http://homes.arealcity.com/HiddenRealm/Eiluned/stormwarning.html
Category: first-time, POV, romance
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: notta one.
Disclaimer: Sigh. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon belong to Master
George, not me. I'm not making a red cent off of this, either.
Summary: Pre-TPM. Q/O. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have an
honest. . . discussion.
Notes: This is a birthday present for my best friend, Snowy.
Hope this goes well with the Jedi birthday cake. :` This is also
my very first slash piece. Hope you like it.
Feedback: given tongue baths and a guaranteed reply at
sageX42@surf1.de
Huge thanks to my betas Catnip, Hikaru, Dorotea, Russet
and Calysta. (Can you tell I like a lot of opinions?)
Any mistakes found in this story are mine.

 

* denotes telepathy.

 

~*~*~*~

 

I slow my breathing and try to channel the Force through
my mind. The mat is soft under my knees, and it proves
to be the only solace I will get from this evening's meditation.
I cannot stop thinking, even for a second, about you. Part of
me keeps shouting that this is wrong, that you are my Master,
and would never reciprocate these desires. The other part hangs
onto hope with furious tenacity.

 

I am about to rise from the floor when I notice you
standing in the doorway. My breath hitches in my chest
and I sink back onto my heels.

 

"You are troubled, Obi-Wan."

 

I lower my eyes and stare at the carpet in front of my
mat. I don't think that I can avoid your questions if I'm
looking at you. "I'm fine, Master," I reply respectfully.

 

I hear your snort of skepticism and chance a glance up.
Your face holds the expression of good-natured
exasperation that I'm so familiar with, but your body
makes me shiver with desire. You wear only your
sleep trousers, you are barefoot, and your hair falls loosely
over your shoulders. You look like a god, beautiful and
untouchable. I am a mere mortal kneeling at your altar,
hoping for a touch of divine attention.

 

"Don't lie, Obi-Wan," you say, keeping your tone light,
"I'm not quite an old fool yet. I know when something is
on your mind."

 

"I. . . I'm sorry, Master," I stammer, feeling my face flush with
embarrassment. "I didn't mean to imply that you are a fool..."

 

You chuckle and I clamp my mouth shut. In the ten
years I've been your apprentice, I've never felt so
ridiculously nervous. "I know that, Obi-Wan," you say,
striding across the room and dropping to kneel in front of
me, "I think it's time we were honest with each other.

 

"I've always encouraged you to be open with me. You
know that you can come to me with anything. I want
you to be frank." you pause to look at me for a long moment.

 

"Tell me what is on your mind," you command quietly.

 

Your sudden closeness throws me off balance. The white lie
was almost perfectly formed on my tongue, but the heat rolling
off of your body, the sheer sensuality that you give off, dissolved
my words. I cannot lie to you anymore.

 

I swallow the fear that has been rising in my throat ever
since you came into the room. "You. . ." I answer, my
voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about this
morning, when you brushed against me outside of the 'fresher.
How damp and hot your skin was from the shower. How it felt
against mine, and how I really want to feel it.  I. . . "

 

You regard me thoughtfully for a long time, then lean
back on your heels. "Obi-Wan," you say on a sigh, "It is
said that a Master should be the eye of a hurricane.
Peaceful within and swirling with the Force on the outside."

 

I am confused by your sudden change of the subject.
Now certainly doesn't seem the proper time to spout
Jedi proverbs. All of my hopes that you might want me as a
lover fade.

 

"But I am anything but peaceful within," you continue.
"My emotions are in a turmoil. I find it difficult to focus
on my tasks."

 

You pause again, staring out of the window into the
burgeoning dusk. "Is it my fault, Master?" I ask quietly.
"Because of this?"

 

You seem to ignore my question. "The Force is urging
me forward. Showing me the paths I can take. It seems
to be telling me what I should do."

 

Your tone is emotionless, and my chest begins to ache
dully. I imagine the absolute worst outcome. You are
rejecting me, you're disgusted with me, you want to send
me away. My throat catches at the last thought. The way
I'm feeling right now, I'd rather die than be sent away
from you. Even if it meant that I would have to live and
eventually die with my unrequited love for you, I would
still rather stay at your side.

 

"What is it telling you to do, Master?" I ask,
strengthening my voice so you won't hear the pain that
is eating me alive.

 

"This."

 

I barely have time to wrap my mind around that single
word before your body crushes against mine and your lips
claim mine hotly.

 

I am so stunned by this that I can't move, and you take
advantage of my immobility. Your lips part mine and your
tongue slides hotly into my mouth, stroking every surface.
You wrap your arms around my body and pull me close,
flicking the tip of your tongue against the roof of my mouth.

 

I finally regain the ability to move and slide my hands over
your bare chest. Your skin is so warm and smooth under my
palms. It's something I never expected for some reason, but
it feels so good. I slide my fingers over your nipples and you
sigh against my lips. I sink my hands into your hair and pull
you deeper into our kiss, moaning when your erection rubs
against mine.

 

Your hands slide over my shoulders and begin skimming over
my chest, loosening my belt and removing my sash and
stoles. Barriers removed, you push my tunics apart
and off of my shoulders. I start to reach for yours, but
my hands are are caught in the sleeves of my partially-removed
tunic. You take advantage of my immobility and tear your
mouth away from mine, sliding down my body.

 

Your tongue flicks over my nipple and I cry out, swaying
on my knees and fighting against my bonds. Gods, I want to
touch you. You slowly circle your tongue around the hardening
nub, bringing it to a peak, then close your lips around it and suck
gently. After a few sweet, torturous minutes, you switch to the other
side and repeat the process, sucking until I am moaning incoherently.

