Terms of Ownership

by Keelywolfe

The sun was just rising again over the Jedi temple, drawing living beings from their sleep and falling in broken shafts of light over one who had not slept. Deep in the Jedi gardens of Coruscant, knees aching and skin chilled from hours of meditation, Qui-Gon Jinn nonetheless remained motionless, focused deeply inward as he struggled with an emotion that was deeply unworthy of the Jedi master that he was.

Possessiveness.

It was not an emotion that he was intimately familiar with. His earliest memories were of being raised in the temples and ownership was taught to be a trivial matter. All things belonged to the Force and as such the only thing a Jedi truly owned was his own spirit. Even a lightsaber could and often was lost and Qui-Gon knew this, he knew it well. But emotion refused to leave him. It lingered over him like a dark mist, every time he breathed he felt as if he took more of it inside him even as his sense of wrongness grew.

I have no right, he chanted silently, letting the words echo through him. I have no right, no right, I do not possess, I do not own. The words felt like the worst of lies, even after kneeling here for hours, his clothing damp with morning dew, he had not been able to convince himself of the truth of those words.

Nor had he been able to chase away the other dark emotions that were tormenting him, things that he had never before felt, even as a child. Petty emotions like envy and jealousy were very quickly discovered in the initiates and rooted out. They were taught that all beings had their strengths and weakness and coveting skills that other possessed was of little use. Instead, they were encouraged to develop the skills that they did have. Qui-Gon had been taught that as well. And yet here he knelt, awash with darkness.

But he had also been taught that he must deal with this emotion now, at its conception. To ignore it, to allow it to remain would take him down a far darker path. And so kneeling alone, as he had for hours, swamped with jealousy and envy, Qui-Gon ignored the minor protests of his body and instead sought a way to deal with these unaccustomed emotions. After nearly twenty hours of meditation an answer had yet to appear.

Still, Qui-Gon had not gotten his reputation among the Jedi as a top negotiator without possessing a great deal of persistence and a large amount of sheer stubbornness. He would deal with this, there was no other option. Any other path lead in directions that he didn't even want to contemplate.

A faint pulse of despair fluttered through him, like draught of bitter cold. If only he knew how to handle this. He couldn't even speak of it to anyone, whom was he to ask? Who could advise him on what he should do upon waking one day and finding that he wanted to possess his own Padawan?

He forced that coldness aside, immersed himself once again in the embrace of the living Force that flowed through the garden around him, again seeking an answer to a question he could hardly allow himself to think about.

It had begun the day before, during the second level initiate's lightsaber practice. Standing on the sidelines, Qui-Gon had watched with distinct amusement and not a small amount of pride while Obi-Wan had instructed the excited children. Several padawans had been roped into assisting; helping to train the initiates was an expected part of their duties. And while Obi-Wan had rather grudgingly accepted the duty, he now appeared to be truly enjoying himself.

With boundless patience, Obi-Wan helped a young boy again, adjusting the boy's grip on his practice saber and carefully walking him through a simple maneuver. Qui-Gon remained on the sidelines, ostensibly supervising the children but in reality his eyes hardly left the figure of his Padawan.

Perhaps they should try to spend a little more time on Coruscant between missions, Qui-Gon thought, a bit indulgently. Obi-Wan was obviously a natural teacher and spending a bit more time with the young ones would help promote that talent. All Jedi were expected to pass along their knowledge to the next generation but that certainly didn't mean that they were all good at it. Certainly Qui-Gon had had serious questions about his own ability to teach...

He pushed aside those thoughts, dismissing them as useless. Dwelling on the past would only cause him pain in the future. He had learned in the past few years to focus on the now and to release the past. The future would care for itself.

Forcing his wandering attention back to Obi-Wan, he couldn't stop the faint frown that curved his lips as he saw that his Padawan was speaking to one of the other helpers as they both assisted their young charges. The other was another human, the young man probably Obi-Wan's age or close to it and they were both smiling and talking.

