L'Histoire d'Obi (The Story of Obi) Chapter 5 - Restoration
by Lilith Sedai
Three months. Three months of cautious probing, careful mind touches, computer hacking, and space travel. Three months of uncovering the scent and trail of a determined Jedi Master, of intuition and guesses and almost nonexistent clues. Three months of Qui-Gon Jinn flying before him as though the hounds of hell were on his heels. Three months of mistakes and backtracking, of false leads and deliberately planted misguiding information. No one else could have followed this trail, Obi-Wan suspected. No one but himself and perhaps Master Yoda, and surely no one who did not have a deep personal connection with the Jedi Master and an intimate knowledge of his way of thinking.
But even a Jedi Master could not run forever. Even a Jedi Master must eventually believe that he had run far and fast enough, and settle to ground.
And so here Obi-Wan was, gazing quietly out of a small viewing portal overlooking Cerea, a small blue-green planet orbiting an unexceptional yellow sun. It could have been one of a thousand worlds, a thinly settled agrarian civilization. Obi-Wan knew of it from his early training. Councilor Ki-Adi-Mundi had been born and found there. The Cereans lived in harmony and were friendly to Jedi, though the world was not a formal part of the Republic.
It was an ideal pastoral location, a perfect and unexceptional place to retreat and fade into obscurity. One might live easily there on a minimum of labor and wealth. One would not be disturbed or questioned by the peaceful natives. One could fade into the woodwork of the high ratio of Force-sensitive minds on Cerea, distinctive aura blunted and masked by a hundred thousand others.
The one thing Qui-Gon Jinn could not do on Cerea was escape Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Turning, the Jedi left the small portal and prepared his belongings for landing. Another week perhaps, a month at most. The chase was nearing its end. Transports leaving Cerea were few and far between. It would not be so easy to flee this time.
A large, rawboned man in faded blue laborer's tunic and ragged gray trousers paid for his purchases silently, apparently unaware that he was being watched. A cloaked observer stood perfectly still but unconcealed in a recessed alcove across the marketplace from the fruit vendor's stall. His arms were folded, his deep cowl hiding all but his narrow mouth, a square jaw dusted with a long stubble of youthful beard, and a dangling tail of braided hair.
Tension was almost tangible in the air of the marketplace, and most passersby instinctively steered clear of the two men. Some of the more sensitive individuals avoided passing between them, reluctant to break the line of that silent scrutiny and the resentful, passive-aggressive reaction to it.
Finishing his transaction, the large man in rough work clothes pocketed one fruit and bit into another. A trail of juice trickled over his lips, running into his short beard. The cowled figure's tongue stole out, almost wistfully licking his narrow, sensual lips, his hidden eyes tracing the path of the glistening drop of sweetness.
The large man roughly scrubbed his face with his dirty sleeve and abruptly stepped away from the stand. Inevitably, the cowled figure quickly pushed away from his niche to pursue.
He caught up swiftly and settled into step with the taller man, walking at his left shoulder, a single pace behind. That earned him a brief glare, and the tall man lengthened his stride, but his pursuer kept pace with quiet determination.
There was nowhere left for Qui-Gon to go. Obi-Wan had run him to ground.
He had sensed his padawan's presence only moments before he had seen Obi-Wan awaiting him in the marketplace of the small village where he had chosen to settle. He supposed that this meeting had been inevitable. Particularly after he had given up trying to hide, given up fleeing, in the hopes that his determined evasions had finally succeeded.
He dug into his pocket, producing the extra fruit he had bought, flicking it over his shoulder without a glance, hearing the soft slap of its capture and the crunch of teeth through its crisp skin. Despite his generosity, he was not best pleased.
Qui-Gon pondered the phrasing of the first inevitable question, but his quiet shadow anticipated and forestalled it. "I'm on a special mission at the orders of the head of the Jedi Council," Obi-Wan informed him, pleasantly enough. "I am to see that ... a few lost items ... are returned to their proper owner. The Council was dismayed that one of their most prominent Jedi Masters left Coruscant in haste, forgetting his padawan and his lightsaber ...."
Qui-Gon whirled, his face a thundercloud. "I own nothing that is the concern of the Council or yourself!" His eyes flickered with genuine anger. "I would be left in peace."
Obi-Wan met the stormy eyes firmly. "Your opinion is not shared by the Council. They believe peace would best be served by your resumption of your duties." Obi-Wan easily flicked the core of the eaten fruit into a waste receptacle. He deliberately ignored the first half of Qui-Gon's statement.
