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Firsts

by Trudy West (truwestomlette@yahoo.com)

Obi-Wan burst through the door to his room and stood frozen in the entryway. He was shaking, actually shaking with emotion. Unheard of for a senior padawan. The little room seemed too small to contain the emotion that was surging up inside of him.

How could he have been so stupid?

He needed to calm himself. He needed to meditate. He threw himself down on the floor --

It was wrong, all wrong --

His knee slipped on the mat again. The tendon in his inner thigh strained at the awkward angle. A particularly sharp thrust into the depths of his guts made him snarl through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t like his foreseeing at all --

The man on top of him gasped, "Hurts, I know, always hurts the first time, just relax --"

Yes, he had read that was true, and it made sense, but Sithspawn it did hurt. Not only the flesh protesting, but also a panicky inner voice that kept squealing that it felt wrong, wrong, wrong to have something shoved up his back orifice. His animal body was protesting, trying to protect him in its instinctive panic. He tried to ignore it, tried to find the pleasure in the act, and failed.

Sweat dripped from his face onto the mat. Ironic that he was wringing wet from anxiety rather than passion.

Obi-Wan gave up any attempt to enjoy it and just waited for it to be over.

A hand grabbed his crotch and squeezed. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the hand on his penis, trying to ignore the distracting, uncomfortable pressure and movement against his ass. Perhaps if he could climax, it would help.

He felt his erection, if not the rest of his body, becoming more excited, and he silently encouraged it along until he finally came, emitting a relieved whimper.

His partner gave a triumphant grunt and increased the pace, driving hard for a few more strokes, digging nails into hips, grinding, gasping.

A long moment of stillness, then the inner intrusion and hands withdrew.

Obi-Wan shakily twisted his stiff knees and lowered his hips to the floor, sitting gingerly on one buttock. He forced himself to turn his head and look.

Bruck had flopped on his back, leaning on his elbows. His bonewhite padawan braid draped over his chest, as limp as his softening penis.

"Look in the mirror and say goodbye to the oldest Temple virgin, Kenobi. See what you’ve been missing?"

"Not really," said Obi-Wan with a wince.

"Sore? Don’t worry, you’ll get over it." Bruck flashed his calculating smirk. "You’re a born bottom, Kenobi."

Was that some version of calling a person an asshole? Obi-Wan said warily, "What do you mean?"

Bruck grinned. "The bottom is the subservient one. Some men like to top, some bottom. You’re a sub to the core. All that good-boy behavior, that ‘yes master’ and ‘no master’ and ‘let’s be sure to follow the Code’. You like being told what to do, don’t you, Kenobi? You get off on it."

"I do not," said Obi-Wan. He wasn’t like that. Was he?

"Yes, you do," Bruck said with certainty. "What do you know, Kenobi, this was your first time. I’m telling you, now that you’ve had a little stimulation, you’re going to want more. Eventually you’ll realize how much you love it, even if you don’t want to admit it. So when you get the itch, feel free to schedule another salle for a little private one-on-one. I might agree to do more private tutoring. Purely for your benefit."

It was hard to imagine that he might come to crave the act that he had just experienced. But Bruck had a point: what did Obi-Wan know, the least sexually experienced of their age cohort? Most of his friends had lost their virginity years ago.

Of one thing he was certain: he would never couple with Bruck again.

Rising, Obi-Wan said, "This was a one-time event, Chun. All you satisfied was my curiosity."

Bruck laughed. "Sure, Oafy-Wan. Tell yourself that. You wanted it. Otherwise you’d have said no."

Yes, he had wanted something. He had thought, when Bruck initiated, that this was what he had foreseen for so long, the long-awaited reality foretold by those cryptic fragments of images that sometimes flashed through his mind.

He was wrong. This felt nothing like his erotic previsioning.

Bruck bounced to his feet, stretching, catlike. "You had to get laid eventually. Might as well be with your old friendly enemy rather than with some fumbling padawan or a clumsy civilian with a Jedi fantasy. I knew what you needed, and I gave it to you. You ought to say thank you."

Obi-Wan silently picked up his clothes and saber.

Bruck shrugged. "Fine. Let me know the next time you want to give that ass of yours some exercise." Bruck swept up his clothes, tossing his saber to spin high over his head, caught it deftly, and swaggered towards the exit into the communal fresher.

Obi-Wan knelt back down, using his clothes to wipe up the drips of sweat and semen on the floor. Voluntarily on his knees, dutifully cleaning up the mess, while the other guilty party walked off unheeding. Perhaps he was destined to be a subordinate. He’d always been pleased to serve, to help, even in small ways or manual tasks. He saw it as part of what it meant to be Jedi, to be a servant to others. But perhaps Bruck was right. Maybe he, Obi-Wan, was inherently a follower, a subordinate, not a leader.

