Twilight Burning 2:
Sweetest Perfection
Rina and Destina Fortunato
July 1999
The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone...
Qui-Gon Jinn burned.
No amount of concentration, meditation or exercise could banish the
bone-deep sensation that clung to his body, igniting reactions that had long
been forced into dormancy by the strict edicts of the Code. Forbidden,
prohibited, banned, it mattered not what words were used to describe it, the
path he and Obi-Wan had embarked on earlier this evening was not allowed.
Discovery would lead to the ruination of both of them.
Then you must make sure that this does not occur.
It was his place as the elder, the Master, the teacher, to assure that
his apprentice was protected -- at least in this single instance. Certainly
at this stage of his life Obi-Wan needed shielding from little else. His
weapons sense was higher than most field-tested knights. It was only his
feel for the living Force -- or more correctly his sometimes erratic control
over it and his emotions -- that remained an obstacle to his progression
within the Order.
Imbued with a sense of restless energy that was totally foreign to him,
Qui-Gon pushed his chair back from the console and paced the length of the
room, an act that took all of fifteen seconds, considering the size of his
temporary quarters. Staying in the rooms he shared with his Padawan was
impossible. Physical separation had been the only solution, albeit a
temporary and inadequate one.
Even now Qui-Gon felt the lick of Obi-Wan's mind against his,
communicating restive need and frustration, the touch grating against his
already shredded sensibilities. Lust flared and the Jedi Master sought to
block the link only to find it too firmly entrenched to be totally shut off.
Even after a concentrated effort the effects lingered, bringing with them a
painful tightening of his body. He felt the desire to make done with all
this foolishness by returning to their rooms and laying claim to that
intoxicating mouth, to rip and tear until the lithe body was free from its
protective covering, to plunder, to take...
Where are all your vaunted ideals now, Qui-Gon? he demanded of
himself, feeling close to suffocation by the close quarters of his hastily
procured sleeping space. The room was even more spartan than his own
quarters; there was nothing to distract his mind from the siren's song of
his need, and that of his apprentice. Too easily he could picture Obi-Wan
lying on his bed, tossing from side to side in an effort to set aside the
violent emotions they had engendered in each other.
The vision of his Padawan twisting on his bed, his arousal all too
plainly outlined by the thin sheet, drew an answering throb of anticipation
from deep within Qui-Gon. What would it feel like to be sheathed in the
clinging heat of Obi-Wan's body? How would it feel to be taken to the edge
by the pressure of Obi-Wan's length within him, or his mouth on him, or .. .
Another long-held restriction snapped under the pressure of unrelenting
lust and Qui-Gon threw himself on the narrow bed, stripping off his sleep
pants in the same motion, his hand moving unerringly to his straining
erection. As he took up a hard, demanding pace, Qui-Gon reached for the
newly deepened link that had formed between himself and Obi-Wan. The contact
between their minds opened enough to let the younger man know what he was
doing, to give him a taste of what their union would be like once the final
restraints of duty and civilization were stripped away.
The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind
There had never been a night so long, not in the entire history of all
the worlds of the Republic.
Obi-Wan flung himself over onto his back, resisting the urge to reach
between his legs and touch himself until the ache there dissipated. His
restless rolling around the bed had developed a steady pattern over the last
few hours. Turn to the left, stare out the window. Turn on his stomach,
groan at the pressure on his aching cock, turn on his right side. Clutch the
pillow and try to focus his mind on the tasks of the day which refused to
arrive. Roll onto his back, kick the covers and resist the incredible,
growing urge to take his cock in his hands and...
The young Jedi closed his eyes and laced his fingers tightly together
beneath his head, controlling his breathing. He drew down his lust into the
very small space in his brain usually reserved for purging anger and hatred.
And groaned as a sudden image of Qui-Gon leaped into his mind.
He saw his Master in the quarters he'd procured for the night, nude, a
sheet twisted carelessly around his muscular legs, which were slightly
spread across the bed, heels dug into the soft mattress. His Master's body
shone in the dim light, a sheen of sweat glowing on him, as his hand worked
mercilessly up and down...
