#sith!quixobi

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Untitled (Sith!Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan)

I’d hoped to keep to the one prompt a day, but I’m behind. Ah well. C’est la vie.

This is for January 1/Day 3 of SubObi Week: Sith AU. I was imagining it as part of my “Salvation on Bandomeer” plot bunny. Which is probably why the end feels so “meh” and transient to me.

__________

Qui-Gon exhaled. “I think I have a problem.”

“I've told you that from the moment you brought him home,” Dooku said.

“Congratulations, Master. You were right.”

“Don't be smart.”

Qui-Gon ran his hand over his face in an uncharacteristic gesture, closed his eyes.

“You, as Sotiris, would do well to turn him,” Dooku offered, his tone one of someone who felt they should offer advice even knowing it would not be taken. Truth be told, he liked his adopted, well...under the circumstances, the word grandson wasn't particularly appropriate. But Obi-Wan had spirit, strength, a connection with the Force that should be nurtured, trained and not wasted on growing plants.

“No. I don't want him falling down the same canyons of shadow that I fall, much as I enjoy bringing him close to the edge. He's not meant for the Dark. And I… I want his Light.” Qui-Gon  sat back, knowing he'd said too much. He didn't have to look at Dooku to see that. “Two years. It's been two of seeing him wanting me and my doing nothing about it, pretending I don't even notice—”

“For what?”

“What?”

Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Why have you been ignoring the attraction between you?”

“He's my apprentice.”

The other brow arched. “This is not the Jedi Order. There are no rules about fraternization between masters and apprentices. He is of legal age in this system. And he's far more mature than you were at 17.”

“Well I, I...” Qui-Gon stopped, face going momentarily slack before he blinked, straightened, rose from his chair and left the room.

Dooku shook his head and turned back to his books, snorting softly. “How common sense evades the intelligent.”

17 year old Obi-Wan Kenobi had been with his Sith master for four years, plucked off Bandomeer just when he thought he might go mad having to Force coax one more seedling to sprout. Not that he had anything against seedlings or farming and, in fact, often found gardening a good form of meditation, but that was not what he wanted from life.

And Qui-Gon…Master Sotiris had known that.

Looking at the time, Obi-Wan stood, stretched and padded out into the kitchen, setting the tea kettle to heat. His master had commed him earlier to tell him the time he would be back. Hot tea would be a good welcome home.  

It had been weeks since Obi-Wan had seen Qui-Gon, Master Tyrannus having sent him off to some far flung planet to work on making political connections, about which Obi-Wan was not yet to know. So he pretended he didn’t.  He kept to his books and the lessons his master had set him and tended to the home they shared.

Obi-Wan wandered into the sitting room, looking over it closely. He’d had the cleaning droid sweep the carpet clean, but everything else he’d taken care of: dusting the books, organizing the holocrons in their cupboard, picking up the clothes that had gotten flung around haphazardly in his master’s absence. He spied a pair of socks and plucked them up, throwing them into the laundry chute for the droid to take care of.

At first, he’d started cleaning up and tending to matters that his master seemed to overlook or discard because he was grateful. Then, because he felt obligated to give back to the man who had saved him, who had put a lightsaber back in his hands and taught him the ways of the Force; those the Jedi would have taught and much more.

And then…well, then it was because when Obi-Wan did things for his master, he felt good. Not just the pleasure of a job well done, but a warmth unfurling deep in his belly that he couldn’t rightly explain.

Until a few weeks ago, the night before his master was due to depart. He’d come in from a training session with Master Tyrannus, wearied as always after such a session, and slumped into his chair, not even taking his boots off.

So Obi-Wan did it for him. Found a strange and immeasurable pleasure in kneeling at Qui-Gon’s feet, releasing the buckles and, one hand behind his master’s knee, working the boot off one foot before switching to the next.

Only when both boots were off, did Obi-Wan raise his head. The look on Qui-Gon’s face was startling. Not the gold of his eyes. Obi-Wan noticed that sometimes happened in moments of heightened emotion. He was used to it, found it beautiful. But the naked want on Qui-Gon's face, the intense hunger. It had had him reeling back on his haunches.

