Pure Serene
Today, they're going to be working on breathing.
This is what she's been thrown across time and space and reality on some big mystical Slayery journey for, apparently: breathing. Man, the Powers That Be had some weird ideas about quests. And okay, she'd scored a free trip to another galaxy for it, and been spending a whole lot of time with a couple of hotass Jedi -- some of which time had consisted of some pretty awesome sex -- so she wasn't really complaining, but still.
"I think I've kinda got a handle on it," she says drily, when Qui-Gon tells her and Obi-Wan that they'll be practicing breathing. "Been doing it since I was born. In, out. Just one of those things that comes naturally to me, you know? Guess you could say I've got a talent for it."
Obi-Wan, as ever, looks mildly scandalized at her flippant tone, if slightly amused, and his eyes go back and forth between her and Qui-Gon. The elder man, for himself, is as unperturbed as ever by Buffy. He's not nearly as fun to be flip with as Giles.
"I'm sure," Qui-Gon says mildly, "that you'll do well today, then, won't you?"
Buffy glowers at him, briefly and without a whole lot of real bile, and then sits down on the pale wooden floor of the training room Qui-Gon brought them into. The Master gestured towards a button beside the door as they came in, and the massive windows became translucent, so that the shapes of ships that flew by couldn't really be seen; only the vague outlines of the city. Everything is just a mess of white light with the bright midday sun that floats in.
Obi-Wan, of course, settles into a trance with little trouble. Lousy Jedi, she grumbles to herself, going into the same position, legs crossed beneath her and eyes closed. She hears Qui-Gon walking around the room, apparently at random, as she breathes. In, one, two, three, hold, out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three, hold, out, one, two, three. All the while, she's listening to the soft whisper of his linen robes, his bare feet on the wooden floor -- they're all barefoot in here. He's in this corner, walking along the wall to that one. In, one, two, three, hold, out, one, two three. Nope, still no trance.
"Your mind is always so busy, Buffy," he says, and she jumps a little, her eyes opening. Deliberately, casually, he comes over and crouches beside her, reaches out with his hand and lays it over her eyes.
"Sorry," Buffy says automatically, closing her eyes under his warm, rough touch.
"Don't be sorry," he answers, as he always does. "Just be."
"Easier said than done," she mutters, and sighs, trying to go back to breathing.
"Probably," Qui-Gon says, and she can hear amusement in his voice. His hand moves from her eyes, down to her left shoulder, and it's joined on the other shoulder by his other hand. He pushes at her gently, and she takes the hint and lies back. "But," he adds, "not so much as you think."
Buffy makes a skeptical noise at this, but tries again. In, one, two, three, hold, out, one, two, three, hold.
"Don't count." Qui-Gon has not moved away, is still there, still gentle and patient. It's not an order, really. "Just breathe. You've been doing it all your life, if you'll recall," he adds, and there's that amusement again. She fights the urge to offer a snarky reply.
Okay. Breathe. Yeah, she can do that. No problem.
Buffy breathes. And then she feels his hand on her face again, on her forehead this time, and she keeps breathing. Ignore the touch, she tries to tell herself. It's a test.
A low chuckle. "Yes," he says. "It is. But not of that. This is like the time with the lightsaber, Buffy. Remember that?"
She grins. Oh, yeah. She remembers that.
He's grinning, too, she can feel it as Qui-Gon leans down and kisses her, easily and patiently, running a couple of fingers along her throat. His lips still hushing against hers as he murmurs, "Don't ignore what your body tells you. Don't try to tune it out. Just breathe through it. Be aware of it, but don't make it everything."
Buffy nods a little, acknowledging that she's heard him. And she breathes.
She listens, first and foremost, to her own breathing, and there is the soft scratchy whisper of fabric as Qui-Gon opens her tunic. There's the cool air on her skin, and Buffy gets goosebumps as he kisses her throat, running a soothing hand over one of her breasts. But she listens to her breathing, lets it become the loudest thing, that and the beat of her heart.
