"Master...." Obi-Wan hesitated. "I want to... but it's too soon."
"No," said a familiar, but unexpected voice. "It's too late."
He jerked in shock, almost hitting his nose against the smiling face of the Senator. The body covering his was no longer Qui-Gon's muscular bulk, but the unnaturally smooth form of the Sith. He twisted his head to look at where the Sith had lain dead; a large form lay crumpled in the same spot. The shadows hid the face, but Obi-Wan knew those robes. "No...," he whispered, a keen of grief building in his throat. A mind trick, and he had not even suspected.
The Sith smiled, and Obi-Wan felt his satisfaction through the sickly, but immutable, bond that had formed between them during the sex. "Happy wedding day, my dear."
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