Archive: Master and Apprentice--if they want it-- and the
Nesting Place
Disclaimer & Feedback: I don't own anyone, (more's the
pity!) And George Lucas?? I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy...
It feels just like Sabrian silk.
Not pausing in his task, Qui-Gon wondered where the words had
come from, then discarded them as irrelevant. He must not allow
his concentration to be disrupted. He could not allow external,
or internal, stimuli to distract him from the importance of the
moment.
But it does feel like Sabrian silk, he found himself admitting
a moment later, as his fingers once again twisted the soft hair
into place.
Taking a calming breath he focused tightly on the braid,
willing his mind to ignore the rich texture, the silken
smoothness, and returned to the simple task of plaiting his
padawan's hair.
He stole a glance at Obi-Wan's face and felt a whisper of
pride as he took in the calm expression. Kneeling at his
master's feet, his back straight, his hands resting neatly in
his lap, the young man was a picture of serenity.
Qui-Gon hoped that he also was displaying the same lack of
emotion, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was
doomed to failure. Obi-Wan had grown into a handsome man, a man
he was extremely pleased to call his apprentice, a man of whom
he was more than fond. Much more.
Realising that his mind had once again wandered into dangerous
territory, he switched his gaze back to the braid, and was
surprised, though pleased, to see that his fingers had
continued with their task without his conscious thought. Still,
he berated himself, this would not do. He must learn to
concentrate on the moment and not let his feelings for Obi-Wan
distract him. That could lead to mistakes, could even end in
discovery, or worse, death - in extreme circumstances.
He lifted a coloured tag and wound it around the plait where
it had reached Obi-Wan's shoulder, tying it neatly. And it was
then that he met his downfall.
A slight movement caught his eye and he was transfixed, his
eyes following the path of a single bead of sweat as it slowly
rolled down Obi-Wan's neck. He couldn't make himself look away;
the moisture fascinated him, drew him into its spell, thrilled
him to the core.
His mouth had dried completely and he had to swallow, hard.
After that it was useless. He couldn't help but notice the
light sheen that glistened on the strong neck, the sweat
clinging in droplets that seemed to be begging him to wipe them
away, lick them away. Kiss them away.
He took a ragged breath and then firmly collected his
thoughts, gathering them fiercely like a miser counting his
gold.
Obi-Wan's hair had gold lights in it.
Taking hold of the strands of the plait, Qui-Gon willed
himself deaf to those internal, infernal, thoughts and
continuing to work the braid, wishing with all his heart that
he could find some control over his wayward emotions where
Obi-Wan was concerned.
All the will on Coruscant, all the wishing in the known
Galaxy, could not help him though, and once again he found his
eyes drawn irrevocably to his padawan's gleaming neck, and it
was with despair that he watched as another bead of sweat began
the long, slow, interminable journey downward, dipping into the
smooth hollows, highlighting the corded muscles before
disappearing beneath the rough fabric of Obi-Wan's white tunic.
He couldn't help it. He really couldn't.
He reached out and gently touched the soft skin, his
fingertips grazing across the reason for his downfall.
A sharp rap shocked him into the moment and his gaze flew to
Obi-Wan's eyes. The amusement he found there brought him all
the way back to Coruscant, and Master Yoda's voice, dripping
with annoyance, finished the job.
He looked around the training room and sighed deeply. He had
failed again and, unless he was very much mistaken, both Master
Yoda and Obi-Wan were going to make the most of his lack of
success. One more than the other.
"More control, you must have," Yoda instructed briskly,
rapping the floor once again with his cane. "Together, you must
work. Strong is your Soul-Bond. But much danger there will be
if control of the Bond you do not have."
"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon murmured with resignation, knowing that
the Jedi Master was right, and refusing to look at his padawan.
Yoda nodded his head. "Worry not. Hard it is for you. Years
have you been without such distraction. Your lessons we have
only just begun. There is time."
Qui-Gon looked into the soft eyes of his old master and saw
the comfort there. He was suddenly assailed by memories of his
own youth and of this small master who had raised him with
firmness and mental strength....and kindness.
He smiled slightly.
"Yes, Master," he answered, his voice stronger now. "Grant the
Force will help me."
As Yoda moved away, Qui-Gon turned to face his Soul-mate and,
as expected, there was a distinct light of laughter in the blue
eyes. Sighing to himself, he knew there was good reason. After
all, what padawan would not take some pleasure in seeing his
own master taken to task by his elders.
As they left the training room, Qui-Gon comforted himself with
the thought that at least Obi-Wan was finding success in this
lesson.
He paused, and turned to look at his companion.
Why? Why didn't Obi-Wan find this task difficult? What skill
did his padawan have that evaded him so easily?
"Hoth."
Startled, Qui-Gon could only stare, understanding that the
young man had read his thoughts and answered, even though the
word he had spoken made no sense.
Obi-Wan, his head tipped back to meet his master's puzzled
gaze, his eyes gleaming with gleeful merriment, his lips
curving only slightly at the corners, went on to explain.
"I think of the ice plains of Hoth, Master."
oOo
Just in case it slips passed you, I am the keeper of Obi-Wan's
wonderful, gorgeous sweating neck.
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