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splixContinued from here:
http://splix.livejournal.com/699851.html
I neglected to mention that the idea for this fic was spawned by a discussion on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gloriana's LJ. And thanks to KatBear for generating the bunny. :)
The final two weeks of Obi-Wan's training passed quickly. He had familiarized himself thoroughly with the layout of Brolan's palace, pinpointing the best places to plant transmitter-receivers and collect the evidence he needed to arrest the man. He'd memorized the dossier of each of Brolan's staff members, his wives, concubines, and personal bodyguard. He'd planned a route for escape. Two Jedi waited in a hangar nearby, ready to blast into hyperspace the moment Obi-Wan boarded the ship, with Brolan in tow, of course.
After a flurry of last-moment lessons in some esoteric practices (utter sensory deprivation and fisting were experiences Obi-Wan did not care to repeat, while the mudbath had proved both intriguing and arousing. Most peculiar of all was the salt-water tank with the giant squid -- Obi-Wan found it difficult to believe that anyone derived pleasure from watching someone else couple with such a creature) Qui-Gon pronounced him ready.
In all that time, Obi-Wan had not broached the subject of their connection. Qui-Gon might have steadfastly denied that such a bond existed between them, but Obi-Wan did not. He would never mention it again, but it was there, as alive as the Force itself. Qui-Gon's careful avoidance of his eyes was proof enough. By mutually unspoken agreement, they had retreated into a
dignified, professional courtesy, and if Obi-Wan longed to challenge it, he was forestalled by Qui-Gon's cool composure.
Despite his reticence, Obi-Wan felt compelled to speak to Qui-Gon on the night before they were to be summoned to Brolan's. He'd invited Qui-Gon to eat supper with him in his suite. After a few desultory attempts at repartee, Obi-Wan lapsed into silence. He was not by nature a talker, and Qui-Gon was unusually quiet, so conversation languished. Finally, Obi-Wan launched into the reason he'd invited Qui-Gon. "I was wondering, Qui-Gon -- what are your plans, once you...retire?"
Qui-Gon shrugged. "A client took me to Chandrila once," he said around a mouthful of food. "Ever been there?"
"Twice. It is very beautiful."
"It is. There's a little wooded enclave outside Hanna -- a perfect spot to build a house. Very quiet, very secluded. I'll be able to afford a fair-sized plot of land by the time I get out of here."
"I should think it might become somewhat enervating after the life you've led here," Obi-Wan ventured.
Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow. "In a few years, I'll be more than through with excitement."
"I wondered if you would consider...well, there are many ways in which a Force-sensitive can serve the galaxy. Especially one so powerful as yourself."
"Oh, I've heard," Qui-Gon said. "Flora and fauna reclamation on stripped planets, or mining, or the medical industry, or the interrogation of criminals. The sort of professions they assign to Jedi washouts."
"That's not true at all," Obi-Wan retorted. "And there is dignity and worth in those professions, besides."
"Unlike whoring," Qui-Gon observed dryly. "Which the Jedi were willing to soil their hands with -- temporarily, at least. True enough?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth. "You..."
Qui-Gon waited.
"That just isn't so," Obi-Wan managed at last.
Qui-Gon set down his fork, closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I appreciate the thought, Master Kenobi, but I've been a whore for most of my life. I'm not cut out for much else. And truthfully, I'm not willing to do anything else. I'm getting old. I'm tired. All I want is peace and quiet to enjoy the little life I have left to me."
Some unfathomable emotion clawed its way up Obi-Wan's ribcage. To his shame and dismay, he felt tears sting his eyes. He looked down at his plate, blinking hard. "I'm sorry. I won't prod you again. I've made some very dreadful blunders lately, Qui-Gon. I hope you can forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive." Qui-Gon pushed back his chair and stood. "Thank you for dinner. Have you packed all your things?"
Obi-Wan coughed, collecting himself, and rose as well. "Yes. Yes, I have."
"Your spy gadgets, too?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll leave at first dusk tomorrow. I have some business to clear up before we go, so I won't see you until tomorrow evening." He went to the door, paused, and half-turned. "I did want to say -- because we likely won't have a chance after tonight -- that...it has been instructive working with you, Master Kenobi, and you were a fine pupil."
Obi-Wan nodded calmly, hiding the turmoil in his chest. "And you were a most thorough teacher, Qui-Gon. Thank you." He extended his hand. Qui-Gon hesitated, then grasped it. Electricity leapt between them. For the first time in weeks, their eyes met.
Qui-Gon's expression, his entire being, brimmed with unhappiness, disappointment, restraint. Speak to me, Obi-Wan implored silently, unashamed of his abject, naked pleading. I won't dishonor the bargain. Speak to me.
"Good night," Qui-Gon said. He disengaged his hand and his gaze, fumbled with the lock, and departed noiselessly.
Obi-Wan sank to the floor, his beating heart charred and eclipsed by a snowfall of bitter ash.
* * *
Obi-Wan chafed at the necessity of leaving his lightsaber with the Jedi waiting at the hangar, but submitted to it nonetheless. All visitors to Brolan's grime-streaked stone palace were thoroughly searched, and a whore with a lightsaber would be difficult to explain. As he was brusquely ushered through the weapons detector, he prayed that the organic components in the spybugs were high enough to escape notice.
No alarm sounded. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and followed Qui-Gon into the reception hall.
It was easy to see that the massive estate had once been the last word in elegance, but now it showed clear signs of neglect. The floors were dirty, the upholstery on the furniture stained and threadbare. An unpleasant aroma compounded of cooking grease, mildew, and heavy perfumes masking unwashed bodies permeated the hall. A five-piece ensemble tucked in a far corner tooted and banged its way through a popular song, evidently indifferent to whether the music pleased the assembled guests.
They made their way to a dais at the end of the hall where Brolan sat, surrounded by chattering courtiers -- or parasites, more likely, Obi-Wan mused. The notorious gangster was unprepossessing, if not exactly menacing -- an average-sized man with pale brown eyes and closely cropped black hair. He wore a grey tunic and trousers, and a foppish robe in a motley spectrum of colors. Gemmed rings gleamed on his hands. Obi-Wan noticed dirt under his fingernails.
"Qui-Gon Jinn." Brolan's voice was low, almost caressing. "Such a sublime pleasure to see you again. And you've brought company. A most comely young creature indeed. Has it a name? A tongue? Speak to me, boy."
Obi-Wan executed a graceful bow, aware that Brolan's sycophants stared in curiosity, and some with desire. "Ben Kelavian, my lord -- at your service."
"What a voice! I marvel. Where did you find this treasure, Qui-Gon?"
"Ben comes to us from Coruscant," Qui-Gon replied smoothly.
"Ahhh, that explains the accent. Well, Ben, we are not so sophisticated here as on Coruscant, but we do find ways to amuse ourselves. And how lucky you are, gentlemen -- you've arrived just in time for supper. Shall we?" Brolan rose to his feet and with a wave of his hand indicated that they were to follow.
They traveled through a number of reception rooms, each more dilapidated than the next. More courtiers joined the procession; a great many managed to deliver stealthy prods and pinches to Obi-Wan's silk-clad backside. He stiffened, but made no demurral or movement of avoidance. A glance out of the corner of his eye informed him that Qui-Gon was enduring the same treatment. At that moment, Qui-Gon caught him looking and nodded minutely, as if to assure Obi-Wan he was performing well. Despite his outrage at the rude handling, Obi-Wan felt gratified at Qui-Gon's subtle approval.
They reached the dining hall. Food lay heaped in careless profusion upon long tables. The guests moved toward them in a stampede, as if fearful of missing out on supper. Obi-Wan started toward a bench, but Qui-Gon caught his arm. "No," Qui-Gon murmured. "Wait."
Brolan turned toward them and grinned. He hooked a low, short bench with a toe and sent it skittering into the empty center of the dining hall. "Why don't you both strip and get started. You -- what was your name again?"
"Ben," Obi-Wan replied, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Yes. Ben, you just drape yourself over that little bench there, and Qui-Gon -- I'd like to watch you rimming him. Make it nice and slow, now -- we've got several courses to go here."
Obi-Wan gaped. Here? In front of everyone? Qui-Gon had warned him that there might be public displays of intimacy, but to be exhibited so carelessly, so nonchalantly, in front of a crowd -- impossible! Obi-Wan's natural pride asserted itself; he scowled and opened his mouth to protest, then felt the distinct tug of Qui-Gon's presence insinuating itself into his mind.
Remember your role, Obi-Wan.
The command was as clear as if Qui-Gon had spoken. With rueful amusement, he remembered his pledge to protect Qui-Gon, but it seemed that Qui-Gon was protecting him as well -- despite his personal aversion to Obi-Wan. And how quickly he'd abandoned his cover. For a moment, blind panic seized him. He was no actor, and despite weeks of training, no whore. How would he be able to manage?
He felt a firm but gentle hand on his arm. Startled, he turned to face Qui-Gon, who was pulling slowly on the strings of Obi-Wan's blue silk tunic.
"Very nice," Brolan said. "Qui-Gon, you stay clothed for now." Apparently satisfied, he went to join the other diners as Qui-Gon continued to strip Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A sudden, perverse urge to wrap his arms around Qui-Gon nudged at him, but he ignored it. He shrugged lithely out of his tunic, then allowed Qui-Gon to work his feet out of narrow jeweled sandals, to slide down his trousers and pull them off. He opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon staring at his nakedness. In a gesture that was half defiance, half enticement, he lifted his chin and spread his hands slightly.
Qui-Gon bent and planted a tender kiss on the curve of Obi-Wan's neck. When he straightened, that strange expression of pain had returned to his face.
"Please," Obi-Wan whispered.
Qui-Gon grasped Obi-Wan's wrist and maneuvered him backward, then guided him to his knees and pressed his chest down to the bench, urging his backside up. He knelt behind Obi-Wan.
Large hands descended upon Obi-Wan's waist and lingered for a moment. Then the hands moved down to his hips, then to his buttocks, spreading them apart. Obi-Wan bucked and let out a completely unfeigned moan at the sudden shock of Qui-Gon's warm, wet tongue.
The spectators cheered. Obi-Wan closed his eyes in shame -- for the leering crowd, for Qui-Gon, for the erection that now stirred between his legs.