Qui-Gon scrubbed his hand over the crown of his hair, weary with frustration. "And were I to accept the smaller of those things that the Council says I own, would the larger and far noisier of the two go and leave me in peace!?" he snapped.
"Not willingly," Obi-Wan whispered, hurt suddenly very audible in his voice. "Your padawan and your lightsaber are both part of you, Qui-Gon Jinn."
Qui-Gon gave him a sharp glance that did not entirely disguise his worry in spite of his best efforts, but Obi-Wan's expression was filled with perfect Jedi serenity.
"I must admit, I am not precisely certain why you chose to abandon your rank." Obi-Wan trusted his voice to say smooth, and it nearly did. "Or your padawan."
"Because I had failed as a Jedi and as your Master." Qui-Gon responded roughly, his own hurt now evident in the harshness of his voice. Having Obi-Wan nearby was pure torment to him. The memory of the young man's clean, lithe limbs flashing in torchlight, movement burdened by chains ... the small helpless sounds that had spasmed in his throat during their harsh lovemaking ... the faint whispering hiss of the hot iron searing his bare flesh .... Qui-Gon shuddered.
"Mas... Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan realized with relief that they were approaching the other man's rented rooms at last, and he invited himself inside nonchalantly when Qui-Gon failed to extend the courtesy to him. The warning flash of eyes was defused, albeit grudgingly, by the change to his chosen form of address. "Answer me a question," Obi-Wan petitioned soberly.
The older man shrugged, defensively noncommittal.
"Why do you believe the Council extended the right to accept or decline our last mission to me, not to you?" The wide eyes were guileless, but Qui-Gon knew better than to trust their innocence; this question would be more than it seemed. Like any good practitioner of legal inquiry, Obi-Wan knew better than to ask an idle question, especially if he had no idea of its answer.
"Because you were at greatest risk," he replied heavily. "You deserved a chance to decline."
"No." Obi-Wan approached him almost diffidently in spite of his brash answer. "Perhaps that was partly true, but it is not the real reason they did so, M... Qui-Gon."
He had taught the boy too well -- too much of his own stubborn certainty in those hard blue eyes, too much sheer indomitable will. "Because ...." Qui-Gon hesitated irritably. Why? A dozen possible reasons. Whim. Foresight. A test. Sheer perverse meddling in a relationship where they strictly had no place. He chose an answer he hoped would please Obi-Wan. "Because you are growing older and more able to take responsibility to act independently." The words tasted unexpectedly bitter, and he blinked in surprise at that bitterness, knowing both it and the words for truth.
Obi-Wan regarded him gravely. "You are much closer now," he nodded approval, watching as the judging nature of his words visibly rankled Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan sighed, refusing to relent. "It is because the mission was mine, Master." Obi-Wan deliberately used the honorific this time, his voice very soft, but the tone of it cool and stern as steel. "Anyone knows that a slave Master's lot is a pleasant one. We were not sent to verify that. Instead, we were sent to learn the station of the Riadan slave. Every experience I had, every action you were forced to take, was part of that learning, and rendered me capable of fulfilling my duty. If you had not let me be a slave, if you had protected me as you wished, I could not have carried out our -- my -- mission!" Obi-Wan's tone was urgent, but reasonable.
"Observation --"
"Only reveals a limited experience," Obi-Wan returned stubbornly. "Participation is the superior instructor."
"You could as easily have told of branding without undergoing it!" Qui-Gon retorted angrily. "I shall go to the bacta tanks if you return to accompany me to the Healers and order that I do it, my Master." Obi-Wan's voice was low now, earnest, the living Force laced heavily behind his words as he strove to make his will reality.
Qui-Gon shook his head fiercely, but Obi-Wan continued, unheeding. "I fell too far into Riadan culture, Master," he acknowledged. "I came to understand the slavery of love, and its motives, too well. This I admit freely, but I did so only because I knew ...." Obi-Wan hesitated, choosing words with care. "... how much I could trust you."
Qui-Gon barked a sudden pained laugh, eyes flashing guilt at Obi-Wan. His pada-- the young man disregarded it, continuing softly. "The Council miscalculated when they sent us, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan admitted softly. "They judged us poorly, not as Jedi but as men, and as teacher and pupil."
Surprised, Qui-Gon glanced up, his interest piqued. "How so?"