Obi-Wan's eyes popped open, wide and desperate. His own need twitched on
his belly, demanding attention. He vaulted off the bed and moved as quickly
as he was able toward the shower, suddenly feeling quivers of desire like
shooting pains in his hips and thighs, drawn deep from his loins...and the
sensations were not his own. Carefully, he climbed into the shower and
slapped his hand against the control sensor, bringing a deluge of cold
water. He rested his hands and forehead against the wall as the water
shocked his body, cowing it into immediate submission, and the terrible
twinges of want eased in him.
_This should not be happening!_ he thought fuzzily, as images continued
to press into his mind, his Master arching off the bed, small growls and
shouts of pleasure echoing in an empty room. His name was on his Master's
lips, a fierce sound that sent Obi-Wan further under the cascading water,
back to the wall, open palms pressed against the cool tile, his heart
pounding with the shared force of unconcealed passion. Qui-Gon _wanted_ him
to see, wanted him to know, wanted everything... his Master was giving him a
piece of the darkness of his soul, a preview of what awaited them when they
joined.
Obi-Wan tried to clip off the invading thoughts, determined to pass this
night without giving in to his desire. The edge would be much sharper, the
need much harder and focused, if he could just stave off the building
urgency, the extraordinary waves of emotion that were pulling at him like
coarse tethers. He tasted the tang of his own blood and realized with some
surprise he'd been biting down furiously on his lip. He tilted his head
forward, dousing himself with water, lips parted, eyes closed. Silently, he
made a firm promise to himself.
He would more than repay Qui-Gon for the cost of this little experiment
in agony when finally they were together.
I stop and I stare too much
Afraid that I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell would be broken
Sleep had proven elusive, even after one of the most intense orgasms Qui-Gon
could remember - definitely the most mind-shattering climax he had
ever had while alone.
"What is happening to me?" The question echoed off bare walls
that a short time before had borne witness to the sounds of his solitary
pleasure. Swinging his legs off the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and
his long hair shrouding his face in a sea of shadows, Qui-Gon closed his
eyes, the better to restore some kind of order to his thoughts.
A faint ghost of a chill washed over his skin, making him shudder, and it
was then the Jedi Master realized how his apprentice had dealt with the
situation. A cold shower -- perhaps that was the thing he needed also. If
nothing else it might purge his body of the parts of his desire that
remained unslaked, demanding nothing less than a total joining before they
would subside.
Shower, then exercise and food. Sleep was not a necessity. Qui-Gon had
survived on far less for greater periods of time, although the circumstances
were indeed unique this time. After his morning meal would come a trip to
the opposite side of a planet. There was a small, private resort he had
visited during peace talks between two factions of a trade franchise that
would be perfect for what was to come.
Plan each step out and you will stay in control of the situation.
There was no room for error here, too much depended on it. One wrong look,
one stray thought and the Council would become aware -- and they would not
be forgiving.
Pushing his hair back out of his face, the Jedi Master rose, his long
body unfolding from the low bed with the feral grace of a jungle predator
that has caught scent of its mate and is preparing to enter into the hunt.
Now that he had a plan of attack, Qui-Gon was able to settle his thoughts
into more or less a semblance of their normal, rational state. To
compartmentalize -- if only for now -- the damning need for his apprentice
that had possessed him.
"Is the suite satisfactory?"
The question drew Qui-Gon out of his reverie. He gave the resort's
proprietor a short nod that revealed nothing of the turbulent thoughts
churning beneath the smooth façade of the Jedi's outer demeanor. Here
outside the Temple, putting on such a front was child's play, but Qui-Gon
knew that things would get much more complicated once he returned to the
massive tower.
All morning the pulse of Obi-Wan's emotions had pressed against his
thoughts, a steady barrage of intertwined lust, frustration and impatience
that at times made the hairs on the back of the older man's neck rise due to
their insistence. All morning Qui-Gon had forced himself to ignore the
sensations, concentrating on the here and now instead of what was to come.
