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Night Hunger

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He stood in the empty hallway, accustoming himself to his new self, to the changes wrought upon his mind and body by the transformation. His hearing was keener, his eyes sharper, the muscles stronger, his teeth...ah his teeth. He flicked his tongue against one of the sharp front fangs and tasted a small drop of his own blood.

Truly, the blood of life.

And he was hungry.

Pacing down the corridor, he extended his new senses, seeking the blood he craved, the blood he needed to sustain his own life. But not just any blood. He wanted a special prey for this, his first victim, his first entry into the world of the undead.

A young sweetness caught his attention and he paused, pressing close to the door, listening for her heartbeat. A resting beat and he heard the sound of fingers typing as she worked on the laptop. She would be tasty, very tasty, indeed. He could imagine her, hunched over, studious, working, always working, unprepared for his attack. She would be afraid when she saw the changes in him, the reddened eyes and sharp fangs, but she would conquer her fear in a heartbeat so she might struggle and fight. Her blood would be even sweeter for the hopeless resistance.

But she was not the one he wanted. Not the special one.

He moved on until a sound reached his ears. Then realized it was two sounds, not one. Gasps of pleasure and delight emerging from two male voices. He knew those voices, could picture the men. Both tall and lean and handsome in their very different ways. The glasses worn by the younger one would be tossed on the nightstand and his eyes would be disoriented and glazed in his passion. Able to see, the older one would be triumphant as he watched the other's face convulse with ecstasy. They would be beautiful together, hands roaming over muscles sculpted into perfection by their life of exploration and action, limbs tangled around each other, their bodies twisting on the sheets.

But there would be two and they would both fight. His mouth pursed in a small moue of dissatisfaction. He wanted to savor this first victory and linger over his meal. Too messy, having to knock one out. This prey could be taken later, each one cherished as a separate feast.

Again, it was gasping sounds that made him pause in his prowling. But this time, the sounds were of a different type of physical exertion, the subtle quiet of muscles rippling and the louder clink of a weight bar impacting with the metal holder. And again and again until the set was finished. Then the twenty second pause before the next set. Another potential victim, his body would be loose and warm from his exercise and he would fight with a Jaffa's superbly trained power and speed before being overwhelmed by his foe's increased strength and enhanced reflexes.

No. The win would be satisfying, particularly for the triumph against such a warrior, but the blood would be alien, tainted by the larvae goa'uld within his system. Maybe later, when he felt the need for variety.

There. That was the one he sought. An older man, his blood would be like a full-bodied wine. Dissolving into mist, he slid noiselessly through the seams of the doorway. With his unnatural sight, he could see his victim sleeping in the bed, the covers pushed to his waist, exposing his powerful chest. The brown hair, touched with traces of silver, was spread loose on the white pillow, the strong face softened in sleep, lids closed over the stunningly blue eyes.

Still silent, he stretched over his victim, laying his body on his chosen prey, his mouth near the throat's vulnerable skin. Such a formidable man and yet here, so soft, so easy to sink his teeth into his veins and drink of life's elixir.

His mouth opened, his fangs distended fully, and he prepared to satisfy his thirst. But something was wrong. The flavor of blood was missing, replaced by something mushy and inedible.

A hand was shaking his shoulder as his prey's voice said, "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Disoriented, the Padawan could only blink and try to focus. Qui-Gon shook him harder and Obi-Wan reluctantly realized he was face-down in his bed, attempting to eat the pillow. Cotton cloth and padding were definitely an inadequate substitute for Qui-Gon's tasty neck.

Rolling over with a soft moan, he gazed up into his Master's concerned face. As in his dream, the other man's hair was loose and flowing around his shoulders and the sheets were at his waist, exposing his torso. But this man would never be an easy victim. Even if he had woken from a deep sleep, this man would have been more of a challenge than Sam, Jack, Daniel and Teal'c combined.

Odd how things in dreams were always the same as real life and yet so different.

"I was dreaming." Qui-Gon merely waited patiently with his best 'I'm your teacher and friend, I'm listening' expression. "I had turned into a vampire. You were going to be my first meal."

Qui-Gon's lips curved into a gentle smile. "It's a wonder you could be hungry at all, after eating all that candy."

Obi-Wan winced as he defended his gluttony, swiping one of every type of treat from the supplies purchased for the Halloween party. "I had to try all of those candy bars. I remember them from Daniel's memories."

