Notes:

This is explicit non-con. If that's not your cup of tea I'd suggest clicking back and finding something else to read.

All characters are of age. Obi-Wan is 25, and Qui-Gon has just announced his desire to send Obi-Wan to the trials and take Anakin in his place.

There had been a time when Obi-Wan was sure of what his master was to him. He had been a mentor. A graceful, looming Jedi Knight who he had looked up to both physically and mentally. Their force bond had been something unique. Shattered after Melida/Daan when Obi-Wan hadn't truly understood it's importance, only for the cracks to be pieced together by the force as it willed them back to each other. Of course, Qui-Gon had already experienced a broken bond before. It seemed that even in betrayal Obi-Wan would never be able to fulfill his duty as a padawan. He would never be able to bring wisdom to his master. Never participate in the exchange of knowledge—the age old adage that the teacher also learned from the student. Perhaps that was why the force was seeing fit to punish him now. Perhaps that was why Qui-Gon had tossed him aside so casually at the first opportunity.

Perhaps it was best that Obi-Wan not think of his master as a mentor anymore. Not as he faced the prospect of becoming a Jedi Knight, and certainly not as his master continued to touch him the way he was. Masters didn't touch their padawans like that, no matter how far into adulthood they were.

Focusing on the present wasn't any easier, he found. The physical sensations were foreign, and although Qui-Gon had framed it as a learning experience—still so much to learn—it felt anything but. He stood still and pliant as hands slid under his tunic and up his chest. He considered resisting as it was shrugged off of his shoulders, but the idea of defying his master now after deferring to him so easily before the council felt hypocritical. Master Jinn's message had been clear. Your opinion doesn't matter.

What other reason could he have had for announcing his desire to take a new padawan without discussing it with him first? As Obi-Wan had stood in the room only to be discarded. He is ready, he'd said.

He wasn't ready for this.

He opened his mouth when Qui-Gon kissed him, but he didn't kiss back. He simply gave no resistance and allowed the feeling of a tongue inside his mouth to be catalogued somewhere in his brain's list of sensations. He suspected it was being filed under "unpleasant." Hands found their way to his hips and pulled him forward and Obi-Wan became viscerally aware of just how much bigger than him Qui-Gon was. His master was a tall man, while he himself had always been slightly shorter than average. His frame was slimmer than Qui-Gon's as well—the product of a fighting style more centered around speed and acrobatics than strength. Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed as the kiss broke, tongue sliding across his jaw and onto his neck. He had no desire to see this.

Obi-Wan didn't move other than to tilt his head back. A sign of submission. His arms held limply by his sides. He allowed himself to be pushed backwards until he was forced to sit on the bed, and acquiesced as a hand pushed him down fully onto his back. His boots and pants were pulled off, and he could hear the rustle of Qui-Gon's robes hitting the ground as he kept his eyes firmly shut. He was briefly tempted to look, wondering if the scar Master Fisto had told him to look for was there. A long mark on the hip from a particularly embarrassing encounter his master had apparently had with a bantha as a youngling. A year or so ago he'd have jumped at the opportunity to see evidence the story was true. Now he wanted desperately to see anything else.

He felt the warmth of skin against his thighs as his master straddled him and suddenly a mouth was on his again. The kiss was passionate this time, bordering on violent, and Obi-Wan wondered how it was possible to achieve that level of intensity with a partner who was effectively doing his best to play dead. One hand ran along his left arm, which had sprawled out to his side, before placing it's weight down on his wrist. The other hand came coiling up his chest, along his throat. It grabbed his jaw tightly and place it at an angle that made his mouth more accessible to the taller man.

Then it moved up to his ear and there was a slight pressure on the hair of his braid as the hand moved to wrap it around it's palm. Obi-Wan gasped as it was tugged on, tight pressure on his scalp and a shock of pain eliciting the sound involuntarily. His cheeks went red as he thought of how vocal he'd always been while fighting. It made sense that he wouldn't be allowed the dignity of remaining silent during this either. He felt Qui-Gon smile against the skin at the corner of his lips, and he squeezed his eyes a bit tighter. He wished briefly for Tahl's blindness so that he'd never have to look at his master's face again, even if it meant dealing with an incompetent navigation droid for the rest of his pathetic existence. Of course, that would only be a temporary solution. He and Qui-Gon would be joined together again in the force after death.

The hand on his wrist lifted, but Obi-Wan didn't move until it purposefully nudged his legs apart so that Qui-Gon could settle in between them. The hand lifted momentarily, and then without so much as a warning a finger was being pressed inside of him. The sound that left his mouth was undignified. The way he jerked was even more so. It struck him that the finger was cold and wet, and he wondered what his master had done to achieve that.

"Relax, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's breath was too hot by his ear but he conceded anyway, allowing the tension to leave his body with his breath.