"Is there anything else you require?"
At the Jedi's negative head shake, the proprietor bowed and swept out of
the room, pulling the door shut behind him and leaving Qui-Gon alone.
A soft, artificial breeze tugged at his hair, drawing his gaze to the
wide windows that dominated the outside wall of the rooms. The scene
projected on the forcescreen was of one of the rural planets and was
rendered in exacting detail down to the sounds and scents carried on the
wind.
This was good. The serenity of the setting would hopefully prove to
balance the violent emotions flaring between himself and his Padawan and if
not... well, the bed was at least large and sturdy enough to withstand most
anything.
Qui-Gon nodded again, then went to work unpacking the small bag he had
brought with him, setting the contents on the small bedside table. He had
barely placed the second item on the stand when a sharp pain flared at the
side of his neck, a burning sensation accompanied by a spike in the
background noise from the link he shared with from Obi-Wan.
"By the Hells ..." Concern added strength to his own sending,
shoving against the shields in his apprentice's mind until a hasty
reassurance on Obi-Wan's part partially assuaged Qui-Gon's worry, at least
as to the other man's physical state. His mental condition, however, was
quite another story.
The knowledge that he had to get Obi-Wan out of the Temple -- and soon --
beat at Qui-Gon, bringing with it the gnawing sense of self-doubt concerning
this course of action. If Obi-Wan had not been so adamant . . .
Putting aside the attempt to lay blame where none could be assigned,
unless it was squarely on his own shoulders, the Jedi Master calmed himself
with a moment's meditation and then went back to his task.
The carryall was empty and Qui-Gon was making a last inspection of the
rooms to assure himself that all was in readiness when the next assault hit.
Towering waves of need, vivid, erotic images that meshed with his own from
the night before, a tight, almost painful pressure at his groin . . .
Obi-Wan was broadcasting again with little notice or apparent concern that
his emotions had overrun the tight band of their private connection and had
spilled out onto a broader spectrum that anyone attuned to the Force could
feel.
The lust spiraled into a tight knot that begged for a single touch to be
released. The fine lines around Qui- Gon's eyes deepened as he fought the
temptation by striding out of the room, stalking toward his transport and
slamming it into gear, rocketing back toward the central part of the city
and his apprentice. A lesson in control was indeed in order.
When I need a drug in me
And it brings out the thug in me
Feel something tugging me
Then I want the real thing not tokens
Yawning for the tenth time in as many minutes, Obi-Wan switched his
lightsaber to lowest power and set it aside. Ordinarily, he might have tried
to make up for lost rest by sleeping in that morning - since Qui-Gon was not
there to prod him out of bed - but he had snatched only tiny, drowsy moments
of sleep between unsettled dreams. And then there were his Master's
fantasies...which had needled into him at various hours throughout the
night, creeping in like a slow, low fog and enveloping him. Before dawn's
faintest light had even begun to take the sky, Obi-Wan was showered (for the
third time that night), dressed, had eaten some fruit for breakfast and was
stretching in preparation for morning exercises.
After a basic warm-up drill involving an hour of laps, gymnastics and
walking on his hands to hone his balance, he prepared to go through a few
katas. It would take up another hour of what was going to be a very, very
long day. And then perhaps he'd train on a few of the flashier moves with
the lightsaber his Master often discouraged, moves he usually practiced in
his spare time.
Exercise was addictive for Obi-Wan. He craved it when he was prevented
from indulging in it, when sick or injured, and could not remain inactive
for very long. As a child, he was constantly in motion, to the exasperation
of his teachers. Many lectures and rebukes had been his to endure in his
earliest years at the Academy, due to the simple fact that outer calm and
inner peace were difficult states for him to achieve.
