself with an effort. He fixed his gaze on the floor in front of him, not trusting himself to take in anything else. His thoughts were spinning dizzily, and there was an unpleasant taste in the back of his mouth. Steadfastly, he ignored it.

"Look at me, Obi-Wan."

Oh, this was too much; it was more than even he could give. But he obeyed anyway, slowly lifting his gaze from the floor to where his Master sat in front of him. Taking in the hard, angular body; long dark hair touched with silver, cast wantonly about the narrow shoulders; soft blue eyes that had always been filled with such kindness, beautiful in their quiet intensity. It seemed wrong somehow that this man should look the same as he had yesterday, and the day before that, and every day before that, in all of the time that Obi-Wan had known him. He felt a sob clutch at his throat and choked it down determinedly, feeling new tears sting at his eyes. At this moment, all he felt was an indescribable sadness, as if he were mourning the loss of something precious, something that he had not even known that he valued until it was gone.

Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's cheek, forcing his chin up so he could look more fully into his padawan's face. "Do you know what I want from you now, my Padawan?"

Obi-Wan took in his Master's posture, adding in his own very vulnerable position, and only one image sprang to mind. "No," he whispered, unwilling to accept that this would be asked of him. For his Master to make use of his body was one thing; to do this would require an absolute submission of body and mind that he did not believe himself capable of.

Slow tug of the braid, telling him in no uncertain terms what his Master required of him. He tensed for a moment under it, his thoughts racing.

A choice, then. He could either resist, defy his Master's wishes, give into the vicious, buried rage that lurked deep within him ... or he could give in. And as that one second drew out into a small eternity in his mind, he was struck by one very specific thought: his anger terrified him. It horrified him that he might be capable of such violent emotion, with all of the loss of control that it signified. To give in to the anger would, in some small way, be just as bad as giving in to Qui-Gon.

And so he made the choice that would give him at least a small measure of control over his own responses, the choice that would shelter him within the fragile framework of his own perceived autonomy. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to...

He submitted.

As he bent to his task, he was assaulted by the smells of semen mingled with the acrid scent of his own body. It was almost enough to unnerve him, but he clamped down on his reactions immediately, without thinking. Control. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips to the tip of Qui-Gon's penis, which was growing erect again under Obi-Wan's shuddering breaths. He caught the taste of something bitter, realized he was tasting another man's semen, and swooned as the full impact of this knowledge hit him. He almost moaned, stopped himself, and flicked out his tongue tentatively to capture more of the creamy fluid.

Then Qui-Gon's hands were at the back of his head, and he had only a split second's warning before his mouth was being forced roughly down onto his Master's cock. Obi-Wan let out a startled cry that was swallowed by the hot flesh that filled his mouth and throat, and he quickly spread his knees farther apart to balance himself as he struggled to compensate for the unexpected intrusion.

The grip on his skull loosened convulsively then, and he was able to pull back slightly, shaping his mouth to the cock that filled it. There was something supremely vulnerable in the way Qui-Gon yielded to him, and for a moment Obi-Wan was struck by the enormity of what was happening: he was pleasuring his Master sexually. It was something that he had dreamt about for many years now, and he closed his eyes, willingly giving in to the fantasy. Soft, smooth glide of skin under his lips, solid and unyielding against the thrust of his tongue. Qui-Gon was making soft, inarticulate sounds, his fingers clenching in his apprentice's thick hair, and Obi-Wan felt a small measure of pride that he could make his Master feel these things. He threw himself wholly into the task before him, his world constricting to this narrow space between his Master's legs. A world without thought was a world without consequence, and he gave into this illusion whole-heartedly.

It all ended a moment later. Without warning, Qui-Gon pushed him away, and Obi-Wan fell hard, his elbow catching up behind his back as he collapsed against the floor, unable even to slow his descent. He was stunned, and a sharp pain lanced through him that was completely apart from the hard floor that failed to cushion his fall. He had submitted; he had done what his Master wanted! Hadn't he been doing a good enough job? Had he failed even in this? Harsh tears stung at his eyes as he gazed up at his Master, begging silently for an explanation.

