Spoilers: Set during TPM, but no significant spoilers
Summary: Qui-Gon reflects on the effect his decision to train
Anakin might affect his current Padawan. Told in the first
person.
Feedback. Yes please to alys4@easynet.co.uk - as not only is
this a first for QG and OW but several firsts for me :) First
slash, first story in the first person, first story in the
current tense - hey if you're going to do something new, you
might as well go the whole hog :)
I sigh as the damp air settles into these weary joints. Ageing
may suit those on the council, where age is considered
synonymous with wisdom, but for a warrior such as myself, one
who feels most at one with the Force when wielding a sabre, in
battle or in practice, age brings no comfort. I could feel age
stalking me during that battle on Tatooine. That frightened me,
badly. Oh, I've been in battles before where the odds were
stacked against me, where I came close to losing, and more than
once lost. Without effort, I can call a dozen or so such
skirmishes to mind. But never before have I been tested so
severely by just one opponent. It's shaken my confidence, that
I know, to be tested by one such as that. And we will face him
again, my Padawan and I. That I know as well as I understand
that the sun will rise tomorrow, as it once rose in my
Padawan's eyes. A light I may have extinguished with my
thoughtlessness. No, age brings no comfort to me. And even less
wisdom it seems.
I can still feel the taste of it in my mouth, my Padawan's
pain. It's strange that, how I can feel ripples in the Force in
my jaw. Some feel it in the back of their necks, the hair there
tingling. Or down the spine, like icy shivers. Me, I've always
felt it like a clenching of the jaw, a tightening of the
throat. A taste of pain, acid and harsh.
I should have spoken to him beforehand, warned him of what I
intended to say to the Council. I meant each word that I said.
He is ready to take the Trials, ready to be a Knight, and at
last my equal. And then, perhaps more? However, coming straight
on the heels of my defense of the boy, my certainty that he
needed to be trained, and that I was the one who needed to
train him, how could he take it as anything but rejection? I
forget sometimes, seeing him now as a man, how uncertain the
boy was. How unsure of everything but one thing - the constancy
of rejection.
I did a lot of damage, both then and now. Then in rejecting him
as Padawan several times, each time driving his self-esteem
further down. It still surprises me now that when I finally
acknowledged him as my Padawan, he didn't just tell me to 'go
to Hoth', or whatever the equivalent phrase is for his
generation. I fight back laughter at the picture this creates
in my head. He was always too stubborn for his own good, my
Padawan. He still is in a lot of ways. My thoughts darken as I
remember the way he has barely spoken to me since we left
Coruscant. The only time he has broken this self-imposed
silence was when he warned me of how dangerous he perceives the
boy to be. I dismissed that as jealousy at first, and now I'm
not so sure. Unwillingly I recall his words to me as we waited
on the Neimoidian Flagship. I dismissed his 'bad feeling' then,
as I dismiss his concerns about the boy now. I've been
dismissing him too much recently. The thing is, I know how
dangerous the boy is. I'm not so blind that I cannot see that,
but am I the only one who can see that that is why the
boy should be trained? How much more dangerous would he be
untrained, or Force forbid, trained by Sith?
Regardless, my Padawan had every right to voice his concerns to
me - I have always encouraged him to have his own opinions, no
matter what the Council may think of my teaching methods.
Better a Jedi who questions occasionally than one who follows
blindly. Better in many ways to be a renegade than to be as
hidebound as some of the Council, and many of my compatriots.
For all that I tell my Padawan to live in the moment, there are
eddies in the Force I can not ignore. A storm is coming, and it
bodes ill for all of us, and I can't help but wonder whether a
Council as rigid as this one will be able to withstand it.