"You didn't have to experience every taste sensation in the same night, Obi-Wan. A Jedi should practice moderation."

Smiling, Obi-Wan twisted so he was sitting on top of Qui-Gon, pinning his hands down loosely on the bed. "Such wisdom. That is why you are the Master and I am the student." He smiled without repentance, leaning down, stealing a kiss from Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan's more proper, reserved side was saved for their formal obligations and rarely demonstrated in bed. "But you should be flattered by my dream, Master. I did bypass all of SG-1 for you. You were to be my special one."

"I thought I always *was* your special one, even in real life."

"Oh yes." He nipped at one of Qui-Gon's cheekbones. "Very special." A further nip at his nose. "Shall I prove to you once again?"

"Please," Qui-Gon said huskily.

Another bite, stolen from Qui-Gon's throat, before Obi-Wan murmured in his best imitation of a Transylvanian accent, "I vant to drink your blood."

His Master restrained himself from rolling his eyes, refusing to give Obi-Wan the satisfaction of responding to his teasing. But the apprentice felt the tinge of exasperation through their bond anyway, his smile broadening into a grin. Qui-Gon had declined the invitation for the scary movie fest, but he couldn't avoid exposure to the cultural references. Obi-Wan hid his grin as he continued down Qui-Gon's chest, nipping at his sharp peak of his nipple. Qui-Gon flinched and Obi-Wan soothed the hurt with a sucking kiss.

"Blood drinkers? Is that what scares humans?" Qui-Gon asked with curiosity, seemingly unaffected by Obi-Wan's nuzzling.

Obi-Wan grinned deeper, eyes lighting while the corners of his mouth turned up, mouth slightly open as if ready to laugh, sensing Qui-Gon's classic strategy. The Master occasionally liked to pretend an imperviousness to Obi-Wan's touch, a tactic that only delighted and challenged Obi-Wan, making him work harder for their mutual enjoyment. He tongued Qui-Gon's nipples, loving the salty taste of his skin, speaking in between slow licks, "Vampires are the undead. Very sensual but frightening."

"Very sensual would definitely fit you then, my love. No wonder you dreamed of being one." A switch to a less caressing and more regretful tone, "And frightening when you need to be."

"When the Force wills it," Obi-Wan agreed sadly, both knowing that service as a Jedi could require decisive and unpleasant action, and that they both had the strength of character and the courage of their convictions to make that difficult choice when necessary.

Returning to a lighter, more teasing tone, Qui-Gon asked, "But 'the classic'?"

"The one starring Bela Lugosi, the famous actor who created the role." Switching from tongue to hair, Obi-Wan teased Qui-Gon's nipples with the fine tips at the end of his braid. His grin was victorious as he settled the length of his body on Qui-Gon's and felt the heavy stiffness pressing against his stomach. Qui-Gon may masquerade as a master of control, but his body betrayed him when in close proximity to Obi-Wan's.

"And after the vampire classic?" Even as he made casual conversation about Obi-Wan's activity, Qui-Gon reached up to grip the headboard, the veins in his arms standing out in sharp relief, another unsubtle sign of Obi-Wan's affect on him and the strain he imposed on his body when Qui-Gon forced himself to prolong their pleasure rather then rolling Obi-Wan over and burying himself in his Padawan's youthful body.

Scooting down to Qui-Gon's navel, Obi-Wan applied the same dedication that Qui-Gon's nipples had received to licking and sucking the small indentation. "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein."

"What a very odd title. And who are Abbott, Costello, and Frankenstein?"

"Abbott and Costello are a comedy duo that Jack and Teal'c find hysterical. A true classic, in Jack's opinion."

Knowing that not all of Jack's cultural enthusiasms were shared by everyone, Qui-Gon asked, "And in yours and Daniel's?"

"Daniel and I spent most of the movie whispering, trying to determine if there was any relation between Earth horror tales and ancient Republic legends. Jack complained we had no respect, using a very odd voice."

Qui-Gon smiled, imagining the scene, the four men so similarly clad in some combination of khaki, deep blue, or black, and so similar and yet so different in their personalities. While all four shared an extreme devotion to duty, Obi-Wan and Daniel were united in dedication to academic pursuit. Jack and Teal'c would have been eating popcorn and laughing, while Daniel and Obi-Wan were intent in their determination to discover a cultural connection between their two galaxies.