He began his first kata, focusing absently on the movements which were
very familiar and needed little active concentration. His thoughts
immediately returned to the situation with Qui-Gon. Sighing, he allowed them
to flow naturally, even as his muscles moved in a synchronous rhythm
dictated by the Force.
Obi-Wan mused that something unexpected was happening to the bond he'd
always shared with his teacher. He was starting to understand things his
Master had held back from him and might never have chosen to reveal, had
their mutual desire not become so ungovernable. For one thing, there was
unbelievable passion locked behind those knowing, stoic eyes. If Obi-Wan
felt any less certain of his feelings, he might have been almost frightened
by the danger of seeing that passion fully, violently released. The truth
was, Obi-Wan knew his own desire, and knew he was capable of inflicting just
as much damage, should he choose not to keep himself in check. The thought
made him shudder, and he completely lost track of where he was within the
kata.
Swearing in three different languages, Obi-Wan began the kata again. He
wondered where Qui-Gon was, and what he was doing. He considered reaching
out with the Force, but snorted at the notion. If Qui-Gon was doing anything
even remotely like last night...well, Obi-Wan didn't want to know what he
was up to that badly. Besides, little hints of emotion were tingling at the
base of his brain anyway, like electrical arcs, suddenly sparking into blue
bursts of clarity. Obi-Wan was disconcerted by how easily his Master was
communicating his private feelings. He sensed bursts of frustration, flaring
and retreating, chasing merciless self-examination and worry. And beneath
them, a gripping need was tearing at his Master.
Much like the need which was arising once again in Obi-Wan, causing him
to shift uncomfortably and lose his place within the kata once again.
"Hells of the Sith!" he shouted, and was immediately ashamed of
his outburst. Seething, he stood with his hands on his hips, irritated
beyond belief. His glance fell on his lightsaber, which he instantly called
to his hand. Once he'd ignited it, he swung into patterns he'd been taught
by other, more advanced students, spinning the glowing blade end over end
until it seemed he supported a lighted orb rather than a luminous stick.
As he began dipping the blade in fancy maneuvers which wasted energy in
actual battle, he pictured the look he expected to see on Qui-Gon's face as
he went down on him for the first time...
Before he was even conscious of the fact that it had gone astray, his
lightsaber was out of his hand and descending on him from the air above,
narrowly missing his face but glancing across his neck before hitting his
tunic and then the floor, extinguished. He shouted again, this time with
pain, and tried too late to avoid broadcasting his distress. He felt Qui-Gon's
push at his mind, even across this distance, demanding and concerned. He let
his Master know he was all right. It stung, to be sure, and was a nasty
burn, but it could be healed quickly. He'd sustained far worse.
Obviously, it was not a good time to practice anything too complicated.
He picked up his lightsaber, glared at it, and attached it to his belt.
He looked up, suddenly realizing that several pairs of eyes were on him.
Other students had stopped, disturbed not just by his erratic control during
the practice drills, but by what he was projecting with his emotions. He
could feel their curiosity, and disapproval. A chilling wave of anxiety
dropped his stomach into his boots, bringing worry that he'd somehow given
away the secret. If he'd broadcast too much, and someone went to the
Council...even a suspicion of impropriety between Padawan and Master would
be enough to ruin Qui-Gon. He met their stares defiantly, until one by one,
they turned away.
It was too much. He was overloading like a hot hyperdrive without
coolant. Qui-Gon wouldn't be back until the evening. He wasn't going to last
that long.
Within five minutes, Obi-Wan was back in the privacy of the quarters he
usually shared with his Master. One look at Qui-Gon's bed was enough to send
quivering impulses to every nerve ending. He flung himself on the bed and
bounced a few times, yanking off his leggings. He lay back, closed his hand
around his hard, angry erection, and allowed his mind to take him back to
the night before, to the picture of Qui-Gon rocking up against his hand,
inviting Obi-Wan to be voyeur to his pleasure. He forced a breath, which
emerged as a frayed, grating sigh, and began to touch himself, stroking as
cruelly as he dared, unyielding pressure tightening with every movement.