Then Qui-Gon thanked him, rose and disappeared into his room for the rest of the evening.

He'd replayed the moment in his head everyday that Qui-Gon had been gone. He hasn't misread the desire, surely. And Qui-Gon had to know how he felt. Obi-Wan knew he'd been less than discreet at times, try as he might.

Obi-Wan heard the lock disengage and he met Qui-Gon at the door, ready to take his cloak.

“How was your trip, Master?”

“Successful, if overly long. How have you been, my apprentice? Did you complete your lessons?”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan hung the cloak, turned to face Qui-Gon. “And Master Tyrannus has been working with me on my saber technique.”

“Good.” Qui-Gon paused, watching him. The silence grew thick with anticipation. Then, “Come, Obi-Wan. Remove my boots.”

Obi-Wan twitched in surprise, followed Qui-Gon to his chair, watched him settle. Qui-Gon looked up at him expectantly. Feeling that funny warmth in his belly again, Obi-Wan, not breaking eye contact with Qui-Gon, slowly knelt, reached for the first buckle.

“Socks too,” Qui-Gon said after a moment.

Obi-Wan complied. One foot naked and he admired the strong arch and long toes, resisting the urge to run his finger along the underside of his master's foot.

By the time Qui-Gon was bootless and sockless, Obi-Wan could hear the change in his breathing and he sat back on his haunches, looking up at his master expectantly.

Qui-Gon leaned forward. He cupped the back of Obi-Wan's head, tangled his fingers in the loosely bound hair. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, felt Qui-Gon's breath on his cheek.

The kettle hummed in the kitchen, sputtering water.

“That'll be the tea, Master.”

“Wonderful. You may serve it.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan rose, stopped when Qui-Gon's fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Naked, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan's breath hitched. The warmth that had pooled in his belly shot down his legs, made them weak, pooled in his crotch. Qui-Gon was looking at him closely, searchingly, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“Yes. Master.” Obi-Wan began to disrobe. Having been mostly at home, he was only wearing a tunic and trousers. He folded them neatly and set them on the sofa, standing in front of Qui-Gon as naked as the day he was born.

“No underwear?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan flushed. “Never around the house, Master.”

Qui-Gon nodded as if this were sage advice. “See to the tea, then.”

In the kitchen, Obi-Wan tried to control his shaking hands, especially once he splashed himself with boiling water. Luckily, he'd only spilled on his hand. He measured out leaves into the tea pot and added the water, then turned to arranging the cream and sugar on a tray, along with a plate of biscuits he'd come across in the pantry. He carried the lot carefully into the sitting room, placing it on the low table.

A hand on his flank startled him and Qui-Gon's fingers stroked him gently as if in apology.

Kneeling again, Obi-Wan added cream and sugar to a cup, carefully pouring the tea, then offering the cup and saucer to Qui-Gon, who smiled at him, eyes flickering gold, then back to blue.

“I have a confession to make, apprentice. I've known about your feelings for some time now but was too caught up in old habits to do anything about it. That's no longer an issue. And judging by your reaction...” Qui-Gon's fingers brushed against Obi-Wan's cock that lay half erect against his thigh. “You are open to this change.”

Obi-Wan, eyes wide, nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Then we'll have a lot to talk about. But not now. Now, I want to relax and enjoy my tea. Come here.”

Obi-Wan shifted closer to Qui-Gon's chair, settling on his rump, the carpet beneath him soft and strangely compelling against his bare cheeks, his balls.

Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's head, guided it to rest against his thigh. Obi-Wan breathed in deep the smell of his master:  the metal and oil odor of small transport ships, far away places, ozone, detergent, the intimate scent of Qui-Gon's sweat.

The smell of home.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Secret and Shadow (Ficlet)

Have this random bit of something for the Jinnobi Challenge.

________________

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. – Sonnet XVII,  Pablo Neruda

~*~

The teeth leave his throat and Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

For months, they’ve done this dance.

“Look at me.”

It’s a command he doesn’t want to obey. 

The hand tangling in his hair tightens in warning and he does. As he has every time they’ve met.

The Sith’s eyes are blue as glacier water. His brown hair more silver than Obi-Wan remembers. His smile sharper. “There’s my boy.”

