Archive: Yes, please archive at SWAL
Archive Date: May 28, 2001
Author's Webpage: http://www.zip.com.au/~emu/genfic.html
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm did not give permission for this. I'd be willing to bet large sums of money that given the option, they'd hide it under the couch, except that then I would be profiting from fanfic and I would never do any such thing.
Notes: Huge thanks to Yogie, who inspired this while oh-so-adorably pretending she didn't want to read it. Also thank you to Emila-Wan and Donna for Owen-advice.
So Owen's probably younger than Obi-Wan, and they may not even be brothers. Tough. You create your own reality. I create mine. I'm going with old canon: Owen is Obi's big brother.
Big thank you to Pumpkin, who volunteered to beta with no prompting whatsover. Strange woman. Then she did a fabulous job, even though she should have been working on Tales of Two.
Pairing: Obi-Wan/Owen
Rating: NC-17 for sex, and very adult themes
Summary: Obi-Wan's mother is dying. He returns to his family home, and realises that he doesn't quite know what family is.
Warnings: This is Obi/Owen incest. /shrug/ Why the hell not?

"We do not stand alone. We are in the arms of family." Talaxian Prixin ceremony. (Voyager)

The door opened, and an almost familiar face stared out. Blue eyes, cleft chin, brown hair caught roughly back in a tail. He wore old pants, and a shirt, over a broad labourer's body. He would be handsome, if he weren't so worn.

"Owen?"

"I'm glad you could make it."

I nodded, awkardly. Should I go in? He hadn't stepped back, still stood blocking the door. "How is she?"

"No better. No worse."

Owen's face was expressionless, no welcome, no glare except the one I felt on a deeper level. Evidently it hadn't been Owen's choice to invite me, but he wouldn't dare to turn me away.

Finally the man lifted a hand, inviting me to pass. "She's down the hall, last room on the right."

I dipped my head in thanks, and followed the directions to a dim room, a well-padded bed, a waifly woman peering at me from deep in the covers. She frowned. "Hello?"

I edged in, couldn't find a chair so I sat on the side of the bed. She looked so very old, blonde hair streaked with grey. "Mother?" The title was awkward on my lips. "It's Obi-Wan."

A moment, and then her eyes sparkled. They were blue and green, like mine. "Obi-Wan?" A paper hand fumbled out, and reached for me. "I never hoped to see you."

I took it, gently. "Of course I came. Are you..." Of course she wasn't well. "Is there anything I can do?"

Her head moved against the pillow, a no. "Just seeing you. You have done so well. A Jedi."

"Still a padawan - mother. I have some years, yet."

"I am proud of you."

Owen was in the doorway behind me, hard and silent.

"I'm glad Owen has been here to care for you."

Genuine affection warmed her face at that, though her eyes never moved from me. "He is very good to me. I have had two fine boys."

I laid a hand on her forehead. She was too weak to accept my strength, so I simply calmed her, summoned the affection I felt for Qui-Gon, and let her take that warmth.

"Do you drink tea?"

"Yes, thank you." I moved into the kitchen. I'd found my way by the rattle of cups, clattered in irritation though never loud enough to disturb the patient. "She has fallen asleep."

"She tires easily."

That hadn't been difficult to see. She... our mother looked exhausted. "Do you look after her on your own?"

"Yes. The farm can keep."

"If you need help-"

"I manage fine." All the ingredients for the tea were laid out, but Owen was searching though the foodbox still. Shaking.

This man was a stranger, as strange as the woman at the end of the hall. I didn't know who I was supposed to be here. I'd observed families, but never had one, only Qui-Gon. Awkwardly, I put my hand on my brother's forearm. "I am sorry I haven't been able to be what you need."

Owen slowed. "She always regretted that Da didn't see you before he died. I thought she should. It means a lot to her, what you've achieved."

"I'm sure your achievements mean as much."

"Do all Jedi condescend, so?" His tone was harsh, though he hadn't moved away.

"You are still her son. Without you, she would be alone, and the farm would be lost."

"Yes, it would."

"I'm sorry."

Owen looked up at that, swallowing to say something, but it never came. "I'm tired. I prepared the room over there for you. This is your home."

He pulled away, and disappeared up the hall.

I poured my tea, and settled at the table. The house was dark and silent. Lonely. Owen was only twenty four... twenty three, and taking care of all of this on his own. I doubted that he went out often, and the house had the stale air of a lack of visitors. He was very young, to lead such a life.

