Author: Sorchafyre,email Sorchafyre@aol.com
Rating: R
Characters: Qui-Gon,Obi-Wan, You
Category: ABH; Somewhere between seduction and smut

Feedback: As this is my first attempt, both welcome and necessary

Disclaimer: The characters belong to George Lucas, the images in my head belong to EwanMcGregor and Liam Neeson, and much thanks for turning them loose in the world to play with me. There is no way I could possibly make any money off this.

Acknowledgements: Thanks belong to DarthPatches and Lady Angel, although they probably don’t know what for, and to Paula Cole for the song Feelin’ Love which begged to have Obi dance to it.

Summary: What do you do when you can’t even *breathe* without one of them in the room with you?

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You open your eyes with a start, one thought overriding all others. Not disorientation, although that was there, nor the fact that you have no idea where you are. No, the thought that overwhelms everything else is the fact that you can’t breathe. You gasp, grateful you are somehow prone on the floor, otherwise you would surely fall. You can feel your lungs expand, but the air doesn’t reach you. Distantly, you hear voices; male voices raised in alarm. Then through darkening vision, you see two faces bend over you.

Your eyes flick between cool blue eyes and dark green ones, shades of midnight and ice, and you feel a shock down to your toes. The breath hisses in your throat again, and this time you feel it. You lay there panting a moment, reveling in the feeling of air that you usually take for granted. Then the older man speaks as the other offers you a hand to help you rise.

“Are you alright? What happened?” You draw breath to reply, and realize you have no idea. Frantically, you draw inward, groping for some memory beyond this moment. You have no memory of who you are or where you came from, not even your name. The younger man must have sensed your distress, for he spoke in soothing tones and kept hold of your hand.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.” You hang your head as you explain your predicament. Your two benefactors decide you should go to the healers, and escort you a short way down the hall, into a room that can be mistaken for nothing but a place of healing; beds line the walls and crisp, efficient beings bustle about. Not to mention the banks of instruments nestled wherever space could be made. As a small, excitable being hustles over, you explain what little you can. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fill in their impressions, as you are pulled to a bed and ruthlessly examined. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan huddle together with the healer, voices too low for you to hear. Then Obi-Wan comes over to you.

“Mishava will take care of you. My master and I have to return to our research now, but we’ll check on you later this evening.” His smile leaves you feeling warm, and you smile back, wondering if you can find some excuse to get to know him better. You meet his eyes, and the irreverent thought springs upon you; if you caressed his hair, would it be as soft as it looks? You catch your breath with the desire to reach up and find out, feeling yourself flush. You are saved by Qui-Gon calling to him.

“Come, my Padawan.” As Obi-Wan joins him, Qui-Gon looks at you from a few feet away, radiating concern and caring. “Be well, until we return.” Your eyes rest on Qui-Gon as the two men walk out together; drinking in the aura of calm and strength he projects. Idly you wonder what it would be like to be held in his arms, and then all thoughts are abruptly cut short.

You can no longer breathe! It’s happening again, the air is gone. The healer who has been examining you calls out, and several beings come rushing toward you. Quickly as they can, they try a variety of different things, each convinced they know what’s wrong, with an arrogance you would be irritated at in other circumstances. Then you gasp and begin to breathe as you hear the purring rumble of Qui-Gon’s voice.

Slowly things begin to sort themselves out. Mishava, the healer who had been speaking with the two men and who seems to be in charge of your case,makes an astonishing discovery. After much experimentation and examination, not to mention drawing of blood, it was discovered that whenever the two Jedi left, you couldn’t breathe. One or the other could be in the room and you were fine, but if both of them left, the problems began. They try standing out of the room in your line of sight, try being in the room at various distances, and try standing inthe room where you could not see them. It doesn’t seem to matter; as long as one of them is present within the same walls that enclose you everything is fine. The healers admit they have no idea what to do next, and soon were reduced to a loud, angry debate in which arcane medical jargon was flunglike javelins. The two Jedi began a low-voiced debate, forgetting how close they were to you.

“What can we do master?” began Obi-Wan, “I have to find that data on Malistaire and I can’t do it here!”

“It’s almost time for saber practice.” agreed Qui-Gon. “But perhaps it would be beneficial to conduct meditations here.” As Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, the older man smiles affectionately at him. “Perhaps I’ll release you from that today."

“Excuse me,” you interject, “but I’d really rather not stay here either.” You indicate the overwrought healers with a small wave of your hand. “I’m beginning to feel like nothing more than a walking experiment.”

