Crossroads and Consequences

          Everything has a beginning.
    

          The words, uttered by a priestess of Golt over the bleeding carcass of a
     native lamb, stuck in Qui-Gon Jinn's mind as he watched her sip from the bowl of
     still-warm blood. The Golt sect was the largest of the many pagan religions that
     ruled on this planet, Angel One, and its neighbors, Angel Two and Four. Practicing
     a pacifistic brand of nature worship, the sects co-existed in peace and preached
     harmony.
    

          Everything has a beginning.
    

          The bowl was passed through the inner circle of  nine, and then came to the
     outer circle, of which Qui-Gon was a part. Composed mostly of diplomats and
     trade representatives invited to Angel One for the harvest ceremony, the largest
     and most important of the year, these people had been honored and knew it well.
     Each of them took the bowl and drank, as the Jedi did when it was passed to him.
     The blood was starting to cool, the taste thick and slightly acrid on his tongue, not
     pleasant but not disgusting, either. Certainly not as bad as Etrusian snowbird.
    

          He passed the bowl on and settled himself, hands in his sleeves, head
     bowed, as the chanting began. It would continue through the night, and to move,
     or to leave, would be considered and insult to the Goddess. The elderly, the infirm,
     infants and those who cared for them would all be excused soon, but Qui-Gon, a
     Jedi Master in his prime - nearing the limits of it, perhaps, but still in that phase of
     his life - would remain for the entire ceremony.
    

          At dawn the harvest would begin, the members of the Golt energized by
     their magic, able to work the day through after a night spent in worship.
    

          The words flowed over him, smooth and subtle, in a language he did not
     speak, one of the oldest languages in the Republic. It was said that you had to be
     born on one of the Angels to understand it, the ability to learn it encoded
     genetically. He had tried, once, after his first visit here as Yoda's Padawan, before
     his Master had turned this duty over to him. For the past thirty years he had been
     attending in Yoda's place, and he suspected that Yoda had been coming to the Golt
     harvest ceremony for several hundred years. It was his duty as his Master's
     Padawan to continue this tradition, to honor the peoples of these planets.
    

          Beginnings. Where had he begun? A family mostly forgotten, though he
     sent gifts and answered occasional notes from mother and brothers. Farmers, living
     a hard life, they had little time to worry about their youngest son, taken from them
     practically at birth. He suspected they were proud, but in a distant fashion. He had
     never really been theirs. He had always been Jedi..
    

          When Yoda had selected him as Padawan, that had been a beginning. A
     significant one. And when he himself had selected Zenna Dis'x, his first Padawan,
     only months after he was raised to Knighthood. That had been more important
     than his ascension itself.
    

          Meditating on the words of the priestess seemed as good a way as any to
     honor her and this ceremony that he literally didn't understand.
    

          Of course, the most important thing in his life at this moment was
     Obi-Wan. But, he wondered, suddenly, startled by his train of thought, where had
     that begun?
    

          On Bandomeer, when a rejected initiate had offered his life to save others?
     Or when Qui-Gon had inadvertently bonded with an angry, frustrated but brave
     young man?
    

          No. It had begun that night. The one they had avoided for years. After
     Obi-Wan became a knight, after they had been apart for several months, and had
     found themselves on the same planet, negotiating an important treaty. The renewal
     of their friendship, strained by Anakin's presence in Qui-Gon's life, his new
     Padawan a Padawan but still needing so much to catch up, kept safe and taught at
     the Academy, seen only between missions, the renewal of their friendship without
     the boy there to disrupt it had been startling and suddenly, wonderfully sexual.
    

          There had been much more between them than he had thought.
    

          Obi-Wan had made the first move; his third Padawan had always been
     aggressive and determined. Qui-Gon  had responded helplessly, washed away by
     the power of their attraction, stunned that he had never seen it before, never
     recognized the tension between them for what it was. 
    

          Afterwards they had gone their separate ways, only to become aware of the
     bond that linked them, as it grew stronger every day.
    

          Too strong, now. The sudden addition of true telepathy during their
     encounter on Spanga Four could only mean that they were getting too close, that
     they were in danger of forming something permanent, irreversible. Not that he
     would want to reverse it, Force, no. It had become a central tenet of his being, that
     link with Obi-Wan. But if they let the Force have its way there would be no hiding
     it. No escaping the consequences of their condemned affair.
    