I checked my chrono, tapped a button for Coruscant time. Not too late to comm Qui-Gon. I felt reluctant, though. Qui-Gon didn't belong here.

That was a feeling I'd never experienced before. Qui-Gon seemed to belong everywhere. But I took my tea and searched until I found the commset, and only recorded a brief one-way message to say I'd arrived safely.

Owen was feeding her when I got up the next morning. He made no move of welcome, so I withdrew to give them privacy. Tea had brewed; I poured two cups and waited.

Owen returned eventually, looking exhausted.

"How is she?"

"More tired than yesterday, but that's true every day. She'll sleep now. You can sit with her in a couple of hours."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No." Voice tight, but not angry. "Unless you have some Jedi trick, wave your hand, make her strong again." Hope reached painfully from beneath the cynicism.

"I am sorry. I can tend wounds, accidents, but I have no power against the natural course of life."

"You think this is natural? She's young."

I pressed up from my chair, and crossed to awkwardly hug the other man. I would no more easily accept Qui-Gon's death; that much I could understand.

Owen clutched at me, stiff in my arms but eager for comfort, and once again I felt last night's loneliness. So much to ask a young man, to be this strong.

Our faces were pressed together; I rubbed our cheeks. Owen's heavy build and rough hands spoke of hard work, hiding his youth, but his jaw was smooth. He smelled good.

He relaxed in my arms, hands gentle on my back, but made no move to withdraw.

Was this how family felt? This was strange, but it felt right. It was warm.

"I always wanted a brother." Breath flowed softly by my ear. "I remember watching mother's belly grow, hoping I would have a brother to play with. I made up games I would play with him, and I told Da all the things I would teach him. I didn't want a sister. I was so glad when you were born, I probably got under her feet with all my helping. They took you away and I never had a brother."

"You have a brother now."

There was no reply, but Owen's shaking head.

I don't think I believed it either.

I closed the door quietly on the sleeping woman, and crept up the hall.

Owen was picking at the edges of a loaf. He waved for me to join him. "So what do you tell her?"

"Pardon?"

Owen smiled, cautiously, as though he didn't do it often. "What have you been doing with yourself, my little brother?"

I had done so much in the last few years, but couldn't single out a thing to tell him. "I am an apprentice, still."

"What does that mean?"

"I go on missions with my master. I'm nearing the end of my apprenticeship, so I am given more responsibility, but I still defer to him."

That had his interest, at least. "And what's this master's name?"

"Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn. He's... a very kind man. Very focused. I can only hope to touch the force as deeply as he does, one day. He has been my master since I was thirteen."

A trace of bitterness, at that. "So he is like a parent."

"I'm afraid I can't compare."

"No."

The bread was stale in my mouth, and I couldn't swallow.

Owen sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "I don't hate you. I know you think I do."

"I didn't think that."

"I didn't want to like you. I don't like the Jedi much, for taking you away, but I'm sorry for you. I'm glad I'm here. I wouldn't much like to be in your place."

"Oh."

"You don't know her, and you never knew Da. I'm the lucky one."

I knew Qui-Gon.

Neither of us were eating, so I stood and began to clear the dishes. Owen watched in silence, until the last was loaded into the dishwasher. I heard him stand, and then he was close and fingers were sliding lightly down my braid.

"What does this mean?"

I faced him, the end of my hair still caught around his thumb. "It is a symbol of my years of apprenticeship."

He touched it, let it twist around his knuckles. "I think you turned out all right."

Gladness heated me through, though I couldn't imagine why the opinion mattered so much. "I think you turned out well, too." I found myself reaching for him, resting my hands on the his upper arms, not sure whether to hold him properly or give him distance.

Owen moved closer, nose brushing my cheek, inhaling. From this close, I could feel him trembling. "Owen?"

He only breathed me in, and then I felt his hands on my face, lightly. Lips touched my jaw, wet, and then again, more deliberate.

I didn't move. I didn't know about families, but I knew what they didn't do. No matter how much I wanted to comfort this man. "Owen."

He stopped, fists clenched at my sides, mouth at the very corner of mine. "I'm sorry." I could feel his lips form the words against my skin.

"Don't be sorry. It's fine." I pulled him closer, startling when I felt him hard at my groin. He was hard.

My fingers played in the tail of his hair, where it curled at his neck. Began to tug at the tie.