Qui-Gon's expression was fierce. "Get out," he said coldly, with a dangerous rumble to his normally placid voice.

There was a searing pain at Obi-Wan's wrists as the sash around them was suddenly yanked away. He gasped, completely dumbfounded. "Master-"

"I said GET OUT!" Qui-Gon surged to his feet, and Obi-Wan hastily retreated, stunned and terrified at this sudden shift in his Master's mood. He was on his feet and out the door in an instant, his heartbeat escalating. He thought for a moment that Qui-Gon was going to follow him, to inflict some new and greater hurt on his trembling apprentice, but when a few seconds passed and nothing happened, Obi-Wan slowly forced himself to relax.

Control. Taking several deep breaths, he moved quietly to his bedroom down the hall, trying not to think about the man in the next room. Get dressed - rough rasp of tunics against his skin, heavy weight of the cloak as he pulled it tight around his shoulders. It wouldn't do to run naked out into the halls of the Temple, even if his every instinct was screaming at him to run, to get out of that place, get as far away as he could and never stop running.

With slow, measured steps, he left the apartment. He half expected the people he passed to look at him strangely, sensing somehow that he had been defiled in some way, but no one gave him so much as a second glance. He recognized one of the padawans from his Republic history class, and she nodded politely at him as he walked by. He returned the gesture, feeling that he must be broadcasting his distress to the entire Temple, but she did not seem to think that anything was amiss. Feeling relieved and at the same time vaguely disappointed, he made his way outside.

The bright sunlight hurt his eyes. His booted feet followed the walk in front of him without any conscious direction from his brain, and it came as rather a surprise when he found himself in one of the Temple gardens. Its calm tranquillity soothed him, and he chose a secluded spot far away from the bustling activity of the Temple's main courtyard, falling to his knees on the soft grass and trying to clear his mind for meditation.

For a Jedi, there is only peace.

His thoughts kept returning to that one, unanswered question: Why? Did his Master hate him, to put him through such a trial? The thought was too unthinkable, and besides, he could not believe it. His relationship with Qui-Gon had never been overly affectionate, but there had always been love between them. Qui- Gon had always shown such pride in his padawan's accomplishments, and Obi-Wan would bet his life that his Master was pleased with his progress as a Jedi.

Which was why the betrayal hurt all the more, he realized. Because his Master's respect and approval had always been of paramount concern to him, it tore his heart to think that he may have lost it forever. He felt a thudding panic at the thought, and had to close his eyes to keep the world from spinning around him.

No. His Master did not hate him. Why, then, had Qui-Gon done such a thing?

Obi-Wan remembered suddenly how his Master's cock had felt in his mouth, so warm and responsive and yielding under his tongue. He could almost feel Qui-Gon's hands in his hair, clinging to him, encouraging him, letting him know with little unspoken gestures that what Obi-Wan did was pleasing to him. A warm flush crept up Obi-Wan's neck as he remembered, and the taste of his Master was still sharp on his tongue.

I don't want to think about that.

Resolutely, he turned his mind away, but the more he struggled not to recall, the more real the memory seemed to become. Harsh panting, hastily drawn breaths, lustful sighs ... all the many sounds of passion, blending together into a cacophony of incoherent sound. It swirled together in his mind, consuming him, eating him raw, and he fought against it, closing his eyes against the helpless sob that rose in his throat, struggling to maintain his fragile veneer of calm.

He. Would. Not. Lose. Control.

Not of himself, not of this situation.

Not ever, ever again.

In frantic self-defense against the onslaught of memory, he reached into the raging storm of chaos and plucked out the one image that seemed to posses within it a small degree of light: his Master, stroking the back of his neck. Oh, Obi-Wan. You don't know how long I've wanted this...

There had been such tenderness in Qui-Gon's voice, such bitter longing. As if his entire life had been nothing but a long series of events designed to bring him to this moment. And Obi- Wan, bound as he was, cowed as he was, had heard the unmistakable affection in those words.

With deliberate focus, Obi-Wan concentrated on that one, shining moment and began to peel the bad memories away from it until there was nothing left but the glittering core. Unbidden, tears leaked out between his tightly shut eyelids, but he only concentrated harder, clinging to that single memory as if to a lifeline.