          Of course, there were consequences now. The pain they shared if they
     refused the Force and kept their emotions to themselves. And the violence that had
     surfaced the last time they met, when they had shielded themselves completely
     from the Force and he had so appallingly lost control.  He had hurt Obi-Wan, hurt
     his lover, padawan, friend. Hurt him with his cock in Obi-Wan's body, his hands on
     that body. Taken him with need so great that he hadn't cared for the younger man's
     health or pleasure, and he was ashamed.
    

          That shame flared in him now and he saw the priestess's eyes flicker in his
     direction. They were circled in a clearing, surrounding a bonfire, and the smoke
     obscured many details, but he saw - he felt - her eyes upon him.
    

          What did that mean? Undoubtedly she was particularly sensitive at the
     moment, the chant drawing power from the Force, though her people said it came
     from the Earth they served. All of a part, he knew. But she had sensed his pain,
     and his shame, and now someone else knew.
    

          It terrified him, and it calmed him, too. At last. Someone knew. Not like
     Obi-Wan's friend Bant, who knew but didn't *know*, this woman knew. All of it.
     It was there in the Force to be read and for a moment he was glad. This was
     indeed a beginning.
    

          Then her attention turned back to her circle and her duties and he felt a
     gentle wave of encouragement flow through him. It strengthened him and he
     re-settled himself, the shame still present but fading, and the ever-present need to
     see his lover growing. It would become stronger, become distracting, but he was
     used to it and he would deal with it. 
    

          The words continued to flow, and he felt something begin to unlock inside
     of him. The chat was not doing it, but somehow the deeply powerful words were
     allowing him to reach into this place he ahdn't been aware of and open a door
     there.
    

          The harvest ceremony was not a time set aside for making vows, but this
     night he would make one; He would never hurt Obi-Wan like that again. Some
     prices were just too high to pay.
    

     ***
    

          Dawn was breaking over the clearing. After the long night - twenty
     standard hours - the voices of the circle were rough and hoarse,   but with the first
     rays of true light they rose with renewed power and Qui-Gon, deep in his
     meditations, allowed his mind to open with theirs.
    

          And suddenly Obi-Wan was there.
    

          In his mind, sleepy and soft, reaching for him instinctively as Qui-Gon
     reached out over the bond, and he felt his lover's pure, untainted joy at the joining.
    

          There was danger here, but they ignored it. Perhaps the energy of the Golt
     calling would hide them, perhaps not. It did not matter, not when compared to the
     soul-deep comfort this contact afforded them both.
    

          /Qui?/ The single syllable of his name, breathed across hundreds of
     thousands of lightyears, radiating a happiness too large to be contained in one
     universe. /I can feel you./
    

          /Amazing./ Barely aware of the physical world, Qui-Gon knew that he had
     fallen to his knees, head bent to his chest, and that he was being watched with
     concern by all but the Priestess. /Obi, Obi, what have we done?/
    

          /I don't know, and I don't care./ Wakening rapidly his lover reached for
     him, swarming the bond, seeking to make contact with him on as many levels as
     possible. /Qui, I have to see you. Please./ 
    

          /Yes./ The Council, the danger - these were just details now. They had to
     see each other, to touch each other. He wanted to wallow in this connection, to
     drown in it, much as he had needed to drown in physical sensation the last time
     they had touched. /There is a planet -/
    

          /Rigel!/ Obi-Wan agreed immediately. /I can get there./
    

          /I as well./
    

          The pleasure-planet was a member of the Republic, but no Jedi had ever set
     foot on it. The excesses the population, and those they catered to, practiced, were
     anathema to Jedi sensibilities.
    

          The chant was fading, the last few   words lingering in the air and Qui-Gon
     felt that if he could just-*just*- concentrate hard enough, he would understand
     them. They spoke to him, called to him, seduced him.
    

          /How long?!/ It was a wail, the connection fading, the Force re-asserting its
     control over them and their minds.
    

          /As soon as I can, love. As soon as I can./ He threw the thought over the
     dwindling link, felt its reception, and an answering feeling of intent; Obi-Wan
     would wait as well.
    