A cough broke us apart. Through the thumping of my heart it was a moment before I realised that it came from the far end of the corridor.

Owen was shuffling away, red-faced. "She's awake. I should check on her."

I nodded. "I'll heat her a meal."

We sat on opposite sides of the bed as Owen spoonfed our mother lunch. After some prompting, I told them a little of my recent missions, wishing I had something more glamorous to tell than escorting dignitaries and precious goods. Our mother prodded me about Qui-Gon, wanting to know who was caring for her son. There didn't seem to be a way to explain that Qui-Gon wasn't a father, that his responsibilities were different, so I simply let her believe that he was protecting me as a parent should.

When Owen made to clear the dishes away, she reached out, taking our hands in each of hers. "My boys. I'm glad to have you together." A squeeze. "I know you haven't seen each other in a long time, but you are family. Brothers." A hard look for me. "You are a Jedi, Obi-Wan, I always knew that, but blood doesn't dissolve. I'm glad you two have come together."

I swallowed. "So am I."

She collapsed back, exhausted by the long speech. "Let me sleep. I'm old, and tired."

"Not old," protested Owen.

But she was already drifting off.

I stood, watched him watch her through his loosened hair. She was old, before her time, and so was he. I came around, took the dishes from his hands and went out to the kitchen.

Owen stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, not quite willing to cross the threshold. He was my brother, for all that meant. Which was more than it had a day ago, more than anything I had with the woman at the end of the hall. What was a brother supposed to feel?

Not desire. Not heat. Comfort, perhaps, but not with hands, not to strip away clothes. But of all my family, I had only this connection.

Owen waited. He needed this. I wanted it. No one needed to know. I stood, and moved close, as Owen forced himself not to flinch away.

When I kissed him, he let out a breath that blew warm down my throat and his hands settled on my waist. His tongue slid in my mouth, slick, slow but deep, and I sucked until he whimpered.

I broke the kiss. "Show me your room."

He flicked his gaze to my door, but I held out, and he led the way to his own. Next to our mother's, but I needed to do this in his space. I needed something from this.

The room was near-bare. Sparse furniture, a weave begun and neglected in the corner. Here, Owen grew awkward, waiting, anchorless, to be reassured. I guided him forward until we lay on the bed, legs entwining, and this time I was pressing my tongue past my brother's lips, sweeping around his teeth, probing deep inside. Owen's hand rested on the small of my back, faint pressure until our hips collided, and yes, he was hard, as hard as me, and I ground against him. I felt a tie to him.

Owen scrabbled to lift his shirt, pushing the cloth up to his neck. "Please."

His nipples were small, and pink, like mine, and a lick proved them sensitive, like mine. I knew just how to suck. Just when to graze with teeth to make him arch.

Meanwhile Owen's hands were fumbling at the back of my shirt, searching for entrance, his body arching until his fingers found and squeezed buttocks, clawing to pull closer. His shaft thrust against my belly, mine against his muscled thigh, Owen's whisper to come, please come, until his words were choked off in my neck. He held me as I thrust against him, until I came and his hand jammed against my mouth to silence my cry.

That doused the passion, drove us to a somber quiet.

My head lay on his heaving chest, our legs wound together, clothes tangled and sweat-damp between us. Cautiously, Owen's hand touched my head. "I didn't think Jedi did this."

Had sex with family?

"Sex," he clarified.

I snorted, felt him smile. "Chastity vows would be one way to reduce our numbers, if little else. We appreciate all of life's joys."

He snorted at that, and his hands slid lower to run lightly over my back. "My first time, I was seventeen. I'd been going with Telsa for more than a year, and she decided it was time. We did it in the back barn during pouring rain. I rather enjoyed it, but I think she was less impressed. She ended it a half-month later."

"My brother, legendary lover."

"Oh, I suppose you were introduced to the world in grand fashion, romanced by some stately princess?"

"Hardly. I was fourteen, when-"

"Fourteen?"

"We were encouraged to experiment young, among people we could trust. It's an adult world we live in."

Owen grunted, disapproving, and I felt faintly embarrassed that the order had disappointed him.

"A friend, Garen, and I went searching through the under-tunnels of the Coruscant Temple, looking for adventure. We didn't find any, so Garen suggested we make our own. I'm still not sure he didn't intend that from the very beginning."

Fingers drifted down over my ribs, tickling, and I squirmed.

"Sorry." His hands stilled. "I haven't done this many times. Not at all since mother became sick."

