Archive: Yes to M_A, and will appear on my TPM page soon:
http://lonchura.tripod.com/biscuits.html--others please ask,
I'd be delighted.
Categories: Humor, Romance
Rated NC-17 for m/m sex, implied f/f and m/f (Q/O and implied
other pairings)
Summary: Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi invite some friends to
join them for an evening at The Crystal Mine.
Comments: Thanks to JiM for suggesting that The Crystal Mine
was a place worth going back to, and to Destina for musically
aware beta. The poetry quoted is from the great Sufi mystic
Rumi; some verses translated by Coleman Barks, others by
Jonathan Star. The title is warped from a line of one of The
Doors' songs ("The End", I think).
Feedback welcomed at lonchura@mailcity.com
"Jerelsha! Jerelsha, look at this!"
Bant was trembling with excitement as she handed the envelope
to her friend. Jerelsha turned it over in her hands, looking
puzzled, then gasped in understanding. "A handwritten
letter?"
"Better than a letter! Go ahead, open it up!" Bant's gills
fluttered as they always did when strong emotion gripped
her.
Jerelsha slowly, reverently unfolded the envelope and took out
a stiff square of cream-colored paper. For a moment she just
ran her fingers over it--she had never handled real paper
before. And the writing on it--she was so astonished that
someone had taken the trouble to write with pen and
ink on paper that she could hardly focus on the
meaning of the words. She frowned slightly as she puzzled out
the bold, flowing script.
"That's Coruscant Old Style," Bant pointed out. "No one who's
not a Jedi can even read that any more."
"'To Bant gatha Ywalme," Jerelsha read, "Jedi Padawan to
Master Gnish: The pleasure of your company is requested at The
Crystal Mine in lower Coruscant, tomorrow evening at the
nineteenth hour. You are welcome to bring a guest. Response is
not required, but we hope to see you there.'" She looked at
Bant in awe when she made out the signatures. "'Master Qui-Gon
Jinn, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi'!"
"Yes!" Bant clapped her hands and the two girls hugged each
other and fairly squealed with ecstasy. "I want you to come
with me."
"Oh, Force, I can't wait till tomorrow!"
***
"Did anyone else on the Council get one?"
"No. Just you and I."
Masters Mace Windu and Adi Gallia looked at each other, then
at the identical hand- written invitations, then back at each
other. People who passed by them in the corridor were mostly
too polite to stare at the two masters conferring, no doubt
about something extremely important.
"I'm going to go," Mace said. "Jinn wouldn't invite us if it
weren't worth going. He's told me several times about how much
he likes the music at this place."
"The coordinates are... shockingly low." Adi frowned minutely
behind her veil.
"I suggest you don't wear your everyday dress," Mace said with
a smile. "I'll pick you up at eighteen-fifteen."
***
"But why would I want to spend my evening hanging out with a
bunch of boring masters and listening to poetry?"
Garen scowled at the exquisitely handsome young man sprawled
on the bed. "It's not a bunch of boring masters, Parlo. It's
Master Jinn and Obi-Wan, and I heard Bant's invited,
too."
"Oh, Bant." Parlo dismissed his lover's Calamarian friend with
a languid hand wave that made Garen want to smack him. Still,
Parlo was a knight, not merely a padawan, and gave oral sex
like a Sith in heat. Garen decided not to smack him. Yet.
"And there are these private rooms... in the back... where you
can be private...," Garen wheedled. He trailed his fingers
along the older man's thigh.
"Private?" Parlo sat up, smiling, and tossed his fetching
golden curls. "I wonder what I ought to wear...."
***
"How do I look, master?"
Qui-Gon looked up from polishing his black dress boots. His
apprentice held out his arms and twirled before him, displaying
a loose tunic and trousers of a soft, subdued green material
that shifted color in certain lights like his eyes. Despite
being loosely-cut, the garments clung to Obi-Wan alluringly in
places as he moved--and occasionally gaped open to reveal
cream-colored flesh splashed with glitter. His face was
delicately accented with kohl and glitter as well.