* * *
Four days and nights had passed, and though Obi-Wan had been able to plant all the nanobugs, he had not yet obtained enough information to arrest Brolan. The Jedi waiting at the hangar were monitoring all transmissions; when they'd determined that they had sufficient evidence, they would activate another nanobot implanted in Obi-Wan's wrist. The implant would release a small amount of dye into the dermis, and Obi-Wan would move into action. But so far, the signal had not come. Brolan was a man singularly uninterested in pillow talk; he fucked, ate, and slept, and saved his talking for his confederates.
Despite his frustration, Obi-Wan had no time to worry, or even to attempt communication with his fellow Jedi. He was in constant demand by Brolan, and by a great many of Brolan's friends as well. He and Qui-Gon were summoned for most meals, and compelled to act out every perversion in the galaxy as the company ate and made free with lewd comments or offering various pieces of cutlery to aid in the demonstrations. Between meals he was often dragged off to someone's room, to pleasure them or submit to their wishes. At night, after being thoroughly used by Brolan, he slept on a pallet, collared and chained to the end of Brolan's bed, while Qui-Gon was given the dubious honor of sleeping beside the gangster.
How wrong he had been about his expectations of this mission. Reduced to a simple financial transaction, sex had become utterly repellent. He had become a mere object, a hole to be filled and then discarded, no more important than a chair or a glow-lamp. His attempt to view the experience as an exercise against pride had failed when he realized that no one wanted to know Obi-Wan Kenobi -- or even Ben Kelavian. They merely wanted to fuck the pretty copper-haired boy with the grey eyes. That knowledge was less of an affront to pride than dignity. And the one person who would have understood was busy being fucked as well.
Though they were frequently together, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were never alone. Obi-Wan was not blind, however, to the tacit protection Qui-Gon gave him -- half a hundred little touches and looks that made Obi-Wan look far more experienced than he actually was. Obi-Wan could not repay these gallantries in words, but he expressed his gratitude as best he could through his eyes, and projecting his warmest feelings toward Qui-Gon through the Force. He had no way of knowing whether Qui-Gon felt anything -- the man's emotional shields were as tightly constructed as durasteel.
Over and over, Obi-Wan admired Qui-Gon's composure, and regretted that his circumstances had been so unfortunate. His abilities would have served the Jedi so very well. And his other attributes were...memorable, to say the least. Although most of the sexual encounters within Brolan's palace were distasteful, Obi-Wan did not count his interludes with Qui-Gon as part of them. On the contrary, he cherished them, for each time they coupled, their caresses and kisses grew more fevered and clinging. When he was with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan knew his first instincts about sex had not been wrong -- emotional attachment deepened the pleasure of sexual contact. That it was a prostitute who had awakened Obi-Wan's deepest emotions was decidedly ironic. But Qui-Gon felt something for him -- it must have been so, despite assurances to the contrary. They never spoke during these intimacies, but the Force swelled between them, forging them into one.
On the fifth night, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were once again called to perform in the dining hall. Brolan ordered Qui-Gon to strip Obi-Wan naked, then bind his hands behind his back. As Qui-Gon obeyed, he ran a surreptitious and reassuring hand down Obi-Wan's back, then briefly grasped Obi-Wan's fingers. A collar was placed around Obi-Wan's neck and fastened to a short chain attached to a ring set in the floor. Obi-Wan could kneel, but he was unable to stand.
Brolan wiped greasy hands on his robe and rose leisurely from the table, strolling around it until he stood in front of Obi-Wan. "There we are. Look at you, so well-formed and obedient. And so pretty."
"I am yours to command, my lord," Obi-Wan murmured, lowering his eyes.
"You've performed so excellently -- I thought it was time to reward you. I have a gift for you. Would you like that? Would you, Ben?"
"If it pleases you, my lord."
"Marvelous! Charn -- the gift, if you please." A guard holding a large tray covered by a domed lid came forward and set the tray on the long dining table directly before Obi-Wan. Smiling, Brolan lifted the cover.
On the tray were the heads of Obi-Wan's Jedi companions. Scattered around the tray lay every nanobot Obi-Wan had planted.
Obi-Wan reeled. The heads looked waxy and emitted a terrible odor. They had clearly been killed days ago. That meant...stunned, he stared at Brolan.
Brolan grinned again and produced a remote from his pocket. He thumbed a switch, and Obi-Wan felt a dull shock permeate his body, then a leaden feeling of claustrophobic enclosure, as if he'd been clapped into a box too small to contain him. The Force dwindled to nothing.
"Jedi," Brolan spat.
Obi-Wan surged up, but was brought short by the thick chain. He struggled with his bonds, but the guard called Charn grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked his head back, and held a vibroshiv to his throat. He stilled instantly, but just outside his peripheral vision there was another scuffle -- Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon was fighting against three men, who subdued him with
difficulty, pinning his hands, wrestling him to the ground, and sitting on his legs and back.
Brolan leaned against the table with folded arms and waited for the commotion to die down. When his prisoners had ceased their efforts to free themselves and the buzzing of the guests had ceased, he spoke. "You must take me for an utter fool, Obi-Wan Kenobi. That is your name, is it not?"
"You'll pay for this, Brolan," Obi-Wan promised. "And I demand that you release Qui-Gon at once."
"Why should I? He's part of this conspiracy too. As I said, you must take me for a fool. This is my planet -- mine. A leaf doesn't fall from a tree without my knowledge. I knew when you arrived, Jedi. I knew that you arranged with the guild to plant spybots in my house. I know that you have some feelings for this worthless old whore," he said, striding over to where Qui-Gon still lay pinned. He delivered a vicious kick to Qui-Gon's ribs. A distinct crack sounded in the silence of the hall.
"You cur," Brolan snarled at Qui-Gon. "I knew about you, you washed-up slut. I let you walk right into my trap. You think I really wanted my cock up your wrinkled old arse?"
"You're the cur, Tash," Qui-Gon rasped, white with pain. "You've bled us dry long enough."
"You'll bleed more before I'm through. Trust me on that. You like this Jedi?"
"More than I like you."
Brolan smiled again. "Well, he likes you. Don't you, Jedi? Imagine that -- a Jedi fancying a whore. And such a tired old whore, too."
Obi-Wan shifted to ease the ache in his knees. The vibroshiv pressed closer. "He has more honor and dignity in his heart than you'll ever be acquainted with, Brolan. Let him go. Your quarrel is with me."
"Quarrel?" Brolan laughed. "A quarrel implies a disagreement between equals. And at this particular moment, I believe I have the upper hand. Now, Obi-Wan...may I call you Obi-Wan?"
"No."
"Obi-Wan, how would you like to see your friend the whore become the personal plaything of my entire corps of bodyguards? I have twenty or so, and some are quite insatiable." A sharp whistle summoned the thunder of marching feet, until a large company of men wearing Brolan's livery stood assembled and waiting. Some of them cast hungry glances at Qui-Gon; clearly they'd been informed in advance of tonight's festivities.
Brolan turned to the men holding Qui-Gon down. "Strip him."
"No!" The cry was wrenched from Obi-Wan before he could stop himself. His captor kicked Obi-Wan in the small of the back. Obi-Wan gasped in pain and dropped to the floor, curling onto his side as the guard kicked him again. He tried to rise, but another kick, this one in a kidney, made him writhe in agony, unable to stop the men who now tore Qui-Gon's clothing away in long, ragged shreds.
"Hands and knees, like the cur you are," Brolan said. "Come on, hands and knees, or I'll kill your pretty Jedi friend."
"He'll kill me anyway, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan choked out. "You don't have to submit to him. Not anymore."
Brolan stared for a moment, then snapped his fingers at two of his guards. "You two -- take hold of him." As the guards scurried to obey, he stalked forward, ripping at the cord of his trousers. "I am going to kill you, Jedi -- but I'm going to fuck your arse first, until you're raw. And Charn's going to fuck your mouth at the same time. Then I'm going to make you watch my guards fuck the whore until he's dead."
A roar broke from Qui-Gon's chest. "Let him go! Let him go, damn you --" He fought wildly, but there were six guards holding him now. "I'll kill you, Brolan. Kill you, I swear by all --"
Obi-Wan attempted to send Qui-Gon a wave of reassurance, but his efforts were repelled by the collar. Qui-Gon was too angry and unfocused to command the Force effectively; Obi-Wan saw the frustration and rage in his face as he tried repeatedly and failed. "Qui-Gon -- stop! Save your strength --" Another kick sent him sprawling to the floor.
By now the guests were murmuring among themselves, obviously discomfited. Whatever facade Brolan had constructed to keep them docile had crumbled irretrievably. Some of them rose to leave, but Brolan screamed at his guards. "Keep them here!" He took a deep breath and spoke more calmly, but his eyes were wild. "Not one person leaves, my friends. Let's call
this a little -- oh, a little memory exercise, to remind you all who holds the sword hand on Sedesia. Not you, my friends, not the Jedi, and certainly not the whore's guild. Watch and remember."
He gestured impatiently at Charn, who fumbled at his own trousers, exposing his sex. Brolan moved behind Obi-Wan, now in the grip of the two powerful guards, and dug his fingers into Obi-Wan's hips, pulling him backward. "Fuck his mouth," he ordered Charn. "Now."
Obi-Wan struggled as Charn approached, but his captors were too many and too strong. He peered over at Qui-Gon, who was unresisting now, but watchful and still clearly enraged. He shook his head, projecting as much calm resolve as he could with his eyes. Then his head was wrenched by the hair, his jaws forced open, and Charn shoved his cock into Obi-Wan's mouth. At the same time, Brolan pushed himself inside Obi-Wan, groaning in discomfort as dry flesh ground against dry flesh.
Obi-Wan endured as best he could. No different from the last four days, he told himself, but it was. Before, there had been at least the pretense of commerce. This was rape. Once he had suffered the threat, now he suffered the reality. He gagged on Charn's cock and forced himself to relax the muscles of his throat. He felt his body shoved back and forth, stuffed at both ends. His shoulders and arms ached. Slowly, dimly, he heard Qui-Gon's angry curses, and realized once more how steadfastly Qui-Gon had protected him, even if he could not protect him now.
Brolan groaned, jerked spasmodically, and climaxed. He pulled out unceremoniously and tucked his cock back into his trousers, then walked slowly to his place at the table and slumped into his chair. "There," he sighed, "that was lovely. Charn, hurry up and finish, will you? This show's far from over. It's Qui-Gon's turn next."
Obi-Wan felt liquid trickling out of him. Disgusted, he gagged again, inadvertently fueling Charn's excitement. Charn climaxed in Obi-Wan's mouth and sagged forward, pushing his hairy, smelly body into Obi-Wan's face.