The voice carries with it a current of the Force. Obi-Wan feels it in his mind, hot and heavy, trailing along the bond between them. The bond that had been severed on the floor of the Theed power generator. The bond that has slowly healed itself with their every meeting and grown stronger than it has ever been. The bond that grows stronger every time the payment is made and the Sith sinks himself into Obi-Wan’s body, into his mind.

Tell me who it is.

You are no match for him.

The Council should be inf—

The Council is no match for him. Confront a Sith Master head-on and you will die. All of you. But I can help. The boy is the key. I can help you mold him, keep him safe.

It’s a price he’s willing to pay, Obi-Wan tells himself, thinking of Anakin’s face when he saw his mother on the steps of the Jedi Temple, bought and freed by a mysterious benefactor.

“The role of martyr doesn’t suit you,” the Sith whispers against his ear, catching the thought. He shifts on top of him, brings them together in flesh and in the Force, captures Obi-Wan’s cry with a hot mouth, a slick tongue.

It isn’t a role he wants to play. But it’s the only one he can. The role the Council will believe, should the situation come to light. The role that keeps him in the Temple, keeps him training Anakin, when a not-small part of him wants nothing more than to stay here, wrapped up in secret and shadow.

He shakes off his heavy thoughts, meets those blue eyes and gives himself over to the moment.

As Qui-Gon had taught him.

The Sith smiles.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Nearly a year after Naboo, Obi-Wan feels someone watching him.

Not the eyes of strangers when he’s on the streets of Coruscant, not the questioning glances of citizens in cities and on planets where he’s been sent on short missions in between seeing to Anakin’s Initiate tutoring.

No…this gaze is familiar. And not. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can remember the warmth of eyes on him in the training salle, the approving glances when he completed a particularly difficult kata or brought to light something overlooked while on a mission.

He knows this gaze.

(But it’s impossible...)

And it has never felt this hot, this covetous.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Show Me (Sith!Qui/Obi-Wan)

For @quiobiweek Wednesday - “Hate Sex”

_________________________

“This changes nothing.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flicker gold, then blue. “You say that every time.” His mouth is against Obi-Wan’s ear, his fingers grip Obi-Wan’s hips. “I think you lie.”

The push has been building inside him; Obi-Wan releases it, but his old master is ready, doesn’t even stumble.

He spins Obi-Wan with barely a touch, pushes him face first into the wall, kicks his legs apart, and molds himself to Obi-Wan’s back, interlacing their fingers and pinning his hands next to his head. He nuzzles the fine hairs along Obi-Wan’s neck. “I taught you better. Show me you mean it.”

_____________________

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Untitled (Sith!Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan)

“What’s your name, little Jedi?”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks, bringing his saber up to block the powerful overhead swing. He feels the blow through his arms and slips to the side of his attacker, seeking space.

“You and I keep meeting up, lovely one. I’d like to put a name with the face.” The Sith’s eyes flash as he grins, the color of the sky at sunset.

“You don’t need to know my name.” Obi-Wan strikes, but his saber slices through empty air and he spins just in time to block a blow from behind.

The Sith grins. “I am Sotiris.” He presses close, pushing Obi-Wan across the loose detritus. “But when I have you in my bed, you can simply call me, “my Lord.”

The last statement is accompanied by a wash of lust that slams into Obi-Wan’s shields, makes him gasp, stumble, and lose his ground. The next moment, he’s pressed up against the wall, his lightsaber disappearing ehind the Sith’s back and the man himself pushing up against him, so close Obi-Wan can feel the twitch of muscle beneath his tunic, smell the clean, faintly spicy scent of his hair.

The Sith’s lips brush the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. “Your name.”

“No.”

“Odd name. Not quite fitting.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to reply when he hears Anakin shouting for him.

