Rating: R
Category: Romance/Angst
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Warnings: This is slash. If that sort of thing offends you, don't read on. This is my first fic, so please be kind and leave me reviews. Thanks!
Disclaimer: All characters are property of George Lucas and are used without permission.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon learn that which is fragile can be easily broken. . . and rarely repaired. Can they grow together in the Force, or will they lose each other to their destinies?
Easily Broken
That which is fragile is easily broken.
That which is minute is easily scattered.
--Tao Te Ching
Alderaan's skies were a reflection of the serene lake that lay beneath it. Like some splendid silver mirror, they echoed craggy peaks and rolling hills. Obi-Wan listened carefully to the morning. The gentle whisper of grass ran through his enhanced hearing like the murmurs of a lover. . . a sound he was acquainted with now.
The young Padawan turned his head, his braid trailing across the soft blades of grass as he did so. Qui-Gon was sleeping, a small smile gracing his normally stern features. Obi-Wan ran a hand down his body and shivered. The sensations of touch rippled through him, but he dropped his hand to the ground.
Touch.
Breath.
Love.
Love? A Jedi does not feel love, he reminded himself. The words of the Code came to mind almost automatically, as sure and as steady as the act of living. He'd been well taught.
There is no emotion, Obi-Wan said. His lips and tongue and teeth pushed the breath out quietly, forming the words that were almost as familiar as his own name. There is peace.
Peace? Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe normally, watching the regular rise and fall of his chest with almost clinical interest. He knew his passions were strong-- knew how much he had to devote to meditation in order to control his feelings.
His master was not the first to inspire those feelings, but with Qui-Gon's emphasis on the living Force, on following the mortal path, Obi-Wan had wavered for a moment. He had fallen, plunging himself in the crevasse of. . . of what? Love?
Frustrated, he sat up and looked around him. His tunic was streaked with dirt and had been put on awkwardly. Perhaps Qui-Gon had tried to dress him after he had fallen into a dreamless sleep? His body was stiff from sleeping on the ground all night. He winced and pushed himself up, willing the blood to flow easily through him. He bowed slightly to the morning and reached out to the Force.
Ah, there it was. The same cool river of life and being that pooled around the fingers he dipped in. It was purifying to Obi-Wan's unsettled senses. Balance, he reminded himself. To err in the absence of emotion was just as wrong as . . . as the alternative.
What had happened last night, anyway? Obi-Wan rested his hand against his thigh and stared off into the blue-green horizon.
It had started out simply. A day exploring Alderaan's grasslands and meditating on the organic combination of living beings and their technology. Then as the afternoon light had deepened to glowing crimson and rose illumination, something had changed. He closed his eyes, replaying the moment in his head.
Obi-Wan hesitated. Qui-Gon had stopped abruptly and was watching the gentle sway of the lake before them. Obi-Wan watched him, admiring the curve of face and stream of silver hair that cascaded to the middle of his back. He was so calm! His mastery of the Force flowed, forever spiritual, forever at peace. He would never allow himself to be caught by his passions. He would always remember the Code.
Qui-Gon turned to face his apprentice. In the rich light of the sunset, Obi-Wan's skin was nearly golden. Smooth and unmarked by the years, his Padawan had a beauty shone quietly above his plain Jedi robes. The dip in his chin emphasized the thin, sensual lines of the mouth above it. Soft, blue-grey eyes watched him levelly, waiting for his next move. Still so young.
Listen to the evening, Padawan, Qui-Gon said lightly, banishing the thoughts that tugged at him. He turned back, his strong arms folded against his chest.
Obi-Wan nodded, but his thoughts raged against him. By the Force, he was not sure if he could keep up this mad game of pretending much longer. Desire, so long silent in his soul, had stirred. The calmness that he had striven to master dissolved in the first whispers of desire. Qui-Gon's touches-- a hand on his shoulder, a brief touching of fingers when they passed an object to each other-- sent thrills through Obi-Wan's body and mind. It was the sheer fatherly indifference of the touches that drove Obi-Wan mad. They seemed to mock him with their parental nature. Obi-Wan did not want a father. He wanted a lover.
Obi-Wan felt a tendril of Force energy caress his soul, and he quickly slammed down on any stray thoughts. But Qui-Gon had heard the unspoken plea in them. He brushed a hand against Obi-Wan's cheek tenderly, the calluses on his fingers softening as they touched youthful skin. Lips met, and the kisses deepened, and soon they lay tangled in each other's arms--
Obi-Wan said sharply to himself, drawing out of the memory. Not again. It was too risky, too . . . frightening. To give yourself, mind, soul, and body like that. . .