          It would be tricky, they would have to be careful. He was scheduled to
     remain here, on Angel One, for the first cycle of the harvest, working in the fields
     alongside the Golts, as his Master had always done. But he would find a way,
     would find the time, and the transport.
    

          Even now the bond simmered in his mind and if he concentrated on it he
     could catch snatches of conversation, feelings and thoughts. An imperfect picture
     of his lover's life, but more than he had heard of anyone ever experiencing outside
     of fully telepathic races.
    

          Rising to his feet slowly, feeling hands upon him, helping him, he opened
     eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, and stared into the dark third eye of the Golt
     Priestess.
    

          "Go." She said, in standard. "Bring him with you next year, and he can do
     the work you leave now."
    

          Qui-Gon nodded. He could not argue - she was essentially the single ruler
     of the entire planet, and held authority over the other two as well, Golt being the
     primary religion of all three existing Angels. There had once been a  population on
     the third planet as well, but at the moment he couldn't recall how it had come to be
     rendered uninhabitable.
    

          She seemed to be waiting. He nodded again, suddenly at a loss, and turned
     away. His belongings were in her small home, his shuttle returned to the transport
     ship he had hitched a ride on, he would have to go to the small spaceport and try
     to catch a ride going in the direction of Rigel... it could take several days, he was a
     long way, Obi-Wan was closer, but the younger man had a mission as well, he was
     en route to yet another diplomatic conference, where he would be expected to
     soothe the nerves and stroke the egos of quarreling dignitaries until they consented
     to stop fighting among themselves and give their people the attention they
     deserved... Obi-Wan might not be free for *weeks*. *Months*.
    

          He would wait. However long it took. If the Council called, he would
     become unavailable. Eventually they would send someone searching for him - but
     it could take a while.
    

          He was contemplating leaving the Order. Just like that.
    

          Pausing in the process of packing his single bag, Qui-Gon laughed aloud. It
     was a free-ing sort of feeling, to realize that.
    

          Without discussion, without meditation, without regret; he was thinking of
     leaving the Order. Leaving the Jedi. The question rose; What would he be if he
     was not Jedi? but he did not stop to answer it. Some questions, if left alone,
     answered themselves.
    

          Packed up and ready to go, he felt Obi-Wan's response to his unrestrained
     laughter. The younger Jedi wanted to watch him laugh, to make him laugh.
    

          Soon. They would find a way.
    

          The Force hummed within him, thrumming with sympathetic energy. It was
     pleased by his actions. He felt at peace with himself, in tune with his surroundings,
     a part of the Force again after years of fighting it at the most basic level. For what
     was more basic than love?
    

          Stepping out of the house and turning to walk down the long road that
     would lead him to the Spaceport, Qui-Gon decided that that was answer enough to
     anything.
    

     ***
    

          The loose trousers felt odd, and he found himself brushing his hands down
     the legs, trying to smooth non-existent wrinkles in the slick black fabric. A form of
     silk produced by Aldereian moth larvae, he bought purchased them because of his
     basic fondness for all things of Alderaan, and because they were, despite their
     beauty and simple design, one of the least expensive items offered in the resort's
     humanoid store. Conversely, the matching long tunic, which he wore over one of
     his own undertunics, the cream color showing at chest and collar, was more
     comfortable, clinging to his shoulders and falling in a straight line to his thighs,
     belted with his own belt.
    

          Weapons were not allowed on Rigel; they were confiscated at the
     spaceport and held by the authorities during a patron's stay. Smuggling had once
     been a problem, but not the Rigel authorities employed about a hundred telepathic
     individuals of different races, and everyone coming onto the planet, and leaving it
     was screened. It was time-consuming and a stark invasion of privacy, but those
     were the rules. Anyone who did not wish to comply could seek their pleasure
     elsewhere. The telepaths were sworn to secrecy on the pain of death and
     underwent regularly scheduled memory dispersals, a practice that made Jedi
     shudder on principle. But the rewards for those telepaths who were willing to
     forsake the general Republic-wide rules of courtesy and withstand the mental
     invasions, the rewards were great. They were among the most pampered and
     wealthiest individuals in the Republic, often retiring after only a few years of
     service, and all of the excesses of Rigel were available to them.
    

