Patience Category: Story, first time, angst
by DBKateRating: NC-17
Spoilers: None, pre-TPM
Archive: Only for the Lair right now, thanks! :-)
Feedback: Is adored at dbkate2@aol.com
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. George Lucas does. Lucky George, sad Kate. :-(
Summary: As a padawan nears his knighthood, a master is overcome with doubts.
For Qui-Gon, there had been no rest that night.
The Coruscant dawn wasn't cooperating either. It was spring in that quarter and the early glare was blinding, even through the tinted shields of his night quarters. The time for sleep was over but a look at the dreaming countenance beside him convinced Qui-Gon that rising wasn't yet an option.
Obi-Wan was spooned tightly against him, deep asleep and breathing lightly on his neck. Qui-Gon shifted away from the tickle and tried without success to find a spot to stretch out his numbed arm, deadened after a full night of human weight resting in its hollow.
He didn't know why they still slept together. Obi-Wan was no longer a needy, insecure child, full of night terrors and shivering dreams. And he was no longer the young, lithe man who could sleep through an entire evening of deafening storms without so much as a turn in the bedding. So many things had changed through the years, and yet, so many habits refused to be broken.
This was the fault of them both and it was up to him to correct it.
He should insist that Obi-Wan find his own bed at night, at least while at Temple, and let his Master ache in peace. The pallet was small enough and he felt a cranking pain in his knee, stiff from an old injury compounded by the cramped sleeping position.
He tried to move the knee, winced and decided against stretching it out just yet. Qui-Gon vaguely remembered a time when he'd rise from the pallet easily, swinging his legs over the edge without a thought toward the effort taken.. Now ... now things were no longer that simple. Everything felt stiff and cold in the mornings and sudden movements gave way to sudden pains.
There were no longer any doubts about it. He was growing older.
The young man sleeping in his arms had no such problems Qui-Gon thought ruefully, seeing how languid stretches were so carelessly taken without a hitch of muscle pain to be found or felt. His Padawan was vigorous and healthy, with an appetite for life and knowledge that rivaled his own.
Or at least the appetite he once had.
He looked down at the sleepy face nestled against his arm and felt a tremendous rush of pride run through him. Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, was going to be a extraordinary knight. Strong in body, mind and morals, fluid in motion and ever observant in the ways of the living Force.
The thought gladdened Qui-Gon considerably and he allowed a small smile to crease his lips. Look, look at this creature here, he silently entreated. Isn't he wondrous? Isn't he perfect? And what do you know? It was all my fault, it was.
For I made this. Yes, I made this.
Qui-Gon impulsively kissed the warm forehead and eyelids, and he heard a small laugh -- felt a soft puff of air against his cheek.
He wondered at it for a moment before realizing that Obi-Wan was still asleep and dreaming aloud. And it was a good dream from the sound of it. A sigh, followed by another soft laugh. A murmured whimper, a unintelligible plea .... then all was still again.
Ah, your dream lover is unambitious, Padawan, thought Qui-Gon wryly. He or she is a fool for leaving you so. If I were in that dream...
He stopped himself from completing the thought.
Qui-Gon had dreams as well, but they were as controlled, as shielded, as any Council meeting. He'd long ago made a strict point of never wandering into his apprentice's dreams, not daring to clamber into the young one's shadow world and take a searching, desperate look around, wondering if a happier version of himself was wandering in there as well, perhaps offering a kiss or two, pretending that he was someone he wasn't.
A young adoring lover instead of an old, demanding teacher.
He could have easily done so, but he never did. It would have been ... rude..
Qui-Gon still had dreams of his own. The first and only dream he remembered was four years previously, when Obi-Wan had just turned nineteen. He'd lost all traces of a particularly lanky adolescence and finally had the full confidence of a warrior hidden beneath a facade so brilliantly beautiful, that Qui-Gon's inner, and outer, focus began to blur.
In his dream there had been no courting, no preparation, he'd simply fallen to his knees and taken Obi-Wan into his mouth, grasping slim hips brutally and urging them on until he heard cries that were at once shocked, then helpless, then utterly wonderful.
As such things usually do in dreams, clothes fell away and the pallet appeared. Spread out naked before him, his Padawan was in turns wanton and shy, struggling and complacent, until finally turning the tables on him as fiercely as any young warrior battling for his share of joy.