Charn pulled out, then pinched Obi-Wan's nose and crushed a meaty hand over his mouth. "Be a good boy and swallow." He watched Obi-Wan's throat work convulsively, then nodded in satisfaction. He released Obi-Wan's nose and mouth, then pushed the head of his sex against Obi-Wan's tightly closed lips. "Now clean me off."
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes and opened his mouth. As Charn pushed in again, Obi-Wan bit down.
Jedi or no, Obi-Wan savored the sound of the high, wailing scream that followed. He hurled himself backward, tearing free of the guards' grasp. "Qui-Gon! Now!"
Galvanized, Qui-Gon heaved himself up. A swell of energy, palpable even to Obi-Wan though it manifested as a thick thudding sensation, flowed from him as he pushed all six guards away, sending them crashing into the stone wall. The other guards turned tail and fled, along with most of the guests, who had clearly seen more than enough sex and violence for the day. Qui-Gon started after them.
"Qui-Gon --the collar!" Obi-Wan twisted against the knotted ropes binding his wrists. "Quickly!" He felt a spark, a snap, and the broken collar fell to the ground with a noisy metallic clatter. Qui-Gon moved to free Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan jerked his chin in the direction of the door, where Tash Brolan was attempting to disappear into the fleeing crowd. "No -- I'm fine. Brolan's escaping. Can you --"
"Just watch me." Qui-Gon leapt over the table and dragged Brolan back by his collar. He turned the gangster around, shoving him up against a wall. "It's over, Tash."
Brolan's mouth twisted. "It certainly is." His arm jerked forward; Qui-Gon choked and staggered suddenly, then fell, dragging Brolan to the ground.
Obi-Wan, now free, put on a burst of speed and had Brolan in a chokehold before he could escape. He tightened his grip; Brolan lost consciousness at once. Ignoring him, Obi-Wan moved to Qui-Gon's side. "Qui-Gon, what's --" He sucked in a breath at the wound in Qui-Gon's side, angry red streaks already spiderwebbing from the wound's center. "Poison. Qui-Gon --"
Desperate, Obi-Wan looked around for help. The hall was empty now, save for the uneaten dinner and a few unconscious bodies. Qui-Gon's naked body was a dreadful bluish-white.
Movement scrabbled in a corner -- a little serving maid, goggle-eyed at the carnage around her. She tiptoed forward, staring mesmerized at the two naked men and her insensible employer.
Thank the Force, Obi-Wan thought. "Listen to me," he said to the girl. "We need help."
* * *
Despite the bacta and blood agents administered by a frightened palace healer, Qui-Gon's heart had stopped twice on the return journey to Coruscant. Frantic, Obi-Wan had administered emergency treatment, watched and worried, and spent every free moment pouring as much gentle energy into Qui-Gon's white, still body as he dared. When they reached Coruscant, a team of healers whisked Qui-Gon off to the infirmary, and Obi-Wan delivered his prisoner to the security team.
Brolan's hostility was undiminished. "Is the whore dead?"
"No," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "But if he does die, you will be held accountable."
A crooked leer split Brolan's face. "Still have a taste for lowlife, Kenobi?"
"Take him away," Obi-Wan ordered.
"Good-bye, Ben," Brolan called mockingly as he was dragged away. "I had a wonderful time fucking you."
The security detail exchanged quizzical glances, then stared at Obi-Wan, who walked away as if he hadn't heard.
He longed to run to the infirmary, but there was much to be done. He had to report the status of his mission to the Council, then arrange for the removal of his dead compatriots from the ship. Brolan's gang had left their bodies, taking only the heads to the palace. In the midst of the chaos with Qui-Gon and people fleeing Brolan's headquarters like maddened vermin, Obi-Wan had gently gathered up the heads of the slain Jedi and taken them to the ship. Then there would be funerals to attend. And then, only after he saw to Qui-Gon's safety, would he discuss with the Council the matter that had been disturbing him for some time.
* * *
The infirmary was dim, hushed; neither Obi-Wan's footfalls nor the healer's made a sound on the carpeted hallway floors. The healer explained Qui-Gon's condition as they walked. "The bacta drew out all the poison and the flesh is healed, but the heart was damaged. We are administering medication, but he will be a month or more healing. He will require rest and quiet."
Obi-Wan hadn't slept for five days. Merely walking was a supreme effort. Nevertheless, he hung on the healer's every word. "I want him here while he heals."
"Naturally. We also healed some bruising and fissures -- tell me, was he subjected to sexual assault?"
Most of his life, Obi-Wan thought dourly. "Qui-Gon was a prostitute by trade."
"I see. Well, I'll allow you to sit with him for a few moments. He is only sporadically conscious, Master Kenobi, and if he is conscious during your visit, I would prefer that you not excite him at all."
"I understand."
"This way." The healer pointed into a chamber lit by a soft glow-lamp.
Qui-Gon lay in bed, still and silent, and nearly as pale as the white bedrobe he wore. Obi-Wan stepped forward, his throat tight, and rested his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder.
"Here, Master Kenobi." The healer had a chair for him. "You look exhausted. I'd like to see you as soon as possible when you're finished, if you don't mind. I'll leave you alone for a short while."
Too tired to speak, Obi-Wan nodded gratefully and sank into the chair. He studied Qui-Gon anxiously, lingering over every detail of his face, immensely powerful even in such a helpless state. How well he'd come to know these features, and in so short a time.
I was not wrong, he thought, and repeated it in a whisper. "I was not wrong, Qui-Gon, to --" Say it, Obi-Wan. "To love you." His vision blurred. He groped for Qui-Gon's hand and held it in both of his, feeling its coolness, the weight and size of it, then brought it to his lips. "Qui-Gon..." His voice, rusty, faltering, sounded strange in his own ears. Gently, he released Qui-Gon and buried his face in his hands.
There was a soft, tentative touch upon his hair.
Qui-Gon was awake, his eyes open. He was whiter than ever, but reached out and caressed Obi-Wan's cheek with trembling fingertips.
Nearly breathless, Obi-Wan grasped his hand. "Qui-Gon -- you're in the infirmary at the Jedi Temple. You're going to be fine."
Qui-Gon nodded. A faint smile touched his lips. Then, as if the effort had sapped his strength entirely, he leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. The glow-lamp cast faint shadows upon the planes of his face.
Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's arm and bedewed it with tears of relief and fatigue. Still propped against Qui-Gon, he was asleep even before the tears had ceased to flow.
* * *
"In view of his extraordinary service to the Jedi, I request that his honorarium be supplemented for the duration of his stay here, for I do feel the Jedi bear the burden of responsibility for him."
"His guild supplements his income during periods of illness," Master Windu replied sharply.
"At sixty percent," Obi-Wan countered. "Surely something can be arranged -- out of Tash Brolan's seized assets, for instance."
Windu shrugged. "The matter will be taken under consideration. If there's nothing else, Master Kenobi...."
"In fact, there is." Obi-Wan looked at the members of the Council, sitting with such placid, authoritative calm. "And I doubt it is a discovery surprising to you, my masters. I'm sure you've realized that Qui-Gon Jinn is strong in the Force."
Yoda nodded, folding both clawed hands over his stick. "Sensed it we have."
"His abilities are considerable," Obi-Wan said. "Without training, he has managed to direct the Force into a palpable, kinetic energy. He saved my life on Sedesia by means of the Force. Too, he is a man of great personal honor and physical strength and agility. I feel it would be a terrible waste for such potential to remain unharnessed."
"To what purpose?" Windu inquired.
"To serve the Jedi, Master Windu."
Ki-Adi Mundi snorted in disbelief. "You wish this man to be taken into the Jedi Order?"
"He was an incalculable asset to me," Obi-Wan replied calmly.
"Are you proposing that he be taken as your padawan, Master Kenobi?" Adi Gallia asked, leaning forward as if she hadn't heard correctly.
"If some accelerated apprenticeship could be arranged, I would be happy to train him."
"Impossible." Windu's voice echoed with finality.
"Then some other service to the Jedi -- something that will afford him a life of dignity," Obi-Wan said. "The archives, perhaps translation -- he speaks a few languages --"
Yoda interrupted, not without gentleness. "Some feelings you have for him, Master Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan paused. "I do, Master. I am grateful to him for his assistance and bravery, and...I cannot deny that I have developed an emotional bond with him."
"In extraordinary circumstances," Gallia said. "It is a common enough occurrence in such situations, and is nothing to be ashamed of. I am certain that once time has passed, your infatuation will fade, Master Kenobi."
"I am not ashamed of it," Obi-Wan replied. "I embrace it."
Shocked silence filled the Council chamber.
Windu spoke, his voice soft and ominous. "That is a flagrant defiance of the Code, Master Kenobi. Tread carefully."
"Listen to me," Obi-Wan entreated. "There are wondrous stories told of steadfast friendships, of enduring love and intimate compassion, even in the halls of the Jedi. Attachment, possession, these attributes against which the Code warns -- I feel none of them. None of the selfishness and meanness and want that claws its way through love, that turns in on itself and becomes
Darkness."
"Govern your passions, Master Kenobi," Eeth Koth warned. "You cannot judge yourself in this condition."
"I am entirely rational, Master. And I know well the workings of my own heart."
Windu raised a hand. "Does Jinn feel the same way?"
Obi-Wan smiled, full of quietude and conviction. "He does."
"And does he wish the life you wish for him?" Yoda asked.
The smile faltered slightly. "If he knew the peace it brought, the fulfillment of service to the galaxy, Master, I am sure he would wish for it most fervently."
"But he has not," Yoda said. "A Jedi he is not. Strong-willed he is, set in his ways. Undisciplined. Anger in his heart. Think you that he would so willingly give up his life and freedom to join the Order?"
"He can change," Obi-Wan pleaded.
"Obi-Wan." Adi Gallia rose, moved toward him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You wish for an end to his hardship; that is commendable. You wish to see his great gifts put to service. That is also commendable. But there is an element of selfishness in your request. You want him near you. Not so?"
Obi-Wan nodded miserably. "Yes."
"No one embodies devotion to duty as you do, Master Kenobi. This is clear to all. We are not without compassion. But if you love him -- if you truly love him -- you will not try to hold him here, in a life for which he is unprepared and in which he would never be content."