With a conscious effort, I drag my mind back to the present,
and once again my thoughts return to the damage I have done
now. I can no longer feel my Padawan. After that first, brief
flare of pain, I felt his shields slam down in the Council
Room, and he hasn't raised them since. It's ... unnerving. For
more than a decade now, I have felt that connection that exists
between Master and Padawan. The connection I have with Obi-Wan
has been deeper than the one with either of my two other
apprentices. It was a connection that formed before I'd even
acknowledged it. I'd chosen my other apprentices, not had them
choose me, or be chosen for me by the Force. Obi-Wan chose me,
consciously or not, and my unconscious mind agreed with that
choice no matter how much my conscious mind kicked and screamed
and denied it. It had not been a pretty sight, I
acknowledge now with a wry, inner smile. But the boy won in the
end, and thinking of the man I know now, I thank the Force he
did. Yes, Obi-Wan chose me, and now the Force has chosen
Anakin. All I have to do is make Obi-Wan see this as fate and
not rejection.
And after that feat, I'll walk on water.
I sigh again. For possibly the first time since he came into my
life I have absolutely no idea what to say to my Padawan. Where
do I begin to repair the damage? Do I just walk up to him and
say, I know you're angry, forgive me? Would he listen? Or has
the chasm between us just grown too wide for mere words now? If
he would lower his shields, I could show him. Show him how
sorry I am that I hurt him. Show him that I am proud of him,
and that I do believe that he is ready for the Trials,
and that I did not say this just to be rid of him. But I cannot
tell him these things yet. A decade's experience of my Padawan
tells me that I will have to wait until he is ready to listen,
which means waiting until he comes to me.
As if in answer to my silent prayer, I hear his footsteps
behind me, and his soft, almost hesitant, "Master?" Now it is
my turn to hesitate, as again it comes. "Master?" What am I
waiting for? I wonder dimly. His voice comes again, stronger
this time.
"Qui-Gon?" Ah. How long have I been waiting to hear those words
from his lips? At last I turn to face him.
"I've been thinking," I say, keeping my voice low, directing my
eyes towards the others. We cannot afford to be overheard. "We
are treading on dangerous ground. If the Queen intends to fight
a war, we cannot become involved. Not even in her efforts to
persuade the Gungans to join with the Naboo against the
Federation, if that is what she intends by coming here. The
Jedi have no authority to take sides." I start to walk slowly
away from our rudimentary camp, and my Padawan follows.
"But we do have authority to protect the Queen," he points out.
Ah, my Padawan, how well you have learned the lessons of
diplomacy I have striven to teach you.
I slide my eyes sideways to look at him. "It is a fine line we
walk, then." Testing him as always, but at least the topic is a
relatively safe one. He doesn't agree with me immediately, but
after what seems to me to be an eternity he takes a deep
breath, stopping and turning to face me. I glance over his
shoulder, but we are out of earshot now, and out of sight.
"Master, I behaved badly on Coruscant, and I am embarrassed. I
meant no disrespect to you. I do not wish to be difficult in
the matter of the boy." He has the courage to breach the gap
between us that I could not, and I feel a renewed surge of
pride in him.
"Nor have you been," I chide gently, smiling at him now. "You
have been honest with me. Honesty is never wrong. I did not lie
when I told the Council you were ready. You are. I have taught
you all I can. You will be a great Jedi, my young Padawan. You
will make me proud."
He reaches out and grips my hand for a moment, and I can feel
his relief through our bond - our bond that he has now opened
up between us again, although his mind is still shielded
against me. As it should be, I think with an internal sigh, now
that he is to be a Knight and not my Padawan anymore.
"Padawan," I say again, just to hear the sound of it. His
eyebrow quirks up slightly, as he hears to tone of regret in my
voice. I smile slightly. "I won't be able to call you that for
much longer," I explain in response to his unasked question.
Almost of their own volition my fingers reach out and catch his
braid. "And this will have to go."
"Good."
Its my turn to raise my eyebrows at his pithy response, and his
turn to explain, which he does with that familiar half smile
playing around the corners of his mouth. How I've missed that
smile. "I'm all for tradition, Master, but this hairstyle is
rather inelegant."
"Traditions are important, Padawan." Cringing slightly, I hear
the lecturing tone enter my voice, but he indulges me.
"Yes, Master." I love the sound of those words coming from him,
and I continue, just to hear him say them again.
"They are part of what makes us Jedi."