The new sensation as the finger began to move was catalogued under several tabs. It was filed under Unpleasant, of course. Right next to the feeling to having someone else's tongue in his mouth. It was also filed under Waste, as the removal of a finger felt shockingly similar to voiding one's bowels. It was also hesitantly filed under Sex. It was the only file there other than a few adolescent fantasies and a particularly interesting experience he'd had while chasing a criminal through a brothel. All in all he'd always had much more interesting things to think about than sex.

Qui-Gon was no longer kissing him. It felt as though he'd shifted his weight in order to better focus on what he was doing with his hand and Obi-Wan felt the air brush involuntarily past his vocal cords as another finger was added. The result was a small, inelegant mewl. He allowed himself to squeeze his eyelids tighter once again as embarrassment settled in his stomach and he felt a tear flit out of the corner of his left . Even younglings still in the creche had better control over their emotions.

Master Jinn liked it though, if the approving hum and increased speed with which he was stretching him were any indication. Obi-Wan could hear the sound of rough, sped up breathing but knew for certain that it wasn't his, as he was focusing deliberately on remaining completely limp by breathing in one of his meditation patterns. It was surprisingly difficult to focus while his mentor of twelve years was sticking his fingers up his ass immediately after telling the council he didn't want him anymore, but meditation had never come easily to him so who was he to complain.

It was three fingers now, grouped into a tight cluster that flared out uncomfortably as it got closer to the knuckles. It occurred to him that the labored breathing was a result of Qui-Gon touching himself and he didn't know how to feel about this. He should have been happy that he was pleasing his master. Happy that he wasn't completely worthless, even if he still wasn't worth keeping around any longer. The only feeling he managed to latch onto though was a vague feeling of discomfort and loss, which was intensified as the fingers were removed and Qui-Gon settled himself over him.

Qui-Gon grabbed at his padawan braid as he entered him. There had been no discussion of who would do the fucking, just as there had been no discussion of whether there would be any fucking at all.

Just as there had been no discussion as to whether he was ready to face the trials and become a Knight.

There was a time when his master would've known. The small space in his head where Obi-Wan resided would have told him everything he needed to know. How to move. How to reassure him. When he needed space and when he needed comfort. Obi-Wan could feel his master's pleasure somewhere deep in his mind, even as he pointedly ignored it. They weren't connected as strongly as they used to be. They must not be, because otherwise Qui-Gon would have known exactly what he was doing and that would be so much worse. He would know exactly what he was doing now .

What Qui-Gon was doing now was hurting him. One hand on his hip and one gripping his braid and pulling him towards him as he thrust. Obi-Wan tried to remain still but the burning was mixing with an odd pulling feeling inside of him as his body clung to the intrusion. He found himself gripping the sheets at his sides and crying out incoherently each time Qui-Gon pulled himself out.

It didn't take long for Qui-Gon to finish with him, although there were a couple times the pace deliberately slowed and Obi-Wan suspected it was so that his master could draw out the reactions he was receiving. Every sob and whine that escaped his throat. Every muscle he tensed. Eventually, blessedly, Obi-Wan knew it was over when he felt himself voided with an unpleasant pop, followed by a groan of pleasure and something wet dripping onto his stomach. The hand on his hip had been removed but his braid was still being held, twirled between fingers as a body collapsed on top of him and breathed kisses into his neck. The touch was soft, but Obi-Wan still felt vaguely like he should be crying. After the breathing had calmed, the grip on his braid was released and the weight of the bed shifted as Qui-Gon stood. There was no movement beyond that and Obi-Wan knew that he was being watched. Inspected .

And what a disgraceful sight he must be. Naked and spread with cum along his middle. Flacid. A single tear track down the left side of his face. Worst of all was that he wasn't even trying to move. Not trying to regain a shred of dignity. He simply remained splayed out and limp with his eyes shut as his master looked down at him.

There was a rustle of fabric. Qui-Gon dressing himself. He was efficient and no doubt graceful as well, and it took no time at all before the sound of footsteps began echoing towards the door.

"Master?" Obi-Wan called out, speaking to Master Jinn for the first time since their meeting with the council. There was a pause as Qui-Gon waited for him to continue. "What did I do wrong?" Another pause, but this one heavier. Hanging between them as if made tangible by the force. Obi-Wan waited desperately, clinging to the hope that there was some answer that would make all of this make sense. Perhaps there was, but if it existed he must not have deserved to hear it. Otherwise Qui-Gon wouldn't have continued walking, closing the door gently behind him, and Obi-Wan wouldn't have been left to contemplate his fate alone and more empty than he'd ever felt in his life.

He wondered, briefly, as an unwelcome sob escaped his lips, how the trials could possibly manage to test him any more than this.

Notes:

I was hesitant to post this on my regular account because I've received hate for writing noncon before, but I decided to embrace it. Bring on the hate.

I am open to constructive criticism, as it's the only way to get better at writing.

Thank you for reading!

I'm also considering writing a follow up chapter where Obi-Wan discusses what happened with someone, or maybe even brings it to the attention of the council. Haven't decided yet though.