The air shifts, grows heavy as the Sith takes a breath, seems to hold it. His eyes find Obi-Wan’s. His hand finds the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck and grasps it and turns Obi-Wan’s face toward the light. There’s something like recognition in his eyes. “Yoda’s protégé? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan stares at him placidly

Sotiris chuckles. “Oh. Small galaxy. Hm. Yoda was always a stickler for Jedi tradition. Tell me, young one, did he insist on celibacy during your training?” The hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck tightens, not enough to hurt but a bloom of heat laced pain blooms in the back of Obi-Wan’s head, recedes almost as quickly. Obi-Wan blinks as the Sith leans close, his lips hovering just above Obi-Wan’s. “Are you…untouched?”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s is followed by the sound of his saber igniting. The Sith is gone so fast Obi-Wan has to catch himself from sliding down the wall.

Anakin stands in first stance, blinking at Obi-Wan, before looking around at the suddenly empty room.

In the window above them, a shadow, black against the moonlight, catches Obi-Wan’s attention. He thinks he can see the gleam of blue and gold, a flash of white teeth. And in his head, a voice that shouldn’t have been there, purring across the tenuous beginnings of a...bond. “I’ll see you soon, my Obi-Wan.”

______________ Rough sketch of a random idea.

I am still working on the prompts I’ve received. Hopefully more effectively now that I’ve got my move completed.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

From Behind/prompt sneak peek (QuiObi)

A prompt request. In the works.

______

“Master?” Obi-Wan said. They had discussed positions and Obi-Wan had counted his one among his least favorite.  

Qui-Gon stroked a hand down the length of Obi-Wan’s spine. “Do you trust me?”

Obi-Wan blinked. Of course. “Yes.”

“Then believe me,” Qui-Gon said, “that when I take you this way, it will be anything but cold and distant.”

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

The Sacrifice (QuiObiAni)

Have some “fallen for no identifiable reason” Sith!Qui/Obi/Sith!Ani. This bubbled up the other day and was supposed to be like 100-300 words, originally. But no.

Because I can.

____________________________

Obi-Wan stands on the steps of the Jedi Temple, in the early hours of the morning. He looks toward the horizon, the faint glow of dawn not far off, and closes his eyes.  

It’s been a year since Qui-Gon Jinn, his former master and sometime mission partner, fell to the dark side and took Anakin Skywalker, his eighteen year old padawan, with him.  First it had been rumor, then conjecture and finally, fact, backed up by recorded images of Qui-Gon and Anakin meeting with a militia group on one of the worlds in which the Jedi were trying to mediate a peaceful end to a civil war. Obi-Wan remembers the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, the lightheadedness that took him to his knees when the news reached him. 

~*~*~*~

It’s been 9 months since the gifts began showing up at the Temple, addressed to Obi-Wan; some, in elegant handwriting that he knew as well as his own, some in a messier, scrawling script that he had become familiar with as he helped a small boy, then a teenager with his homework.

The gifts were small things at first, things that would not look out of place in a Jedi’s quarters: a smooth river stone here, the feather of an exotic morning song bird there.

Then came larger gifts: scrolls and books so old that Obi-Wan turned them over to the Jedi Archives for safe keeping. Foods delivered in self-cooling packages: Obi-Wan’s favorite Alderaanian chocolates, sweet meats from Nakadia, dried fruits from Dantooine, spiced wine from Corellia. The Council, perturbed but, as Jedi do, trying not to show it, had the food tested and, when found harmless, donated.

Then came the strange gifts. Art prints of a pale, long limbed, red haired man in supine positions and in various states of undress, passion written across his features, the impression of lovers given in the fall of a shadow over his naked chest, the curve of a hand around a thigh. He tucked the prints away in an old book of poetry that had once been Qui-Gon’s.

Then there were handwritten notes—in two sets of handwriting—of only one, two or three lines, that made Obi-Wan’s stomach clench and his face burn. With shame or arousal, he isn’t even sure.

I crave the taste of you.

He was lucky enough to stumble across the first one on the steps of the south entrance, before the Knight on duty found it.

We'd be having much more fun if you were here between us.

He read it and burned it in one of the fire pits in the meditation gardens.

I came to the thought of your mouth on me.

He made sure to revisit the south entrance at the same time each morning to scoop up and destroy any new notes, though he couldn’t destroy the words that imprinted themselves indelibly on his mind.

I came to the thought of you under me: shaking, bound, supine, helpless.  