What he saw on the private viewing screen on the mind threw him into a
helpless frenzy...Qui-Gon on top of him, as Obi-Wan bit and scratched, and
Qui-Gon showed him the beauty and power of being possessed... and Qui-Gon
beneath him, accepting that power in return. He felt his muscles lock in
position as he came, unable to breathe, to see, to think, to do anything but
allow the vibrations which wracked him to move through him, unstoppable.
Spent, he dropped his hand and lay gasping on the bed, mind numb. Within
a few seconds, he became aware that once again, his reactions were not
simply his own...he could feel the disturbance he had caused, and that same
worry overcame him. And then, he felt it...Qui-Gon's mind, seeking his.
His Master was on his way to Obi-Wan, and he was burning with anger, and
fear. And an unveiled, irrevocable lust.
Things you'd expect to be
Having effect on me
Pass undetectedly
But everyone knows what has got me
Qui-Gon moved through the open terrace of the entryway to the Jedi
Temple, fluidly passing through the crowds of people there. On any given
day, Qui-Gon's presence would have caused a stir; his powerful, graceful
movements were eye-catching. On this day, however, he was met with a number
of curious stares, and his jaw tightened fractionally with each step.
"Qui-Gon," a voice called from behind him.
Pushing aside the urgency which had brought him back to the Temple, Qui-Gon
turned and acknowledged the speaker. "Good day, Master Arka."
"Master Qui-Gon, a word with you?" The request was pleasant
enough, but there was an undercurrent of firmness in the tone. Qui-Gon
frowned slightly as he met the man's eyes. A young girl caught up to Arka,
stopping at his left elbow. Qui-Gon recognized her as one of the many new
Padawans, just selected by Masters within the last few days. As his gaze
rested on her momentarily, she flushed deeply, and her eyes flickered to her
Master, then down to the ground. Qui-Gon's frown deepened.
Arka placed his hand on Qui-Gon's elbow and steered him a few paces from
the girl, just out of earshot. "Qui-Gon, something seems to
be...troubling...your Padawan. He seems to be in need of -"
"I'm well aware of what he needs," Qui-Gon said curtly, cutting
off the suggestion.
Eyebrow raised, Arka looked at his old friend. "Yes, I believe you
are," he said archly. "Know this, then. His repressed sexuality
has taken a toll on my Padawan, although she doesn't understand the nature
of her unease. I would suggest that you take steps to prevent your Padawan
from influencing others around him."
"Your point is taken," Qui-Gon answered, growing more impatient
with every word.
"Very well. I shall not speak of it again." Arka bowed slightly
and retreated, guilty-looking Padawan in tow.
Qui-Gon resumed his brisk steps toward the interior of the Temple, but
had gone only a few paces inside the building before hearing his name once
again. Seething inwardly, he faced the second challenger.
"Ah, Master Qui-Gon. Some business has kept you from the Temple this
day?" Master Ess Siala approached him smoothly, her Padawan remaining
in the background, expression neutral.
"Errands elsewhere," he answered.
Siala nodded. "Your apprentice was injured today at practice.
Perhaps you'd heard?"
"I was aware of his injury," Qui-Gon said truthfully,
disconcerted by the fact that she felt the need to point it out. Perhaps the
injury was worse than Obi-Wan had allowed him to know.
Qui-Gon's all-too-apparent concern jarred Siala, who chose her next words
carefully. "Master Jinn. His injury was a small burn, nothing serious.
It was self-inflicted due to his carelessness. He was distracted by other
matters. His focus was not on his drills, as it should have been. Jao was
present, as were other Padawans...all is not as it should be with
Obi-Wan." Her dark eyes were inscrutable. "Caution would seem to
be most prudent now, Qui-Gon," she advised softly.
Two old friends warning him within minutes of one another. Qui-Gon felt a
surge first of anger, then dismay, then resignation.
"Thank you, Siala." A short nod, and he was again off in the
direction dictated by his heart.