"They overestimated the ... closeness of our training bond, and of our whole relationship. They misjudged my faith that you loved me." Obi-Wan spoke wistfully. "And also my readiness to carry out such an emotionally demanding mission." He shrugged. "In that way, I failed you, Master. I asked for more support than I should, and for more than I required to fulfill the demands of our task. I wanted foolish proofs of what I should have already known, required more and more proofs of your love for me. I demanded to be given emotional and physical affections that you were not prepared to offer. In this way, my failure easily rivals -- and actually caused -- your own."
Obi-Wan sighed. "And the Council ... their worst error lay in two mistaken assumptions." He turned away, pretending unconcern but refusing to meet Qui-Gon's eyes. "They did not understand that unresolved emotional concerns would influence us." He crossed the room, examining a spot of rough wood where a jagged splinter had been torn from the stark dresser. "They believed ..." he tried to force his voice to pure smoothness. "That we shared the full telepathic link possible in the training bond." By the Force, he would not let Qui-Gon know how much the discovery of that omission had hurt him. "And there is more, Master ... I believe the Council chose us partly due to the erroneous belief that ..." His chuckle was more than a little nervous. "... that we were already lovers."
Obi-Wan felt the words shiver through him as though Qui-Gon had never touched or taken his body. Lovers. To have been Qui-Gon Jinn's young lover, his cherished bedmate, chosen and taken voluntarily and in love. A sorrow-fractured dream. He set his sorrow aside resolutely. It was not to be; it had never been meant to be. He was grateful for what he had been grudgingly given, though, and he knew he would always secretly cherish the bittersweet memories of that beloved touch on him and inside him.
"If either or both of the Council's unspoken assumptions had been true, our trust and readiness for the mission on Ria would have been far greater for it. Our shames, our fears ... they would never have become factors in our actions." Obi-Wan shrugged, apologetic. "And what reason did the Council have to believe that the first assumption would not be true? We have always worked together exceptionally well, coordinating our actions and words as well as any Master and padawan team in the Temple. As for the second ... they could hardly ask, since to answer might have been to incriminate ourselves, label ourselves in violation of a tacit provision of the Code. They hoped to make use of the condition if it existed, and who could blame them?"
He made himself turn then, hoping his brave front was adequately opaque. "Come, Qui-Gon. Master. Let us place this blame fairly and equitably. It is not solely our own to bear. You have taught me that adversity strengthens a true Jedi. Let us take that to heart now, accept our errors and learn from them, without letting them destroy us."
Obi-Wan fished in his pack, withdrawing the cloth-wrapped bundle he had carried so tenderly for such a long distance. Qui-Gon shook his head, but his eyes were riveted to the small packet with undisguised longing.
"Master Yoda will never forgive me if I fail," Obi-Wan teased, very gently. "I succeed in one difficult mission, so he assigns me a harder." His smile was infectious, though somehow Qui-Gon thought it still seemed sad. "Will you spoil my perfect record, my Master? What a harm to the Jedi it would be, if my thoughtlessness cost them your service."
Force. Emotionally insecure or not, the boy was Jedi to the bone, malleable spirit molded irrevocably in Qui-Gon's own harsh and relentless image. And yet how eternally resilient Obi-Wan was, how optimistic and filled with strange, mercurial humor, astonishing in both his strength and weakness. How strong and courageous he was now, in spite of all that had happened.
Without his conscious volition, Qui-Gon's hand moved forward and his palm curled around the cloth-wrapped hilt of the saber. Obi-Wan smiled, his expression melting into relief and pure pleasure.
How could such happiness be? He had hurt Obi-Wan so badly. Through their entire association, over and over, deliberate and inadvertent adversities, all transmuted into this hard strength, the learning pains meted out in measured doses to mold boy into man and man into Jedi Knight. But in spite of it all, in spite of physical abuse and emotional abandonment, this young man stood before Qui-Gon, inviting him to return to the Jedi for the good of the galaxy rather than merely the desires of his own heart. Stood there offering back the control he had taken from Qui-Gon, both fairly and unfairly. Stood there as Qui-Gon's padawan, not his lover or slave.
Obi-Wan rightly expected him to accept and administer the harsh role of Jedi Mastery, whatever it might demand of both of them, and yet in his face there was only trust and grace, and love. It was a love that Obi-Wan very clearly believed was not returned to him, a love which even now Qui-Gon could feel being wrapped as gently and reverently as his lightsaber had been, wrapped and interred deeply away where it would not disturb him across their bond with its living presence and need. And still there was that quiet, simple happiness, welling from the knowledge that his Master was not lost: first to the Jedi, and second to him.