"Decadent, my Obi-Wan." He made weak polishing gestures at his
left boot. "And perhaps this evening you could use my personal
name, since we'll be at a social event together, among
friends?"
"But I like calling you 'master'." Obi-Wan was suddenly on his
knees in front of the older man, taking the boot and the
rubbing cloth from his hands. His lips curled up at the
corners. "It's... kinky."
Qui-Gon pulled back from kissing the younger man's throat just
before he would have left a mark. "You are such a tease, my
beautiful apprentice."
"Yes, master." Obi-Wan breathed heavily on the boot and rubbed
it.
"So, do you think that your friends will join us?" Qui-Gon's
voice sounded a bit ragged.
***
Inside The Crystal Mine, a club in the lower levels of
Coruscant, the carved crystal sculptures that were lit from
within glowed and dimmed like pulsars, and a few beings,
Obi-Wan among them, danced to the rippling music of a solo
flute. Dressed in his formal black uniform and cloak, Qui-Gon
sat at the bar and drank sparkling water, trying to watch the
doorway for their friends and the dance floor for Obi-Wan,
simultaneously.
Eyes closed, face serene, his apprentice moved to the floating
melody of the flute as only a Jedi could, balancing himself
effortlessly on one foot while his arms and his free leg
described patterns in the air. Qui-Gon knew just how much
effort of body and mind those "effortless" moves required. He
also knew just how limber, strong, and graceful his apprentice
actually was, especially when naked and aroused.
Qui-Gon felt heat bloom in his center, like the light within
the decorative crystals, and spread out all over him at the
mere memory of making love with Obi-Wan. Their first time had
been right here--well, not right here but here in this
club, in a private room away in the back. Maybe it had been too
long since he had shared himself with a lover, or maybe he had
been in love with his apprentice for too long, but Obi-Wan had,
as the young man's contemporaries were wont to say, blown his
master's circuits, and then some. Several times over. Not to
mention what his own circuits were capable of.... As the heat
spread to his face, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn took a very long
drink of cool water and tried to center himself in the
Force.
He looked up at the dance floor again to see Obi-Wan smiling
at him from within the circle of his raised arms. He arched
backward--a shift of the hips, and the younger man's erection
peeked out from the folds of his trousers. Obi-Wan bent forward
with sinuous grace until his chest was against his knees; his
slim padawan braid dangled over the edge of the dance platform.
Qui-Gon considered dumping his drink in his lap. Fortunately,
when he glanced toward the door, he saw Obi-Wan's friend Bant
entering, arm in arm with another girl he recognized as a
padawan, although he did not know her name.
"Padawan Bant!" His voice, boosted by the Force, carried
easily across the room. The two girls scurried to his side and
gave him nervously polite bows.
"Master Jinn, this is my friend Jerelsha Kinrowan, padawan to
Master Nithorma."
Jerelsha sketched another bow. "I'm honored to meet you,
sir."
"A pleasure to have you ladies with us." He turned around to
signal his apprentice, but Obi-Wan was already at his side,
embracing Bant and clasping hands with the other girl. "In
another half an hour, there will be a performance of art in the
salon, which is the event of the evening. In the meantime, may
I order you something to drink?"
Bant asked for a sparkling water and Jerelsha for a light
spiced wine. By the time their drinks and Obi-Wan's iced sagi
tea had arrived, Masters Adi and Mace had also arrived. Mace
was wearing formal black, like Qui-Gon, but Adi was in civilian
dress, utterly stunning in a violet gown with long sleeves and
a full skirt. The bodice was cut out in such a way that while
her breasts were covered, most of the rest of her torso was
not. A sheer violet veil spangled with tiny gems floated down
to her hips.
"Master Gallia, you look splendid. Your attire does honor to
the setting." Obi-Wan took her hand and kissed her fingers
lightly, making Adi raise her eyebrows and Bant and Jerelsha
sigh and sway. Qui-Gon hid his amusement in his drink. Obi-Wan
was very charming when he wanted to be.