As he walked, his emotions simmered in turmoil. The criticism of other
Masters mattered little, but the distraught expressions of the young
Padawans drove home the true reason why these types of relationships were
forbidden. Hidden within those cautions was a subtle rebuke - he had not
taught Obi-Wan sufficient control. But how could he have known? He could
barely control the storm raging within himself, with all the
experience and techniques available to him. Obi-Wan could not have been
expected to, either.
But he would learn to do so. Qui-Gon would see to it.
He stabbed at the keypad outside the door, gaining entry to their
quarters, finding Obi-Wan on the bed, curled up around a large pillow,
waiting for him. The younger Jedi slowly sat up, radiating desire and worry.
Qui-Gon felt the emotions enter him, charring his heart, melting him slowly
from within. "Come with me, Obi-Wan," he said tightly.
Without a word, Obi-Wan stood, dropping the pillow, and followed his
Master from the room.
Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Teaches so deeply
I know that nothing can stop me
The elder Jedi's blue eyes burned like balefire as he watched Obi-Wan
enter their accommodations ahead of him. Their return trip from the Temple
had passed in silence.
"Close your eyes, Obi-Wan," he ordered as the door slid shut
behind them.
Obi-Wan half-turned to look back at Qui-Gon, a questioning expression on
his face.
"Close your eyes." The command was repeated in the same
patient, implacable tone the Jedi Master delivered all his lessons in.
Reflex took over and Obi-Wan obeyed though he felt a bit of mutiny stir
within him. What the hell was this? He had expected to be dressed
down for his lapse, had almost anticipated it as the catalyst that would
lead to the dissolution of all barriers between himself and Qui-Gon. But
this? A child's exercise? It made no sense.
Attention to the Moment Gives Knowledge - but not the knowledge he was
seeking, not at this juncture. Awaiting the next command, Obi-Wan
concentrated on his breathing, allowing it to center him in a kind of
fragile peace.
"Tell me what you see." The voice came from over his left
shoulder, whisper-soft against his ear, but demanding.
"Images of Ganvala trees outside the windows, Antillian lace
curtains, mosaic tiles on the floor done in patterns of navy, maroon, green
and gold . . ."
Nodding to himself, Qui-Gon placed his hand on the younger man's
shoulder, the heavy clasp anchoring Obi-Wan more firmly into the here and
now.
A faint sheen of sweat blossomed on Obi-Wan's skin and he swallowed
audibly, striving to keep his mind on the exercise and not on the pressure
of Qui-Gon's hand - or the way it was now sliding under the neck opening of
his tunic, moving gently over the healing burn.
"Small metal sculpture on the table nearest the windows, navy couch
at the eastern edge of the area rug, two armchairs opposite it. Doors on the
western and southern wall, both closed."
The weight on his shoulder vanished and Obi-Wan tracked the quiet rustle
of his Master's robes as Qui-Gon moved to stand in front of him.
"Open your eyes, Obi-Wan," the voice was still stern, still
unrelenting. "Now tell me what you see."
The younger Jedi complied, raising his eyes to meet his Master's, his
gaze holding both wariness and a challenge. "I see my future. I see
that which I most desire. I see you, Qui-Gon."
The words hung between them with a delicacy the moment did not deserve,
vibrating tensely, while Qui-Gon Jinn felt the uncaring madness of desire
slowly sear away everything else.
Obi-Wan's eyes closed for a moment; he swayed, losing his bearings within
sensation as his Master quite deliberately unlocked the hidden places he'd
never shown, exposing every feeling. Into this raw awakening came a kiss,
punishing, hungry lips which pushed at Obi-Wan's, coaxing him open, invading
him.
Ragged breathing tore at them both as Qui-Gon pulled back, for the last
time, clinging to one slender shred of coherence. Enough to ask, just once
more.
"Are you certain, Obi-Wan?"