And slowly, the winds of chaos receded from him. The more he thought about that one moment of tenderness - of love? - the more centered he felt. His heart backed down from its frantic, pounding rhythm, and his breathing evened out. He inhaled the sweet-scented air of the garden, held it for a second, then breathed out gustily.

Qui-Gon loved him.

Of course it was obvious, after all the years they had spent together, that Qui-Gon might have become attracted to his apprentice in the same way that Obi-Wan was attracted to his Master. It was a wonder that he hadn't seen it earlier; perhaps it would have spared them both some amount of suffering if he'd been more observant.

The sunlight was slanting through the garden now, coloring it with a sickly light, masking the harsh colors of day with the soothing monotony of the coming night. Obi-Wan stood decisively, the demons in his head at last laid to rest, the vicious turmoil of the pain that had been eating away at him lost now in the wake of utter calm. Qui-Gon loved him. It made so much sense, and the thought of it filled him with a strange euphoria as he made his way out of the garden and back towards the main body of the Jedi Temple.

He hesitated outside the door of the apartment that he and Qui- Gon shared, a sudden fierce stab of fear holding him rooted to the spot. Ruthlessly, he crushed it. What did he have to be scared of? Ignoring the rapid pounding of his heart, he palmed the door open and stepped inside.

All was as he had left it. He could hear the soft whoosh of the air circulators, loud in the otherwise unbroken silence of the room. Slowly, he crossed through the living area to the hall where Qui-Gon's door stood open, exactly as he had left it that morning during his mad flight from the bedroom.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he looked in through the open doorway. For a long moment, he didn't see anyone in the shifting shadows of the room, but then he spotted the huddled figure wrapped tightly in the bed's coverlet, pressed far back in the corner between the bed and the wall. The sight brought a sharp sting of tears to Obi-Wan's eyes, but he forced them back, determined to hold onto the hard-won peace that he had found in the garden.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon made no acknowledgment that he had heard him, and Obi-Wan moved into the room, fighting back a wave of nausea at the vulnerable and broken picture that his Master made, cowering there in the uncertain dark. "Master, look at me, please."

Slowly, Qui-Gon raised his head. The pain in those eyes speared into Obi-Wan, and he caught his breath against it, heartbroken that his Master could appear so vulnerable. Qui-Gon had always seemed so strong, so unbreakable. He was the pillar from which Obi-Wan had long derived his own strength, and the thought that the Jedi Master might be laid this low was almost unbearable.

Qui-Gon rose to a sitting position with some effort, leaning back against the wall and gazing up at Obi-Wan with a distant, unreadable look in his eyes. "I'm surprised the Council let you come back here alone."

Obi-Wan almost flinched at the harsh derision in those words. Did Qui-Gon really think so little of him? "I didn't tell the Council what happened."

Some of the coldness left Qui-Gon's expression then, to be replaced by a gentle confusion.

Encouraged, Obi-Wan stepped closer, then stopped when he saw Qui- Gon cringe from him. Did the man believe that Obi-Wan had come here seeking revenge? Carefully, he lowered himself to his knees, wanting to show that he had not come with the intent to harm, that he would not so betray his Master's faith in him. His gaze dropped, uncomfortable with the open uncertainty of his Master's stare.

"I spent all day in the gardens, meditating. Trying to understand what happened between us this morning."

"I'd say it's obvious what happened." Qui-Gon's voice was vaguely mocking.

"I would not." He raised his gaze again, trying to ascertain if his Master was truly as lost to him as he seemed. Pain coiled like a hissing serpent within him, but he kept himself outwardly calm. "I wanted to hate you for what you did to me, but I couldn't. I tried to understand my feelings, why I should feel this way, and I kept coming to the same conclusion." He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes against the frantic terror that pounded in his heart. Terror not of punishment, but of rejection. He had to force himself to meet Qui-Gon's gaze when he said, "I love you."

Something fierce flashed through his Master's eyes. "You're mad."

Careful lack of reaction. "Perhaps we're both mad." He smiled then, trying to take the sting out of the words. "Tell me, Qui- Gon, why did you do it?"