"Thank you, Padawan Kenobi. I am told it was you who
discovered this remarkable venue?"
"Yes, madam. I enjoy being able to dance by myself, and there
is always room on the dance floor here, as well as music worth
dancing to." He nodded toward the elevated platform, which was,
at the moment, occupied only by a slowly writhing
Malastarean.
"Obi-Wan!" Garen edged his way through the crowd, which had
thickened in the past few minutes, dragging a golden-haired
fellow by the arm.
"Garen!" Obi-Wan hugged and thumped his friend. "So glad you
could come. Parlo, good to see you. Master, this is Knight
Parlo Gheterrha, and of course you know Garen Muln."
Parlo, whose fetching gold curls were barely grown out of a
padawan's cut, drew himself up and bowed to Qui-Gon, then to
the two Councilors. He looked a trifle pale, Qui-Gon
thought--probably scared Forceless at the prospect of spending
the evening with not one but three masters, and two of
them on the Council. He remembered Parlo as a very irritating
padawan who'd thought himself ready for the Trials a good three
years before his master had thought so.
"Padawan, Knight. May I order you something to drink?"
The obligatory small talk passed easily, thanks mostly to the
fact that Obi-Wan seemed to know everything about everyone
present. Mace tried to talk business, of course, but Qui-Gon
put him off. "I think we should have all our energies available
to take in the evening's entertainment. Shall we adjourn to the
salon?"
The little party fell in with a slow current of people moving
toward the next room, where low black seats grouped about unlit
tables faced toward a corner stage backlit by a huge crystal
formation near as large as the one which formed the center of
the bar. They found a grouping of seats which would accomodate
them and got comfortable. Qui-Gon noticed that Obi-Wan was on
his left, at the end of the row, while Bant was on his right
and Jerelsha and the others beyond her.
The muted conversation in the salon ceased as the lighting on
the stage shifted, revealing a group of performers already
seated. Qui-Gon glanced around and smiled in satisfaction at
the eager, upturned faces of his companions. Obi-Wan's
cheekbones glittered gold.
"The flames that dance with love--
O Beloved, be like that to me.
The burning heat within the fire--
O Beloved, be like that to me!"
As the man's strong voice faded, the crystal formation burst
alight from within--red light, red as rubies, red as blood, red
as passion itself. A masked woman in a dark dress ran the
hammers over a dulcimer, creating a shimmering curtain of
sound. Another woman dressed in white, with hair nearly the
color of Obi-Wan's tumbling over her shoulders, rose from her
knees at the edge of the stage and lifted her voice in a
wordless sweep of song, ascending in an achingly chromatic
scale from a deep chest-note to an impossibly high crescendo,
utterly pure and without vibrato.
Qui-Gon felt his pulse quicken and Obi-Wan's fingers wrap
around his wrist. The whole audience seemed to respond as one,
already melded together by the energy of the performers.
The man who had first spoken walked slowly to the edge of the
stage. He was a tall, slim man whose dark hair, smoky eyes, and
full lips in an angular face reminded Qui-Gon uncomfortably of
Xanatos. He wore a loose white shirt wrapped across his chest
and simple dark leggings, and in his hands he carried a book--a
real book, such as could be found in the depths of the library
at the Jedi Temple, the sort of book which, centuries ago,
people had written by hand with ink and pen.
"Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and
frightened.
Don't open the door to the study and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the
ground."
The light from the crystals shifted from red to violet to
indigo. At the rear of the stage, a slim figure that might have
been masculine played upon the recorder, a complex line which
echoed and answered the singer's melody.
Again the dulcimer sounded, an urgent flurry of notes cutting
across the woodwind. Qui-Gon heard his padawan's breathing
quicken, and his own body followed suit as Obi-Wan leaned
closer to him, his warm breath teasing his master's
throat.
"I saw you last night in the gathering,
but could not take you openly in my arms,
so I put my lips next to your cheek,
pretending to talk privately."