With a warm smile, Qui-Gon turns to you. “Would you like to return with us to our quarters for now? At least some of us will be more comfortable there.” With a great sense of relief you agree, and Qui-Gon talks Mishava into releasing you for now, with the promise that if anything unusual were to happen you would return straight away.

The men flank you as you walk through an elegantly build tower. As you come to each window you stop, exclaiming over each sight. A thousand forms of transportation, patterning the sky. A beggar, dizzying stories below. Riders on every form of animal. Dazzling high tech displays painting buildings with information and advertisement.

The two talk with you as they walk, speaking of this building, the Jedi temple, and their relationship as Master and Padawan. You talk of small things and large, trying to find something to connect you with your missing past. The men are fascinating, each in a different way, and you find yourself enjoying their company wholeheartedly.

The pair end their walk with you at a spacious but sparsely decorated set of rooms. You get comfortable on the couch and try to think, attacking the problem of your missing memories from every angle you can think of. Qui-Gon leaves, mentioning he wants to get another perspective on this problem as well as making another visit to the healers. You get glimpses of thoughts and feelings… where you come from was both lesser and more advanced than this. And yet, the healers felt the same as the vague memories you have of being treated before. It was only a few minutes after that when you realize you have a problem.

“Um, Obi-Wan?” you begin tentatively, “I need to…” you trail off.

“What?” he asks quizzically,tilting his head a bit.

You take a deep breath, and say it all at once in a rush. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“It’s through that door there,”he indicates politely. The ramifications of your problem obviously haven’t hit him yet. You wish desperately you didn’t have to be the one to point it out… but being unable to produce a protocol droid from thin air you take on the challenge.

“If I understand everything the healers said, I won’t be able to go in there alone. And I really, really would like to get cleaned off as well.” You indicate your clothing, filthy from laying on the floor, as well as several of the more mentionable places the healers were applying various treatments to your skin during what you can only think of as the “testing phase of your visit". Obi-Wan begins to flush as he realizes there is no way you can be allowed complete privacy.

“I guess I’ll bring in a chair, and sit where I won’t be able to observe you. I could stand with my back turned, but I had to stand for what seems like days during my first year of lessons and it’s something I avoid if I can. Would that be alright for you?”

You are touched by his politeness and delicacy. You agree, as long as he keeps his back turned while you actually relieve yourself, he can then sit in a chair for your shower. He brings a chair in with him, and after you are done with your primary business, he sits where there is no direct line of sight to the shower. You scrunch back and rid yourself of your clothes. You turn on the water, getting a vague sense that there should be something more technological than water. You wonder if they are at least advanced enough to have invented something to keep the mirrors from fogging up. As you look at the mirror to find out, a small movement there catches your attention.

The only spot in the small room where Obi-Wan could put his chair and give you the illusion of privacy happens to have the shower enclosure fully visible in the mirror from his vantage point. Since he can see you, you can obviously see him, and you study him for a moment before stepping into the water. He is still flushed with embarrassment, but obviously intrigued. His eyes stray to you, then dart away as he tries to behave himself and give you your privacy. His gaze keeps being drawn back though, like an undertow in a river. Since he isn’t looking at your face (surprise! you think wryly) he hasn’t noticed that you have seen him.

Deciding that if he wants to look you’ll give him something to see, you step into the shower, leaving the curtain open as if forgetting it. As the warm water cascades around you, your head tips back and you feel the heat. Conscious of your observer, and becoming a bit aroused at this play of exhibitionism, you soap your hands and begin to glide them over your body. You smooth it down your arms, along your hips, over your breasts, paying special attention to your nipples. Then you get more soap, and slide it up your legs. You run your slick hand between your legs, small frissions of pleasure running deep inside you. You hear a small sound, and are unsure which one of you is moaning. Reluctantly you stop, still aroused but unwilling to go any farther at the moment. You let the water wash over you, trying to regain a measure of equilibrium. As you stop the water Obi-Wan’s ragged breathing becomes noticeable in the silence, and you almost smile. At least you’re not the only one affected! You dry off quickly, and put on a loose tunic large enough to hang to your knees, loaned from one of the Jedi.

