Qui-Gon Jinn was weary. Every bone felt filled with lead, every muscle bound by gravity, screaming against movement. He had fought many battles, but few this important. There was much at stake in these small skirmishes with the Sith. Years gone by felt like enemies, their combined weight pressing him, taking his breath and leaving behind a hollow emptiness. His scars were invisible to the naked eye, heart and bone and brain burned with the imprint of the evil he’d encountered.
Tiny grains of sand covered him, gritting between his teeth and cascading from his hair as he unbound it. He shook his hair out and ran a cramped hand through the length. He used his lightsaber so often that his hand had begun to ache at the end of these long days, when he was finally able to loosen his grip on his weapon. He flexed his fingers, wincing as the joints creaked and complained.
He looked around the room, searching for any sign of Obi-Wan. The younger man was gone, no doubt still caught in the battle which raged on the far side of Tatooine. Qui-Gon hated to be separated from the other Knight for any reason, but the Council left them no choice. Jedi were dying by the hundreds, and this was the world where they had the best chance of interrupting the supply routes of the shadowy Sith order. Qui-Gon’s expertise was needed in Mos Espa; he could not abandon that responsibility simply to travel with Obi-Wan to the other side of the planet. Some battles, his former Padawan would have to fight alone.
Tatooine was a harsh planet, a dried up husk on the cusp of the system; he was thankful he’d never had cause to visit it before. It resonated with the signature of the evil they waged war against; it was scourged by the sun as much as by the Darkness. There were rumors that the most powerful of all the Sith Lords had been born on Tatooine, but nothing anyone could prove – despite the many months they’d spent chasing shadows all over the system.
Another shower of abrasive dust filtered down across his face, lashing wind-burned skin, as Qui-Gon turned his head. He divested himself of one piece of clothing at a time, leaving a trail of dirt, as he headed for the shower. Fresh water was a luxury the Jedi still enjoyed, but water shortages on Tatooine were becoming more frequent. He doubted they would have the fresher for long.
He stopped in the bedroom door, half dressed, feeling far older than his years, and stared at the rumpled bed. Without effort, he pictured Obi-Wan there, sheets rising and falling gently with every breath, skin glowing pale in the moonlight. He wished such a peaceful picture were reality. Obi-Wan’s nights had been restless, and filled with haunting visions. More than once, Qui-Gon had considered using a mind trick to put him to sleep. It seemed a tactic born more of his own anxieties than Obi-Wan’s, and he’d never given in to the impulse. Instead, he often lay awake, listening to Obi-Wan talk in his sleep, watching him thrash about the bed in the throes of a terror Qui-Gon could not share.
The constant exposure to darkness had taken a toll on all of them, but most especially his beloved, who had become sensitive to the stirring tendrils of evil which surrounded them all, rumbling like the thunder of an approaching storm. He was withdrawing slowly, and Qui-Gon keenly felt the absence of Obi-Wan’s mischievous spirit. It seemed stunted, pushed down like bent blades of grass underfoot, slow to spring back.
The door slid open at his back, and he turned to see Obi-Wan, bedraggled and slumped with exhaustion, his posture tense. "Obi-Wan," he said with surprise. "I didn't expect you back until tomorrow."
His lover stopped there, turned bleak eyes to questioning blue ones. "They cut through the preparations we’d made as though we’d never been there. We may as well have been invisible. Two dozen Jedi are dead, and Mos Eisley remains a viable conduit for their shipping lines. We failed."
The last words were spoken flatly, but the edge of anger beneath them caught Qui-Gon’s attention, even as the Master's heart sank at the news. He could see the remnants of a powerful rage rippling through Obi-Wan, like soft lighting travels the edges of sails in a storm. "What is it, Obi-Wan?" he asked, eyes taking inventory of the rips and smudges across Obi-Wan’s clothing. "Are you all right?"
The younger Jedi said nothing, and seemed to pull tightly inward as Qui-Gon watched. He nodded curtly, pulling off his cloak, laying his lightsaber on the table. He moved quickly, but not fast enough to hide the pronounced tremor in his hand as he set his weapon aside. His hand vanished from sight as he turned his back to Qui-Gon, facing the table.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly, watching the younger man as he stood motionless. Recent memories sprang to mind unbidden. He thought of the Darkness which once threatened to consume him. Obi-Wan had been all that stood between certain exile and salvation. "You mustn’t give in to despair. There may yet be a way for us to endure, to triumph."