Qui-Gon suppressed the shudder those words brought out of
him--he couldn't be sure what Bant would feel from him if he
didn't shield adequately. Obi-Wan's strong fingers tightened
around his wrist, then slid up to clasp the base of his neck,
under the long hair, and Qui-Gon felt the merest hint of lips
against his jaw. Oh, Obi-Wan, too daring....
The dulcimer and the recorder played a duet, questioning,
challenging, finally yielding into close harmony. The reader
walked across the stage, gazing out over the audience, licking
his lips. The light from the crystals shifted from indigo
through blue and green to gold.
"The way of love is not
a subtle argument.
The door there
is devastation."
From somewhere in the darkness, a drum suddenly throbbed like
the beating of a giant heart. The light turned amber,
flickering, and Qui-Gon felt something flickering within
himself. Obi-Wan's lips were browsing delicately over his jaw,
his cheek, his ear, his throat, while Obi-Wan's other hand had
wandered onto his chest and was making its way slowly downward.
Qui-Gon kept his face perfectly still. Raising his voice, the
reader went on:
"Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?"
A deep, mellow-sounding stringed instrument, something bowed,
flowed out over the harsh beat of the drum. The light slid down
the scale with the bowed strings and resolved to red again.
Qui-Gon's chest constricted painfully as his apprentice's
strong, clever fingers grasped him through the black dress
trousers.
"They fall, and falling,
they're given wings."
The reader's voice rose in an unexpected shout. Obi-Wan's lips
caressed his master's neck; his tongue darted out and suckled;
the lights shimmered and rippled into green as strings and
recorder commenced a merry harmony, its beats accented by the
drum.
The reader came to the center of the stage and sank to his
knees, lowering the book. Behind him, the singer placed her
hands on his shoulders and hummed, her voice barely audible,
yet it supported his.
"The day your love touches me
I'll become so mad that lunatics will run away.
The words of a master-poet could never capture
the spell that your eyelashes cast upon my heart."
As all the instruments joined together with the singer in a
final chord, Qui-Gon rose and fled through the violet darkness,
Obi-Wan right at his heels. Once safely inside one of the back
rooms, he turned, so abruptly that his padawan slammed into him
at full speed, all hard muscle and soft heat and gloriously
obvious erection.
"Qui-Gon--"
***
"Where did Master Jinn go?"
Jerelsha craned her neck and looked around. "I don't know, but
Obi-Wan went with him. You don't think--"
"No, Obi said that they were just teasing us...."
***
"I'm bored. What about those private rooms you
mentioned?"
"Bored? How can you be bored? Here, go back to the bar and get
me something to drink before they start up again, why don't
you."
"Get it yourself, padawan."
"Oh, dammit, Parlo--"
***
"Mace--"
"I feel it, too."
"What shall we do?"
"Nothing. Except watch the performers."
***
Qui-Gon seized his apprentice and kissed him, passionately.
Obi-Wan's arms wrapped around him, fingers tangling in his
hair, meeting strength with strength, focus with focus, his
mouth hot and hungry and sweet.
Qui-Gon let go and drew back, breathless and shaken. Obi-Wan
clung to him, burying his face in the older man's chest and
stroking his hair with soothing tenderness.
"'The day your love touches me'," Qui-Gon quoted ruefully,
"'I'll become so mad that lunatics will run away.'"
"I'm already that mad," Obi-Wan returned. He stretched up and
kissed his master again, briefly, sharply. "I know another poem
by the same poet which I have long been fond of. 'I would like
to kiss you. --The price of kissing is your life. Now my loving
is running toward my life shouting, What a bargain! Let's buy
it.'"
Qui-Gon kissed the boy again, roughly, sinking his teeth into
his lover's neck. "Mad boy, I love you already--so much...." He
growled into Obi-Wan's neck, relishing the answering
moan.
***
"The wine we really drink is our own blood.
Our bodies ferment in these barrels.
We give everything for a glass of this.