“Ready” you call and Obi-Wan stands somewhat awkwardly. You don’t meet his eyes, but then you have a feeling he wouldn’t meet yours either. As you leave the room in an aura of steam, the young man following closely, you are surprised to see Qui-Gon leaning against the door of the large sitting room, arms folded and a small smile on his face. He cocks an eyebrow atObi-Wan, and you can almost feel his blush at your back. You turn to him just as his eyes, fastened on his Masters, widen and he flushes deeper, but gives a little smile and a nod. He moves off into what must be another room connected to this one. You turn back to Qui-Gon.

“I have some news, and perhaps a plan to help the situation. I had one solution in mind, but recent events have encouraged me to revise my plans.” You stare at him, wondering if he is always this enigmatic.

“What news? What plans?” You blurt, feeling like a fool. Could you possibly be less eloquent?

“First you will have to relax if this has any chance of working.” he says, in that voice that could melt a stone. He moves to the piece of furniture that reminds you of a very deep chaise lounge and sits with his back to the arm. He lays one leg along the back and indicates a place right in front of him. “Come sit here.”

You move to sit where he indicated, and he turns you so you are facing away from him. You find you have to extend your legs on the couch if you want to keep covered. You jump as he places his hands on your shoulders, and he chuckles.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to massage you a bit, relax some of the tension away. I’m also going to be asking you some questions and explaining a bit of what the healers found. Alright?” At your agreement he begins. He seems to know what he’s doing, as his hands find knots of tension in your shoulders and massage them out. His voice is a deep rumble and as he talks you close your eyes and find yourself relaxing as he hoped. From somewhere slow music begins, and you open your eyes in surprise.

“Shhh, close your eyes. I talked to the counsel, they had never heard of such a thing happening before. And then I went back to the healers. They had your blood test results. Have you heard of midichlorians before?”

“Mmmm hmmm” you murmur, too relaxed to want to speak right now.

“Good. It seems that you have none in your bloodstream, none at all. That is unheard of. Life cannot exist without midichlorians. The counsel theorizes that you come from a universe separate from our own. One in which there is no Force. Are you familiar with the Force?”

“Mmmmmm” you once again murmur, this time indicating a non-committal maybe.

His voice purrs on, and you want him to never stop. How gloriously indulgent you feel, listening to him and feeling his hands, which have moved upto your neck and almost caress your skin as he massages there as well. “It is a living energy field, and without midichlorians in your bloodstream you could not connect to it. That is why your lungs could not use the air in this world. Were you teasing myPadawan in there?”

“Mmmmmm hmmmm.” You murmur again. Then you realize what you admitted, and your eyes fly open. Qui-Gon’s timing was perfect. Obi-Wan stands with his back against the wall in front of you, head thrown back and eyes closed, just as the most sensual song you’ve ever heard begins. He is clad in tight pants, his large over robe, and nothing else.

“Then I think he deserves a turn now.” Obi-Wan slides his hand up along the wall, moving slightly in time to the beat. You catch your breath as he moves his hand down his body, starting at the top of his head, each movement slow and deliberate. Then he pushes off the wall and begins to dance. Within the space of a dozen heartbeats the room becomes charged with sexual heat. You feel Qui-Gon grow hard, and unconsciously squirm back against him. Obi-Wan sheds his clothes and with them seems to shed his inhibitions.

Obi-Wan dances, not for you or for Qui-Gon, but for the sheer joy of sensuality, focus turned inward as he dances the rhythm of seduction. You are drowning in sensory input. The music caresses your heartbeat. The scent of Qui-Gon fills your mouth. The taste of his heat is like honey. He shifts behind you, caught up in the overpowering lust, his hands moving to stroke your breasts through the rough cloth of the tunic. Caught up as well, you lean forward a bit, and in one long move remove the garment, never taking your eyes off the performance in front of you. Then Obi-Wan’s eyes snap open. He glides to the couch, like he was stalking prey. He moves to the end of the couch and crawls, panther-like, up your body. Neither Qui-Gon nor you can move, both of your eyes locked onto the sudden sense of power Obi-Wan is projecting. He is extended over you, close as a whisper, yet not touching. You whimper, needing to feel his skin on yours. If you could form a coherent sound, you know you would beg.