"Yes, Master." This time he lets me hear the amusement in his
voice, and it occurs to me that perhaps he is calling me Master
the way I called him Padawan, because he can, and all too soon
I will cease to be his Master. My thoughts are brooding and
dark tonight, and I don't know why. I try to dismiss them.
My fingers are still stroking up and down his braid. It's soft
and silky and I love the feel of it under my fingertips. "Will
you grow your hair long?" I ask idly, wondering how it would
feel to have a head full of such soft hair to run my fingers
through.
"Perhaps," he replies. "I don't think I'll grow it as long as
yours," he adds with a smile as his fingers reach up and gently
touch the ends of my hair. The gesture is oddly sweet, a word I
do not normally associate with my Padawan. Impulsive,
impatient, headstrong, vibrant, impish - yes, but never sweet.
Too spiky and fierce to be sweet. Too desirable.
His smile turns wicked then. "Or perhaps I'll just cut it all
off like Master Windu."
My jaw drops, I can feel it, and I can also feel the way his
body shakes slightly with suppressed mirth. I scowl at him, but
he knows there is no heat behind it.
"Imp!" I growl. He grins openly at me then.
"You haven't called me that since I was a child."
"You've more or less behaved yourself since then," I grumble,
tugging on his braid affectionately. I find myself strangely
reluctant to let it go.
"What will happen?" he asks. I frown at him, for real this
time.
"The Trials?" I ask. He shakes his head slightly.
"No, Master. I'll deal with the Trials as they come, whatever
they are." Ah, good. For a second I wondered. Details of the
Trials are not to be discussed with Padawans. If they are
ready, then they will cope. If they are not, then no amount of
warning will help, and he knows that.
"No, Master," he continues, "I meant afterwards, if I pass
these Trials."
"When," I correct him, for I have no doubt that he is ready.
It's whether I am ready to let him go that I doubt. "Well," I
begin, moving my hand down to the end of his braid, where it
rests at his waist, "there are rituals." He knows this, but
perhaps he needs to hear my voice as much as I seem to need to
touch him. The chasm between us does not gape as it did, but
there is still some small distance to go.
I begin to wind his braid around my fist. "Rituals to mark your
progress to Knight, to mark the end of one stage and the
beginning of the next." My voice lowers, and I do not meet his
eyes, instead concentrating on my hand where it catches his
hair. "Necessary steps as they mark the setting aside of the
old, and the embracing of the new." As I continue to wind his
braid around my hand it pulls him closer to me, until we are
barely inches apart. He is not a short man, medium height and
build, but still I tower over him. I forget that too sometimes,
now that he no longer runs to keep up with me. Or perhaps its
that I've adjusted my stride to his for so long that I no
longer notice the slowing of my own steps.
His braid is now fully wrapped up around my palm, and my hand
cups his head gently, my thumb stroking over the point where
his braid grows. He leans slightly into my touch, and my eyes
finally meet his. His face is calm and unbidden the words of
the Jedi Code come to mind, 'There is no passion, there is
serenity.' Even as a Master I struggled with that concept, and
now perhaps I finally understand. This is right. This is
serenity.
"These rituals are simple," I continue, my voice strangely calm
now that this moment has come. "They involve the removing of
the braid," I move my other hand around to the back of his head
to stroke the ponytail there, "and the removal of this." I tug
on it gently, and that earns a brief smile, although it doesn't
reach his eyes. His eyes remain calm and serious.
"And that is all?" he prompts gently.
"That is all there is to the ritual," I reply. My hands remain
cradling his head, and his face is tilted up towards me,
waiting. "There is one more thing that I have promised to
myself to do when you reached Knighthood."
He knows what I'm going to do. As I move my face towards his,
his eyes close and he leans further into me. His mouth opens up
under mine. A single thought reverberates through my mind.
'This is right.'
At first the kiss is soft, almost chaste, and then his hands
reach up to grab my tunic, pulling me closer. His tongue enters
my mouth and I feel the joyous shock of it all the way to my
groin. A soft sound of need escapes him, or perhaps from me. I
loosen my grip for a moment to drag him further into the
forest, away from the camp and he follows me willingly, as he
always has. Into battle, into a conflict with the Council, and
now into my arms. I am blessed.