The last of the sunset spilled into the Council chamber, washing it in pink, orange, and gold. Obi-Wan stared out at the vast cityscape, a cacophony of pain, bewilderment, and despair echoing in his heart.
"Let him go, Obi-Wan. Let him go."
* * *
Obi-Wan was startled into speechlessness at the sight of Qui-Gon in the tunics and robe of a Jedi. It took a moment for him to regain his poise. He forced himself to walk slowly and sedately toward the edge of the fountain where Qui-Gon stood, apparently lost in contemplation. Qui-Gon's face was free of cosmetics. Part of his hair had been caught up in a tail at the back of his head; the rest hung about his shoulders. He looked more masculine, and strangely, more vulnerable, than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. "Qui-Gon."
His heart sank as Qui-Gon turned toward him. The old implacable mask had returned, as though they had never shared a single moment of intimacy. He reached out through the Force, but Qui-Gon's shields were impenetrable. Desperate, he searched Qui-Gon's eyes, but found nothing save polite curiosity. "You're looking well. Jedi robes suit you."
Qui-Gon glanced down at himself. "I told them I was sick of that bedrobe, so they brought me these. The boots are a bit tight, but otherwise the fit is good. Comfortable."
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I ought to be. Those healers have prodded at me every day for weeks now. How are you?"
"I'm quite well, thank you."
"All healed? From..." Qui-Gon looked uncomfortable. "From Brolan. And everything else."
"Oh, yes." Obi-Wan wrapped his robe tightly around himself. Perhaps the decision of the Council had been correct. And perhaps he had misjudged Qui-Gon altogether. Perhaps Qui-Gon felt no more than the faintest affection for him, that of a comrade, not a lover. "My injuries were not at all serious. Thank you for your solicitude."
Qui-Gon kept his face averted. "When it was happening, I thought of what you had told me -- about the time you were fifteen, and in the Sublevels. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't control my abilities. They kept slipping from my grasp." He curled his hands into fists.
"It's often thus," Obi-Wan replied. "Controlling the Force is dependent upon one's ability to remain focused despite extreme emotion and catastrophic events. It happens to many a Jedi, so you must not blame yourself. You did save my life, and you have my undying gratitude for that."
"It rips you up, a rape -- inside and out. I know."
"It's happened to you, as well," Obi-Wan said.
"Oh, yes. I've lost track of how often it's happened. It never ceases to be frightening. And humiliating."
Obi-Wan could scarcely credit such matchless, matter-of-fact courage. "I was frightened at first. I too thought of the incident in the Sublevels. It was ugly and humiliating, but not shattering. I'd been quite amply prepared, physically, so the assault was not as brutal as Brolan had intended. And I had the solace of my memories."
"Memories?"
"With you," Obi-Wan said simply. "Far more gentle experiences with you. I was able to draw upon them for strength."
"You're very kind, Master Kenobi. I haven't forgotten that I practically raped you as well," Qui-Gon muttered.
"I have come to see it differently. In any case, I forgive you, Qui-Gon. You must forgive yourself."
Qui-Gon shrugged and did not speak for a time. They both stood by the fountain, misted by its cool spray. "I had a visit from your friend, what's his name -- Windu. A somewhat intimidating fellow."
"He can be," Obi-Wan acknowledged.
"He told me I'd performed a most impressive service for the galaxy. In thanks, the Senate and the Jedi have arranged for a bonus -- enough for me to retire now."
Obi-Wan clasped his hands behind his back. Paying him off, he thought. Making it impossible for him to stay. "Congratulations, Qui-Gon. That is a tremendous gift indeed."
"Windu tells me you're one of the most dedicated and gifted Jedi in your order."
Obi-Wan refrained from a bitter snort only by the most extraordinary effort. Mace Windu had all the grace and subtlety of an ion cannon. "No more than any other Jedi. Tell me, will you go to Chandrila immediately? I'm sure the thought of the house and land by the lake is exceedingly tempting."
"Ah." Qui-Gon laughed a little. "There's a snag in my plans. Apparently Brolan's cohorts have put a price on my head -- and yours."
"It won't be the first on mine," Obi-Wan said. "But I am sorry that you have been targeted."
"In all truth, I've had a price on my head once or twice myself. But Brolan's gang is more serious. Windu says he can arrange for relocation somewhere on the Outer Rim."
"Where?"
"No idea," Qui-Gon said. "Far away enough to live out the rest of my life with my head attached to my body. I suppose I can stand a little more adventure. They want me to leave tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
Obi-Wan's heart twisted in his chest. He stared at a scuff on the toe of one boot. He, who was utterly fearless in battle, could scarcely summon the courage to speak to this stone idol of a man. And yet, if he did not, he was lost.
At last, he leapt into the abyss. "Qui-Gon...do you not care for me at all?" A lump in his throat choked off further speech. He looked pleadingly at Qui-Gon, who gazed into the fountain, silent and remote.
Long seconds passed. Qui-Gon lowered his head. "More than my own life," he whispered. "And well you know it."
Obi-Wan slipped a hand into Qui-Gon's, then urged him close. He brushed the gentlest kiss across Qui-Gon's mouth. "I do now."
Without another word, Qui-Gon grasped the back of Obi-Wan's hair and pulled him into a breath-stealing, crushing kiss. They clung together tightly, then sank to the soft grass beside the fountain in a fever of kisses and caresses.
Quickly, Obi-Wan's arousal crested. He tore off his robe and outer tunic in moments. Qui-Gon followed suit, but had trouble with the belt. "Let me help," Obi-Wan offered. Deftly, he tugged at it, and it fell free from Qui-Gon's broad frame with a noisy clunk.
For the first time since meeting, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon traded a genuine smile, then laughter. Still chuckling, they finished undressing, then lay naked on their robes, pressed closely together.
"Qui-Gon -- may I?"
Yes.
The joining was, of necessity, brief. Obi-Wan was nearly delirious at the sensation of meeting as equals. Groaning, he eased himself inside Qui-Gon, whose eyes reflected Obi-Wan's need and pleasure. They rocked together, slowly, then rapidly, their harsh gasps and cries a counterpoint to the steady rush of the fountain. The Force surged between them again, blinding, searing, engulfing them both in a tide of liberated energy. Obi-Wan climaxed, then Qui-Gon; they lay entwined on the robes, pleasantly sated, the Force still flowing between and around them, though now it was soothing, restful, as they kissed and explored one another as they hadn't dared to weeks ago.
They coupled again, then a third time. Finally, sore and chilled, they wrapped up in their robes and lay together as an artificial twilight fell over the fountain room.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Qui-Gon sighed. "I can't unlearn a lifetime of lessons in a few weeks, Obi-Wan. I wish I could -- believe me, I wish I could."
"I could go with you."
"And do what, Obi-Wan? Sit beside an ocean or a fireside? Learn a trade, or become a housekeeper?"
"That's Master Windu talking," Obi-Wan said fiercely. "They can't force me to remain here. I'll --"
"Hush," said Qui-Gon, gathering him closer. "Hush now. Listen to me. It was Windu, in part. He came to me. He told me what you requested for me. No one has ever been so kind to me, Obi-Wan, since the day my parents died. No one. You cannot know what that means to me."
Obi-Wan could not speak for a moment. At last he managed, "But then -- if he told you that, Qui-Gon, he also said --"
"That the Jedi don't want a whore in the ranks? Yes, he did."
Obi-Wan sat up. "If he put it like that --"
"Calm," Qui-Gon said, the net of wrinkles at his eyes crinkling. "He was most diplomatic. But I know the truth, and what's more, I understand. There's no sort of life for me here. And there's no sort of life for you with me."
"That can't be. It can't be." Obi-Wan swiped angrily at a tear in his eye.
Qui-Gon kissed him. "You know it better than anyone else. Perhaps under other circumstances, if our lives had been different...who knows?"
Obi-Wan allowed him to brush another tear from his eyelashes, then saw that Qui-Gon's eyes were wet as well. "I can't bear this."
Mute, Qui-Gon shook his head. They held each other, fighting for comfort, for strength, for solace, but underlying their desperate tenacity lay the bitter knowledge that there was not enough time.
* * *
The departures platform of Coruscant North was packed with travelers and well-wishers. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan formed a pocket of relative quiet in the hubbub.
"What are you going to do with yourself now?"
"The Council has suggested that I take a padawan learner -- an apprentice," Obi-Wan snorted. "A sop for my wounded emotions."
"They may be right."
"They might at that," Obi-Wan admitted. "The young man they are recommending was the padawan of one of the Jedi killed on the Sedesia mission. He is a boy of sixteen -- quite gifted, but troubled, Master Yoda tells me, and in need of guidance."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I think you'd make a fine teacher."
"I don't know about that." A loud droning voice boomed out over the platform. "That's yours."
Qui-Gon nodded. "I must go. Perhaps you can visit from time to time."
"If I can, I will -- you may rely upon that. But I don't think it will be soon."
"I know. Well...I'll put it this way. If you come to visit, Master Kenobi, I won't shut the door in your face."
Obi-Wan managed a watery grin. "I'll remember."
"You do that." Qui-Gon leaned close, and brushed the back of his fingers over Obi-Wan's cheek. "Farewell."
"Farewell."
Qui-Gon moved into the swelling throngs. In a moment he was entirely gone from sight.
* * *
Epilogue
The evening was a blessedly cool respite from the day's scorching heat. It was dark and quiet but for a soft breeze and the chirps and cries of night-dwelling desert creatures; overhead, a thick tapestry of stars glittered in the black sky like handfuls of scattered jewels. Weary and aching, Obi-Wan slipped off the eopie and tethered it to a stunted tree.
The child, Anakin's son, had been safely delivered to Owen and Beru Lars. It was time to begin his vigil.
A light glowed faintly from a shaded window in the small, domed dwelling. Obi-Wan trudged up the path.
The door opened. The figure within was tall, broad-shouldered, with a greying mane of hair, fixing Obi-Wan with steady regard. "It took you long enough to get here."
"I wondered if I might...come for a visit."
Qui-Gon opened the door wider and held out his hand. "Welcome home, Obi-Wan."
End.
http://splix.livejournal.com/699851.html
I neglected to mention that the idea for this fic was spawned by a discussion on
gloriana's LJ. And thanks to KatBear for generating the bunny. :)The final two weeks of Obi-Wan's training passed quickly. He had familiarized himself thoroughly with the layout of Brolan's palace, pinpointing the best places to plant transmitter-receivers and collect the evidence he needed to arrest the man. He'd memorized the dossier of each of Brolan's staff members, his wives, concubines, and personal bodyguard. He'd planned a route for escape. Two Jedi waited in a hangar nearby, ready to blast into hyperspace the moment Obi-Wan boarded the ship, with Brolan in tow, of course.