 

You smile up at me briefly-- a coy, seductive curve of your lips-- and
your beard brushes against the hyper-sensitive flesh of my nipple.
I gasp, unable to drag my eyes away from the sight of you slowly
moving down my torso, nipping my skin around the waistband of my
pants. Sliding your hands around to knead my ass, you press your
face into my groin, nuzzling my cock through the fabric of my trousers.
I thrust my hips forward impatiently and you chuckle, sliding my pants
down over what is easily the most urgent erection I've ever had.

 

"Do you want this?" you ask, your voice deliciously
hoarse and sexy.

 

"Oh, gods, yes. Please, Master..."

 

"No. There is no Master here," your eyes glitter. "Not
this time."

 

"Qui-Gon," I moan, and you shudder with desire, "I need
you... I love you."

 

You murmur something that sounds like 'love you,' but
you've suddenly engulfed my cock in your mouth and I
really don't give a damn about what you were saying.
Your tongue flickers for a moment around the head,
then your mouth slides down around my shaft, sucking strongly.
The wet heat of your mouth is almost too much, and it
takes every shred of control I have not to come
immediately. You seem to sense this and back off a
little, satisfying yourself by licking up and down my
shaft.

 

I lean back until my bound hands touch the floor and bow my
back, offering myself to you, pulling myself back from the edge
and you start sucking in earnest, bracing yourself on the floor
with one hand, the other wrapped around my hip. I struggle, my
arms still trapped within the sleeves of my tunics, wanting
nothing more than to bury my hands in your hair and hold on
for dear life.

 

You abruptly stop, just when I'm getting close again.
You rise and your lips meet mine, sharing my taste with
me, and you yank the tunics off of my arms. I immediately
wrap my arms around your body and arch against you.
The meeting of bare skin against skin is heavenly.
Rising, you pull me to my feet, never ceasing your
kisses, and guide me into your bedroom. Between your
kisses, my incredibly hard cock and the fact that my pants
are hanging precariously around my knees, getting to the
bed is a dangerous task.

 

You slide my trousers down and I step out of them,
kicking them out of the way. You follow suit with yours,
and push me down onto the bed. Your body
immediately covers mine, pressing me into the
mattress. Gods, your naked skin burns mine, it's so hot.
You plunder my mouth, and I eagerly return the kiss,
writhing beneath you until your hips rest between my
thighs.

 

You brush your cock against mine and I jerk and moan.
"My Obi-Wan... gods, I want you.... I want to take you,"
you whisper, laving my throat.

 

"Yes, Qui-Gon, take me," I breathe, sliding my hands
over every bit of skin that I can reach.

 

You sigh against my skin, giving my neck one last nip
before lifting yourself off of me. "Is this what you really
want?" you ask, the hoarseness of desire betraying the
seriousness of your tone.

 

I push myself up on my elbows, looking you straight in
the eyes. "I want this more than anything," I tell you.

 

Your lips curve in that deliciously wanton smile, and you
lean over to the shelf above your headboard. You take
down a small glass bottle, twirling it lightly in your fingers.

 

At my questioning look, you pull the stopper out. "It's an
oil native to Corsin," you explain, pouring a liberal
amount onto your fingers. "Lore says that it is a powerful
aphrodisiac."

 

"What do you think?" I ask teasingly.

 

You shrug lightly and slip one oiled finger between my
legs. I tense at the first touch against my opening. The
sensation is completely foreign to me. I'd been with
women before, but never with a man. . .

 

*Trust me, love.*

 

A wave of reassurance comes across our bond and I
relax into your touch. You are infinitely gentle, and
caress and stretch me until I'm writhing under you,
begging to be taken.

 

You pour oil into the palm of one hand and slick it over
your cock. With the other, you pull the pillows from the
head of the bed. I lift my hips and you stack them
underneath me, so that my body is angled perfectly for
you.

 

Leaning over me, you kiss me hard until the passion is
at its peak again. Then, you rise to your knees and
slowly push against me. Swells of love and trust wash
over me, and my body slowly gives way.

 

"I love you," you whisper at the exact moment you slide
into my body.

 

The twinge of pain ebbs into a wonderfully full
sensation. You pull back slowly, and thrust more
deeply. Your cock brushes against my prostate and I
gasp, arching as if I've been electrocuted. The pleasure
is so keen that I feel like the world is falling out from
under me. "Oh, gods!" I cry out, gripping the bedsheets
hard, "More..."

 

You growl and thrust again, angling deeper. I cry out
with every movement, practically ripping the covers off
of the bed. You move your oil-slick hand from my hip to
stroke my cock, demanding my orgasm. My breath comes in
hard little pants, echoing yours. You continue to stroke me
and stoke inside of me, your thumb flicking against the
ultra-sensitive ridge.

 

The sensation is entirely too much and I buck wildly
against your hand, coming in thick, hot spurts. Your
face contorts into a beautiful mask of pleasure and you
come, too, hot and wet into my body.

 

After an eternity of ecstasy, you ease out of me and collapse
on the bed, pulling my mouth to yours for a soft kiss. I still
can't trust myself to think, so I curl against you, pillowing my
head on your chest. Your pounding heart mirrors mine, and
the sound lulls me to drowsiness. The peace that has been
eluding me for months finally comes.

 

"I love you, Qui-Gon," I whisper to your sleeping ear, then
settle into your arms and fall asleep.

 

~*~*~*~

 

End