Their words were carried away by the din of the room but it hardly mattered what they were saying. It was Obi-Wan's hand that had caught Qui-Gon's attention, resting casually on the other boy's shoulder as they chatted.

Such a simple touch and yet it conveyed a kind of intimacy to Qui-Gon and it took a moment for the older man to realize why. One casual touch, a sideways glance between the two young men and even without the words of their conversation it became obvious that Obi-Wan was flirting with the other boy. And Qui-Gon saw with a distant sense of rage that other padawan was flirting back.

Blinking, Qui-Gon tore his eyes from the sight. And so what if they were? Obi-Wan was of age and if he wished to have a sexual encounter with someone it was hardly Qui-Gon's business. And yet, a faint bitter taste filled Qui-Gon's mouth as his eyes were drawn unwilling back to the sight of his padawan quite obviously offering himself to another.

Obi-Wan had always given of himself to his master, with astonishing and humbling loyalty. Even believing that Qui-Gon would never accept him as his Padawan Obi-Wan had regardless nearly sacrificed his own life for Qui-Gon's. After that, even after a somewhat rocky beginning, Obi-Wan had always freely given of himself to his master. To Qui-Gon and only to Qui-Gon to the point where obviously he had come to take Obi-Wan's giving of himself to his master alone for granted. It hadn't really occurred to him that Obi-Wan might offer himself to someone else in the same manner.

And now, watching him flirt with the other Padawan, watching him offer the brilliance of his spirit to someone else, unpleasant emotions took root in the Jedi master, ones that he hardly recognized. Jealousy, that Obi-Wan would dare touch someone else in such a manner, envy of the young man who was oblivious to Qui-Gon's anger. And then, horror, as realization came of what he was feeling and for whom and Qui-Gon had turned and abruptly left the practice hall, feeling the weight of Obi- Wan's puzzled look on his back as he swiftly walked away, directly to the gardens where he had knelt and immersed himself in meditation.

And now, hours later he had nothing to show for his efforts but sore knees and stiffening muscles. With a last sigh, Qui-Gon struggled to his feet, ignoring the protests of his joints.

"Well, that was useless," he murmured irritably and then sighed at his own temper. Hours of meditation and he didn't even have a sense of calm from it. The Force had provided no answers to his questions and had offered no solace. All he knew was what the totally unexpected flash of insight had shown him the day before. That he wanted his padawan, and that he wanted the young man to belong only to him.

Even acknowledging this to himself made him wince. He had no rights to Obi-Wan; he was the young man's teacher, surrogate parent. Master was only an honorary title and it did not give him rights over the boy. These thoughts, these feelings were -wrong-.

Enough. Perhaps rest would give him further insight into this...situation. He had spent most of the previous day and all of the night meditating; the sun was only just rising over the temple now.

Staggering a bit with stiffness and exhaustion, Qui-Gon made his way through the temple to his rooms. He had no responsibilities today, thank the Force, and a lazy day spent in bed sounded at this moment like divine paradise.

Upon arriving at his quarters Qui-Gon had barely shut the door behind him when it reopened, Obi-Wan creeping quietly into the common room of their shared quarters.

They stared at each other in mutely, Obi-Wan starting violently when he saw his master. A thousand things assaulted Qui-Gon's tired mind at once; Obi-Wan's so abruptly flushed skin, the bundle held tightly in the younger man's arms that seemed to be his cloak and boots, his tousled appearance, his bare feet. And his scent.