"And who is Frankenstein?"

"Frankenstein," Obi-Wan answered, sliding further down to rest his body between Qui-Gon's legs, "is a monster. A huge, fearsome monster." Grasping Qui-Gon's cock, he licked slowly across the tip, wet tongue catching drops of pre-cum.

With humor rather than disapproval, Qui-Gon asked, "Obi-Wan, are you implying I'm a monster?"

"Not you, just this beast. But don't worry, I know how to defeat it."

Qui-Gon's intention to question Obi-Wan regarding strategy was halted when the Padawan simply swallowed him to the root, enveloping him in moist, warm pleasure, a pleasure that spread through his entire body, and silenced any attempt at rational conversation. Obi-Wan began sucking, strongly drawing Qui-Gon's length into his mouth, then relaxing the muscles of his face and throat, diminishing the intensity, then sucking hard again. Qui-Gon writhed on the bed, knowing that he appeared shameless, mouth gasping, hands clutching on Obi-Wan's head, toes flexing, but not caring. Dignity didn't matter. Pretending to have control over his own body was no longer important. Nothing mattered except that Obi-Wan, his handsome, dedicated, sensual, wonderful Obi-Wan, made a feast of him.

Curling his back to sit up, Qui-Gon was able to reach more of Obi-Wan, tracing the supple length of his spine, stroking along his sides, expressing his appreciation of Obi-Wan's attentions with his touch and his moans, oddly high and breathless for a man who normally spoke with a low, soothing voice.

With one final concentrated sucking, Obi-Wan made the world explode behind Qui-Gon's eyes, his long body shuddering with pure ecstasy before he slumped back to the bed, barely able to move, exhausted from the power drawn out of him by Obi-Wan's skillful mouth.

Obi-Wan's grin could have ignited the stars in the sky, so delighted was he with Qui-Gon's responsiveness and his ability to turn his Master into a whimpering mass of flesh. Sliding back up and sitting on his knees, he placed Qui-Gon's limp legs on his shoulders. "That's what vampires do, Master. They suck."

Qui-Gon's only response was a sleepy grunt but Obi-Wan wasn't deterred, calling the bottle of massage oil to him with the Force. His preparations were thorough, but fast, his own need driving him now, and knowing that he could ensure his Master would enjoy this experience as well as the last.

The older Jedi stayed limp and sleepy until Obi-Wan began gradually easing himself into his Master's body. Cracking his eyes, Qui-Gon noted mildly, "That's not sucking, Obi-Wan."

"They drive a lot of long stakes into bodies in vampire movies, too, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan replied as his own eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, continuing his steady entry, stroking the fine hairs on Qui-Gon's shins, nuzzling one anklebone.

"Very well then. Let's keep with the horror theme," Qui-Gon said indulgently. "How much force do they use, Obi-Wan?"

"A lot, Qui-Gon. A lot." Obi-Wan leaned forward, pressing Qui-Gon's legs to his own chest, his hips thrusting rapidly, desperate to find his own pleasure, yet also seeking the perfect angle to tap Qui-Gon's prostate. Satisfying Qui-Gon was always wonderful, but even better were the sensations to be found when thrusting into his body, the clinging pressure of tight muscles squeezing his cock as his Master was rocketed to pleasure, exhorting him to pound harder and deeper.

And exhort Qui-Gon did, pleading for more and yet more, welcoming Obi-Wan with his words and his body, rocking with his vigorous lunging and retreating until the bed springs were squeaking from the activity, sweat was dripping from their bodies, and both men were groaning with the wild ecstasy found in their shared orgasm.

They collapsed together, both moving gingerly to separate and lay on their sides, facing each other, to cuddle tenderly, too satiated to desire more sex but needing the comfort of touch.

Wrapping Obi-Wan's braid around his neck, Qui-Gon asked, "Out of all the horrors and soulless individuals we have fought, do you know the only thing that scares me, my Obi-Wan?"

"No, my Qui-Gon. What could scare you?"

Qui-Gon gazed at Obi-Wan's beautiful face, shiny with sweat and luminescent with love. "If I ever lost you, my love."

Obi-Wan returned the sentiment with his kiss, the intensity reflecting the strength of his emotions.

~ the end ~