Disclaimer, the sandbox and all the toys in it belongs to
Lucas, I only play with the kind of sand he doesn't need.
The poem is borrowed from William Blake, and transformed to fit
this vignette.
Summary, what if Qui -Gon does bring Obi to Wattoo's shop.
Sex , none, some implied m/m .language, none. Violence none.
Category romance, angst.vignette
"You say you don't have anything to pay with for the
hyperdrive?" Wattoo said.
" I don't have anything else but republic credits." The Jedi
answered.
" But you do, " Wattoo circled in the air around Obi-Wan. "This
young one would fetch the right amount of money, if you auction
off a night with him. If he is a Jedi, he should be a virgin,
isn't he?"
"Of course," Qui-Gon nodded. "And he has to remain chaste."
"But, Master, this could save the Queen and our mission."
Obi-Wan protested. "Accept the offer." Mentally he sent.
Master, I don't intend to give more than an illusion. That
should be enough.
Qui-Gon sighed, relieved. That should be enough, he sent.
"All right, you can do the auction."
Wattoo notified those who he thought might be interested, in
the bidding.
Later that day. Obi-Wan was displayed in the shop, naked.
Four prospective buyers, gathered to gape at him.
Qui-Gon was there, staring, couldn't help it. Gods, he is
beautiful, so beautiful. He, who spent his entire life in
remaining chaste, now almost understood how some Jedi gave up
the sacred wows. He longed to touch the slim body.
The bidding was furious. The price kept going up, it more than
covered what they needed.
The lucky winner took Obi-Wan to his home, Qui-Gon remained
connected to his Padawan, monitoring him.
"I'm letting him imagine what he wishes," Obi-Wan sent.
The night was a rose, blooming crimson.Obi-Wan couldn't help to
be affected by the erotic images, his buyer, dreamed of, not
even as much as touching him, the man lay on his bed, immersed
in his dreams. Would you want to do this to me, Master? Obi-Wan
asked through their bond.
I think yes, but this'll never happen. We both took wows,
Padawan, this cannot be. I might dream of it sometimes, and you
can too, but never more than that. You are beautiful. Qui-Gon
sent.
So are you Master. But this won't go further than dreams.
Wanting is better than having, we will dream, this could be our
secret, our own hidden garden, like a rose that'll never bloom,
Obi-Wan sent.
So much more precious, because it won't be, but we can dream of
it as long as we both shall live.
A rose, a rose, burning bright, in the garden of the night,
what immortal hand had drawn,
thy petals that die with dawn,
in what distant deeps of space,
hides our fear of disgrace,
on what wings our dreams are fleeing,
what hand dares to seize the fire,
what our secret dreams aspire,
and what wishes and what art,
could bring this flame to our heart,
and when our heart starts to beat,
what desires bring this heat.
What dreadful longing tears us
away from the right path,
when the stars weep bitter tears,
can we smile at each other,
could we live with dreadful shame,
we who live for the Light,
can our fire paint the Night,
our desire is a rose, that'll never bloom,
yet this rose that we won't see
will scent the air wherever we will be.
The morning came, and Qui-Gon had the hyperdrive delivered to
the ship. Obi-Wan walked beside him, his hood covering his
face. They didn't talk. But between them unseen a golden thread
of their secret strecthed, like a bond, and a scent of roses
followed them.
End.
Have no time to continue, if anybody wants it go ahead.
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