After a flurry of last-moment lessons in some esoteric practices (utter sensory deprivation and fisting were experiences Obi-Wan did not care to repeat, while the mudbath had proved both intriguing and arousing. Most peculiar of all was the salt-water tank with the giant squid -- Obi-Wan found it difficult to believe that anyone derived pleasure from watching someone else couple with such a creature) Qui-Gon pronounced him ready.
In all that time, Obi-Wan had not broached the subject of their connection. Qui-Gon might have steadfastly denied that such a bond existed between them, but Obi-Wan did not. He would never mention it again, but it was there, as alive as the Force itself. Qui-Gon's careful avoidance of his eyes was proof enough. By mutually unspoken agreement, they had retreated into a
dignified, professional courtesy, and if Obi-Wan longed to challenge it, he was forestalled by Qui-Gon's cool composure.
Despite his reticence, Obi-Wan felt compelled to speak to Qui-Gon on the night before they were to be summoned to Brolan's. He'd invited Qui-Gon to eat supper with him in his suite. After a few desultory attempts at repartee, Obi-Wan lapsed into silence. He was not by nature a talker, and Qui-Gon was unusually quiet, so conversation languished. Finally, Obi-Wan launched into the reason he'd invited Qui-Gon. "I was wondering, Qui-Gon -- what are your plans, once you...retire?"
Qui-Gon shrugged. "A client took me to Chandrila once," he said around a mouthful of food. "Ever been there?"
"Twice. It is very beautiful."
"It is. There's a little wooded enclave outside Hanna -- a perfect spot to build a house. Very quiet, very secluded. I'll be able to afford a fair-sized plot of land by the time I get out of here."
"I should think it might become somewhat enervating after the life you've led here," Obi-Wan ventured.
Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow. "In a few years, I'll be more than through with excitement."
"I wondered if you would consider...well, there are many ways in which a Force-sensitive can serve the galaxy. Especially one so powerful as yourself."
"Oh, I've heard," Qui-Gon said. "Flora and fauna reclamation on stripped planets, or mining, or the medical industry, or the interrogation of criminals. The sort of professions they assign to Jedi washouts."
"That's not true at all," Obi-Wan retorted. "And there is dignity and worth in those professions, besides."
"Unlike whoring," Qui-Gon observed dryly. "Which the Jedi were willing to soil their hands with -- temporarily, at least. True enough?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth. "You..."
Qui-Gon waited.
"That just isn't so," Obi-Wan managed at last.
Qui-Gon set down his fork, closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I appreciate the thought, Master Kenobi, but I've been a whore for most of my life. I'm not cut out for much else. And truthfully, I'm not willing to do anything else. I'm getting old. I'm tired. All I want is peace and quiet to enjoy the little life I have left to me."
Some unfathomable emotion clawed its way up Obi-Wan's ribcage. To his shame and dismay, he felt tears sting his eyes. He looked down at his plate, blinking hard. "I'm sorry. I won't prod you again. I've made some very dreadful blunders lately, Qui-Gon. I hope you can forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive." Qui-Gon pushed back his chair and stood. "Thank you for dinner. Have you packed all your things?"
Obi-Wan coughed, collecting himself, and rose as well. "Yes. Yes, I have."
"Your spy gadgets, too?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll leave at first dusk tomorrow. I have some business to clear up before we go, so I won't see you until tomorrow evening." He went to the door, paused, and half-turned. "I did want to say -- because we likely won't have a chance after tonight -- that...it has been instructive working with you, Master Kenobi, and you were a fine pupil."
Obi-Wan nodded calmly, hiding the turmoil in his chest. "And you were a most thorough teacher, Qui-Gon. Thank you." He extended his hand. Qui-Gon hesitated, then grasped it. Electricity leapt between them. For the first time in weeks, their eyes met.
Qui-Gon's expression, his entire being, brimmed with unhappiness, disappointment, restraint. Speak to me, Obi-Wan implored silently, unashamed of his abject, naked pleading. I won't dishonor the bargain. Speak to me.
"Good night," Qui-Gon said. He disengaged his hand and his gaze, fumbled with the lock, and departed noiselessly.
Obi-Wan sank to the floor, his beating heart charred and eclipsed by a snowfall of bitter ash.
* * *
Obi-Wan chafed at the necessity of leaving his lightsaber with the Jedi waiting at the hangar, but submitted to it nonetheless. All visitors to Brolan's grime-streaked stone palace were thoroughly searched, and a whore with a lightsaber would be difficult to explain. As he was brusquely ushered through the weapons detector, he prayed that the organic components in the spybugs were high enough to escape notice.
No alarm sounded. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and followed Qui-Gon into the reception hall.
It was easy to see that the massive estate had once been the last word in elegance, but now it showed clear signs of neglect. The floors were dirty, the upholstery on the furniture stained and threadbare. An unpleasant aroma compounded of cooking grease, mildew, and heavy perfumes masking unwashed bodies permeated the hall. A five-piece ensemble tucked in a far corner tooted and banged its way through a popular song, evidently indifferent to whether the music pleased the assembled guests.
They made their way to a dais at the end of the hall where Brolan sat, surrounded by chattering courtiers -- or parasites, more likely, Obi-Wan mused. The notorious gangster was unprepossessing, if not exactly menacing -- an average-sized man with pale brown eyes and closely cropped black hair. He wore a grey tunic and trousers, and a foppish robe in a motley spectrum of colors. Gemmed rings gleamed on his hands. Obi-Wan noticed dirt under his fingernails.
"Qui-Gon Jinn." Brolan's voice was low, almost caressing. "Such a sublime pleasure to see you again. And you've brought company. A most comely young creature indeed. Has it a name? A tongue? Speak to me, boy."
Obi-Wan executed a graceful bow, aware that Brolan's sycophants stared in curiosity, and some with desire. "Ben Kelavian, my lord -- at your service."
"What a voice! I marvel. Where did you find this treasure, Qui-Gon?"
"Ben comes to us from Coruscant," Qui-Gon replied smoothly.
"Ahhh, that explains the accent. Well, Ben, we are not so sophisticated here as on Coruscant, but we do find ways to amuse ourselves. And how lucky you are, gentlemen -- you've arrived just in time for supper. Shall we?" Brolan rose to his feet and with a wave of his hand indicated that they were to follow.
They traveled through a number of reception rooms, each more dilapidated than the next. More courtiers joined the procession; a great many managed to deliver stealthy prods and pinches to Obi-Wan's silk-clad backside. He stiffened, but made no demurral or movement of avoidance. A glance out of the corner of his eye informed him that Qui-Gon was enduring the same treatment. At that moment, Qui-Gon caught him looking and nodded minutely, as if to assure Obi-Wan he was performing well. Despite his outrage at the rude handling, Obi-Wan felt gratified at Qui-Gon's subtle approval.
They reached the dining hall. Food lay heaped in careless profusion upon long tables. The guests moved toward them in a stampede, as if fearful of missing out on supper. Obi-Wan started toward a bench, but Qui-Gon caught his arm. "No," Qui-Gon murmured. "Wait."
Brolan turned toward them and grinned. He hooked a low, short bench with a toe and sent it skittering into the empty center of the dining hall. "Why don't you both strip and get started. You -- what was your name again?"
"Ben," Obi-Wan replied, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Yes. Ben, you just drape yourself over that little bench there, and Qui-Gon -- I'd like to watch you rimming him. Make it nice and slow, now -- we've got several courses to go here."
Obi-Wan gaped. Here? In front of everyone? Qui-Gon had warned him that there might be public displays of intimacy, but to be exhibited so carelessly, so nonchalantly, in front of a crowd -- impossible! Obi-Wan's natural pride asserted itself; he scowled and opened his mouth to protest, then felt the distinct tug of Qui-Gon's presence insinuating itself into his mind.
Remember your role, Obi-Wan.
The command was as clear as if Qui-Gon had spoken. With rueful amusement, he remembered his pledge to protect Qui-Gon, but it seemed that Qui-Gon was protecting him as well -- despite his personal aversion to Obi-Wan. And how quickly he'd abandoned his cover. For a moment, blind panic seized him. He was no actor, and despite weeks of training, no whore. How would he be able to manage?
He felt a firm but gentle hand on his arm. Startled, he turned to face Qui-Gon, who was pulling slowly on the strings of Obi-Wan's blue silk tunic.
"Very nice," Brolan said. "Qui-Gon, you stay clothed for now." Apparently satisfied, he went to join the other diners as Qui-Gon continued to strip Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A sudden, perverse urge to wrap his arms around Qui-Gon nudged at him, but he ignored it. He shrugged lithely out of his tunic, then allowed Qui-Gon to work his feet out of narrow jeweled sandals, to slide down his trousers and pull them off. He opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon staring at his nakedness. In a gesture that was half defiance, half enticement, he lifted his chin and spread his hands slightly.
Qui-Gon bent and planted a tender kiss on the curve of Obi-Wan's neck. When he straightened, that strange expression of pain had returned to his face.
"Please," Obi-Wan whispered.
Qui-Gon grasped Obi-Wan's wrist and maneuvered him backward, then guided him to his knees and pressed his chest down to the bench, urging his backside up. He knelt behind Obi-Wan.
Large hands descended upon Obi-Wan's waist and lingered for a moment. Then the hands moved down to his hips, then to his buttocks, spreading them apart. Obi-Wan bucked and let out a completely unfeigned moan at the sudden shock of Qui-Gon's warm, wet tongue.
The spectators cheered. Obi-Wan closed his eyes in shame -- for the leering crowd, for Qui-Gon, for the erection that now stirred between his legs.
* * *
Four days and nights had passed, and though Obi-Wan had been able to plant all the nanobugs, he had not yet obtained enough information to arrest Brolan. The Jedi waiting at the hangar were monitoring all transmissions; when they'd determined that they had sufficient evidence, they would activate another nanobot implanted in Obi-Wan's wrist. The implant would release a small amount of dye into the dermis, and Obi-Wan would move into action. But so far, the signal had not come. Brolan was a man singularly uninterested in pillow talk; he fucked, ate, and slept, and saved his talking for his confederates.