In answer, Obi-Wan's hands ripped open Qui-Gon's tunic, tearing it
heedlessly as it was pulled free. Those same hands strayed with purpose up
the muscles of his back, palms climbing, fingers digging, pulling, as Obi-Wan's
lips touched the hard muscles of Qui-Gon's chest. Teeth bit not at all
gently, as Obi-Wan abandoned all pretext of gentleness.
Qui-Gon felt no need to leash his strength any longer. With a muted
rumble deep in his throat, he closed his hands on the sides of Obi-Wan's
face, contacting those lips below him, breaking open something primal in
them both. He drew one hand down, locking it around Obi-Wan's throat,
feeling the pulse which hammered beneath his fingertips, feeling
unreasonable pleasure at the power he felt as he tipped the younger man's
head back. Obi-Wan's mouth was free beneath his, willing and wanton, as Qui-Gon
crushed those lips furiously with his own.
Obi-Wan arched into Qui-Gon, pulling frantically at his own tunic,
shredding it in his attempts to throw it aside, to make sure no obstacle
remained between them. He succeeded as Qui-Gon's hand shifted, carefully
avoiding the wound on Obi-Wan's neck with surprising restraint, brushing
down his torso, finding the waistband of his leggings. Those large hands
settled on his hips for a moment, then shoved the pants downward. The force
of the shove sent them both staggering sideways, and Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan
in a strong embrace, steadying him, lifting him, taking him with dizzying
speed to the huge bed.
So quickly, the pants and boots disappeared, as Obi-Wan raised up and
marked his Master with a savage nip just above his left nipple. He was left
shuddering from the absence of touch as his Master pulled away and drew off
his own remaining clothing. Climbing onto the bed beside him, Qui-Gon rolled
quickly and pulled the younger man on top of him, manipulating the slender
body until their legs slid into place, Obi-Wan almost astride the larger
man's thigh, his erection pressing into his Master, near enough to his
Master's cock to cause a sympathetic twitch.
Qui-Gon pulled his Padawan down, long arms wrapped about him, cradling
his head as he brought Obi-Wan's lips to his yet again, feeling Obi-Wan's
hands exploring the subtle angles of his face, pulling the hair tie free and
burying themselves in that glorious hair. He tore his lips away as his
fingers splayed across Obi-Wan's ass, pushing the younger man into him,
listening with unthinkable pleasure to the sounds of wild ecstasy his
Padawan made, watching through lust-glittered eyes as Obi-Wan's neck curved
back, his face transformed by elemental eroticism. Obi-Wan tossed his head
to the side, then clutched at Qui-Gon with spasming fingertips, throat
constricted, and Qui-Gon understood what was needed.
Rolling once again, he positioned Obi-Wan beneath him, reaching to the
bedside table and scooping up the bottle he'd left there. For the first time
since all this had begun, he spared a moment of gratitude that Obi-Wan was
not a virgin, that no preliminaries were needed. He did not have the
patience that would have been needed, nor the control. It was too late for
that. With quick motions, he opened the bottle and spread the oil sensuously
across his cock, fingers dipping lower as he touched Obi-Wan in the same
way.
Obi-Wan reared up into his hand, unsubdued, frighteningly passionate, as
Qui-Gon's fingers stroked lower. Qui-Gon supported himself over the younger
man and licked slowly across the hard brown nipples, tongue and teeth making
war against flesh. Then, with one hard thrust, they were joined to each
other, and a scream built in Obi-Wan's throat, as Qui-Gon's hand closed over
him, moving in time to the ever-increasing throbbing inside him, which
seemed to echo in his heartbeat.
Qui-Gon stopped moving suddenly, gritting out a harsh command.
"Look... at... me, Obi-Wan..." Those exquisite, radiantly
blue-green eyes, brighter with the light of love, wandered aimlessly as they
opened, fixing slowly on the face above him, incapable of seeing. Qui-Gon
pushed forward slightly, watching as those eyes clouded with bliss.
It was all he needed. Still moving in time to the rhythm he felt in his
soul, Qui-Gon thrust and touched, feeling every movement of Obi-Wan's hands
and lips on his body like a branding iron, cutting through him, marking him.