But then one arrived just before he returned from a mission.

We saw you today. We were close enough to hear you whisper in the Senator's ear, that the deal had been compromised by his aide. Close enough to touch. Did you feel us?

And that note saw him summoned to the Council chambers for the most somber meeting he remembered having since the beginning of the Separatist Crisis, since Qui-Gon’s near death on Naboo.

“Your master, Qui-Gon no longer is. Your friend, young Skywalker no longer is. To temptation, they seek to lead you. See you fall, we would not. Take care, you must.” Yoda’s ears were held back, nearly flat to his skull.

“With the rising separatist activity, we can’t afford to have you off roster now, but we’re removing you from solo missions, Knight Kenobi.” Mace Windu leaned forward in his chair. “And we remind you to take the utmost caution when leaving the Temple.”

~*~*~*~

It’s been six months since the Council removed Obi-Wan from missions entirely, after a fairly routine diplomatic mission to Carida ended with a Separatist attack and Obi-Wan in a hanger, alone, with Qui-Gon and Anakin.

They’d come at him from either side and for a moment, Obi-Wan had forgotten to breathe as he stared at his master’s face, his features like a Parmethan lion and looking no older than he had the last time Obi-Wan had seen him. But his eyes were different. Harder, hungrier, still blue as glacier water but Obi-Wan thought he caught a flash of gold in them as Qui-Gon moved in and out of the shadows.

“My Obi-Wan,” he said, voice flowing like sunlit water over river stones. Obi-Wan had to resist the urge to close his eyes and fall into that water. “I’ve missed you. We’ve been waiting for you to come to us.”

Qui-Gon herded him backward and it was only a shiver through the Force that had Obi-Wan leaping safely to a window ledge as he felt Anakin’s breath on the back of his neck, heard Anakin’s voice hot in his ear, “I always wanted to know if you tasted as good as you smelled.”

The last thing he saw as he slipped outside was Anakin’s full mouth pulled into a smirk and Qui-Gon’s shining eyes.

Obi-Wan was certain every master’s spine was pulled taught as he spoke of the encounter in the Council chambers. They didn’t deliberate long before telling Obi-Wan he was on teaching assignment for the foreseeable future.

~*~*~*~

It’s been two months since he was confined to the Temple entirely, after Anakin had been spotted in the Senate District, mere blocks from where Obi-Wan was having lunch with the young senator from Naboo.

~*~*~*~

It’s been a day since the package arrived for him. The clothing, Obi-Wan had hidden away before he presented the letter that had accompanied it to the Council. Written in Qui-Gon’s hand, the letter offered a trade agreement. Continued information on the Confederacy Military, its leaders, its financial backers, its plans. In exchange for Obi-Wan.

The deadline for agreement is today.

The Council has been in session all night. Do they risk losing another powerful member of their ranks in exchange for possibly heading off a galactic war?

Obi-Wan thinks the answer is fairly clear cut. How many lives will be lost with the eruption of war? How many can he save by turning himself over? And were he to fall…what does that even mean? What did it really mean for Qui-Gon? For Anakin? Apart from some potentially questionable alliances and an apparent reduction of inhibitions where Obi-Wan was concerned.

He left a note in his room, detailing what he was about to do and how the information would be transferred to the Temple, before changing into the outfit that had accompanied this last letter, a silk, emerald green tunic with a deep v-neckline that stretched to the middle of Obi-Wan’s sternum. The color set off his hair and made his pale skin shine. Slim cut black trousers and soft slippers completed the look. He’d looked askance at the depil cream that had been wrapped up in the shirt, but finally slathered it along his jaw and waited the required time before wiping it away. For a moment, he didn’t recognize himself. And perhaps that was point.

Now, he stands shivering in the cool mist of morning, at the edge of the southern entrance, wondering about his next steps.

He opens his eyes and lets the Force wash over him. It tugs him away from the steps, down the empty street.

A few blocks from the Jedi Temple, he sees a speeder. Standing next to it is Qui-Gon. His master is dressed in a midnight blue tunic, black leggings and shiny black boots, so similar to his Jedi issued ones. When he sees Obi-Wan, he straightens, but waits for Obi-Wan to come to him.