Touching, tasting Qui-Gon, until finally taking him into his mouth while watching him with a singular pair of huge eyes, dark with desire, bright with love. Qui-Gon was soon writhing beneath that stare, unable to hold back and awoke just in time to save himself from the embarrassment of soiling the bedding like a teenager. He was immediately mortified and quickly took cautions instead of action, carefully raising his shields and mentally excising all dreams into the back of his mind, effectively banishing them from his consciousness.
But, sometimes, he still remembered that dream.
And how it warmed desires he dared not name.
Qui-Gon sighed aloud as his knee started to ache again, this time brutally. He'd have to rise soon. Staying in bed past dawn was far too indulgent, even for the relative pleasure palace that was Coruscant. With its glaring dawn and soft bedding holding a beautiful young man he loved, he might start relishing bad ideas and appreciating the allure of inappropriate dreams.
And that wouldn't do, no, not at all.
========
Later that afternoon Obi-Wan stood before him in their shared quarters, sweating profusely and examining a saber burn on his palm with a rueful stare.
"I underestimated the hand-off." Dismissively. An explanation more to himself than to Qui-Gon.
"Shall I call a healer?" Qui-Gon examined the burn carefully. It was an angry, blistering sear that reached from wrist to fingertips and he didn't like the look of it. Without proper healing, infection was likely, if not inevitable.
"No." A sigh. "I'm fine. Besides it's a lesson well learned."
Qui-Gon frowned. "Are injuries your teacher now, Padawan? Or do I hold that title still?"
A shrug, followed by a wry glance. "Well, I hear that a man learns from his mistakes."
"A man also is wise to heed his elders. You will see the healer. Immediately."
Another willful glance. But the tone was even and the obedience still in evidence, at least on the surface. "Yes, Master."
"Good. Now go to the Healing Center and don't return until that's taken care of. When you are through, we'll go over the proper hand off methods with an unlit saber. "
"Yes, Master." Dry tone this time, making no effort to hide it and Obi-Wan left the quarters without looking back.
It took Qui-Gon a full minute to realize that Obi-Wan had sounded ... placating. Humoring his teacher, catering to the old man. He felt a brief flash of pain as he realized that the time of their parting was coming on, and in so many ways, it was all too soon. All too fast.
The thought made his chest ache.
//I made this...//
You gave him wings, Qui-Gon, he thought furiously and yet you don't want to see him fly. Selfish man, let him go. What is it you fear? Are you afraid he'll best you? That you and your memory will pale beneath his star, that you will be forever known, not as the Great Qui-Gon, but only as Master Jinn .... Obi-Wan Kenobi's teacher?
Is this what you fear, Qui-Gon?
//I made this...//
Or are you afraid of something else entirely?
No, he wasn't afraid, he wanted to cry out. It's just that he wanted ... he wanted ...
Qui-Gon no longer had any idea of what he wanted. Desire had taken on shades of grey and the smudged shape of faraway stars. Nothing was as clear as it used to be. Perhaps his eyes were failing him as well as his will.
Well, that was all going to become a thing of the past. If nothing else, Qui-Gon had to hold onto his vision of the future, no matter what the cost.
Because his Obi-Wan was going to be the greatest one, the greatest Jedi Knight, of them all.
======
Qui-Gon was surprised the next evening when he found himself alone on his pallet, still stiff and aching, but with more room than he remembered ever truly needing ... or wanting.
Earlier, Obi-Wan had mentioned the names of some visiting Padawans that he'd been acquainted with during his time in the Academy. He'd wondered aloud how they were doing and asked his Master if he could be allowed to join them for a quiet drink during free time.
Of course, of course, Qui-Gon had replied with an exaggerated wave of his hand. No need to ask anymore, Padawan. No longer a boy, you are a responsible young man now, you go where you will on your free time. I am your teacher, not your jailer, now go and bother me no more this evening.
He couldn't believe how literally Obi-Wan would take those instructions.
Obi-Wan hadn't returned to their quarters until well after the middle of the dark cycle and when he did ... he didn't return alone.
Qui-Gon sensed the other presence immediately and it shocked him. Obi-Wan had never invited a guest to his room, never once in all the years together had they ever shared their quarters with another living soul during the nighttime hours.