His hands are in my hair now, pulling my head down to his while
he rains kisses across my face. When I finally manage to
capture his lips again with mine I can feel them curl upwards
in a smile. Imp. My Padawan imp.
He must have caught my thought, because now I can feel his
laughter, and it does more to lighten my mood than any amount
of kisses. That's the one thing that I have missed, as he's
grown older - his sense of humour - as he's adopted the more
serious demeanour of a Jedi soon-to-be knight. I don't know if
he caught that thought too, but the intensity with which he is
kissing me now would lighten any heart, so perhaps I was wrong.
I have waited countless years to reach this point, ever since I
stopped thinking of my beloved Padawan as a boy and noticed the
man he had become, so why could I not wait the few days it will
take for him to be confirmed as Knight, and approach him as an
equal? Perhaps it is the fact that there has been distance
between us these last few days, a distance that has never
existed before. Perhaps it is because of the battle I fought on
Tatooine that has left me with an uncomfortable sense of my own
mortality. Or perhaps it was the fact that after battling my
desire for him for so long, now that the end is in sight I can
no longer resist his siren call. I cannot say. There is a sense
of urgency driving me, and the fact that he now has my robe
halfway off is not helping.
"Obi-Wan," I breathe into his mouth. "Always so impatient..."
"We'll be missed," he whispers back between kisses. "We don't
have long before our absence is noted. Or before duty compels
us to return." These are oddly formal words from someone who
has now removed my robe completely and is working on my belt. I
raise one eyebrow at him, pulling away from him slightly. My
Padawan lecturing me on duty?
"Perhaps we should return..." I tease him slightly, unable to
resist. He responds with words that I didn't know he knew, but
which after years of dealing with freighter captains I do
understand, and flips me onto my back with a Force assisted
push which would have knocked the breath straight out of me if
I hadn't half been expecting it.
He moves to straddle my thighs. I can't see his face clearly in
the gloom of the forest, but I can sense his glare through our
bond. Mental note to myself - don't tease your horny Padawan.
He senses that thought too. "The best idea you've had all day,
Master." He moves in to kiss me again, but I stop him with a
hand placed squarely in the middle of his chest.
"Qui-Gon," I say. He's confused for a second before the light
dawns.
"The best idea you've had all day, Qui-Gon," he repeats,
and I sense rather than see his smile. He captures my face
between his strong hands, his blunt fingers gentle. He stares
at me for a long moment, saying nothing more, before leaning
down and stealing a long kiss.
Too long. While at any other time I may luxuriate in it, I
still have that feeling of time being too short and it forces
me to action.
The tables are turned and I flip him over onto his back,
settling myself onto him with a thump that makes him squeak. He
growls at me as I laugh, but his growl turns to a moan as I
plunder his mouth.
It becomes a wrestling match, each of us seeking supremacy and
neither of us willing to relinquish the upper hand. He focuses
and flips me back onto my back again. His control of the Force
is admirable in this situation. Perhaps I erred in his training
by not introducing this exercise earlier, since being able to
be one with the living Force has been his one weakness. He has
no problem now. I, however, would have difficulty in lifting a
pebble, let alone a grown man, as his lips move down my body
trailing heat in their wake. He captures the top of my leggings
in his teeth, and drags them down, freeing my now rigid cock.
He wastes no time in familiarising himself with it.
Too fast now. He's driving me rapidly towards the edge of my
control and I know release is close, as his mouth moves on me,
his teeth and tongue combining to send white hot flashes of
desire through me. He sucks hard, and I cry out, teetering on
the very brink before my hands fasten in his hair and pull him
away. For a moment I hold him there as he struggles against me,
before I summon my concentration, and almost fling him away,
moving to pin him with my body before he can react.
I sense his confusion, his desire and a little hurt. It's a
heady mix, and it almost sucks me in again. "Do you trust me?"
I ask, my voice harsher than I intend, but I am surprised I'm
still capable of rational thought let alone speech. A strange
question, perhaps, given that he's trusted me with his life for
over a decade, but I need to hear him say it.