          For a moment Qui-Gon wondered what the Veridian telepath that had
     examined him had thought. The Jedi Master had passed through the examination
     line along with other visitors, wearing one of his few sets of civilian clothing, a
     simple grey workman's coverall that was well below the standard of dress. His
     lightsabre had been secured in an inner pocket of a short cloak - no matter the laws
     of this planet, he was not going to give it up easily.
    

          The Veridian telepath, now an outcast among his own people for choosing
     this path, had known him for what he was, and known his purpose - but had not
     commented, or directed him toward the weapons detector that anyone with
     doubtful intentions had to pass through. Whether it had been pity or some strange
     act of comraderie, Qui-Gon did not know and would not ask. For now he was
     safely ensconced in a small suite at one of the smaller and less expensive resorts -
     which meant it only boasted a few thousand rooms and not tens of thousands - and
     he was waiting for Obi-Wan to come.
    

          And his Padawan was coming. During the three days it had taken Qui-Gon
     to reach Rigel the link between them - or bond or connection or whatever they
     chose to call it - had only grown stronger. In any other circumstances he would
     have thought this a bad thing but they were both still riding the wave of
     satisfaction the bond caused within them; This was good, this was right, this was
     the will of the Force. Surfing the crest of that wave, there was little room for fear
     or worry, and he had been aware of Obi-Wan's actions almost from that first
     moment. Not always clear, not always coherent, the images and emotions he
     received were not quite a narrative, but they were more of a connection that he
     had ever had with any other person. Even his training bond with Yoda, which he
     knew had been of remarkable strength and closeness, paled in comparison to this.
    

          Obi-Wan was on his way. He had landed in the nearest spaceport and
     disembarked and was now working his way through the long line that must pass
     before the telepath. Qui-Gon had urged him, without words, to choose the line
     cleared by the Veridian and so his lover had chosen the longest and
     slowest-moving line. It would not be noticed, those who came to Rigel had a wide
     assortment of prejudices and foibles.
    

          With a final swipe at his new trousers, Qui-Gon left the rooms, palming the
     control panel to lock them, wondering briefly if that could be traced back to him,
     and then he realized again that he did not care. They  would not seek exposure or
     behave recklessly - any more than they already had by coming here - but in his
     mind the decision was made. There were other ways to serve the Republic,
     perhaps even better ones. To be Jedi was a matter of heart and not controlled by
     any force outside of himself.
    

          There was a large fountain in the main lobby of the hotel, lit by ever-
     changing scatter lights in a spectrum-shifting pattern, sometimes visible to humans,
     sometimes not. The lobby itself was a cavernous room with multi-storied ceilings
     and expanses of glazed glass that allowed in the pink sunlight and blocked the heat
     it generated. Diversions, games, gambling and entertainment could all be found
     within the walls, but if one chose to venture outseide they would find a meticulous
     garden planet, brightly lit by a warm red sun and scented by a multitude of
     flowering plants. The ocean offered warm waves and smooth red sand and the
     mountains were famed for their pure powder snow.
    

          Sitting on the low wall of the fountain, the Jedi Master watched the people
     around him. Some were easy to identify; gamblers mourning losses and planning
     their next foray, first-time visitors gawking, the young men and women provided
     by the hotel for guests' sexual gratification strolling languidly through the crowds,
     waiting, hoping to be chosen.
    

          And there, at the three-story-high double door of etched glass bound by
     marble...Obi-Wan.
    

          His lover did not look dwarfed by the enormous room or heroically-scaled
     door. Wearing a hooded floor-length tunic of brushed mint-green leather, which
     Qui-Gon remembered, it had been a gift from a grateful ruler to his then-Padawan,
     who had single-handedly saved the king's wife from terrorists while his master was
     trapped in vain negotiations. Obi-Wan looked... ethereal.
    

          /A strange word to apply to a reasonably well-built, fairly athletic person./
     The words, suddenly clear in his mind, were amused. /I have never been a frail
     flower, Qui./
    

          /But you possess beauty that causes envy in the hearts of angels./ The
     archaic reference drew a smile that he could not see beneath the heavy cowl of the
     tunic, but his lover began to move toward him. The simple, straight design allowed
     the leather to drift just above his boots, making an almost-silent swishing sound.
    