"I am a fool." Qui-Gon let the cloth slip from his lightsaber, examining it slowly, as though looking at it for the first time. "Such a fool that I have closed you from my heart, left you to find evidence of your worth only in pain ...." His throat threatened to close, and did, but he could not stop the flow of words now. He felt the walls of his mind falling fully open for the first time in nearly a decade, felt his padawan's aura of sweetness next to him, reached and embraced it. //I have failed to temper your training with the love and trust you deserve, Obi-Wan. Forgive me.//
//Master.// The word was rich with Obi-Wan's feelings, love and timid wonder. Acceptance. Obi-Wan reached tentatively across their bond, reverently touching the words of Qui-Gon's heart and mind, so long denied him. //You have never failed me.//
And though he had, perhaps he had not, as well. For Obi-Wan's mind was opening like a flower, and he felt himself blossom as well, tight-shut petals turning to press against the light, releasing his long-buried love for his apprentice. And there was nothing of darkness or hurt in it, only relief and pleasure that the sad days of loss and longing were gone. For both of them.
Love sank deep between them, unexpressed depths of emotion weaving them together tightly in a happiness that was almost unbearable. Qui-Gon let himself stroke his apprentice's heart, sliding fingers of thought through emotion, hesitantly touching the memories that had caused him such guilt and finding the pleasure Obi-Wan had taken from them, the reassurance, the twin fulfillment of duty and desire. And in turn Obi-Wan soothed him, eased his remorse, forgiving him and giving fully of his happiness until Qui-Gon was consumed by it, healed and made whole by the knowledge that he had not destroyed either of them in his clumsiness and fear.
As the connection deepened, the sensation of love built in strength, blossoming between them, kindling understanding and wondrous desire.... Qui-Gon felt tears sting his eyes, a sharp pang of regret that he had blindly denied this to them both, that it had very nearly taken the destruction of everything they both cherished to force him to relent and release his fear. He felt himself healing, growing strong again along with the bond he had so desperately tried to deny for so long.
And with his regret came the knowledge that there was still a sense of tilted balance between them, a slight wrongness at the root of Qui-Gon's earlier bitterness, the last stains of failure in his heart. Resentment at change, resistance to the apprentice become Master. Boy become man. Padawan become paramour. Student become teacher.
Accept. Accept the past, accept the future. Let this love be equal between them. Let fear go, and trust in Obi-Wan for the rest.
Returning to awareness of his body, he felt the cool weight of the saber filling his palm and let his finger slide over the controls, adjusting the power to a much lower setting than the norm. //You are not alone, Obi-Wan. Your hands are upon my body and soul as surely as mine have formed yours,// he mused. //I have denied you the right to see what you have wrought in me. But if you would, I would ask something of you, as you asked it of me.//
Qui-Gon reversed the saber, holding it out to his padawan. Obi-Wan accepted it reverently, startled when it hummed to subdued life in his hand ... such a thing was rare. The individual imprint of the living Force on a Jedi's chosen weapon typically governed its use. Qui-Gon smiled. It was well that Obi-Wan could ignite his weapon. One day, he might have need of it. As he did today.
The Jedi Master moved to strip, kicking off his boots, sliding away his tunic, and pushing down the waistband of his trousers, eventually baring himself completely before the young man. Obi-Wan watched curiously, head tilted, waiting and wondering what was to come.
"Claim me, my padawan." He nodded at the dim glow of the low-powered blade, barely visible in the daylight but thrumming with life and power in Obi-Wan's hand. "Your mark upon me, as you like -- so that my body may match my heart." //As yours does.// The symbol of their love, of their mutual mastery, and of the rebirth of what they were to one another ... a tangible reminder to Qui-Gon that it was time to begin to yield his stubborn dominance to the brilliant young Jedi his student was rapidly becoming.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, clear blue eyes clouding with reluctance for the barest moment, then nodded and knelt.
Qui-Gon reached and braced himself against the doorframe, feeling Obi-Wan's palm smooth over his skin. Then the boy's lips, tenderly brushing the spot he had selected. Qui-Gon sighed, sank into his center, ready for the pain, accepting it, dispersing it through himself and into the Force as Obi-Wan had done so long ago. Three small swift strokes of purest flame, Qui-Gon's eyes resting on his apprentice, watching the way Obi-Wan's teeth closed on his lower lip in care and concentration, watching the unshaking hands, the dim glow of his own green blade. Watching the boy sign his body, a small, graceful letter K flaring on his right abdomen, the placement of the love-brand a mirror image of Obi-Wan's own.
