The first night back in the Temple after Naboo, Obi-Wan wakes in terror from a blur of pointed teeth, yellow eyes, and the smell of cauterized flesh.
He stumbles into Qui-Gon's bedroom, shaking and breathless and seeking a heartbeat. He leans over his Master, feels for his breath on his ear, a pulse under his palm.
Qui-Gon wakes, reaches for him, brushes his cheek with his hand and gives him a small, sad smile. It is too much, too much like that moment and Obi-Wan’s heart clenches. He sinks onto the bed, lies down beside him, wraps his arms around his Master. He presses his forehead against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of clean robes, bacta, and tea.
Qui-Gon’s hand touches his cheek, then his chin, tilting his face upwards.
“Obi-Wan.” His name is a slow, deep rumble in Qui-Gon’s chest. He feels as if his own heart vibrates in sympathy. He takes a deeper breath.
His Master's eyes looking up at him in the dark hold a longing he'd never seen before, but he recognizes it. The same feeling has threatened to drown him.
He isn’t sure what lets him dare to brush his lips against Qui-Gon's in that moment, but he does.
His Master's lips are dry and soft. His moustache tickles.
Then Qui-Gon’s lips part and there is heat, pressure, and a low growl.
So begins their warm, dark slide into oblivion.