          /Would that I could fly, as I envy them./ The retort was without heat and
     still amused.
    

          Still seated, Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan come to him. The crowds parted for and
     around the young Jedi, recognizing him as something, even if they could not have
     known what. Several people turned and looked toward Qui-Gon, sensing the
     atmosphere that stretched between them.
    

          "Hello, Master." Soft words filled with laughter and love and the certainty
     that this was where Qui-Gon was supposed to be. Here, waiting for him. Obi-Wan.
    

          "Greetings, Padawan. I see you are keeping your focus on the moment."
    

          "As you always said I should." The younger man stopped before him. They
     were in a public place, surrounded by a hundred people or more. And Qui-Gon
     didn't care. He reached out with both long arms, wrapping them around the slender
     waist, and pulled his lover close, between his own legs, to press his cheek to
     Obi-Wan's chest, closing his eyes with a sigh that said all that words could not.
    

          Obi-Wan closed his hands over his master's head, bowing his own, and they
     both moaned softly as the bond expanded between them.   Thoughts and feelings
     were shared as soon as they arose, questions answered before they were asked.
    

          It occurred to Qui-Gon that from this moment on there would always be
     someone who understood him. Who loved him and wanted him and knew exactly
     why he was the way he was and did things the way he did them. And it would
     never change, that acceptance would always be there.
    

          Tears came to his eyes and he pulled away, wiping them with his sleeve,
     feeling embarrassed and somewhat silly.
    

          /The need has faded./ Obi-Wan commented, turning to look around
     casually, giving him time to recover himself, one hand gently squeezing Qui-Go's
     shoulder.
    

          /I am a foolish old man, Obi, and I love you./ Chuckling, at himself and just
     with happiness, Qui-Gon stood and put an arm over his shoulders, steering him
     toward the nearest restaurant. He knew from the memories he could now access
     that the younger man had not eaten during his hectic journey here. "I've never seen
     you wear this before, not since it was given to you. How did you happen to have it
     with you?"
    

          Putting a matching arm around the taller man's waist, Obi-Wan shook his
     head and let the cowl fall back. His hair was pulled into a tight, short braid that
     looked very different than the usual loose style he usually wore.
    

          "My formal whites were destroyed during that battle on Equar."
    

          "The one where you wound up face-down in the equivalent of the city
     dump with the princess on your back?" Qui-Gon smirked.
    

          "Yes, *that* one." he received a sidelong glance for his humor. "They were
     destroyed. Master of Wardrobe was backlogged and couldn't find me a new set
     when we were on Coruscant for the rank-and-file, and this is the next closest thing
     I have to formal wear. It is the *only* civilian wear I have with me."
    

          "But why did you have it with you?" Through the doors, greeted by a
     humanoid female with startling orange hair and eyes, settled at a table by the
     window overlooking the coastline where lavender waves pummeled indigo cliffs
     before the question was answered.
    

          "Because the Lordly Five of Svhillo require formal dress at dinner, and
     wearing my everyday robes to the meal after negotiating in them would have given
     offense."
    

          "Ah." Using the automated system Qui-Gon ordered a bottle of Golden
     Alderaan. He felt like celebrating - for the rest of his life.
    

          "We could you know." Obi-Wan said suddenly, having quieted after his
     explanation. "We could seek employment here, become trade representatives or
     personal security. You could be an advisor to a king, and I would be your pleasure
     boy. We could act as we chose, for the rest of our lives."
    

          There was a smile on his face as he spoke, but his thoughts were far from
     cheerful. Aware of his Master's recent acceptance of other possible lives for them,
     the  younger man could not reconcile himself with the finality of that decision.
    

          "We can continue as we have been, Obi-love." Qui-Gon leaned across the
     small table and grasped the younger man's hands gently, caressing them with long
     fingers. "We can stay with the Order and hide what has happened, for as long as
     we can. And when we are found out we will accept the responsibility for our
     actions and bear the consequences."
    

          "We will be found out." Obi-Wan sighed, and lifted a hand to his mouth,
     kissed his master's knuckles, his eyes sliding closed.
    