His eyes leave yours and rise to meet Qui-Gon’s. You hear a soft moan from behind you, and Obi-Wan suddenly lowers himself onto you. He enters you smoothly and you sigh in rapture. You feel him inside you, his skin on yours a separate flame. Qui-Gon’s hands are caressing you, tracing your breasts, his breathing fast in your hair. You feel him erect at your back, and wonder if he can feel Obi-Wan inside you. Their eyes are locked, warm green and endless blue drowning together. Briefly you wonder if they have ever done anything like this before, then the thought is gone as you realize you really don’t care, as long as this moment never ends. Sybaritic pleasure fills you with every thrust of Obi-Wan’s hips. Then with a hot rush of passion, you climax. You feel the young Jedi come with you, spiraling into incandescent pleasure.
Obi-Wan sighs and rolls off you, toward the back of the couch. He reaches out to slide his hands over your skin, warmth trailing from his fingertips. You all lay there for a bit, basking in glowing pleasure. Then Qui-Gon speaks quietly, his warm voice never breaking the moment.

“Once again you surprise me, my Padawan. I had no idea you could move like that.” You sense the smile in his voice. Obi-Wan tilts his head slightly, so he can see his master’s face.

“You must admit, the occasion really hasn’t arisen before now,” he murmured, reassured by the look on Qui-Gon’s face. “And I *have* listened to you tell me to be aware of where my body is in the Force at lessons often enough,” he continued, impishly.

Qui-Gon smiles and turns his attention back to you. “It is the counsel’s theory that the Force, as manifested in Obi’s and my bond, acted to save your life. That is, after all, the prime manifestation of the Force; protector of life. You, in essence, “borrowed” our midichlorians, but they could only connect with you in limited circumstances. It was the healers idea that you should absorb something from each of us, and perhaps since our midichlorians were already in tune with you they might be enough to allow you to move about on your own.” He gave a small, purring chuckle. “I had in mind a blood transfusion, but when I arrived back here and felt the flavor of the Force waves coming from the other room, it gave me an entirely different idea. Perhaps blood was not the only fluid that would suffice.” His voice was colored with amusement.

You feel that you should blush,or at least seem chagrined, but you are far too pleased with the outcome to be anything but smug.

“However,” he whispers softly in your ear, “that only takes care of Obi-Wan’s half of the equation. I certainly can’t dance like that, but I may have other talents.” Qui-Gon’s voice deepens, and he begins to sing with the music. You suddenly become aware that Qui-Gon is still erect. He sings with deepening lust, something about pleasure shared. His voice is liquid sexuality, pouring down to the center of your mind. To your vague surprise you find yourself instantly aroused again, each note seeming to caress your mind as the hands of the two men are still caressing your skin. You close your eyes and slip back into the timeless moment of desire, when pleasure is all you crave.

Qui-Gon suddenly slides out from behind you, he must have used some Jedi trick since both you and Obi-Wan were still tangled on top of him. You whimper at the loss of his warmth and presence, but he never stops his song. Obi slides a bit, and you lay your head on his shoulder. He is still lying on his side and you snug in closer to him. You hear the whisper of cloth leaving skin, and open your eyes in time to see Qui-Gon, gloriously nude, kneel beside the couch. He lays his head on your stomach. You can feel his warm breath on your breast, his hair spread over your hips. He flicks his tongue out to taste your skin. Then the song ends, and he begins to move his head, trailing his hair over your body. Everywhere it touches the nerves respond, and soon you are aflame with desire. The need to be touched, filled, overpowers your senses. You revel in the silk of his hair, the smoky wood scent of Qui-Gon. You whisper something incoherent, and feel his lips smile against your skin.

“Shall I come to you now?” he asks softly. You make a strangled sound of assent. As he moves between your legs, you throw one of them over Obi-Wan’s hip, feeling the younger man's warm pleasure at the greater contact with your skin. Agonizingly slowly, Qui-Gon enters you. You lay there, awareness centered on the amazing feeling of his penetration. He moves with a sensuous rhythm, which instantly catches you up in his need. You follow him up, the powerful movements of his muscles bringing you waves of limitless pleasure, building to a rushing orgasm, and you feel him twine around your pleasure with his own as he comes with you.

Climax with Obi-Wan was like fireworks, scattering your senses throughout the cosmos in a rushing energy of pleasure. With Qui-Gon, it is like a hot center, molten lava funneled to a pinpoint of ecstasy. As he deftly slides under you again, moving your limp form with ease, you wonder how two such very different men can produce such complementary pleasures. You feel Obi-Wan lay his head on your shoulder and catch a stray whisper, something about turnaround being fair play.

As you drift off to sleep, all of you too sated to see if this experiment has worked, you find yourself hoping it is only a temporary measure, and you will need periodic “treatments”. A low chuckle from Qui-Gon and a pleased murmur from Obi-Wan lets you know they have somehow caught this thought, and are not displeased at the prospect.