His reaction was well-controlled: only a small rush of pleasure and relief. The relief didn’t have to be too strong, after all, when he had hardly believed Qui-Gon’s departure to be for good. He merely inquired as to why Qui-Gon had left.
When you perform your remaining tasks, Qui-Gon told him, you must do so without my aid. When I am here, I have too much power over you.
I understand. This time, Obi-Wan felt no anger whatsoever.
He felt much lighter with Qui-Gon there, and he was sure it made him cover the ground quicker. Both suns were still well above the horizon when he crossed the threshold of his door and moved to check the crops, having already seen everything to be in order at the vaporator outside. Everything had done fine without him. He was able to prepare himself a meal and eat, while once again Qui-Gon settled into his senses to enjoy the meal with him.
While he cleared up the dishes, Qui-Gon left his mind, taking semi-physical form in the middle of the room. His eyes followed Obi-Wan as he moved about, and Obi-Wan felt a certain tension in the air which surprised him greatly. He knew this situation; it had occurred between them sometimes during or after a particularly harrowing mission, but he had assumed the loss of physical form on Qui-Gon’s part would've done away with it.
“What do you want?” he asked when he was ready to sleep. He knew what Qui-Gon wanted. He didn't know if Qui-Gon would admit to it.
“That you ask that question is indication enough you know the answer,” was Qui-Gon’s reply.
“I want you to tell me what you want.” Obi-Wan moved over to the alcove in which he slept and saw down on his bed, locking eyes with Qui-Gon.
“You.” That was all he said. It was enough.
“I do not know.”
He rose, and he came towards Obi-Wan. His hands reached out, passed through his shoulders, made his body tingle. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and breathed, “I liked that.”
When he opened his eyes again, Qui-Gon had surrounded him; his sight was filled with gleaming pale skin and hair. There were the vaguest tremors running up and down his back. “Are you afraid to touch me again?”
“Would you refuse me?”
“You know I wouldn’t.”
When Qui-Gon did, it moved through his body, stiffened it as if he were shocked, but he felt the familiar need rising up through his torso to his trembling heart. “Take off your clothes, please,” Qui-Gon whispered harshly, and Obi-Wan scrambled to obey.
He lay back on the bed completely naked, and Qui-Gon sat next to him, for several moments just looking him up and down, eyes full of tenderness and desire. He leaned over, examined a scar Obi-Wan had received during the war. He put his hand through it; Obi-Wan sighed.
“No, keep it there,” he said when Qui-Gon made to pull back. “Just for a moment more.” Qui-Gon held his hand in place, until sensation crawled its way up into Obi-Wan’s scalp, and he murmured, “Thank you.”
Qui-Gon lifted up his hand, than his entire body, and hovered over Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan found it hard to believe he wasn’t breathing; he could feel something warm on his face, growing closer.
Then Qui-Gon connected with his mind, and Obi-Wan felt him reach into certain parts of it, until he thought he could feel someone touching him, stroking his arms, his shoulders, while on his other shoulder he felt the tingling touch of Qui-Gon again moving his “real” hand through his skin. He groaned with pleasure, stretched his hands down to stroke his growing arousal.
No, let me. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon still his hand. He shifted himself slightly down Obi-Wan’s body, down his mind, touching him, submerging him, filling him with almost unbearable pleasure which twisted his spine around, pushed him down into the mattress, demanded the surrender of control. For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan gave it without hesitation.
His hands clawed at the blankets, lacking anything else to grip, but he felt the grip on him, Qui-Gon filling his head, his skin, his soul, yet still moving, phantom hands on his face, something stroking his legs. He squirmed, though there was nothing to squirm against. He thrust madly into empty air. At last he exploded, throwing himself prone against the bed, crying out for Qui-Gon.
When the resulting daze wore off, he found Qui-Gon lying opposite, not touching, his expression now disturbed. His soft “What is it?” received no response.
“We’ve made a mess of the bed,” Qui-Gon finally observed.
“I’ll clean what I can in the morning,” Obi-Wan decided, and set to work remaking the bed, before sliding under the blankets.
But he could not sleep yet. When he looked back at Qui-Gon, he could not stop looking. It seemed as if some new invisible wall had come up between them, and they were both staring desperately into it, trying to understand how to break it.
“Was it wrong, what we did tonight?” Obi-Wan suddenly feared aloud.
“No,” said Qui-Gon, after a moment’s thought. “But it easily could have been. We came too close.”
“Too close to what?”
“Too close to merging souls. To close to becoming one. The only barrier was your being alive.” His voice was filled with guilt and fear.
Obi-Wan wouldn’t have thought this a problem, but it obviously was. Even so, he found himself confessing, “I wanted to become one with you. I always have, I think.”
“And I wanted it likewise. If I had not controlled myself, I would have broken the barrier, forced us into the same state. But only one of us is capable from moving from one state to the other.”
His meaning sunk in. “Out of a selfish want for you I would have killed you.
I don’t think it’s a risk again,” he continued, “now that I know of it. Except I still find myself wanting it, especially now that I have tasted what it would be like.”
“Will be like.” Before Qui-Gon could protest, Obi-Wan leaned in close enough to place his hand in Qui-Gon’s, his skin again tingling. “On the day I do die. We will wait, of course. We can do so. But I will look forward to it.”
“As will I, Obi-Wan.” He was calmer now, peaceful. He vanished from sight, but passed through Obi-Wan’s mind one last time. Goodnight, my Obi-Wan.