Despite his frustration, Obi-Wan had no time to worry, or even to attempt communication with his fellow Jedi. He was in constant demand by Brolan, and by a great many of Brolan's friends as well. He and Qui-Gon were summoned for most meals, and compelled to act out every perversion in the galaxy as the company ate and made free with lewd comments or offering various pieces of cutlery to aid in the demonstrations. Between meals he was often dragged off to someone's room, to pleasure them or submit to their wishes. At night, after being thoroughly used by Brolan, he slept on a pallet, collared and chained to the end of Brolan's bed, while Qui-Gon was given the dubious honor of sleeping beside the gangster.
How wrong he had been about his expectations of this mission. Reduced to a simple financial transaction, sex had become utterly repellent. He had become a mere object, a hole to be filled and then discarded, no more important than a chair or a glow-lamp. His attempt to view the experience as an exercise against pride had failed when he realized that no one wanted to know Obi-Wan Kenobi -- or even Ben Kelavian. They merely wanted to fuck the pretty copper-haired boy with the grey eyes. That knowledge was less of an affront to pride than dignity. And the one person who would have understood was busy being fucked as well.
Though they were frequently together, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were never alone. Obi-Wan was not blind, however, to the tacit protection Qui-Gon gave him -- half a hundred little touches and looks that made Obi-Wan look far more experienced than he actually was. Obi-Wan could not repay these gallantries in words, but he expressed his gratitude as best he could through his eyes, and projecting his warmest feelings toward Qui-Gon through the Force. He had no way of knowing whether Qui-Gon felt anything -- the man's emotional shields were as tightly constructed as durasteel.
Over and over, Obi-Wan admired Qui-Gon's composure, and regretted that his circumstances had been so unfortunate. His abilities would have served the Jedi so very well. And his other attributes were...memorable, to say the least. Although most of the sexual encounters within Brolan's palace were distasteful, Obi-Wan did not count his interludes with Qui-Gon as part of them. On the contrary, he cherished them, for each time they coupled, their caresses and kisses grew more fevered and clinging. When he was with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan knew his first instincts about sex had not been wrong -- emotional attachment deepened the pleasure of sexual contact. That it was a prostitute who had awakened Obi-Wan's deepest emotions was decidedly ironic. But Qui-Gon felt something for him -- it must have been so, despite assurances to the contrary. They never spoke during these intimacies, but the Force swelled between them, forging them into one.
On the fifth night, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were once again called to perform in the dining hall. Brolan ordered Qui-Gon to strip Obi-Wan naked, then bind his hands behind his back. As Qui-Gon obeyed, he ran a surreptitious and reassuring hand down Obi-Wan's back, then briefly grasped Obi-Wan's fingers. A collar was placed around Obi-Wan's neck and fastened to a short chain attached to a ring set in the floor. Obi-Wan could kneel, but he was unable to stand.
Brolan wiped greasy hands on his robe and rose leisurely from the table, strolling around it until he stood in front of Obi-Wan. "There we are. Look at you, so well-formed and obedient. And so pretty."
"I am yours to command, my lord," Obi-Wan murmured, lowering his eyes.
"You've performed so excellently -- I thought it was time to reward you. I have a gift for you. Would you like that? Would you, Ben?"
"If it pleases you, my lord."
"Marvelous! Charn -- the gift, if you please." A guard holding a large tray covered by a domed lid came forward and set the tray on the long dining table directly before Obi-Wan. Smiling, Brolan lifted the cover.
On the tray were the heads of Obi-Wan's Jedi companions. Scattered around the tray lay every nanobot Obi-Wan had planted.
Obi-Wan reeled. The heads looked waxy and emitted a terrible odor. They had clearly been killed days ago. That meant...stunned, he stared at Brolan.
Brolan grinned again and produced a remote from his pocket. He thumbed a switch, and Obi-Wan felt a dull shock permeate his body, then a leaden feeling of claustrophobic enclosure, as if he'd been clapped into a box too small to contain him. The Force dwindled to nothing.
"Jedi," Brolan spat.
Obi-Wan surged up, but was brought short by the thick chain. He struggled with his bonds, but the guard called Charn grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked his head back, and held a vibroshiv to his throat. He stilled instantly, but just outside his peripheral vision there was another scuffle -- Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon was fighting against three men, who subdued him with
difficulty, pinning his hands, wrestling him to the ground, and sitting on his legs and back.
Brolan leaned against the table with folded arms and waited for the commotion to die down. When his prisoners had ceased their efforts to free themselves and the buzzing of the guests had ceased, he spoke. "You must take me for an utter fool, Obi-Wan Kenobi. That is your name, is it not?"
"You'll pay for this, Brolan," Obi-Wan promised. "And I demand that you release Qui-Gon at once."
"Why should I? He's part of this conspiracy too. As I said, you must take me for a fool. This is my planet -- mine. A leaf doesn't fall from a tree without my knowledge. I knew when you arrived, Jedi. I knew that you arranged with the guild to plant spybots in my house. I know that you have some feelings for this worthless old whore," he said, striding over to where Qui-Gon still lay pinned. He delivered a vicious kick to Qui-Gon's ribs. A distinct crack sounded in the silence of the hall.
"You cur," Brolan snarled at Qui-Gon. "I knew about you, you washed-up slut. I let you walk right into my trap. You think I really wanted my cock up your wrinkled old arse?"
"You're the cur, Tash," Qui-Gon rasped, white with pain. "You've bled us dry long enough."
"You'll bleed more before I'm through. Trust me on that. You like this Jedi?"
"More than I like you."
Brolan smiled again. "Well, he likes you. Don't you, Jedi? Imagine that -- a Jedi fancying a whore. And such a tired old whore, too."
Obi-Wan shifted to ease the ache in his knees. The vibroshiv pressed closer. "He has more honor and dignity in his heart than you'll ever be acquainted with, Brolan. Let him go. Your quarrel is with me."
"Quarrel?" Brolan laughed. "A quarrel implies a disagreement between equals. And at this particular moment, I believe I have the upper hand. Now, Obi-Wan...may I call you Obi-Wan?"
"No."
"Obi-Wan, how would you like to see your friend the whore become the personal plaything of my entire corps of bodyguards? I have twenty or so, and some are quite insatiable." A sharp whistle summoned the thunder of marching feet, until a large company of men wearing Brolan's livery stood assembled and waiting. Some of them cast hungry glances at Qui-Gon; clearly they'd been informed in advance of tonight's festivities.
Brolan turned to the men holding Qui-Gon down. "Strip him."
"No!" The cry was wrenched from Obi-Wan before he could stop himself. His captor kicked Obi-Wan in the small of the back. Obi-Wan gasped in pain and dropped to the floor, curling onto his side as the guard kicked him again. He tried to rise, but another kick, this one in a kidney, made him writhe in agony, unable to stop the men who now tore Qui-Gon's clothing away in long, ragged shreds.
"Hands and knees, like the cur you are," Brolan said. "Come on, hands and knees, or I'll kill your pretty Jedi friend."
"He'll kill me anyway, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan choked out. "You don't have to submit to him. Not anymore."
Brolan stared for a moment, then snapped his fingers at two of his guards. "You two -- take hold of him." As the guards scurried to obey, he stalked forward, ripping at the cord of his trousers. "I am going to kill you, Jedi -- but I'm going to fuck your arse first, until you're raw. And Charn's going to fuck your mouth at the same time. Then I'm going to make you watch my guards fuck the whore until he's dead."
A roar broke from Qui-Gon's chest. "Let him go! Let him go, damn you --" He fought wildly, but there were six guards holding him now. "I'll kill you, Brolan. Kill you, I swear by all --"
Obi-Wan attempted to send Qui-Gon a wave of reassurance, but his efforts were repelled by the collar. Qui-Gon was too angry and unfocused to command the Force effectively; Obi-Wan saw the frustration and rage in his face as he tried repeatedly and failed. "Qui-Gon -- stop! Save your strength --" Another kick sent him sprawling to the floor.
By now the guests were murmuring among themselves, obviously discomfited. Whatever facade Brolan had constructed to keep them docile had crumbled irretrievably. Some of them rose to leave, but Brolan screamed at his guards. "Keep them here!" He took a deep breath and spoke more calmly, but his eyes were wild. "Not one person leaves, my friends. Let's call
this a little -- oh, a little memory exercise, to remind you all who holds the sword hand on Sedesia. Not you, my friends, not the Jedi, and certainly not the whore's guild. Watch and remember."
He gestured impatiently at Charn, who fumbled at his own trousers, exposing his sex. Brolan moved behind Obi-Wan, now in the grip of the two powerful guards, and dug his fingers into Obi-Wan's hips, pulling him backward. "Fuck his mouth," he ordered Charn. "Now."
Obi-Wan struggled as Charn approached, but his captors were too many and too strong. He peered over at Qui-Gon, who was unresisting now, but watchful and still clearly enraged. He shook his head, projecting as much calm resolve as he could with his eyes. Then his head was wrenched by the hair, his jaws forced open, and Charn shoved his cock into Obi-Wan's mouth. At the same time, Brolan pushed himself inside Obi-Wan, groaning in discomfort as dry flesh ground against dry flesh.
Obi-Wan endured as best he could. No different from the last four days, he told himself, but it was. Before, there had been at least the pretense of commerce. This was rape. Once he had suffered the threat, now he suffered the reality. He gagged on Charn's cock and forced himself to relax the muscles of his throat. He felt his body shoved back and forth, stuffed at both ends. His shoulders and arms ached. Slowly, dimly, he heard Qui-Gon's angry curses, and realized once more how steadfastly Qui-Gon had protected him, even if he could not protect him now.
Brolan groaned, jerked spasmodically, and climaxed. He pulled out unceremoniously and tucked his cock back into his trousers, then walked slowly to his place at the table and slumped into his chair. "There," he sighed, "that was lovely. Charn, hurry up and finish, will you? This show's far from over. It's Qui-Gon's turn next."
Obi-Wan felt liquid trickling out of him. Disgusted, he gagged again, inadvertently fueling Charn's excitement. Charn climaxed in Obi-Wan's mouth and sagged forward, pushing his hairy, smelly body into Obi-Wan's face.
Charn pulled out, then pinched Obi-Wan's nose and crushed a meaty hand over his mouth. "Be a good boy and swallow." He watched Obi-Wan's throat work convulsively, then nodded in satisfaction. He released Obi-Wan's nose and mouth, then pushed the head of his sex against Obi-Wan's tightly closed lips. "Now clean me off."