Perhaps that’s why he was satisfied -- more than satisfied, happy, grateful -- to be padawan to the notoriously dominating Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan never felt impatient to finish his apprenticeship. When he thought of his eventual knighthood, it was more with a sense of regret, that his long association with his master would finally be over, for good. He had thought of those feelings as loyalty, affection, even love. But perhaps his faint reluctance to become a knight, and his over-willing obedience, were actually failings, not virtues.

Obi-Wan heaved himself to his feet, clutching his stained workout clothes, and headed for the fresher.

He took a long, slow shower, cleaning every fraction of himself, and then stood in the stream of water in an immersed meditation. Perhaps now that he’d had sex with another real person, rather than with that shadowy figure in his dreams, his unconscious would let go of that persistent vision. Not a true foreseeing, apparently. A romantic adolescent’s emotional masturbation, was all it had been. The ache in his ass, his sore knees, the hot water in his face, that was reality.

The masters often said that disappointment came from misplaced desire and expectation, not from reality. Reality just was. A Jedi should not project his own hopes and fears onto the universe. A Jedi should see the truth of existence and not live in illusions. So now he, Obi-Wan, knew the reality of sex, and could cast off his misconceptions.

He was putting on fresh clothes when he heard the out-of-sight fresher door open, followed by the voices of the entering Jedi.

Garen was in mid-sentence: "-full of poodoo, Chun. You two have been butting heads since the crèche. Why would he be interested in bedding you?"

Chun’s voice: "Just because he didn’t fall for your wistful looks, Muln, doesn’t mean he won’t respond to a more direct approach. I got him and you didn’t. Deal with it."

Bant’s voice, soft and barely audible: "I don’t believe you, Bruck. And even if you were intimate with Obi-Wan, you shouldn’t go around bragging about it."

"I’m not bragging, I’m informing. Given how much you lot have worried about ‘poor Obi-Wan’ being perennially celibate, you should be thanking me. I can ride Kenobi without burdening him with jealousy or possessiveness or any of that nonsense. Unlike you, Muln, you wouldn’t let him out of your sight if you ever once got your hands on him. Me, I’m educational fun with no strings."

Obi-Wan rose and swung his exercise bag onto his shoulder. Better to face them rather than slink out as if ashamed.

When he appeared from around the corner, the others froze in their various stages of undress. Bruck, leaning against the wall, grinned and said, "Hey." Garen stared at Obi-Wan a moment, then flushed and turned back to changing clothes. Siri gave Obi-Wan an unreadable stare and exited towards one of the practice rooms, saber in hand. Two other Padawans gave him a quick "hello" before promptly following Siri.

Bant approached Obi-Wan and touched his sleeve. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I’m fine. But I’d rather my personal life weren’t being bleated about for other’s entertainment."

"Oh get over it, Kenobi," said Bruck. "Like the news that the Temple’s most notorious virgin isn’t one anymore, wouldn’t be in the gossip chain within two microns. This way we get to put our own spin on it."

"There is no ‘our’ and there is no ‘spin,’" said Obi-Wan. "It was a one time thing, a dare, an experiment, and now it’s done. Shut up about it."

"There’s no need to be ashamed," said Bruck.

"I’m not ashamed," said Obi-Wan tightly. "I just don’t want it advertised."

"Stop being secretive. It isn’t healthy," said Bruck.

"Stop giving condescending advice."

Bruck shook his head, unperturbed, teeth flashing in amusement. "The proverbial stick is still up that fine Kenobi ass, despite my best efforts to the contrary."

"Let it go already."

"If you want it kept quiet, then shut up yourself."

Obi-Wan bit back his retort and stalked out the door.

He had been so angry, he had barely been able to keep his composure. Despite his shields, he had gotten a few sideways looks from passing Jedi who could still perceive his emotions, as unwelcome in these sedate halls as a reeking smell. Straight to their quarters, rather than to the library as he’d planned earlier in the day. Fortunately Master Qui-Gon had not been home when his seething padawan had stormed through their common room.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was calmer now. Going back over the memory was draining it of toxic effect. He was still disturbed, but no longer at the limits of his self-control.

He felt unexplicably grimy, although he had washed in the communal baths. Taking his workout clothes, he stuffed them into the washer unit, then stripped, sending the uniform after its dirtier cousin, and hit the scrub sequence.

Leaving the machine to work, he went to the fresher and took another shower. The faint smell of the artisanal soap that Qui-Gon favored was soothing. The grainy bar oozed green lather.

As the last step, he used a personal cleanser, then treated his sore opening with a healing gel. He wasn’t torn, there wasn’t any blood, but his membranes were raw and abraded. It made sense to avoid infection, even if the risk was slim.