Qui-Gon smiled.
Obi-Wan set aside the lightsaber, and Qui-Gon watched a bead of sweat trickle down the young man's throat. Obi-Wan laid his cheek softly against his Master's groin and lifted his hand, trailing it lightly over the fresh brand, cooling energy soothing, healing the marked skin. Qui-Gon let his eyes close, savoring the gentle contact and the feel of his beloved's mark on his body.
Then the young Jedi raised his head to Qui-Gon, eyes shining, pushed himself to his feet, and drew his Master against him, young strong arms closing around Qui-Gon's back.
//Yours,// Qui-Gon breathed to him across their bond, and heard it echoed back to him aloud. He could almost feel the living Force arc sharply between them, and his padawan's building arousal sparked his own, flaring through their bond.
His padawan's hands were skimming his bare flesh now, learning and tasting him thoroughly, as they had not been permitted to do before. The touch of an aggressor, or of an equal. Qui-Gon luxuriated in it, sighing. //Yes. Yes.//
//Our mission was the test of the cave, Master,// Obi-Wan caressed Qui-Gon with his mind. //What did you bring with you?//
//You.//
The admission shattered Qui-Gon suddenly, and Obi-Wan felt it instantly through the new depth of their bond. And finally he understood the extent of Qui-Gon's reaction. It was not merely their past mission, but a thousand fractured fears and failed futures flashing through his Master's mind and taunting his heart. Obi-Wan turning, as Xanatos had, because now that Qui-Gon had succumbed to his love for his padawan, he could wrap his Master around his little finger and do just as he pleased -- as Xanatos had done. Qui-Gon's caring for Obi-Wan distracting him from his duty as a Jedi, causing missions to fail and worlds to crumble. Qui-Gon's power over Obi-Wan causing his padawan to become a true slave, to lose his newfound strength and subsume himself in his Master. The Council separating them. Obi-Wan's Knighthood trials separating them somehow in discord and darkness. Qui-Gon becoming old, burdening his beautiful padawan with caring for an invalid. And worst of all, somewhere ... somewhere along that long, motion-filled web of the future ... down a thousand paths, down them all, there was the inevitability of parting, of having Obi-Wan torn from him by his padawan's death or Qui-Gon's own, the sundering of their love shattering the surviving partner beyond repair ....
Obi-Wan drew his Master quickly into his arms, pulling the older man's head to his shoulder and sliding his hands into the long mane of hair, tangling it around his fingers."There is no death. Only the Force. Do not listen to fears, my Master." He laid his cheek against Qui-Gon's hair, stroking his Master's back with fierce gentleness. //You have always shielded me in your strength. Now rest safe in mine until you are whole.//
Qui-Gon's answer was a long wordless sigh, and he surrendered.
Obi-Wan felt him let go, experienced that gentle release as though it were his own -- the burden of the Jedi Master and the worries of the man falling from weary shoulders, replaced by acceptance of all that was, and is, and would be ... all given to the moment, given over to him as the author of that moment, leaving him in control. Letting him choose the way of their future together.
He caught his Master's heart very gently and held it in trust, as he had done with Qui-Gon's lightsaber, carrying it until his Master agreed to accept his rank and position among the Jedi again. Unimaginably precious, this gift.
Slowly he brought his thumb under Qui-Gon's jaw, lifting his Master's head to him, kissing him with gentle possessiveness. Perfect acquiescence, the taste of it unimaginably glorious, and he felt the resonance with Qui-Gon's experiences of Obi-Wan's own love-filled surrender. Half-parted lips, yielding response drawing him deeper. The heady rush of the moment's power as he gently pressed Qui-Gon to step back until his Master's legs rested against the narrow dining table, then continued to push slowly until Qui-Gon lay over it with Obi-Wan's hands resting on his shoulders.
The flutter of his Master's pulse was visible in his throat and his hair cascaded gracefully over the dark wood. Obi-Wan felt his eyes drawn to the fresh brand at his hip, felt a flicker of sympathetic awareness of his own. Then his eyes were drawn to the center of Qui-Gon's body, where his Master's erection lay, slowly thickening, responding to their kisses and now swelling faster under the pressure of the young man's eyes.