When Obi-Wan’s within reach, Qui-Gon wraps his arms around him, one hand tangling in the length of his hair, gently cupping the back of his head as his master brings their faces close, his mouth hovering above Obi-Wan’s, breath trembling along Obi-Wan’s lips.

“You came.”

“Not yet, he hasn’t,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan feels the warmth of Anakin’s body against his back.

“Anakin.” There’s a mix of amusement and censure in Qui-Gon’s voice. Obi-Wan shifts, minutely, and Qui-Gon’s grip on him tightens.

Obi-Wan licks his lips. “I’ve set up a secure channel for you to transfer information to the Temple. At least one transmission per week. I want to see the information first and have communication with the Temple after it’s delivered and confirmed. You’ll have my cooperation, so long as the information is worth something.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon says and Obi-Wan gets the feeling that his master is laughing at him. “I’ll send the first transmission once we get to our ship.”

“And I’ll show you to our quarters,” Anakin says in Obi-Wan’s ear, one hand slipping beneath Obi-Wan’s tunic, tracing along the clenching muscles of his stomach. “Master will join us when he’s done.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flick from Obi-Wan to Anakin and back again, the left side of his mouth drawing up into a winsome smile.

Obi-Wan feels Anakin grin as he presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s ear. “Master���s been eagerly waiting to see us together, Obi-Wan. I think…. I know he wants to watch me fuck you almost as much as he wants to fuck you himself.”

Obi-Wan can’t stop the heavy warmth that settles in his belly or the shudder that runs through his body. They hold him tighter for a moment. Qui-Gon strokes his thumb over Obi-Wan’s lower lip, down his chin; Anakin presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s cheek, his tongue flicking out warm and wet. Then they spin him and guide him into the back of the speeder. Qui-Gon follows him in and Anakin slips into the driver’s seat and directs the vehicle up and into the early morning traffic.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

The first thing Obi-Wan sees in the darkness are his old master’s eyes, burning bright and hot as miniature suns.

_______________________

From the image notebook. I have a fic stemming from this….if I ever get back to it.

I also had the urge to make Qui-Gon a vampire instead of a Sith. This edit is very vampiric. Guess a vampire!Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan needs to be added to my list.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

His former master’s eyes burn gold, ringed in red like the Coruscant sunset, but his mouth still curves to the right when he smiles, though this smile is sharper, more hungry than Obi-Wan has ever seen it.

From the image journal.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

I can't tell you how amused I am that this little bit of totally random brain fluff got such a reaction.

Untitled (Sith!Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan)

“What’s your name, little Jedi?”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks, bringing his saber up to block the powerful overhead swing. He feels the blow through his arms and slips to the side of his attacker, seeking space.

“You and I keep meeting up, lovely one. I’d like to put a name with the face.” The Sith’s eyes flash as he grins, the color of the sky at sunset.

“You don’t need to know my name.” Obi-Wan strikes, but his saber slices through empty air and he spins just in time to block a blow from behind.

The Sith grins. “I am Sotiris.” He presses close, pushing Obi-Wan across the loose detritus. “But when I have you in my bed, you can simply call me, “my Lord.”

The last statement is accompanied by a wash of lust that slams into Obi-Wan’s shields, makes him gasp, stumble, and lose his ground. The next moment, he’s pressed up against the wall, his lightsaber disappearing ehind the Sith’s back and the man himself pushing up against him, so close Obi-Wan can feel the twitch of muscle beneath his tunic, smell the clean, faintly spicy scent of his hair.

The Sith’s lips brush the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. “Your name.”

“No.”

“Odd name. Not quite fitting.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to reply when he hears Anakin shouting for him.

The air shifts, grows heavy as the Sith takes a breath, seems to hold it. His eyes find Obi-Wan’s. His hand finds the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck and grasps it and turns Obi-Wan’s face toward the light. There’s something like recognition in his eyes. “Yoda’s protégé? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan stares at him placidly

Sotiris chuckles. “Oh. Small galaxy. Hm. Yoda was always a stickler for Jedi tradition. Tell me, young one, did he insist on celibacy during your training?” The hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck tightens, not enough to hurt but a bloom of heat laced pain blooms in the back of Obi-Wan’s head, recedes almost as quickly. Obi-Wan blinks as the Sith leans close, his lips hovering just above Obi-Wan’s. “Are you…untouched?”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s is followed by the sound of his saber igniting. The Sith is gone so fast Obi-Wan has to catch himself from sliding down the wall.