It was the last that invaded Qui-Gon's tenuous control, the scent rising from Obi-Wan's skin to wind its way around Qui-Gon's fragile grip on his restraint, tangling itself within. His Padawan reeked of sex, sharp and musky with the mingling of sweat and semen, his and someone else's. Someone who had touched and tasted and done things to the young man that Qui-Gon did not even let himself dream about, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

Qui-Gon watched with distant bemusement as his own hand rose and lightly touched Obi-Wan's crimson cheek, feeling the fevered heat of his padawan's embarrassment. The stubble on Obi-Wan's cheeks abraded the sensitive skin of Qui-Gon's fingertips and silently, looking into Obi-Wan's pale, confused eyes, Qui-Gon surrendered to the battle within without a word of protest.

Grabbing Obi-Wan's shoulders, Qui-Gon shoved the smaller man against the wall, scattering the things that Obi-Wan was holding and pinning his stunned padawan there with his own weight as he devouring the young man's mouth. Obi-Wan gasped and Qui-Gon took advantaged of his parted lips to thrust his tongue inside, tasting Obi-Wan's sweetness and the Other, that other who had touched what did not belong to him.

Thrusting his tongue deeply into the wet velvet of Obi-Wan's mouth, Qui-Gon sought the younger man's sweetness, furiously trying to burn away the wrongness of the Other's flavor. Obi-Wan whimpered softly, and dimly Qui-Gon could feel that he wasn't fighting, was in fact arching his hips forward, into the hard length of Qui-Gon's heavy erection that was pressing into the padawan's belly.

"How dare you go to someone else?" Qui-Gon pulled back enough to whisper harshly against Obi-Wan's swollen lips. Obi-Wan said nothing, only panted and stared at his master, the tip of his tongue flicking out as he nervously wet his lips. Qui-Gon watched it through a strange haze of lust and possessiveness, wanting this beautiful young man more than he had thought possible.

Almost roughly, Qui-Gon managed to work his hand between them, sliding it down to cup the younger man's erection and squeezing almost uncomfortably hard. He watched as Obi-Wan gasped, his eyes dilating until only a thin rim of gray was visible around the darkness of his pupils.

"Mine, you are mine, my Padawan. Aren't you?" he leaned in to croon softly against Obi-Wan's ear, tracing the soft shell with the tip of his tongue. He waited for the denial, for the struggle as Obi-Wan registered his words. He would stop then, Qui-Gon told himself. He would, he could never force this, never take it like that no matter how much he wanted it. He -would- stop, he would. As soon as Obi-Wan told him to.

One word, a husky, barely there sound, a cry, an affirmation. Obi-Wan's hands tightened on Qui-Gon's shoulders as he threw his head back and gasped out a single word. "Yes!"

This can't be happening, it can't, it simply can't. Obi-Wan's mind gibbered frantically even as the young man struggled to get closer to his master. Years of fantasizing, of hoping and of offering to his master all that he was, only to be ignored time and again, had led Obi- Wan to believe that this would never happen.

And now, still sticky with sweat from an extremely brief interlude the night before, Obi-Wan found himself caught up in his wildest dreams, in his master's arms with Qui-Gon all but -growling- that he owned the young man.

"Yes!" Obi-Wan managed gasp out, fear of this ending dragging affirmation from him. His head dropping back, hitting the wall hard and he saw stars briefly, blinked them away as Qui-Gon rocked against him again, pressing him harder against the wall.

Pained gasps for breath as Qui-Gon hands slid to Obi-Wan's backside, physically lifting him from the floor so that their groins were pressed together, hardness against hardness. Obi-Wan wrapped his legs tightly around his master's hips to keep himself from sliding downward, dimly cursing the clothing that separated them.

The coarse fabric of his pants abraded the sensitive skin of his erection, even as he thrust up against Qui-Gon again. Yes, Obi-Wan cried silently, his voice stolen from him by need. Yes, oh yes, Force yes, I needed this. I need this! Words mouthed against Qui-Gon's lips as they rocked urgently against each other.