"How long?"

"She's been weakening since Da died. It's a year now since she was bedridden."

A year of his life, no one to help. Not even his brother. I burrowed in and held him tight, as though I could squeeze in the support I hadn't been there to offer in nearly twenty years.

I raised my head to find his eyes red and glassy, his lips soft. Only lips, shallow gentle kisses, just tasting. He was sweet, and wet, warm, and for the longest time I only explored his entrance. He had lips like my own, I realised. Same jaw, same mouth. I grazed my teeth at the cleft in his chin, just to acknowledge it, and found his mouth again.

Somewhere along the way our bodies began to move, not hardening, but aroused some place deeper, patient and certain. Eventually I began to move down, nuzzling at his neck, kissing his chest, tonguing his belly. Just a taste of the entrance where he once suckled from the same mother as I, as my nails scratched his hips, pulling down his trousers, never slowing until I found his shaft, soft but beginning to fill. He was beautiful.

I looked up, to meet his gaze, just a trace of fear in his eyes, that I might stop. As though I could. I reached up to tangle our fingers as I tasted him, sweaty and come-sticky. His breath was loud and unsteady as I licked and licked again, inhaling from the dark-blond hair that curled at his base. Tender in my mouth, but growing, stretching along my tongue and pressing to tickle my palate, as his thighs shifted and tightened against my ribs.

I sucked with a gentle rhythm, knew it was right as his fingers squeezed mine. Deep, and then up to caress the head, to taste the lines and curves so his breaths were almost moans.

When his shaft was hard and sure, I let him slip from my mouth and dipped my head to press my nose to his balls, the musky centre of him, nudged beneath and simply breathed.

"Please, Obi-Wan. Will you- Will you come in me?"

I could only nod.

He reached to rummage through a drawer until he had a bottle, then he looked over, awkwardly. "I haven't any filters."

"I'm healthy, but I can filter." I lifted my shoulders, awkwardly, at his look. "Jedi trick."

"Convenient."

"Very." I took the bottle from his fist, waited for him to untangle his clothes and find his position, on his stomach, a pillow pulled beneath his hips. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. But it's been a while."

"I'll go slow."

I watched his back relax at that. I undressed, keeping contact as much as I could, then leaned over to rub his shoulders. It had been too long since someone took care of this man, and I was beginning to understand his resentment. His family should have taken care of him, and that was me - in his eyes.

I pushed gently at his muscles, at the bumps of his spine, working slowly deeper. I had practice in this, had been perfecting it ever since I discovered how well it eased Qui-Gon. I wondered what Qui-Gon would think.

There was a mole on Owen's right shoulder blade, another by his spine, level with his waist. A family trait. I kissed them each, rubbed my cheek along his skin, sun smoothed and tanned.

He lay, peaceful in my hands, as I stretched and slicked and slowly filled him, let me lead the pace in a gentle unending rhythm, like the ocean. His body embraced me, welcomed me, with a right to my body that no one had had before. His ankles hooked over mine, but he made no push to speed.

This was what we needed. Not the end. Just this. To be close. And so when I felt myself heat, I stopped, and waited, kissing his spine, noticing that he never protested the pause. When I began again, he only sighed, content.

We were drowsing when she called. "Owen?"

Thin, barely penetrating through my trained alertness, but Owen was immediately on his feet, looking down at his body in dismay. He snatched a cloth from the corner sink, rubbing himself partway clean.

"Owen?"

I picked up his trousers and dropped them. They were still sticky.

Never looking up, Owen pulled a fresh pair from a cupboard and yanked them on.

"She won't know."

"Maybe." He hurried out.

Her face was grey. It would not be long, now. I found myself watching her sleeping face, wondering - how would I feel, if I'd known this woman? If I had lived here all my life, keeping the farm with Owen, would this be the end of the world?

"She's nothing to you, is she?"

I looked up, to see Owen standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of soup she was too weak to drink.

"I..." could not answer that.

I shook my head, unable to find words that would not seem harsh.

Owen looked away. "Go. Thank you for coming. It meant a great deal to her. And I... I was glad to see you."

I floundered, and Owen stepped inside to clear the door. "Go. You don't belong here." The words were gentle, understanding, but deeply hurting.

And true. "Please send word, when..."

"I will."

I wanted to kiss him goodbye, at least, but held back. "If ever you need me... I am your family."

A nod, and I went to pack my things.

-- end

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