          "The way things are now - the way we are now - I do not see how we
     would not be." He didn't add that they were both technically AWOL at the
     moment as well. He had a vague idea of what Obi-Wan had done to make their
     rendezvous, knew that the younger knight had used the Force for personal gain,
     influencing the diplomats and encouraging a quick settlement in the negotiations. It
     saddened him, as many aspects of their situation did. The fact that the settlement
     the younger man had forced  really was the most beneficial to all involved was
     beside the point; Jedi were supposed to remain neutral.
    

          "Then it is only a matter of time." The green-grey eyes opened and studied
     him with sad joy. "I find that I do not care."
    

          "Exactly." Qui-Gon agreed, using their twined hands to stroke his cheek,
     rough with a days' worth of light stubble.
    

          "Living in the moment begins to take on a whole new meaning." The
     brilliant smile was all his, all for him.
    

          He would never - they would never - be alone again.
    

          "Let's eat and then we can walk the beach and watch the sunset." Obi-Wan
     suggested, mentally laughing at his own romanticism but silently rejoicing in the
     ease of this meeting. The need was there, but it was quiet, resting. Waiting for the
     right time and place to jump them. Giving them time to breathe.
    

          /There are places I would rather not get sand, Obi-love./ Qui-Gon laughed
     with him, their joy rising to the surface but contained with two lifetimes' worth of
     restraint.
    

          /You've never done that on a beach before?/ Mock surprise. /Then you're in
     for a treat. The sand is only a small annoyance.../
    

          They ordered dinner and silently argued the merits of, among other things,
     public lovemaking, beaches vs. water, beds vs. sofas and Qui-Gon's favorite, tops
     and bottoms. Before the need had always driven them to frantic, desperate first
     couplings and their schedules left them little chance to savor the intricacies of their
     relationship, but tonight they might be able to change that.
    

          "After all," Obi-Wan told him over his third glass of wine, "This is the first
     day of the rest of our lives."
    

          In payment for the clich‚ Qui-Gon acted completely out of character and
     threw a small sticky cake at him.
    

     ***
         

          "That was very nice." Bracing one hand on the wall Obi-Wan leaned  tug
     off a boot. His mind was at ease, drifting on the currents of their bond, not really
     thinking or planning. Responding to that soothing sensation Qui-Gon closed the
     door and slipped behind him, arms around the slender, muscled waist, the leather
     warmed by their evening on the beach and friction with the smooth skin beneath.
     Because of the number of people on the beaches they had decided against public
     sex, neither of them exhibitionists at heart.
    

          "Yes, it was." He agreed, his actions and thoughts saying that something
     else would be just as nice.
    

          /After the last time, *nice* sounds about perfect./ Obi-Wan told him,
     tugging off the second boot and leaning back into his embrace, head falling to the
     taller man's shoulder.  The reference to their last sexual encounter made Qui-Gon
     flinch, almost imperceptibly, but the younger man turned in his arms, tilting his
     head back to look him in the eyes, arms sliding around Qui-Gon's neck as he
     scolded softly. "It was what it was, Qui, and nothing more. If we are lucky, and
     careful, it won't happen again. Everything feels different now."
    

          A short, soft kiss, and then he answered, hands clasped low on his lover's
     back, thumbs stroking the leather, calluses catching in the brushed nap. His hands
     were rough and needed to be oiled.
    

          "It is different, Obi, but it's the same too. I think this is what it was always
     meant to be."
    

          "More powerful and less overwhelming." Another kiss. Longer, Obi-Wan
     breathing through flared nostrils, holding himself back so that only their chests and
     lips touched.
    

          "No less important, or forbidden for it." A heavy sigh, the weight of guilt
     settling on broad shoulders. Broad enough to carry it without stooping, but such a
     burden would always cause damage; to bodies and souls.
    

          /I would like to try to just enjoy this, Qui. For the evening, or as long as we
     can. There will be time for the guilt later. There is always time for more pain - / He
     took his master's mouth in an aggressive, deep kiss, using both hands on the older
     man's head to control it, /- Live in the moment, with me./
    

          /Yes./ The thought answered this and every question Obi-Wan could have
     asked. For Qui-Gon there was nothing more. Obi-Wan, their bond, it was all that
     mattered. For the moment.
    