Toweled off and dressed, the door of his bedroom closed behind him again, he again went to his knees to meditate. He couldn’t focus, and opened his eyes to stare at his room with resentment. Damned room, where he’d dreamed his damned foolish dreams, where he’d masturbated to their memory.

He closed his eyes again, willing himself to calm. He examined his feelings -- starting with the anger, delving below that to the hurt, the sense of betrayal. His emotions had not been this raw, this uncontrolled, in years.

He was more disappointed with himself than with Bruck. He had assumed that Bruck’s desire for sex had meant something more, was a turning of the intimacy of rivals into the intimacy of lovers. He had remembered his recurrent dream, that shadowy partner who seemed oddly familiar, and he had thought, in a moment of insane wishfulness and recklessness, that his partner was meant to be Bruck.

But all Bruck had intended was a playful fuck. It was Obi-Wan’s error for misreading that intent.

He compounded his mistake when, after he had recognized Bruck’s interest was just a casual, opportunistic appetite -- he hadn’t wanted to back out, had brazened forward. And after the sex, they had stayed in their old rivalry, bickering, accusing. Obi-Wan had protected himself with gibes. If Bruck thought sex was trivial, then he Obi-Wan wouldn’t act as if he took it seriously either. And Force forbid he openly admit his foreseeing, how naively romantic he was.

He wished it hadn’t happened. But it was too late. He should focus on the present, as Qui-Gon was always reminding him. Regret chained one to the past, when one should stay balanced in the Now.

He had made a mistake. That was all right; life was growth and learning. Mistakes and failures were steps towards a greater wholeness. He should concentrate on that. There was nothing that Bruck or anyone else could do or say to hurt him, unless he permitted it. He would retain his calm center, his balance, and not be undone by shame, regret or anger.

Rising, Obi-Wan adjusted his tunics, slipped into his robe, and picked up his datapad to resume his previously delayed visit to the library.

Obi-Wan didn’t particularly want to go to the dining halls this evening. But any evasion would be unacceptable.

Walking to the refectory, he thought he saw a few of the padawans glancing at him oddly. But that could just be his own self-consciousness.

This secondary dining hall was a quarter full, Jedi of all species generating a low buzz of talk. Several tables with padawans reacted noticeably to Obi-Wan’s passing, his observers signaling to each other with faint nods and gestures. Knights and masters noted the ripple of behavior, and Obi-Wan could practically see them making mental notes to find out the cause of the disturbance among the younger Jedi.

His heart sank. He knew that word would get around, he had just hoped that it wouldn’t happen this quickly or this noticeably. Most Jedi were discreet; it was unlikely that anyone speak about the gossip directly to him, not in front of the masters, at least.

Soon there would be another headline for Temple chatter, and his sexual behavior would be forgotten. He just had to make it through the next day or two. Perhaps if he were fortunate, he and Qui-Gon would get sent away on a mission and be gone for tens.

Claiming his meal, he took a seat at an empty table and conspicuously positioned his datapad for reading. It was a minor error to read at table -- it was more proper to do only one task at a time, paying attention to each activity in its turn, but plenty of Jedi ignored this precept when it suited them. And it certainly suited him now.

He ate promptly, then tucked his datapad under his arm while taking his dishes to the conveyer. At the dropoff point, his path was intersected by another senior padawan, Dlane Corruvanae, known for her candor.

True to her reputation, she launched in. "So Obi -- are the rumors true?"

"I don’t know, I haven’t heard them."

She saw through his dissembling and gave a wry smile. "Well, you should expect that such surprising news about one of the most admired and unattainable senior padawans would get an eager hearing. Not that anyone has any right to question -- but it’s hard to believe that you couldn’t find a better partner than Bruck. Chun’s stunning, I’ll grant him that, with that white hair and those cheekbones, but he has the ego of an Alderanian royal, and the tact of a Dug. Not quite the match for you."

Obi-Wan shrugged a shoulder. "I’m not sure I know what my match should be."

Delane dropped her voice to a false quasi-masculine rumble. "You must listen to the Living Force, Padawan," she intoned, in a recognizable imitation of Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan chuckled obligingly and said, "I’m told that enough as it is, Dlane, I don’t need to hear it from someone else."

"Perhaps you do," she said.

Obi-Wan strode from the refectory, head high and shoulders back, ignoring the glances. Only a few days, surely. He could make it through a few days.

He fled back to his room.

Lying on his bed, after fruitless minutes of staring at his datapad, it was evident that his mind was elsewhere.

What had Dlane meant?

Putting his data pad aside, he slipped off the bed and folded himself onto his knees. He cast himself back into his memories, sinking down into his unconscious, seeking the last occurrence of his dream.

It was like trying to catch a handful of fog. When he approached too directly, the mnemetic echo evaporated.