For a moment, he thought that Qui-Gon would refuse to answer him. Then, in a voice that was so soft Obi-Wan had to strain to hear it, the older man said, "Because I wanted to possess you."

Those were not the words that Obi-Wan wanted to hear. "Why?" he pressed.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed, and a tremor of raw pain passed through him. When he spoke next, the words fell from him in a jumble of disconnected fragments. "Because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Because I only feel truly alive when I'm with you. Because I've wanted you for so long, it was all I could think about anymore. I wanted to taste you, to feel you, to conquer you. To make you a part of me for one moment, however fleeting."

Panic started to thud behind Obi-Wan's eyes, but he reined it in carefully. "Why?" he asked again, probing for the answer that he wanted, needed to hear.

Qui-Gon stared at him, his expression agonized. Then, very quietly, he said, "Because I love you."

And with those words, all of the pain, all of the terror, all of the loss of control that Obi-Wan had felt and suffered through was simply erased. "I think I understand," he said, trying very hard to keep the elation from his voice. It all made so much sense now. "But I believe you were operating under a false assumption."

"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon obviously did not understand what Obi-Wan was driving at.

"You were assuming that there could never be true love between us, that I would turn aside any consensual advances that you might make."

"And would you have?"

He had to be honest. "I don't know. I'd be lying if I said that I've never felt attracted to you physically. But I was afraid of those feelings, afraid of what you would think of me if you knew how I felt about you. Your respect has always meant so much to me; I was afraid that I'd lose it forever if I ever let on that I viewed you as more than a teacher, a friend." He looked down at his hands, lightly running his fingers across one wrist, trying to remember what it had felt like to be bound and helpless and subject to his Master's desires. "I think that what you did gave me the freedom to explore those feelings without fear. I mean, it wasn't my fault it was happening, so I could hardly be held accountable for my feelings, now could I?"

"You aren't responsible for what happened, Obi-Wan."

"But I didn't exactly try to fight you off, now did I?" He didn't care if he sounded petulant.

Qui-Gon sighed, looking defeated. "You cannot ... blame yourself. What I did was wrong, and there is no explanation or rationalization that can excuse it."

"Perhaps not." That wasn't the point at all. "But we still need to deal with the consequences of it."

Qui-Gon almost seemed to smile then, despite himself. "So what do you suggest we do, my Padawan?" His eyes held a depth of feeling, questioning as he tentatively held forth that beloved title.

"That we acknowledge our feelings, Master." Obi-Wan tried to express with his eyes alone how much he loved this man, his heart aching as he actually began to hope that everything might still be salvaged between them.

Qui-Gon struggled for a moment, but the words came easier this time. "I love you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt a rush of warmth wash through him, erasing the chill of fear and betrayal that had clung to him since this morning. He touched Qui-Gon's face lightly, feeling the beard brush coarsely under his fingers. "I love you, too, Qui-Gon."

This seemed to snap whatever control Qui-Gon had left, and the older man was suddenly consumed by wracking sobs. Obi-Wan reached out for him instinctively, seeking only to comfort the fierce flood of grief that was pouring from his Master. After a moment, Qui-Gon seemed to melt against him, and Obi-Wan held him, murmuring soothingly as he sought to ease the other's pain. Words spilled from his Master in a torrent, pleading with him to forgive, to accept the love that was being offered, and Obi-Wan held him, and rocked him, and tried to erase the last vestiges of suffering that lay between them.

"It's okay, Qui-Gon," he whispered. "It's over now, shh..."

Eventually, the storm of Qui-Gon's emotions subsided, and he cuddled in close to his padawan's chest. "What do we do now?" he asked, sounding small and lost, yet at the same time strangely content.

There was only one answer that Obi-Wan could give. "We love each other."

And just like that, the events of the morning were relegated to obscurity in Obi-Wan's mind. He had his Master's love, and there was nothing in the entire galaxy that he could want more, and he was happy now. A small, niggardly voice within him raised a tremulous protest at his cool dismissal of the things that had been done to him, but he crushed it without a second thought.

Love was a harsh road, and it took a person of amazing fortitude to traverse its length.

Obi-Wan only hoped that he had that strength.

Fin.