          Pain would come soon, and then the guilt, increased by their recent actions,
     their AWOL status, but those didn't matter.
    

          This did.
    

          Bending swiftly he lifted Obi-Wan at the knees, which made the younger
     man laugh across the bond.
    

          /I thought we established that one of us doesn't have to be dominant?/ The
     question recalled memories of dinner and the casual, cheerful discussion.
    

          /Not dominant, would never dominate you, Obi-Love. But larger and
     stronger I am now, and so I will use that to both our advantage./
    

          Strong hands clasped his face as he carried the younger man into the
     bedroom, soft lips brushed his as Obi-Wan spoke.
    

          /You will always be larger-than-life in my mind, Qui, and your strength of
     character outshines all I know./
    

          Aware that he had let a few fears slip with that comment - the fear of
     growing old, of becoming a burden to his younger lover, of being weak and
     needing care - Qui-Gon resolutely put them out of his mind and tipped his head to
     kiss his lover, who was showing every sign of becoming concerned. A concerned
     Obi-Wan could be nice, but right now he wanted a totally different aspect of the
     younger man.
    

          He dropped obi-Wan to the bed and followed him down, covering the
     smaller body with his own. Like a switch had been thrown the need burst between
     them, blooming into existence like a small fireball, singeing them at the borders of
     the contact, but they did not catch fire.
    

          /This is so good!/ Obi-Wan blurted, surprised. the controlled need was
     somehow more powerful than the frantic desperation that had taken them before.
     His shock was amusing and Qui-Gon returned a soft mental chuckle, delighted that
     he could communicate so well with his mouth full and hands busy. Tongues
     tangled in a traditional fashion and clothes were gradually peeled away, revealing
     slick flesh and curling hair and rampant desire tendered by soul-deep love.
    

          /It is this good, Obi./ There was no need for preparation, the younger man
     lifted his legs as soon as they were both naked, and Qui-Gon knelt between them,
     his hands gently clasping narrow hips that would have thrust off the bed if he had
     not.
    

          /Want you./ Obi-Wan arched upwards in that grip, nipples peaked and
     swollen, hair escaping the tight braid, dripping around his sweaty face. /Want you
     now./
    

          The urgency was there, banked but still burning, and Qui-Gon felt it as
     well. Felt it, answered it. Both large hands crept around Obi-Wan's hips until his
     fingers touched across his ass and then he lifted, and fitted his cock to that
     vulnerable hole in a single smooth motion.
    

          /You have me, always./ He used one shaking hand to brush the sweaty hair
     away from Obi-Wan's face and the younger man smiled, tenderly, and reached for
     him with both hands. He gripped Qui-Gon's shoulders and turned his head to kiss
     the hand that caressed his face and urged his master to movement.
    

          The Force reached for them, called them, but they resisted, as always, still
     unwilling to share this with the power that supported them *and* the rest of the
     Order, who would condemn them still. In spite of the joy of rightness of what they
     did and what they had become, they would be condemned. So Qui-Gon thrust, at
     first gently, and then steadily, and Obi-Wan let one hand go over his head, seeking
     something to anchor himself to, gripping the headboard fiercely, and his free hand
     slipped between their bodies to stroke his own engorged cock in time with Qui-
     Gon's thrusts, and the older man shielded them from the desires of the Force.
    

          /Feel so good inside me./ Obi-Wan murmured, adrift on the sensations
     created. /So large and hot./
    

          /I love you./ Needing more friction, more depth, Qui-Gon looped his arms
     under Obi-Wan's legs and they obligingly fell further open, the backs of his knees
     sweaty in the crook of Qui-Gon's elbows as he leaned forward and braced himself
     on the bed and began thrusting harder, faster. Still not frantic, but definitely
     *there*.
    

          "Oh, Force, oh Gods, oh, Qui..." Gasping as his prostate was firmly
     massaged, Obi-Wan began to writhe on the cock that impaled him, but he wasn't in
     a position for leverage, and his master was still stroking him firmly, steadily in and
     out, breathing deeply and evenly.
    

          /Yes, Obi, yes./ He answered, unable to form words. Watching with
     shuddering interest, he saw Obi-Wan clench his hand on his own cock and pull it
     steadily, squeezing it harder, his body arching up, hips lifted, head back, silently
     begging for more even as he squirmed with delight from what he had.
    