He looks even more confused for a moment, then nods. I'm
frightening him a little, I think, which I didn't intend, but
he doesn't show it. I ease my grip on him slightly, and lean
down to capture his mouth again, sucking his bottom lip into my
mouth. He surges up against me, gasping, and I can feel his
erection pressing into my stomach.
"I want more than this," I breathe. "I want to be inside you,
my Obi-Wan."
His eyes widen, and I can sense the rush of emotion through our
bond - surprise, and a little fear, mingled with a rising
excitement. I wait for him to gather himself, not rushing him
or forcing his decision. After a few eternally long seconds, he
nods once. He doesn't trust himself with words, I think. "I
won't hurt you, love," I murmur to him, although a part of me
knows that some pain is inevitable this first time.
And I instinctively know that this will be a first for him. My
Padawan is not lacking in experience. If I hadn't observed from
a distance the number of time he's been pursued, and caught,
the skill with which he's kissed, and pleasured me would have
told me that. In fact I believe that he may be more experienced
than I. So it's a little strange that this remains untouched
ground.
// For you // the whispered thought comes through our bond, and
I am rendered speechless. // That will be a first. //
"Imp," I growl again, to hear his laughter. He turns serious,
and the moons have risen so that I can see his eyes now,
glowing in the moonlight. The love in them fills my heart with
joy.
"I love you," he says. "I trust you, and I want you."
It's all the encouragement that I need. It is but the work of a
moment to remove his remaining clothes, and then I sit back on
my heels just to look at him for a long moment. He is
beautiful, my Padawan. When I have drunk my fill, I meet his
eyes again. They are still calm, but I can sense the underlying
excitement, and there is an answering surge in my blood.
Another kiss and then I remove my own clothes.
I cannot rush now. Time is short, that is true, but to rush
this would be sacrilege. The Queen is safe, and we can do
little else until she leaves this Gungan sanctuary when the sun
rises. We cannot have until then, but an hour will go
unnoticed.
He gives himself over to me as I kiss each inch of his skin. No
wrestling like before, but a sweet surrender. He is mine as I
am his. I take my time, memorising him. The taste of his skin,
the smell of him, the light dusting of hairs on his chest
almost bleached out by the moonlight, the darker, crisper hairs
around the base of his erection. Each part of him explored and
savoured.
Finally, I kiss the tip of his erection, sliding my tongue
around it, and then almost swallowing him whole. He arches
beneath me with a wordless cry. Oh, I have some experience of
my own, my Padawan. He tastes salty and musky and sweet as the
same time. I drive him to the edge as ruthlessly as he drove
me, releasing him only to wet my forefinger in my mouth, before
tormenting him further. I gently seek the entrance to his body
while my mouth drives him wild. He tenses for a second, but the
pleasure I am giving him outweighs any lingering fear or any
pain, and he relaxes allowing me access.
I find what I seek, and earn another cry, this time muffled by
his hand. His body thrusts blindly, lost in sensation, rocking
back onto my hand and then into my mouth. He is so close I can
almost taste him. I crook my finger slightly, scrapping it over
his prostate and that is all that it takes. At the last moment
I pull back, allowing him to spill himself into my hand rather
than my mouth. He comes hard, my name on his lips, biting hard
on his hand to stop himself from screaming.
His eyes are closed, and when he opens them in response to my
"Obi-love," they are dazed, and the most beautiful thing I have
ever seen. "I need you to turn over, love," I say, and he nods,
still dazed, before he complies.
This time the passage of my finger into his body is eased with
his own semen, but he still tenses slightly. I lean over and
kiss him between the shoulder blades, soothing him more than
words could. A second finger joins the first, widening him, and
I can sense through our bond that there is some discomfort
bordering on pain, but despite that he pushes back against me.
A third finger joins its fellows, and any pain now seems
surpassed by the pleasure, as his arousal becomes apparent.
He's rocking back against me, seeking more, and I oblige,
coating my erection in his essence and replacing my fingers
with it.