Anakin stands in first stance, blinking at Obi-Wan, before looking around at the suddenly empty room.

In the window above them, a shadow, black against the moonlight, catches Obi-Wan’s attention. He thinks he can see the gleam of blue and gold, a flash of white teeth. And in his head, a voice that shouldn’t have been there, purring across the tenuous beginnings of a…bond. “I’ll see you soon, my Obi-Wan.”

______________ Rough sketch of a random idea.

I am still working on the prompts I’ve received. Hopefully more effectively now that I’ve got my move completed.

[clonewarstrash]

This looks really good.

From Behind/prompt sneak peek (QuiObi)

A prompt request. In the works.

______

“Master?” Obi-Wan said. They had discussed positions and Obi-Wan had counted his one among his least favorite.  

Qui-Gon stroked a hand down the length of Obi-Wan’s spine. “Do you trust me?”

Obi-Wan blinked. Of course. “Yes.”

“Then believe me,” Qui-Gon said, “that when I take you this way, it will be anything but cold and distant.”

[clonewarstrash]

This is really good. I love how aggressive Qui is (the neck grab. Dear sweet goodness, the neck grab). And how possessive he is (“are you untouched” indeed). If you ever feel the urge to expand on this, I would happily read more. Thanks for sharing.

Untitled (Sith!Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan)

“What’s your name, little Jedi?”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks, bringing his saber up to block the powerful overhead swing. He feels the blow through his arms and slips to the side of his attacker, seeking space.

“You and I keep meeting up, lovely one. I’d like to put a name with the face.” The Sith’s eyes flash as he grins, the color of the sky at sunset.

“You don’t need to know my name.” Obi-Wan strikes, but his saber slices through empty air and he spins just in time to block a blow from behind.

The Sith grins. “I am Sotiris.” He presses close, pushing Obi-Wan across the loose detritus. “But when I have you in my bed, you can simply call me, “my Lord.”

The last statement is accompanied by a wash of lust that slams into Obi-Wan’s shields, makes him gasp, stumble, and lose his ground. The next moment, he’s pressed up against the wall, his lightsaber disappearing ehind the Sith’s back and the man himself pushing up against him, so close Obi-Wan can feel the twitch of muscle beneath his tunic, smell the clean, faintly spicy scent of his hair.

The Sith’s lips brush the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. “Your name.”

“No.”

“Odd name. Not quite fitting.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to reply when he hears Anakin shouting for him.

The air shifts, grows heavy as the Sith takes a breath, seems to hold it. His eyes find Obi-Wan’s. His hand finds the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck and grasps it and turns Obi-Wan’s face toward the light. There’s something like recognition in his eyes. “Yoda’s protégé? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan stares at him placidly

Sotiris chuckles. “Oh. Small galaxy. Hm. Yoda was always a stickler for Jedi tradition. Tell me, young one, did he insist on celibacy during your training?” The hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck tightens, not enough to hurt but a bloom of heat laced pain blooms in the back of Obi-Wan’s head, recedes almost as quickly. Obi-Wan blinks as the Sith leans close, his lips hovering just above Obi-Wan’s. “Are you…untouched?”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s is followed by the sound of his saber igniting. The Sith is gone so fast Obi-Wan has to catch himself from sliding down the wall.

Anakin stands in first stance, blinking at Obi-Wan, before looking around at the suddenly empty room.

In the window above them, a shadow, black against the moonlight, catches Obi-Wan’s attention. He thinks he can see the gleam of blue and gold, a flash of white teeth. And in his head, a voice that shouldn’t have been there, purring across the tenuous beginnings of a…bond. “I’ll see you soon, my Obi-Wan.”

______________ Rough sketch of a random idea.

I am still working on the prompts I’ve received. Hopefully more effectively now that I’ve got my move completed.