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes and opened his mouth. As Charn pushed in again, Obi-Wan bit down.
Jedi or no, Obi-Wan savored the sound of the high, wailing scream that followed. He hurled himself backward, tearing free of the guards' grasp. "Qui-Gon! Now!"
Galvanized, Qui-Gon heaved himself up. A swell of energy, palpable even to Obi-Wan though it manifested as a thick thudding sensation, flowed from him as he pushed all six guards away, sending them crashing into the stone wall. The other guards turned tail and fled, along with most of the guests, who had clearly seen more than enough sex and violence for the day. Qui-Gon started after them.
"Qui-Gon --the collar!" Obi-Wan twisted against the knotted ropes binding his wrists. "Quickly!" He felt a spark, a snap, and the broken collar fell to the ground with a noisy metallic clatter. Qui-Gon moved to free Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan jerked his chin in the direction of the door, where Tash Brolan was attempting to disappear into the fleeing crowd. "No -- I'm fine. Brolan's escaping. Can you --"
"Just watch me." Qui-Gon leapt over the table and dragged Brolan back by his collar. He turned the gangster around, shoving him up against a wall. "It's over, Tash."
Brolan's mouth twisted. "It certainly is." His arm jerked forward; Qui-Gon choked and staggered suddenly, then fell, dragging Brolan to the ground.
Obi-Wan, now free, put on a burst of speed and had Brolan in a chokehold before he could escape. He tightened his grip; Brolan lost consciousness at once. Ignoring him, Obi-Wan moved to Qui-Gon's side. "Qui-Gon, what's --" He sucked in a breath at the wound in Qui-Gon's side, angry red streaks already spiderwebbing from the wound's center. "Poison. Qui-Gon --"
Desperate, Obi-Wan looked around for help. The hall was empty now, save for the uneaten dinner and a few unconscious bodies. Qui-Gon's naked body was a dreadful bluish-white.
Movement scrabbled in a corner -- a little serving maid, goggle-eyed at the carnage around her. She tiptoed forward, staring mesmerized at the two naked men and her insensible employer.
Thank the Force, Obi-Wan thought. "Listen to me," he said to the girl. "We need help."
* * *
Despite the bacta and blood agents administered by a frightened palace healer, Qui-Gon's heart had stopped twice on the return journey to Coruscant. Frantic, Obi-Wan had administered emergency treatment, watched and worried, and spent every free moment pouring as much gentle energy into Qui-Gon's white, still body as he dared. When they reached Coruscant, a team of healers whisked Qui-Gon off to the infirmary, and Obi-Wan delivered his prisoner to the security team.
Brolan's hostility was undiminished. "Is the whore dead?"
"No," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "But if he does die, you will be held accountable."
A crooked leer split Brolan's face. "Still have a taste for lowlife, Kenobi?"
"Take him away," Obi-Wan ordered.
"Good-bye, Ben," Brolan called mockingly as he was dragged away. "I had a wonderful time fucking you."
The security detail exchanged quizzical glances, then stared at Obi-Wan, who walked away as if he hadn't heard.
He longed to run to the infirmary, but there was much to be done. He had to report the status of his mission to the Council, then arrange for the removal of his dead compatriots from the ship. Brolan's gang had left their bodies, taking only the heads to the palace. In the midst of the chaos with Qui-Gon and people fleeing Brolan's headquarters like maddened vermin, Obi-Wan had gently gathered up the heads of the slain Jedi and taken them to the ship. Then there would be funerals to attend. And then, only after he saw to Qui-Gon's safety, would he discuss with the Council the matter that had been disturbing him for some time.
* * *
The infirmary was dim, hushed; neither Obi-Wan's footfalls nor the healer's made a sound on the carpeted hallway floors. The healer explained Qui-Gon's condition as they walked. "The bacta drew out all the poison and the flesh is healed, but the heart was damaged. We are administering medication, but he will be a month or more healing. He will require rest and quiet."
Obi-Wan hadn't slept for five days. Merely walking was a supreme effort. Nevertheless, he hung on the healer's every word. "I want him here while he heals."
"Naturally. We also healed some bruising and fissures -- tell me, was he subjected to sexual assault?"
Most of his life, Obi-Wan thought dourly. "Qui-Gon was a prostitute by trade."
"I see. Well, I'll allow you to sit with him for a few moments. He is only sporadically conscious, Master Kenobi, and if he is conscious during your visit, I would prefer that you not excite him at all."
"I understand."
"This way." The healer pointed into a chamber lit by a soft glow-lamp.
Qui-Gon lay in bed, still and silent, and nearly as pale as the white bedrobe he wore. Obi-Wan stepped forward, his throat tight, and rested his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder.
"Here, Master Kenobi." The healer had a chair for him. "You look exhausted. I'd like to see you as soon as possible when you're finished, if you don't mind. I'll leave you alone for a short while."
Too tired to speak, Obi-Wan nodded gratefully and sank into the chair. He studied Qui-Gon anxiously, lingering over every detail of his face, immensely powerful even in such a helpless state. How well he'd come to know these features, and in so short a time.
I was not wrong, he thought, and repeated it in a whisper. "I was not wrong, Qui-Gon, to --" Say it, Obi-Wan. "To love you." His vision blurred. He groped for Qui-Gon's hand and held it in both of his, feeling its coolness, the weight and size of it, then brought it to his lips. "Qui-Gon..." His voice, rusty, faltering, sounded strange in his own ears. Gently, he released Qui-Gon and buried his face in his hands.
There was a soft, tentative touch upon his hair.
Qui-Gon was awake, his eyes open. He was whiter than ever, but reached out and caressed Obi-Wan's cheek with trembling fingertips.
Nearly breathless, Obi-Wan grasped his hand. "Qui-Gon -- you're in the infirmary at the Jedi Temple. You're going to be fine."
Qui-Gon nodded. A faint smile touched his lips. Then, as if the effort had sapped his strength entirely, he leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. The glow-lamp cast faint shadows upon the planes of his face.
Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's arm and bedewed it with tears of relief and fatigue. Still propped against Qui-Gon, he was asleep even before the tears had ceased to flow.
* * *
"In view of his extraordinary service to the Jedi, I request that his honorarium be supplemented for the duration of his stay here, for I do feel the Jedi bear the burden of responsibility for him."
"His guild supplements his income during periods of illness," Master Windu replied sharply.
"At sixty percent," Obi-Wan countered. "Surely something can be arranged -- out of Tash Brolan's seized assets, for instance."
Windu shrugged. "The matter will be taken under consideration. If there's nothing else, Master Kenobi...."
"In fact, there is." Obi-Wan looked at the members of the Council, sitting with such placid, authoritative calm. "And I doubt it is a discovery surprising to you, my masters. I'm sure you've realized that Qui-Gon Jinn is strong in the Force."
Yoda nodded, folding both clawed hands over his stick. "Sensed it we have."
"His abilities are considerable," Obi-Wan said. "Without training, he has managed to direct the Force into a palpable, kinetic energy. He saved my life on Sedesia by means of the Force. Too, he is a man of great personal honor and physical strength and agility. I feel it would be a terrible waste for such potential to remain unharnessed."
"To what purpose?" Windu inquired.
"To serve the Jedi, Master Windu."
Ki-Adi Mundi snorted in disbelief. "You wish this man to be taken into the Jedi Order?"
"He was an incalculable asset to me," Obi-Wan replied calmly.
"Are you proposing that he be taken as your padawan, Master Kenobi?" Adi Gallia asked, leaning forward as if she hadn't heard correctly.
"If some accelerated apprenticeship could be arranged, I would be happy to train him."
"Impossible." Windu's voice echoed with finality.
"Then some other service to the Jedi -- something that will afford him a life of dignity," Obi-Wan said. "The archives, perhaps translation -- he speaks a few languages --"
Yoda interrupted, not without gentleness. "Some feelings you have for him, Master Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan paused. "I do, Master. I am grateful to him for his assistance and bravery, and...I cannot deny that I have developed an emotional bond with him."
"In extraordinary circumstances," Gallia said. "It is a common enough occurrence in such situations, and is nothing to be ashamed of. I am certain that once time has passed, your infatuation will fade, Master Kenobi."
"I am not ashamed of it," Obi-Wan replied. "I embrace it."
Shocked silence filled the Council chamber.
Windu spoke, his voice soft and ominous. "That is a flagrant defiance of the Code, Master Kenobi. Tread carefully."
"Listen to me," Obi-Wan entreated. "There are wondrous stories told of steadfast friendships, of enduring love and intimate compassion, even in the halls of the Jedi. Attachment, possession, these attributes against which the Code warns -- I feel none of them. None of the selfishness and meanness and want that claws its way through love, that turns in on itself and becomes
Darkness."
"Govern your passions, Master Kenobi," Eeth Koth warned. "You cannot judge yourself in this condition."
"I am entirely rational, Master. And I know well the workings of my own heart."
Windu raised a hand. "Does Jinn feel the same way?"
Obi-Wan smiled, full of quietude and conviction. "He does."
"And does he wish the life you wish for him?" Yoda asked.
The smile faltered slightly. "If he knew the peace it brought, the fulfillment of service to the galaxy, Master, I am sure he would wish for it most fervently."
"But he has not," Yoda said. "A Jedi he is not. Strong-willed he is, set in his ways. Undisciplined. Anger in his heart. Think you that he would so willingly give up his life and freedom to join the Order?"
"He can change," Obi-Wan pleaded.
"Obi-Wan." Adi Gallia rose, moved toward him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You wish for an end to his hardship; that is commendable. You wish to see his great gifts put to service. That is also commendable. But there is an element of selfishness in your request. You want him near you. Not so?"
Obi-Wan nodded miserably. "Yes."
"No one embodies devotion to duty as you do, Master Kenobi. This is clear to all. We are not without compassion. But if you love him -- if you truly love him -- you will not try to hold him here, in a life for which he is unprepared and in which he would never be content."
The last of the sunset spilled into the Council chamber, washing it in pink, orange, and gold. Obi-Wan stared out at the vast cityscape, a cacophony of pain, bewilderment, and despair echoing in his heart.
"Let him go, Obi-Wan. Let him go."
