Archive: Yes
Archive Date: September 25, 2000
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm
Feedback: is always a treat
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Xanatos, Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan implied
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Qui-Gon begins to let go of the past.
Qui-Gon padded around the room, the thick carpet soft enough that his feet sunk into it. He took a deep breath, enjoying the way the air moved around his skin to accommodate the expansion of his chest. Reaching out with a small tendril of the Force, he ensured that the door was indeed locked and that he was alone, before running his hands up and down his body.
There was a decadent sensuality in the air, fostered by the lush colours and materials of the guest rooms and the very air itself seemed redolent with the hedonistic mores of the Vupine. Giving in to its silent seduction, he finally surrendered his control.
Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon ran his hands across his chest, sliding his fingers over the hard points of his nipples. The faint touches made him hiss, the pleasure slicing through him like shards of glass. The sounds slid into a gasp as he let one hand move down to his belly, the other stroking along his shoulders to caress the length of his arm.
Pleasure coursed violently through him now as his hands met at his groin. He by-passed his erection, burying his fingers in the crisp curls that surrounded his phallus before cupping his hips and letting his fingertips tease the creases where they met his thighs.
He dropped to his knees with a sob. It was the first pleasure he had allowed himself since Xanatos has turned; the first time his hands had touched his body in several long years. Until this moment, he had left this locked tightly in a box with his heart, controlling his responses, controlling his body's needs like the vaunted Jedi Master he was supposed to be. Some master, losing his apprentice, losing his own way. He didn't deserve another padawan, didn't deserve the pleasure he was bringing himself. The weight of his second apprentice's defection settled across his shoulders, bending his back. He knelt there, amid the plush finery, knees splayed, hands on his thighs, supporting his bent frame, supporting the weight of his hurt, of his anger, of his heart long denied existence.
Another sob tore from his chest as Xanatos' image formed behind his tightly closed lids. The long slender body spread out beneath him, milky white skin almost translucent against the deep red of silk. The angular face framed by short, shockingly black hair, the long thin braid a black scar marring the softly muscled chest. Xanatos' body slid along the silk sheets as Qui-Gon pounded into him, his hard penis disappearing into the eager body. He hooked his arms under the bent knees, pulling Xanatos to him with each thrust.
Xanatos mouth was open, his throat working to release the sounds of passion, his body straining, muscles flexing as he arched and writhed beneath Qui-Gon. The white, slender hands were flung out to his sides, long, thin fingers twisting the red silk in their grasp.
Qui-Gon's breath came in harsh grunts that tore through him, one hand moving to pump his erection roughly as the images played out behind his lids. Unbeknownst to himself, sobs tore painfully from his throat as though babes torn from their mother's arms. The remembered pleasure of the act playing out in his mind, the present pleasure of his hands on his own body, and the barren years in between crashed over him, crushing him with pain and too-long denied pleasure.
As he watched, Xanatos' eyes opened, the crystal blue depths starring at him like twin shards of ice deep in the heart of a glacier. Controlled, calm, they mocked Qui-Gon as they revealed, in this unguarded moment, his apprentice's manipulation and his triumph as his master pounded, out of control, into his body.
"Master." The single word was softly spoken, mocking, holding derision and laughter in it's depths where only love and respect should have resided. Xanatos had never loved him, that much was clear now and it was time to exorcise this ghost that still held him in its thrall. He continued to stroke himself, determined to release the negative emotions he had held onto all these years, locked behind defensive barriers, growing in size and strength, choking him, pushing out the love and hope and joy that tried to grow in his barren heart. His hand moved over his penis, pulling at his pain with each stroke.
He watched as deep, changeable grey eyes, large and wide in a sea of golden skin, replaced the cold blue and white ice-field of Xanatos' face. The body beneath his shifted, changed before his very eyes. Growing shorter, but more compact, the smaller body was wiry with muscles. The pearly white skin turned golden, softest dusting of hair replacing the smooth chest.
"Master." Obi-Wan's voice filled him, surrounding him and his pleasure peaked.
"Master!" Urgently spoken this time and Qui-Gon's hips jerked forward as he squeezed his penis harder, his eyes tightly shut as he held onto the image of what had never been replacing the painful reality of the memory. His orgasm exploded from his body with the power of years of enforced celibacy. He screamed.
"Master!" Almost sobbed this time and accompanied by warm hands grasping his shoulders. Qui-Gon's eyes flew open in horror. Obi-Wan knelt in front of him, eyes wet and filled with concern. The warm hands kneaded his shoulders, soft except for the line of calluses worn across the top of his palms by a lifetime of training. Over Obi-Wan's shoulder he could see the door, hanging slightly off-kilter.
Qui-Gon dropped his head and his shame was complete as he saw the wet evidence of his own semen staining the pristine white of Obi-Wan's tunic. He sobbed, the sound anguished, his shoulders hunching in on themselves, and realised, for the first time, that his cheeks were already wet with his own tears.
Obi-Wan's arms reached around his back and drew him forward. He resisted a moment, but in his loss of control his apprentice was stronger than he and he began to sob in earnest, letting his head fall onto Obi-Wan's shoulder and sliding his arms around the slender body as Obi-Wan tugged him closer. He clutched the material of Obi-Wan's tunics, holding on as if he were a drowning man.
They knelt there together as he continued to sob, releasing the pain and anguish he had held locked deep inside for so long. Obi-Wan's voice was soft and murmuring, gentling him with quiet words while the gentle hands soothed along his back.
"Sh, Master, it's okay. I have you now, it's okay."
Qui-Gon clung to his apprentice.