"So beautiful." The whispered words resounded along their newly widened bond. He traced a slow finger from the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat to his navel, watching the older man's erection surge in response to the light, sensual caress. He met the burning gleam of blue visible between his Master's half-shut lids, and felt himself smile. Once he'd surrendered, Qui-Gon was as eager as Obi-Wan.
The knowledge spurred his passion, and he slowly began to peel away his clothing, taking pleasure in the sensation of Qui-Gon's eyes on him. The Jedi Master was as attentive as if he had never seen Obi-Wan bare before him; the long days of Obi-Wan's exposure had blunted none of his pleasure in his padawan's lithe form. Obi-Wan blushed a little at the hunger in Qui-Gon's hooded gaze, unclothing himself quickly, eager to feel his Master's skin against his own.
Kicking away his discarded boots, he stepped forward with a sigh, lifting Qui-Gon's knees and laying his Master's calves against his shoulders, bending and turning his head to nip lightly at the tender flesh at the inside of the quivering knee. Qui-Gon made a soft sound of almost shy delight, hooking his ankles behind Obi-Wan's neck as Obi-Wan let his erection nudge his Master's soft testicles and then pushed it forward to slide next to Qui-Gon's as the young Jedi brought his hips against the older man's.
"Mine," Obi-Wan purred, quivering with pleasure of his own as he watched Qui-Gon's stomach tense in anticipation and desire. "You're mine." He trailed his fingers up and down the back of Qui-Gon's thighs, tracing the crease of his hips, tickling the tender flesh between the tendons of his knees with his thumbs. He rocked his hips, his penis nudging Qui-Gon's shaft near its base. The Jedi Master's hands clenched to fists on the edge of the table, an effort to brace himself closer to his padawan's teasing flesh.
It wasn't enough, not for either of them. Gently Obi-Wan disengaged Qui-Gon's legs from his neck and helped him lower them, then moved to the side of the table. Lovingly he trailed a hand up his Master's side, testing hard muscle draped in silky skin. He bent and kissed Qui-Gon slowly, fingernails raking lightly up the washboard abdomen, tracing wide circles around nipples he knew ached for his touch. He flickered his tongue into Qui-Gon's mouth quickly, then withdrew and sucked gently on his Master's full lower lip, lightly pinching one straining nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Qui-Gon arched, moaning into him, and Obi-Wan smiled against the kiss, sliding his arm around the larger man and raising him slightly off the table until their chests pressed together. Qui-Gon's arm came up to wrap around him, and he gave serious attention to the kiss, letting awareness melt away until all that remained was the liquid of mouth and the heat of body, merging with the fiery surges of pleasure and lust that slid along their bond, deep wordless communication of bodies and souls.
Obi-Wan let his hands roam over his Master, imprinting every inch of the older man's flesh into his own skin and memory. So beautiful, so sweet, so hard ... and his. Wholly, unreservedly his. He groaned, burying his face in Qui-Gon's neck, scratching his cheek against the stubble of beard, licking away gathering droplets of sweat. His desire was spiraling beyond control, and he let his palm slide downward again, all the way down, until it closed around his Master's solid, hot shaft.
Qui-Gon bucked, crying out sharply, thrusting his hips up in a wordless, urgent plea. The padawan smiled, stroking delicately over the crown, smearing with his thumb the sticky wetness that waited there. Coyly, he lifted his hand and laid it against his lips, then drew the gleaming digit into his mouth. Qui-Gon took a shuddering breath, watching Obi-Wan suckle away his essence, the young man scraping his teeth over the pad of his thumb.
Obi-Wan licked his thumb one last time, letting his eyelids sink shut, savoring the last lingering saltiness of his Master. Leaning forward, he nuzzled Qui-Gon's ear. "I'm going to take you now," he breathed.
Qui-Gon shivered, tongue darting out to lick his lips, his fists once again clenching tight on the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, tendons straining. Obi-Wan slowly kissed his way down his Master's body, dipping his tongue into the perspiring navel, nuzzling the coarse pubic hair, drinking deeply of the salty, bitter odor of musk and sweat. He paused to brush the lightest of kisses over Qui-Gon's still-tender brand, hands gently kneading Qui-Gon's taut hips.
"Yes..." Qui-Gon sighed, more plea than permission.