* * *
Obi-Wan was startled into speechlessness at the sight of Qui-Gon in the tunics and robe of a Jedi. It took a moment for him to regain his poise. He forced himself to walk slowly and sedately toward the edge of the fountain where Qui-Gon stood, apparently lost in contemplation. Qui-Gon's face was free of cosmetics. Part of his hair had been caught up in a tail at the back of his head; the rest hung about his shoulders. He looked more masculine, and strangely, more vulnerable, than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. "Qui-Gon."
His heart sank as Qui-Gon turned toward him. The old implacable mask had returned, as though they had never shared a single moment of intimacy. He reached out through the Force, but Qui-Gon's shields were impenetrable. Desperate, he searched Qui-Gon's eyes, but found nothing save polite curiosity. "You're looking well. Jedi robes suit you."
Qui-Gon glanced down at himself. "I told them I was sick of that bedrobe, so they brought me these. The boots are a bit tight, but otherwise the fit is good. Comfortable."
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I ought to be. Those healers have prodded at me every day for weeks now. How are you?"
"I'm quite well, thank you."
"All healed? From..." Qui-Gon looked uncomfortable. "From Brolan. And everything else."
"Oh, yes." Obi-Wan wrapped his robe tightly around himself. Perhaps the decision of the Council had been correct. And perhaps he had misjudged Qui-Gon altogether. Perhaps Qui-Gon felt no more than the faintest affection for him, that of a comrade, not a lover. "My injuries were not at all serious. Thank you for your solicitude."
Qui-Gon kept his face averted. "When it was happening, I thought of what you had told me -- about the time you were fifteen, and in the Sublevels. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't control my abilities. They kept slipping from my grasp." He curled his hands into fists.
"It's often thus," Obi-Wan replied. "Controlling the Force is dependent upon one's ability to remain focused despite extreme emotion and catastrophic events. It happens to many a Jedi, so you must not blame yourself. You did save my life, and you have my undying gratitude for that."
"It rips you up, a rape -- inside and out. I know."
"It's happened to you, as well," Obi-Wan said.
"Oh, yes. I've lost track of how often it's happened. It never ceases to be frightening. And humiliating."
Obi-Wan could scarcely credit such matchless, matter-of-fact courage. "I was frightened at first. I too thought of the incident in the Sublevels. It was ugly and humiliating, but not shattering. I'd been quite amply prepared, physically, so the assault was not as brutal as Brolan had intended. And I had the solace of my memories."
"Memories?"
"With you," Obi-Wan said simply. "Far more gentle experiences with you. I was able to draw upon them for strength."
"You're very kind, Master Kenobi. I haven't forgotten that I practically raped you as well," Qui-Gon muttered.
"I have come to see it differently. In any case, I forgive you, Qui-Gon. You must forgive yourself."
Qui-Gon shrugged and did not speak for a time. They both stood by the fountain, misted by its cool spray. "I had a visit from your friend, what's his name -- Windu. A somewhat intimidating fellow."
"He can be," Obi-Wan acknowledged.
"He told me I'd performed a most impressive service for the galaxy. In thanks, the Senate and the Jedi have arranged for a bonus -- enough for me to retire now."
Obi-Wan clasped his hands behind his back. Paying him off, he thought. Making it impossible for him to stay. "Congratulations, Qui-Gon. That is a tremendous gift indeed."
"Windu tells me you're one of the most dedicated and gifted Jedi in your order."
Obi-Wan refrained from a bitter snort only by the most extraordinary effort. Mace Windu had all the grace and subtlety of an ion cannon. "No more than any other Jedi. Tell me, will you go to Chandrila immediately? I'm sure the thought of the house and land by the lake is exceedingly tempting."
"Ah." Qui-Gon laughed a little. "There's a snag in my plans. Apparently Brolan's cohorts have put a price on my head -- and yours."
"It won't be the first on mine," Obi-Wan said. "But I am sorry that you have been targeted."
"In all truth, I've had a price on my head once or twice myself. But Brolan's gang is more serious. Windu says he can arrange for relocation somewhere on the Outer Rim."
"Where?"
"No idea," Qui-Gon said. "Far away enough to live out the rest of my life with my head attached to my body. I suppose I can stand a little more adventure. They want me to leave tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
Obi-Wan's heart twisted in his chest. He stared at a scuff on the toe of one boot. He, who was utterly fearless in battle, could scarcely summon the courage to speak to this stone idol of a man. And yet, if he did not, he was lost.
At last, he leapt into the abyss. "Qui-Gon...do you not care for me at all?" A lump in his throat choked off further speech. He looked pleadingly at Qui-Gon, who gazed into the fountain, silent and remote.
Long seconds passed. Qui-Gon lowered his head. "More than my own life," he whispered. "And well you know it."
Obi-Wan slipped a hand into Qui-Gon's, then urged him close. He brushed the gentlest kiss across Qui-Gon's mouth. "I do now."
Without another word, Qui-Gon grasped the back of Obi-Wan's hair and pulled him into a breath-stealing, crushing kiss. They clung together tightly, then sank to the soft grass beside the fountain in a fever of kisses and caresses.
Quickly, Obi-Wan's arousal crested. He tore off his robe and outer tunic in moments. Qui-Gon followed suit, but had trouble with the belt. "Let me help," Obi-Wan offered. Deftly, he tugged at it, and it fell free from Qui-Gon's broad frame with a noisy clunk.
For the first time since meeting, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon traded a genuine smile, then laughter. Still chuckling, they finished undressing, then lay naked on their robes, pressed closely together.
"Qui-Gon -- may I?"
Yes.
The joining was, of necessity, brief. Obi-Wan was nearly delirious at the sensation of meeting as equals. Groaning, he eased himself inside Qui-Gon, whose eyes reflected Obi-Wan's need and pleasure. They rocked together, slowly, then rapidly, their harsh gasps and cries a counterpoint to the steady rush of the fountain. The Force surged between them again, blinding, searing, engulfing them both in a tide of liberated energy. Obi-Wan climaxed, then Qui-Gon; they lay entwined on the robes, pleasantly sated, the Force still flowing between and around them, though now it was soothing, restful, as they kissed and explored one another as they hadn't dared to weeks ago.
They coupled again, then a third time. Finally, sore and chilled, they wrapped up in their robes and lay together as an artificial twilight fell over the fountain room.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Qui-Gon sighed. "I can't unlearn a lifetime of lessons in a few weeks, Obi-Wan. I wish I could -- believe me, I wish I could."
"I could go with you."
"And do what, Obi-Wan? Sit beside an ocean or a fireside? Learn a trade, or become a housekeeper?"
"That's Master Windu talking," Obi-Wan said fiercely. "They can't force me to remain here. I'll --"
"Hush," said Qui-Gon, gathering him closer. "Hush now. Listen to me. It was Windu, in part. He came to me. He told me what you requested for me. No one has ever been so kind to me, Obi-Wan, since the day my parents died. No one. You cannot know what that means to me."
Obi-Wan could not speak for a moment. At last he managed, "But then -- if he told you that, Qui-Gon, he also said --"
"That the Jedi don't want a whore in the ranks? Yes, he did."
Obi-Wan sat up. "If he put it like that --"
"Calm," Qui-Gon said, the net of wrinkles at his eyes crinkling. "He was most diplomatic. But I know the truth, and what's more, I understand. There's no sort of life for me here. And there's no sort of life for you with me."
"That can't be. It can't be." Obi-Wan swiped angrily at a tear in his eye.
Qui-Gon kissed him. "You know it better than anyone else. Perhaps under other circumstances, if our lives had been different...who knows?"
Obi-Wan allowed him to brush another tear from his eyelashes, then saw that Qui-Gon's eyes were wet as well. "I can't bear this."
Mute, Qui-Gon shook his head. They held each other, fighting for comfort, for strength, for solace, but underlying their desperate tenacity lay the bitter knowledge that there was not enough time.
* * *
The departures platform of Coruscant North was packed with travelers and well-wishers. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan formed a pocket of relative quiet in the hubbub.
"What are you going to do with yourself now?"
"The Council has suggested that I take a padawan learner -- an apprentice," Obi-Wan snorted. "A sop for my wounded emotions."
"They may be right."
"They might at that," Obi-Wan admitted. "The young man they are recommending was the padawan of one of the Jedi killed on the Sedesia mission. He is a boy of sixteen -- quite gifted, but troubled, Master Yoda tells me, and in need of guidance."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I think you'd make a fine teacher."
"I don't know about that." A loud droning voice boomed out over the platform. "That's yours."
Qui-Gon nodded. "I must go. Perhaps you can visit from time to time."
"If I can, I will -- you may rely upon that. But I don't think it will be soon."
"I know. Well...I'll put it this way. If you come to visit, Master Kenobi, I won't shut the door in your face."
Obi-Wan managed a watery grin. "I'll remember."
"You do that." Qui-Gon leaned close, and brushed the back of his fingers over Obi-Wan's cheek. "Farewell."
"Farewell."
Qui-Gon moved into the swelling throngs. In a moment he was entirely gone from sight.
* * *
Epilogue
The evening was a blessedly cool respite from the day's scorching heat. It was dark and quiet but for a soft breeze and the chirps and cries of night-dwelling desert creatures; overhead, a thick tapestry of stars glittered in the black sky like handfuls of scattered jewels. Weary and aching, Obi-Wan slipped off the eopie and tethered it to a stunted tree.
The child, Anakin's son, had been safely delivered to Owen and Beru Lars. It was time to begin his vigil.
A light glowed faintly from a shaded window in the small, domed dwelling. Obi-Wan trudged up the path.
The door opened. The figure within was tall, broad-shouldered, with a greying mane of hair, fixing Obi-Wan with steady regard. "It took you long enough to get here."
"I wondered if I might...come for a visit."
Qui-Gon opened the door wider and held out his hand. "Welcome home, Obi-Wan."
End.
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Date: 2007-11-18 04:31 pm (UTC)Wonderful images, very compelling settings (almost to close for comfort, especially in the non-con scenes. And yes, that's the sign of a good writer when the characters' discomfort rubs off on the reader), and yes, I too had a tear in my eye just before the epilogue. Predictably, I loved your Qui-Gon, and am happy that they will at least enjoy a modicum of comfort in each other for what time they ahve left.
Nope, you still haven't lost it. Not one iota of it.
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Date: 2007-11-18 09:37 pm (UTC)I'm really glad you liked it, sweetie, and honored that you were able to enjoy the Qui-Gon characterization. And you know what a sucker I am for the happy ending, so yay. :D
Nope, you still haven't lost it. Not one iota of it.
That's great to hear now and then. Thanks, darlin'. *mwah*