But Obi-Wan was a man now, and this is what came with being a man, was it not?
The partitions between their rooms were thin, too thin and another young man's voice floated in. Qui-Gon didn't want to listen, tried his best to turn his attention away, but it was no use.
No, no use at all.
He couldn't help but overhear the whispers that followed soft laughter. There were shushing noises and the clatter of various items of clothing hitting the floor. A slight squeak of the pallet and then ...
A groan. "Wait, stop, Brald. This is no good..."
"I dare say it would be better if you did not call me by his name quite so often."
"Be quiet, Brald. Keep your voice down."
"You invited _me_ here, Obi-Wan."
"Wait, hold on...damn it, stop Brald."
"_You_ are starting this again, not I."
"My mistake. Please go."
"You are a fool, Obi-Wan. A damned fool..."
"Just go."
Sounds of clothes being haphazardly gathered, then hard footsteps fading away and Qui-Gon didn't bother feigning sleep when he heard the quiet hiss of his door opening; the door he'd never bothered to lock.
Obi-Wan came in and Qui-Gon watched his shadow move toward the foot of his bed and then slowly curl onto the floor below. He stared at the huddled shape for a long moment before moving over on the pallet and patting its side. "Come, Obi-Wan. The floor is too hard and there is no need for it."
Felt gratitude and a strong flare of another emotion he couldn't quite understand surging over their bond as Obi-Wan rose and lay next to him, curling tightly unto his side. There were no sobs to be heard but Qui-Gon felt the hot tears nonetheless as they dripped onto his own cheeks and throat, then over the fingertips he used to brush them away.
"It will not always be so," he whispered soothingly, running his thumb over the damp, fevered cheeks. "It will all grow better, in the by and by. All we need is patience."
He heard no reply to this and in his heart, Qui-Gon wondered at the validity of his own words.
In regards to them both.
=========
Qui-Gon never had a taste for breakfast and the next morning was no exception as he took a sip of tea and grimaced before pushing it away. He had no patience for eating these days, the pleasure of it had faded along with so many other things.
Obi-Wan entered, still wearing his nightrobe. He regarded his Master speculatively, with a bold curiosity that bordered on impudence, at least in Qui-Gon's bleary eyes.
"Yes, Padawan?"
He received no answer beyond another long stare. It began to grate him for reasons he couldn't quite grasp and he felt his control was slipping precariously, no doubt another sign of his withering age.
But some pride remained. "This silence is obstinate and discourteous, Obi-Wan. Speak your piece or go." Force tones mixed in with his human voice. Hoping past hope that his padawan would listen and for the Force's sake, for _his_ sake ... obey.
Another stare, followed by a voice that was oh so cultured and careful -- a sleek string of pearls sliding across ice. "Shall I truly speak, Master? Or shall I continue to merely watch as you sink further into this morass that you are creating for yourself ... for us both? Please tell me, for as you can see, I am very good at watching."
"I know not of what you speak." His tone was turning acid and he hated the sound of it.
A whisper, one without malice. "I think you do."
Two gentle fingers traced the outline of Qui-Gon's cheek and suddenly the surrounding air had turned dangerous. Needle prick warning signs flashed everywhere, scarlet pins of Force light and he felt it. Feared it. Peered up and tried to beseech with his eyes, but the stark gray-blue gaze that met his held no comfort.
No safety. "Daily I watch -- and listen. And hear the inner voices of my once wise Master turn on themselves in fear and self-pity. Some nights you've gone so far as to forget our bond completely or perhaps you think me still a boy that cannot yet comprehend any emotion more complex than simple pride or childish ambition." The softer blue tones disappeared and all that remained was gray steel. "I am no longer a boy, Master."
"I am well aware of that, Obi-Wan. Too well aware." Bitterness now and oh, how he wished he were somewhere else.
"So you must have prepared for this eventuality at some point, Master." Accusing tone and Qui-Gon's chest tightened at its implications. "Didn't you?" When he didn't reply, the eyes turned ice cold ... and cruelly scornful. "Well, _didn't_ you?"
A spark of anger nearly floored him, so unaccustomed was he to the emotion. His control was truly slipping from his grasp, turning from stone to sand between his fingers and Qui-Gon half-rose from his seat, not knowing what he intended to do, but knowing that the possibility of dire regret might follow..