She finds, then, that the tranquil, easy touches aren't surprises, entirely -- not that she knows where Qui-Gon's hands or his mouth or his tongue will touch her skin next, exactly, but it's not a shock, exactly, either. Occasionally her breath will grow harsh or ragged, and sometimes, then, he'll fall still, and let Buffy regain her balance. Not always, though, sometimes he continues on in spite of her, and she has to right herself.
"Your breathing," he says at one of these times, as he stops -- at first, she thinks, to let her catch herself, but it turns out instead that it's to kiss the skin between her breasts. As Buffy closes her eyes and tries to follow his instructions, to listen only to her own breath and her own heart, she realizes that it is not the precise center where his lips have touched, but a little closer to her left breast. A little closer to her heart.
That is, of course, the sort of detail that she's probably supposed to be noticing. Awareness, awareness of the body, awareness of the skin, awareness of everything. That's what this is an exercise in. So maybe she's getting the hang of it after all, this Jedi stuff.
Although, she reflects, her mouth curling up into a little smile, this is a hell of a lot more interesting than any of the ways that Giles has ever tried to teach her the same lesson.
As soon as she's thought it, as soon as she's smiled, there's a soft laugh that comes from the vicinity of her belly button. Buffy feels warm breath on her skin as she hears Qui-Gon chuckle.
"That's really freaky, you know," she says. Her own tone is subdued -- not strained, just muted.
"Yes," he answers easily. "You've told me so."
"'Kay. Just so we're all clear."
"Breathe," is all Qui-Gon says, untroubled, undemanding.
Buffy breathes. She keeps her eyes closed, and she just tries to breathe. Remembers the lesson with the lightsaber, and doesn't try to banish her thoughts, just lets them come and lets them go. It's one of the hardest habits she's had to cultivate, and she's still working on it.
"Listen," Qui-Gon whispers, as she feels his hands on the linen of her trousers. Buffy tries only to listen. 'Cuz she thinks she gets what he means, and so she listens, listens to his breath and to her own. She tries hard to listen to the rush of blood in her ears and her heartbeat, but harder still to listen to their breath, to keep her own steady.
Her lips, she realizes when he kisses her once more, placid and mild, have curled, slightly. She is smiling, a little, not out of any particular giddiness, but simply as though this pale, easy calm that stretches behind her eyes is something that you just can't help but smile at. She thinks Qui-Gon's smiling, too, so maybe it's true.
Buffy listens, and Buffy breathes.
She's vaguely aware of it, surprised but not surprised, when he slips into her. Buffy hears how her own breath sort of -- catches -- and it goes ragged for just a few moments, but then she steadies it again. There are several rhythms she's aware of, listening and feeling; there's the feeling of his pulse in the wrist and fingertips on her skin, there's the feeling of her own heartbeat, there's the sound of Qui-Gon's breathing and the pace he begins to set, entering and withdrawing again. And her body, her mind, both want to go with one of these, to latch onto them and breathe as he does, breathe as her heart beats, breathe as he thrusts.
But none of these other beats are exactly right. It takes focus to maintain the rhythm of her own breathing, and so she focuses, as she knows that he's meant for her to do all along, with this.
Her breath catches again when she feels his fingers at her clit, when he begins touching and rubbing, but as before, she steadies it -- and more quickly this time. Buffy is learning, and she'll probably be proud of herself later, but right now, she doesn't have the energy to spare for that. Right now, there is only her body, and only the rhythms.
Maybe it's a sort of trance that she's gone into. Buffy's not sure, entirely, how long it goes on, she doesn't even count the breaths or the seconds that pass for inhaling and exhaling. There's only the breathing, in and out as the thunder of her blood continues, as things grow warmer and patterns of light dance behind her eyelids.
Then -- then -- it's not like any of the ones she's had before. She remembers Qui-Gon's words, or maybe he's still muttering them, voice low and rough and gentle. Breathe, and Buffy breathes, she listens to her own breathing, the thunder of blood rushing in her ears. In, out, in, out, and suddenly there is a brilliance in the stillness, like the aroura racing and flashing across the night sky, while all is frozen and still and white below.