It ended far too quickly, heat and desire pulsing between them as Qui- Gon's hands gripped Obi-Wan's hips brutally hard, holding the younger man still as he arched against him and came. He muffled his moans against Obi-Wan's shoulder, shuddering almost painfully.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt everything, the ridge of teeth pressed against his shoulder as Qui-Gon struggled not to cry out, the wetness that was seeping through the thin fabric of their trousers. He fought against his own orgasm, warm tendrils of Qui-Gon's pleasure binding him through their bond and he trembled to feel it, struggling to hold back.

Friction burned briefly against his back as they sank down to the floor and Obi-Wan ignored it. Instead, he pressed gentle kisses to his master's face, murmuring meaningless words of comfort as the man's breaths came in near sobs as he fought for control.

"Obi-Wan...Padawan...I'm sorry...so sorry...I didn't mean to..."

He silenced the older man with a kiss, stealing away his distress and replacing it with warmth and caring. Qui-Gon tried to pull away, to speak and Obi-Wan refused to let him, twining around his master like a vine.

"Shh, it's all right. It's all right," he murmured softly, pressing gentling kisses against Qui-Gon's temples and cheeks, tasting the salt of perspiration. The older man quieted, rubbing his cheek against Obi- Wan's and the younger man shivered to feel the coarse hair against the smooth skin of his cheek.

Qui-Gon raised his head at that, his eyes questioning and in answer Obi-Wan shifted his hips upward, letting Qui-Gon feel his arousal. The question in Qui-Gon's eyes gave way to wonder and then delight. He lowered his head, hesitating with his lips a breath away from Obi- Wan's.

Carefully, Obi-Wan traced those parted lips with the tip of his tongue, lingering on the lower lip. The tentative brush of Qui-Gon's tongue, a marked contrast to his earlier fierceness, dragged a soft sigh from him and Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, exploring the warm darkness of Qui-Gon's mouth.

Again, a hand slipped between them to cup Obi-Wan's firming shaft but this time the fingers were gentle, stroking carefully, seeming to take his measure as they deftly touched him.

Obi-Wan barely had time to choke out a moan before they vanished. He whimpered in protest against Qui-Gon's lips but was shocked into silence as he felt warm fingers again on the bare skin of his stomach, parting his tunics as they nimbly worked the fastenings of his trousers.

Strong fingers wrapped around his shaft and Obi-Wan cried out, his eyes glazing as he stared up into Qui-Gon's. His master had pulled away, studying his Padawan's face with a strange intensity, similar to his expression as he did battle. A heady surge of desire pulsed through Obi-Wan, at being the focus of that intensity.

Qui-Gon dipped his head again, nipping at Obi-Wan's lips and pulling back before the younger man could retaliate. He pulled his knees up under him, moving so that he was crouched over the younger man. Obi-Wan tried to protest, tightening his legs around Qui-Gon's hips and abruptly found himself pinned to the ground by invisible bonds, spread out and helpless underneath his master's hungry gaze.

Too startled to even struggled, he watched as Qui-Gon slid downward, neatly unfastening Obi-Wan's belt and sash with his free hand and shoving them aside so that he could bury his face in the soft skin of Obi-Wan's belly.

Inhaling deeply, Qui-Gon let his breath out in a rush and Obi-Wan squirmed against his bonds, helpless whimpers escaping him. The hand that was holding his shaft hadn't moved and the gentle grasp was almost too much to bear.

"I hate the way you smell, my Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured against Obi- Wan's belly and the younger man shivered at the words. "You smell like yourself," Qui-Gon continued, inhaling again and then exhaling, letting the warm tendrils of his breath caress the younger man who was twisting helplessly, fighting his invisible tethers. "And you smell like -him-. I hate that smell." He looked up, his darkened eyes catching Obi-Wan's and holding them while the younger man trembled against him. "You will never smell like this again, do you understand me, my Padawan? Never."

"Yes," Obi-Wan groaned. If Qui-Gon had ordered him to walk naked through the temple he would have done it, without question or protest. "I'm yours," he whispered, heard an answering shudder from his master.