He pushed on ferociously, feeling Obi-Wan twist and smash upwards beneath
him. He was deaf from the roaring in his ears, could feel nothing but the
fire in his blood, as he came with a devastation which was complete, a
wholeness which could not be measured, feeling Obi-Wan's answering
astonishment, as their minds fused and burst together, becoming nothing but
pleasure, nothing but joy.
Sweetest perfection
An offer was made
An assorted collection
But I wouldn't trade
Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Teaches so deeply
Nothing can stop me
"I am sorry, Master."
The words cut through the air, breaking the silence that had descended,
allowing the harsh light of reality to lay bare their actions and the
possible consequences inherent in them. Flesh was still pressed against
flesh, cooling now as synthetic breezes gusted across smeared beads of sweat
and other, more viscous, fluids.
There was no need for Qui-Gon to ask why his Padawan was apologizing. The
explanation was easily plucked from the top layer of the younger man's
thoughts. Guilt -- not associated with what had just happened, but centered
on the incident which had brought the Jedi Master back to the Temple.
"The lapse was unfortunate, but also unavoidable. We shall both be
required to work to strengthen our shields and control." As he spoke,
Qui-Gon trailed a single finger tenderly down the half-healed burn that
marred the perfection of Obi-Wan's throat, tendrils of the Force following
the progress and leaving unblemished skin in their wake.
The absence of the pain of the burn made Obi-Wan more aware of the
various other minor injuries he had acquired during the course of their
savage lovemaking, and he allowed himself the luxury of remembering how each
ache had come about. He accepted the pain as he had been taught but did
nothing to ease it, not wanting to give up anything that would remind him of
this moment. Their desire had been building for so long, held in check by
the fragile bulwarks of conscience and duty - it was small wonder the
loosing of the flood gates had overwhelmed both of them. Still, it gave him
a small amount of perverse pleasure to know that in this one case, the
master was almost as undisciplined as the apprentice.
Qui-Gon's voice held a combination of laughter and resignation -- the
tone that of a man who has given up fighting the direction his life was
being swept in - as he spoke in response to the younger man's thoughts.
"This is unknown territory for both of us. The challenges and tests
will be many, Padawan."
"Bu the rewards are worth it, are they not, Master?" Pushing
himself up on one elbow, Obi-Wan gazed down at Qui-Gon, noting with
satisfaction the many small marks he had left on the older man's body.
Midnight blue eyes went half-lidded as Obi-Wan ran his hand down the center
of Qui-Gon's chest, skimming over skin that was suddenly a mass of
hyper-sensitive nerve endings.
"The rewards are more than worth it, my Obi-Wan," the older
Jedi said roughly. "But...as I was reminded today...caution would be
most prudent now. There will be time - we will _make_ time, but we cannot
allow what has occurred to affect our work or any future missions. You will
be a Knight. I will accept nothing else."
"There are things in this life that I want more than being a Knight,
Qui-Gon." Saying this, Obi-Wan reached for the Force and harnessed a
bit to roll them both over so that he was looking down at his Master,
looming over him, pushing his determination against the other man's mind
much as his awakening body pressed against Qui-Gon's hard thigh. "Do
not seek to tell me my feelings in this matter. If the Council made me
choose between the Order and you, there would be no choice."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue, to deny his Padawan's words, but
instead found his lips covered and claimed by Obi-Wan's hungry kiss. The
discussion would wait. For the moment, the only thing that mattered was the
strong, lithe body atop his, the long, dexterous fingers that were bringing
him to full arousal once again, the familiar, addictive touch of Obi-Wan's
mind as the younger man showed Qui-Gon what was to come next and the ache
deep inside him that only one thing could ease.
It was madness. It could lead to disgrace for both of them, but it was
too late to retreat. Whatever the outcome, this path would be taken to its
ending. What a glorious, perilous trip it would be.
END
 since 02-04-07
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