          "So good, so good." Obi-Wan spread his legs even wider, Qui-Gon
     spreading his arms further to keep the position, finding that his cock sank even
     deeper into his young lover now, and Obi-Wan was gripping his own cock tightly,
     the foreskin no longer sliding smoothly, the head swollen red and purpling with
     need.
    

          /Go ahead, love, come, love./ He urged silently, knowing that he would
     come himself as soon as Obi-wan gave in.
    

          "Qui-Gon!" With a hoarse shout of relief Obi-Wan arched high off the bed,
     Qui-Gon controlling the movement with his arms, and his release fountained out of
     him, splattering them both. With a deep sigh of relief Qui-Gon thrust once more,
     deep into the convulsing hole, where the muscles grabbed and pulled at his cock,
     and came, too.
    

          Sinking down slowly he allowed Obi-Wan's legs to fall to the bed and then
     he lay on top of his lover again, cradled close in strong arms as the shudders took
     him, and the pain came, worse than ever before.
    

          It seemed that the Force did not appreciate their choices, or the fact that it
     wasn't being allowed to play with this new development between them. The pain
     welled and surged and finally, finally began to fade.
    

          Coming back to himself Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's arms tight and strong
     around him, and heard the faint gulps and muffled breathing that indicated sobs,
     and felt the wetness at the back of his neck. Obi-Wan was crying.
    

          Touching his mind, he found it awash with guilt and desperate sadness and
     an overwhelming conviction that this was wrong, this pain was wrong and the
     certainty that he, Obi-Wan was responsible for it.
    

          /No, Obi. No. We chose together, we suffer together./ He rolled over and
     gathered the younger man into his arms, surprised when he came so willingly,
     curling on his chest and weeping like a bereft child. /t will not always be so, love./
     Qui-Gon tried to reassure, deeply wounded by the pain his lover was suffering on
     his behalf. /We will find a way to reconcile this./
    

          Obi-Wan believed him, that much was clear, but the sobbing had to run its
     course, he needed to get it out of his system, and when he was through Qui-Gon
     called a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned them both gently, the younger man
     limp and malleable in his embrace.
    

          /I'm sorry./ The younger man offered at last, when they were tucked up
     together, safe and warm and rocked again on the currents of the Force. He was
     emabarrassed and shamed by his lack of control.  
    

          /It was a long time coming./ Sending waves of ressurance and affection, his
     master told him without words that he didn't need to feel anything but cleansed.
    

          /Why do I feel as if I've lost something when I've gained everything I could
     want?/ He cuddled closer and Qui-Gon held him more tightly, responding to the
     unspoken request.
    

          /Not everything./ His master sighed and closed his eyes, breathing in the
     scent of Obi-Wan's hair, sweaty and musky and very like perfect. /We've reached a
     crossroads, of sorts. Just as I decided that I would do whatever was necessary to
     keep you beside me, we have decided as a pair that we will do what we have to.
     We've been rewarded by a new depth to the bond, but there is a price to pay for
     everything./
    

          /I am mourning possibilities./ Obi-Wan sighed as well and kissed Qui-Gon's
     neck, where his breath blew warm and damp.
    

          /As much as we rejoice in what we have become, we will mourn what
     could have been./
    

          "That seems rather selfish." He spoke aloud, barely a whisper, and tilted his
     head up when strong hands encouraged the motion.
    

          "Love is a selfish emotion in many respects." Qui-Gon told him seriously.
     "We restrict our focus to only those we love and the rest of the Republic falls to
     the wayside. We must resist the temptation."
    

          "Yes, master ." Resigned agreement, exhausted acceptance.
    

          "Sleep now. In the morning we will meditate and find exactly what has
     changed between us."
    

          "You like to make schedules, don't you, Qui?" A hint of amusement this
     time, and the grey-green eyes, nearly blued with exhaustion, slip shut.
    

          /The only way I can keep up with you./ An equally sleepy answer. There
     would be time in the morning to decide what to do next.
    

          /so nice.../ Obi-Wan's sleeping thought echoed in his mind, and then the
     night took them.
   

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