We give our minds for a sip."
The bowed strings throbbed, touching heart and bone. A
solitary dancer twirled in the space between the audience and
the stage.
"It's quite extraordinary," Master Gallia said.
"Yes, it is."
Neither of them was speaking of the performance onstage.
***
"Want you--want you right now--"
That deep, husky tone from Obi-Wan simply drove Qui-Gon crazy.
Obi-Wan knew it, had to know it. Qui-Gon restrained himself
from simply burning off his lover's teasing clothes with a
burst of Force and settled for ripping off his own attire with
reckless speed. In less time than it would take to say both of
their names, the two men were naked, and Qui-Gon was hoisting
his shorter apprentice up against the wall with the Force so
that their mouths were on the same level.
"Show-off--" Obi-Wan gasped, before his master seized his
mouth again. He took advantage of the moment and wrapped both
arms and legs around the bigger man, writhing shamelessly in
the grip of the Force.
"Wanton, wild, insane--" Words failed Qui-Gon, and he dropped
to his knees before Obi-Wan, adjusting their relative positions
with Force so as to swallow his apprentice whole.
"Oh, Sith, oh, Force, oh, master, Qui-Gon, Qui-GON--!" Obi-Wan
could hit some astonishing high notes during orgasm. Qui-Gon
gave him no time to recover; he shot to his feet and cupped the
younger's man ass in his hands, dipping an inquisitive finger
into the cleft.
"You little slut," Qui-Gon said, amazed and impossibly
aroused. Obi-Wan must have done it before they left the
Temple--he was more than ready.
"You love it, so fuck me already--" He struggled for breath as
his master complied.
***
"C'm'on, Garen, let's go."
"What? now?!"
"Do I have to use Force?"
"The front door's the other way--oh...."
***
"Is it hot in here, Jerelsha, or is it me?"
"I'm not... hot... exactly...."
***
"If you will excuse me, Mace."
"Certainly, Adi."
Her intention trailed behind her as a shimmering line of Force
which only Mace was able to see. After waiting about five
minutes, he got up and followed that trail.
***
Obi-Wan's head bumped the wall every time Qui-Gon shoved into
him, but he didn't care. Fortunately for him, his master did,
and cushioned the wall with Force.
He was mad. He was insane. He was overcome. With each
thrust into that tight, willing passage, each kiss from that
sweet, hot, insatiable mouth, he went a little further, lost a
little more control. Frenzy was just around the corner, and he
bit Obi-Wan's throat again, leaving a mark. If he went around
that corner, at least he knew he wasn't going around it
alone.
Obi-Wan was hard again, his erection rubbing against his
master's belly. One arm was thrown over Qui-Gon's shoulder; the
other hand drifted down to wrap around the thick organ--Force,
the boy was hung for his size-- and caress it knowingly.
Qui-Gon wanted to watch, so he thrust in, concentrated, put his
arms around Obi-Wan, and carried him over to the couch with a
combination of Force and brute strength.
"Show-off," Obi-Wan moaned again, laughing even as he
shuddered with pleasure. Qui-Gon knelt and pulled the boy's
hips up so that he could see everything.
"You show off. You show me--show me how it is...." The
words hissed out, sizzled, disappeared like smoke, and it was
Qui-Gon's turn to moan as Obi-Wan did exactly what he'd asked,
thrusting wantonly onto his master's cock now that he had
freedom to move, and at the same time fisting his own cock,
teasing himself by breaking off to drag his fingers over his
belly and chest.
"So beautiful... so very beautiful...." Qui-Gon controlled
himself, moving very little, letting Obi-Wan take him. The
younger man's heels dug into the small of Qui-Gon's back, his
eyes squeezed shut and his mouth strained open as he struggled
toward the goal, with little help from his lover.
"Master... please, master--"
Qui-Gon leaned forward, his hands sliding up Obi-Wan's thighs
to push them back, then down to the side so that he was braced
on his hands and buried deep, deep in his lover's eager flesh.
Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open at the change in position and
locked with Qui-Gon's--they were green, hot as a lightsaber,
demanding everything he had to give.
***
"Oh, Parlo, oh, Sith, oh, dammit...."
"Hold still, hold still--"
***
"Hold my hand, Bant."
"Oh, my. Oh, my."
The music pounded through their veins, drum and dulcimer and
recorder, the singer and the reader were kissing, and people
all around them were embracing, touching, making love--
***
"Hold still, Mace. Let me--"
"Ah, perfect. Why haven't I ever told you that you are
beautiful?"
***
Qui-Gon pounded into Obi-Wan, hard, brutal, not holding back
because he knew Obi-Wan didn't want him to hold back, knowing
this because he felt what his lover felt. He felt the tide of
orgasm rip through Obi-Wan, felt it keep surging even after the
boy's body had spilled its seed yet again; he felt the feedback
loop between his pleasure and his lover's, his own impending
climax feeding off the other's wildness. He felt the pent-up
force of years of love and desire, his and his padawan's,
looping back and forth and fusing into something that flowered
like the light within the crystals, flowered and spread--
What he did not feel, precisely, was his own orgasm. The
physical sensation was overwhelmed by something more powerful
yet more subtle: a sudden breathtaking flash of insight in
which he knew Obi-Wan completely and in turn perceived
how Obi-Wan knew him the same way. The knowledge whited
out the universe and created it all over again, better than
before. In a world where love and knowledge like this were
possible, well, anything was possible.
***
"Oh, Mace, how astonishing. Why did we wait so long?"
"We needed them, I think. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan."
"Yes."
***
"That was... I never... Force...."
"Yeah."
***
"Um, Bant?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Did you just feel what I felt?"
"I think so."
"Was it... good?"
"Very."
The two girls blinked at each other.
"I think we might have felt more if we weren't so...
different."
Bant looked at their still-clasped hands, one webbed and
clawed and salmon-colored, the other slim and brown with chewed
nails, and said nothing.
***
"Master...."
"Yes, my own?"
"You're heavy."
"I'll move."
"Don't." A lazy hand petted his hair.
"Obi-Wan, did you...?"
"Yes. I liked it."
"I did, too."
"Do you think it means something?"
"Of a surety. But what...?" He lifted his head, shook it
slightly, kissed his lover's cheek.
"I think... something... it affected--"
"I believe so."
"Oh." Obi-Wan started laughing. Qui-Gon did, too.
***
It was a rather sedate group that left The Crystal Mine
together and took a taxi back to the Temple. No one said
anything. No one even met anyone else's eyes.
They entered the Temple precincts through the gardens and bade
good night to each other there, going their separate ways.
Qui-Gon and his apprentice, of course, went to their shared
quarters, the master's arm around his padawan's
shoulders.
Parlo took Garen's hand, kissed it, bowed, and went to his
room by himself. Garen walked alone in the gardens for a long
time.
Mace was not surprised to see Adi Gallia appear at his door
about half an hour after they parted. He smiled and let her
in.
Jerelsha and Bant looked at each other and at their
still-joined hands. Jerelsha raised their hands and tentatively
kissed Bant's knuckles. Bant smiled, tugged at Jerelsha's hand,
and led the other girl back to her rooms. She had a curfew, but
Jerelsha did not.
Back in their quarters, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon undressed, slowly,
casually. Obi-Wan took a quick shower while his master drank
some chilled tea, standing in the kitchen. A few shooting stars
passed overhead outside the small, high window. Obi-Wan, having
finished his shower, walked into the kitchen, still naked, and
crooked one finger at his master. Shaking his head, Qui-Gon
drained his tea and joined the younger man in the bedroom, to
spread himself out on the coverlet and raise his knees. He
sighed as Obi-Wan pressed inside him. "You're going to be the
death of me, padawan."
"No, I'm not." Obi-Wan kissed the inside of his thigh. "I'm
going to be your life, and you're going to be mine." He started
to move.
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