He never made it to his feet.
Strong hands on his shoulders were forcefully pushing him down and he was straddled, sturdy legs reigning him in, firm hands cupping his cheeks, forcing him to return a gaze that was fire and ice without a single hint of softness to be found. There was no sanctuary presented, no cool haven which to run to, there was only a singular pair of merciless, mesmerizing eyes that held nothing but uncharted and dangerous ground.
The brutal kiss that followed was nearly an afterthought.
For a moment, Qui-Gon fought against it as a drowning man fights an undertow.. But this was no ordinary sea and he quickly surrendered, as drowning men should always do if they actually intend on saving themselves.
He felt cool hands sliding beneath his tunic, and he hesitated, wondering if he was dreaming again, those lovely fever dreams he'd been denying for so very long, now coming to him in a single vengeful rush of delirium. The hands slid further down, forcing apart his tunic, and he gasped for air as the hot mouth retreated, then returned with a vengeance, trailing fire down his throat. Nipping at his collarbone, his shoulder, then further down to worry an erect nipple that was jolting lightning down to his groin.
Tilting his head back, Qui-Gon tried to bite back a moan. Failed and let it sing, his hands feeling useless, clutching at the air, then at his padawan's waist, hoping to gain some sort of tremulous hold on reality. Everything surrounding him, the very room itself, was turning hot and bright and his legs were trembling for the sake of it and the throbbing between his legs was becoming painful ... burdensome.
In his dreams it had all been so different, so much softer and safely ambiguous.
And this was so damned real.
He reached down, fumbling for contact and his hands where pushed away -- then held at bay, wrists imprisoned firmly at his sides. Another maddening kiss followed and he knew that he was becoming lost, dangerously so within a maze of raw emotions that no Jedi could allow themselves to succumb to without endangering more than just their own brittle hearts.
There was the living Force to contend with as well, and the Code, oh the Code and he was being kissed harder, a tongue plunging into his mouth, teeth pulling at his lower lip and the voices were growing darkly somewhere in the back of his mind and again and again...
[passionleadstofearleadstoangerleadstohateleadsto...]
"Stop." It was a command. Breathless, but undeniable.
Obi-Wan obeyed, pulling back and staring ruefully, as if waiting for yet another vague denial, some shadow of his Master's former being asserting itself for that scant moment, only to be overtaken by the fearful man he'd so recently become.
Obi-Wan looked prepared ... prepared for anything but Qui-Gon felt his strength returned as he countered the stare with one of his own. "Not yet," he whispered. The gray steel eyes narrowed at him, but he didn't look away.
Held the proud chin before him firmly between his thumb and forefinger and met the gaze straight on. "There will be a day, Obi-Wan, but not yet. You are knowing enough to see this and I have faith in you, for you have more strength and wisdom than even I believed." He released his grip and turned it into a caress. "You are so close and on the day of your trials, whatever pride that's earned in your accomplishments will be your own. I understand that now, better than I ever have before."
The harsh gaze softened, then lowered and Qui-Gon's balance ... his center, thank the Force had returned. And all because of this young man whom he had too much, and yet, in some ways, not enough, pride in.
"Yes, Master. But are we then to forget..." A slightly worried glance and Qui-Gon's heart melted at the sight of it. Oh, beautiful, beautiful boy.
"No." The reply was firm and ... undeniable. "I promise we will not, padawan. But we will wait. Remember, dear one," he whispered, repeating his words from the night before. "It will all grow better, in the by and by. All we need is patience."
A small, conspiratorial smile. "Yes, Master." There were no shades of humoring, no placating tones, nothing but the proper balance restored. Obi-Wan slowly rose, straightened and leaned in for a final kiss which Qui-Gon softly and gratefully bestowed.
A short bow and he was gone. Qui-Gon leaned back into his seat, his heart still beating faster than its wont and he shut his eyes for a moment against the spring glare was still blinding, even though the morning was full and the dawn long past. The voices within were no longer dark, no longer held pity or false pride, yet they still whispered, but this time with gratitude.
Murmuring a single, quiet, peaceful phrase.
//Patience. In the by and by ... patience.//
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