Still, Obi-Wan did not speak. Qui-Gon moved then, quick and powerful, to take the younger man’s shoulders in his large hands, tightening his fingers over the tense muscles. "Tell me," he said, his instincts warning him as dread crept along every nerve. "Share this with me."
"There will never be an end to this," Obi-Wan said haltingly. "The Sith will destroy the Jedi. They’ll hunt us until none are left. It’s an unwinnable war, Qui-Gon; we are already defeated." He turned against the hands holding him lightly, ignored them as they traveled to his face in an attempt to give comfort.
Obi-Wan’s mouth opened, then closed, and his green eyes darkened to despairing gray. He hid his thoughts from view by closing those exquisite eyes, shuttering the portals to his soul. When he opened them, the plea within was bright and clear; hopelessness shone there, burning against desire. His fists came up to rest against Qui-Gon’s bared chest, against the hard muscles of his abdomen, and they trembled there. "I can’t stop my hands from shaking," he whispered roughly.
Qui-Gon caught the callused hands in his own and pressed them flat against his body, palms over his chest. Waves of emotion bombarded him as the last of Obi-Wan’s mental shields collapsed, leaving him open and vulnerable. The Force around them absorbed the defeated, raw ache flooding forth from the young Knight, like blood from a wound soaking into a sponge.
Without hesitation, Qui-Gon’s mouth was hungry over his, harsh and compelling, demanding obedience to the power of possession. Obi-Wan pushed back, his hands grasping at Qui-Gon’s shirt, tearing it as he yanked the tall body closer to his own. A deep, resonant growl came from Qui-Gon’s throat as he was buffeted by Obi-Wan’s all-too- familiar emotions – lust, despair, hollow need, anger, resentment, a lack of faith...and a love so strong, so purposeful and rich, that all else was swept aside.
A short tug of war ensued, pulling and pushing, as clothes were pushed aside, skin exposed, lips fighting for purchase and territory, marking, biting, making paths of fire across willing bodies. Qui-Gon shoved with all his strength, knocking Obi-Wan to the ground, covering the writhing body with his own. His mouth was back at the gate, prying lips apart, touching teeth with tongue, curling inside that warm mouth, tasting everywhere at once. He tossed aside the remnants of Obi-Wan’s tunic, biting his way from chin to collarbone down the soft, tanned flesh, leaving bruises and not caring.
Obi-Wan struggled to strip away the remaining clothes between them, soft grunts of pleasure betraying his need as he was devoured. Qui-Gon’s lips descended over a nipple, sucking hard, tongue performing a talented maneuver, and he shouted his approval. His movements became frenzied as he was pinned by Qui-Gon’s larger body, and he bucked against the assault on his cock, shuddering sighs mixed with moans as he was eaten alive. He was sucked down forcibly into a tightened throat, and Qui-Gon’s name fell from his lips as he came, pouring his doubts and his darkness into the narrowing beacon of light that was his lover’s body.
He tasted himself on eager, dangerous lips, was turned and touched, prepared. He found he did not care, and crawled onto his hands and knees, arms suddenly strong, thrusting his ass backwards. "Do it," he hissed, breath coming in gasps, muscles quivering. A long arm enclosed his waist as one hand settled on his ass, steadying him, and the press of invasion bore down on him. Obi-Wan shoved himself backward onto Qui-Gon’s cock, moving steadily in a rhythm he felt inside his bones. Qui-Gon’s fingers curled around his lover’s hipbone, and he stroked in deep, hips moving in a small oval, meeting the backward thrusts of Obi-Wan’s body, their cries mingling.
Qui-Gon threw his head back, gave himself over to the approaching storm, let it carry and guide him, and he fell through the lightning, giving back a measure of what he received from Obi-Wan. His long, guttural growl of pleasure made Obi-Wan shudder from heart to soul, as the sensations from their joined bodies traveled their connected minds.
Qui-Gon slowly separated himself from Obi-Wan. His heart contracted when he heard Obi-Wan’s small sound of sadness, as that connection was lost. Obi-Wan fell onto his side, exhausted, spent. Qui-Gon stretched out along the length of his beloved's body, wrapping his heartsick lover in his arms, laying soft kisses on the nape of his neck. Both veterans now, no longer innocent, and no amount of pretending or comfort could make it so…but for a few hours, at least, they could shelter one another from the madness of war...and the darkness within.
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