Heartbeats. Beats. Beats. Flashing, glowing brilliance that slowly, slowly consumes her, waves flash-frozen and glowing under the northern lights. Breathe.
In, out.
In, out.
Stillness, but with everything alive within it. A million billion tiny movements and motions and flickers, but all within a great stillness.
In, out.
Brilliance.
"What did you notice?" he asks quietly, after the brilliance has faded from about her vision, after her body seems to have weight again. And it's as freaky as ever how he just seems to know this stuff. Because of course with her so damn focused on her breathing, that's not going to give her away; it is simply that he sees things with her eyes and her mind when he needs to.
Buffy frowns a little, looking at him and then thinking. She remembers the kisses, first of all. She hesitates, a little, still unable to control the blush that spreads across her cheeks, nor the slight shaking of her voice when she talks about these things, though neither Obi-Wan nor Qui-Gon seems all that bothered by them when it's only the three of them. But there's something in the amusement in his eyes, an affirmation, that makes her think she's on the right track, and so she says, slowly, "When you would kiss me. They weren't -- it wasn't in exact places. Like, instead of here?" She puts a finger dead center between her breasts. "You'd kiss me here." Moves the finger, a little, just slightly to the left, though it's not quite over her heart, either.
Qui-Gon smiles, nods. "Very good," he says. "You've taken a great many steps very quickly, Buffy. Had you been a Jedi... "
He trails off, and she shrugs. "But I'm not," she says. "No fun mind-reading or levitating stuff for Buffy. Which," she adds, tilting her head as if in thought, "is probably good, 'cuz otherwise I'd be fat as the moon. I mean, seriously, like I'd have any reason to get off the couch if I could just float stuff over to me?"
The Jedi Master chuckles, as unperturbed as ever by her mildly sarcastic chatter. He told her, once, that she does well at being in the moment, at dealing with what is rather than what might have been or might yet be. She guesses that's why he doesn't really mind it now.
A small sound, somewhere between a strangled moan and a questioning grunt, comes from nearby then. Both of them look, startled, over to Obi-Wan, who... isn't in that trance anymore.
Buffy bites her lip and blushes as Obi-Wan is blushing, looks towards the window, but she's grinning as she does it, and looking at him from the corner of her eye. She's caught a glimpse of Qui-Gon, who's smiling, too, though not as wide a grin as her own.
"Master -- " Obi-Wan says weakly, and Buffy chances a glance at him. His lips are parted slightly, and even though he's blushing, his eyes are dark.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says, with a sigh that has just a little too much emotion for Buffy to believe it's genuine disappointment, "I thought you had reached your trance state?"
"I was -- distracted," Obi-Wan answers. His voice is a little lower than usual, as though he's having a little trouble with the whole breath control thing, himself.
"Well, that's lame," Buffy says. "Geez, I could hold a trance longer than that, and I'm not even a Jedi. The Force is all up in my body or whatever."
"The nature of the Slayer seems to be such that the Force presence within her seems largely concentrated in the abilities and capabilities of flesh, rather than in your mind and body both, as it is in the Jedi. That's why there is more... physicality to your lessons," Qui-Gon says. It's an automatic explanation by now.
"That and I'm a hot chick," Buffy adds cheerfully, grinning conspiratorially at Obi-Wan, who carefully does not look at her. "Also," she says, "sounds kinda like you're not doing so well with that steady breathing thing."
"What?" Obi-Wan squawks.
"Oh, I think she's right, Padawan," Qui-Gon says. "This lesson might not go amiss for you, either."
"I -- " Obi-Wan begins, and then falters, looking between them.
Buffy smiles, and scootches over. Puts her hand over his eyes. She feels the warmth of Qui-Gon's form beside her as she leans in to kiss Obi-Wan, and whispers, the easy smile still on her face, "Just close your eyes."