Obi-Wan glanced around quickly, summoned a bottle of cooking oil to his hand. He sniffed it experimentally, satisfying himself of its safe, vegetable base. Warming it lightly with a subtle application of the Force, he unscrewed the cap and tipped a measure of the thick, clear fluid into his Master's navel.
Qui-Gon's fists tightened even further, his nails digging at the dully polished wood as Obi-Wan reached and drew a slow line of the warmed oil down along the center of his body.He climbed up, kneeling over his Master, and bent forward until the tip of his penis nudged into Qui-Gon's navel, sending oil welling over the ridged plane of Qui-Gon's belly.
Obi-Wan caught the overflow in his palms, smoothing it onto his penis slowly, luxuriating in the warmth and the sensation of Qui-Gon helpless beneath him. He nestled his hips down, Qui-Gon's erection settling in the cleft, and rocked his body gently back and forth until his Master moaned. Satisfied, Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly, then vaulted quickly from the table and moved to stand between Qui-Gon's thighs. His Master eagerly lifted his knees and twined his ankles behind Obi-Wan's neck once more.
Taking another palmful of oil, Obi-Wan slowly stroked himself, lavishing the fluid on thickly, aware that every instant of delay was driving Qui-Gon's anticipatory tension higher. He smiled, brushing his cheek against Qui-Gon's calf, probing gently until he settled against the entrance to his Master's body.
In almost immeasurable increments, he gradually increased the pressure, feeling the tight opening begin to give way. He withdrew and poured more oil, then pressed again, harder. Qui-Gon gave a strangled sob of relief as his body yielded, slowly enclosing the crown of Obi-Wan's erection. His hands rose to caress his own chest and nipples, and Obi-Wan caught his wrists, forcing them down, making him grasp the table again.
Qui-Gon rocked, desperate to take more, but Obi-Wan withdrew partway, teasing, until he stopped. Again. Hard this time, but still only slightly further than he had pressed before. Qui-Gon gasped, his legs locking, but though he pulled his padawan's head forward, Obi-Wan withheld himself, maddening Qui-Gon, drawing the penetration out leisurely.
When his Master stilled, he pressed forward delicately, savoring the slow slide inward, rocking forward a fraction further each time, pulling back until only the crown remained buried in his Master, only to tip more oil onto himself and plunge again, deeper than before. He earned a hoarse cry as he finally thrust at just the right spot, causing Qui-Gon to arch, thrashing his head, moaning Obi-Wan's name from between dry lips.
"Say it again," Obi-Wan whispered, struggling for control, hands clasping Qui-Gon's hips.
He did, a long sobbing groan, and Obi-Wan pressed steadily, sheathing himself fully at last, feeling his hips settle firmly against Qui-Gon's. His Master's tight velvet heat clenched around him and he hissed with pleasure.
"Please, my padawan," Qui-Gon gasped. "*Please.*"
"My Master," Obi-Wan purred, "your wish is my command." He drew back and then thrust quickly, burying himself to the root in willing warmth.
A low scream was wrung from Qui-Gon's chest, and Obi-Wan hesitated, reaching along their bond for pain, but there was none, only a cascade of need and lust and love. It drowned him, overwhelming him -- he was the giver, the needed, the beloved. His hips pumped frantically as he responded to that need, the giving and taking simultaneous and beautiful between them. His trembling hand wrapped around Qui-Gon's thick hardness, and he stroked in time with his own wild thrusts, instinctively using the Force to hold Qui-Gon still when his Master's frantic thrashing threatened to make the claiming impossible.
He could sense it coming, the Force pouring through him, enhancing his senses. He could fairly taste his Master's desperate sweat, feel the tingle of his skin, run his fingers along the curls and hollows of memory and soul as they twined ever tighter, Obi-Wan's thighs aching, his penis quivering, balls aching as he held off, struggling to wait until Qui-Gon reached it too ... just ... coming, just ... *Now.*
Shouts melded with an explosion of ecstasy, and Obi-Wan collapsed, pitching forward onto the sweat and oil-slicked chest, unsure whether the heartbeat thundering against his ribs was Qui-Gon's or his own. And then he realized that their hearts were beating in tandem.
//Yours.// The joined voice was rich with the soft timbre of his Master, bright with his own ecstasy and optimism. No longer a question of mastery or ownership, only perfect sharing ... and at last, peace. Obi-Wan sighed with contentment, nestling closer on Qui-Gon's chest, feeling his Master's strong fingers stroke his hair as together, they bid farewell to the cave of fear.
--End--
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