The wet flicker of a tongue against his skin made Obi-Wan gasp and he closed his eyes tightly as Qui-Gon trailed it downward, leaving a damp path to cool in the air. A second hand joined the first, gently lifting Obi-Wan's penis from his trousers and Obi-Wan barely had time to feel the coolness of the air before a hot mouth closed over the head.

Biting his lip, Obi-Wan stifled the scream that tried to escape, fighting against his Force-bonds to arch up into the liquid warmth. His own control of the Force had skittered away from him at Qui-Gon's first kiss. Finally he surrendered, lying back on the cool floor while his shaft was taken deeper and Qui-Gon laved the sensitive tip with his tongue before sucking gently, ignoring Obi-Wan's broken protests for more.

Qui-Gon's hands shifted to Obi-Wan's hips, pressing down and a moment later Obi-Wan discovered why, as the bonds holding him dissolved away. His body jerked up reflexively, curling around his master and Qui-Gon held him firmly, preventing him from hurting either of them.

A moment later Obi-Wan settled back to the floor, gasping raggedly. His skin felt clammy where his clothing was dampening with his perspiration. Obi-Wan ignored it, focusing his attention on the sweet warmth of the mouth surrounding him, watching with narrowed eyes as his master took his shaft deeply inside, sucking strongly.

Even as he trembled, hot tendrils of ecstasy pulsing through him, Obi- Wan couldn't help but see how beautiful his master was. On his knees before his Padawan, pleasuring him, the cool silk of his silvered hair draped over Obi-Wan's hips. Pleasuring him. Possessing him.

Teeth scraped lightly against the underside of his shaft and Obi-Wan cried out loudly, his hands flying up to knot into Qui-Gon's hair. Hands captured his wrists, gentling his grip and remained, thumbs stroking the soft skin inside his wrists.

Again, he was taken deeply, felt Qui-Gon swallow against the head of his erection and with a last, pained cry he came, pleasure sparking through him like an electric jolt. His vision dimmed as he shuddered, waves of almost painful ecstasy washing over him before he collapsed weakly back to the floor.

Dimly, he realized his teeth were chattering slightly, tiny aftershocks running through him as Qui-Gon pulled away, his hands still holding Obi-Wan's as he tenderly caressing his lover's softening cock with the tip of his tongue.

The gentle touch was soothing and Obi-Wan relaxed into it, letting tension drain away as he moved his hands enough to lightly stroke Qui- Gon's hair.

Qui-Gon shifted, sliding up and draping his body over Obi-Wan's to press tiny, soft kisses to the young man's lips, letting him taste a faint bitterness of his own seed on his master's lips. And then he sighed, burying his face into the warm skin of Obi-Wan's neck.

"Mine."

Hardly more than a breath, a soft gust of air against Obi-Wan's neck and he smiled a little senselessly to hear his master say it.

"Yes, I am yours, Master," he murmured and was rewarded with a tender kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. Believe what you will, my Master, he thought, letting a smile curve his lips. Believe what you will. His eyes slit open a tiny bit and Obi-Wan looked down at the tousled head resting against his chest. There was no need to argue over who owned who. Carefully, he shifted, urging the older man to stand and coaxing him to walk into the bedroom where Obi-Wan stripped them both efficiently and settling them comfortably beneath the thick blankets.

Lying there, his master asleep in his arms, Obi-Wan let the smile come again, amused at how this had turned out. Believe what you will, my Master, he thought again, laughing silently in the darkened room, but even you must know that it is the one who gives the most that is the true owner, because the giver is also the one who can take it away. Still, at this moment Obi-Wan was where he most wanted to be in the entire galaxy. He saw no reason to negotiate terms of ownership.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, inhaling his master's scent before he relaxed into his own sleep, allowing himself to think one word before he drifted off, one that he would never say aloud.

Mine.

-finis-

Comments and questions to: mailto:keelywolfe@gmail.com
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