I ease into him as gently as I know how to, and although he
hisses sharply, he also pushes back. I rock slowly, each gentle
thrust easing me further and further into his tight heat, until
at last I am fully sheathed within him. Oh love, you feel so
good.
I rock back onto my heels, pulling him with me until he
straddles my lap, his back against my chest. I move my hand
round to grasp his erection but do no more. I give myself over
to him now, letting him control the speed and the depth so that
we can take this at his pace. I want his first time to be
perfect.
It takes a little practice on his part, but he soon finds the
angle that gives him the greatest pleasure, each thrust
brushing over his prostate, and driving his cock up into my
clenched fist. As far as I am concerned being inside him is
pleasure enough, and sensing and seeing his pleasure is only
increasing mine.
His breaths are almost sobbing now, and I am dimly aware that
mine are the same. I kiss his throat, his temple, any part of
him I can reach until he turns his head and I can capture his
mouth. I feel the familiar tension in my belly, the tightening
in the pit of my stomach which tells me that I am close. I open
my mind to him. Perhaps it is too much this first time, but
Force I want him to know how I feel, what he does to me, how
much I love him. His mind reaches out to mine, and suddenly the
connection is made. I am him and he is me and I no longer know
where I end and he begins. I am both penetrator and penetrated,
and it is too much to take. I plunder his mouth ruthlessly,
swallowing his cry of pleasure as he swallows mine, and I
explode inside him.
Replete, I rain kisses over his face, tasting salt. I cannot
say whether it is sweat or tears, and if the latter whether
they are his or mine. I ease out from his body, and pull him
down onto the forest floor with me, wrapping my arms tightly
around him, and rocking him, murmuring meaningless sounds of
comfort into his ear as the last shudders from his orgasm
course through his body.
We lie entwined and comfortable for a while, and I listen to
the sounds of his breathing even out. And then the doubts come,
similar to the doubts that plagued me earlier. I should have
waited. He was too vulnerable. I'm too old for him. That last
feeling is the most strong.
There must still be a lingering connection remaining from our
lovemaking, because he rolls over and rises up to straddle my
thighs again. "You... are... not... old," he growls, prodding
me in the chest to emphasis each word. "You are in the prime of
life. Mature. Experienced. Wise - most of the time..."
"Most of the time?" I interrupt with an incredulous laugh at
his presumption. "I hope my next Padawan has a better
appreciation of my wisdom..." This time my words have caused
him no pain. He knows that I will take another Padawan, but not
another lover, and his place in my heart is secure.
"No one can claim to be wise all of the time, Master." My own
words, spoken some time in the dim and distant past and thrown
back at me now with an impish smile. "Besides, you interrupted
me. Where was I? Oh yes, wise. Distinguished." He rolls the
word out in that cultured voice that I love so well. His voice
lowers. "Devastatingly attractive." I laugh again, and he tilts
his head on one side watching me indulgently. The darkness
cannot hide the love in his eyes. "A few grey hairs and the odd
line here and there do not make you old, my Master. They merely
make you the person that you are. I would have no interest in
you if you were a callow youth. It is your very experience that
makes you so attractive to me. And I love each wrinkle." The
last is added with a sly smile, and I cannot take offence at
his teasing.
However, time is running out, and I cannot delay the inevitable
anymore.
"We must go back, beloved," I say. He nods, suddenly all brisk
business. He knows as well as I that there is a time for love,
and while we have stolen a few brief moments, our time has run
out for the moment. He slides off me gracefully, rising to don
his discarded clothing and to adjust them into a semblance of
neatness. I watch him for a second, enjoying the move of his
body before I too reluctantly rise, sliding my love for him
into a compartment of my mind I have specially constructed for
that purpose so that I will not be distracted in the hours
ahead. It comes easily, but then I have had years of practice
at it.
"After you, oh ancient and venerable Master," he teases me,
gesturing me ahead of him, and ignoring the mock glare I give
him. As I move away I catch a sudden glimpse of myself seen
through his eyes. Tall and graceful, the moonlight catching the
grey in my hair and turning it silver. He sees me as beautiful,
and I am awed.
Perhaps there are some advantages to ageing after all.
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