At last he managed to slow his thoughts, suppress his overactive consciousness, and ease into the lower levels of his mind. The wispy memory enfolded him at last.

He was making love, but as always, he couldn’t make out the features of his partner. They were entwined on a flat surface, which could be the floor of a training salle, or the floor of any large room.

Gently he tightened his focus, seeking greater clarity. There the image was at last, still muddled, yet flickers of it sharp, like a strobe piercing the shadows and momentarily illuminating the concealed scene.

He realized now that this dream partner could be not Bruck. This was a larger man, his bare back and shoulders fully muscled, without the youthful leanness of Bruck, or of Obi-Wan himself. The image drifted in and out of his scope of inner vision, pieces of the scene appearing and disappearing like pieces of a shattered mirror floating past his eyes. One instant he saw the tendons at the back of a flexed knee; the next, the shifting of bicep. He assembled the fragments of evidence: large man, mature, tall. Light skinned. Fall of long hair.

It was the hair and the hands that triggered his revelation. Large hands, moving across the body of the dream partner, the dream Obi-Wan. He knew those hands, better than he knew his own. He had no need to see the face to know who this man was.

He resurfaced to full consciousness, like a diver emerging from the depths. During his meditation, full night had fallen. The lights of the skylanes made busy insect trails around the lighted buildings outside his window.

But was it a true foreseeing, or just a dream, a padawan’s adolescent fixation on the pole star of every padawan’s emotional universe, their own master?

The vision felt true, had always felt true. But then, he knew he was far from proficient at understanding his erratic precognition. It was a notoriously slow skill to develop, and Qui-Gon’s own complete lack of this talent meant Obi-Wan was left to rely on occasional training sessions with Master Yoda and other precognitive adepts.

What had Dlane said again? And what had she meant?

Why sit and wonder? Calling his pocket com to his hand, he thumbed it. "Kenobi to Corruvanae."

A moment, then a cheerful "Corruvanae here. What is it, Obi-Wan?"

"Dlane, what you said earlier--what did you mean?"

"Really, Obi-Wan." Acerbic. "If you can’t figure it out for yourself, I don’t know why --"

"Dlane, please."

A sigh over the comm. "I was surprised about you and Chun. Most of us thought that you and Master Jinn would join."

Obi-Wan kept his voice neutral. "Why would people think that?"

"It looks like there’s something between you two, more than the usual Master-Padawan attachment. Everyone can see it. You’re devoted to each other, but there’s a formality there, as if you were both intentionally standing a certain distance apart. It’s as if you both knew where your relationship was going but were waiting for the right time."

Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How long have people been thinking this?"

"Oh, years. It’s old news. That’s one reason this Chun business got everyone’s attention, it went against common knowledge."

"Wonderful," he said sourly.

"Sorry, Obi, but you did ask. Don’t worry, the talk will blow over. Just keep your center and listen to the Force."

"Thanks for answering my questions, Dlane. Good night."

The com light blinked out as the connection terminated.

The situation might be humorous if he weren’t feeling so foolish. Here he’d been having his erotic vision for years, wondering and waiting. With a Jedi’s reserve as well as his own natural reticence about his inner life, he had refrained from talking about his dream with anyone.

And now he discovered that for years his friends had assumed that he and Qui-Gon were on a common course, straight into bed.

So masters could take padawans for lovers? Dlane’s comment implied that they did. It had never occurred to him to wonder. The masters seemed to inhabit a different level of existence from the junior members of the Order: more serene, more cerebral. He knew padawans bedded padawans, and sometimes bedded knights. But he had no particular knowledge of any master’s sexual habits. Certainly his own master was extremely discreet, if he had a sexual relationship, for Obi-Wan had never seen any sign of one.

Qui-Gon as a lover. It wasn’t that he had never considered his master as a sexual being. Obi-Wan had the libido of a typical young male and had his share of hormonal responses to his master. But he was the padawan, Qui-Gon the master. His limitations and failings were all too obvious to his observant mentor. Qui-Gon knew him so well, saw him so frequently; surely there was nothing that Qui-Gon would find compelling about him, the junior, the callow. Their relationship was firmly established, one of the cornerstones of Obi-Wan’s world, but he had never truly considered that it might evolve into something else.

Had Qui-Gon ever considered it?

Perhaps this was a vision of a more distant future, after his knighting, when he could meet Qui-Gon as something more like an equal.

Or -- perhaps it was a true vision, but of Qui-Gon with another man. Obi-Wan had always felt himself to be in the dream, but he had never actually seen himself there. Perhaps he was envisioning Qui-Gon with another lover and projecting himself into the tableau.

The thought of his master with another man was vaguely depressing.

He shook his head, rolled his neck. Too many emotional issues for one day. He needed time to absorb all this.

Perhaps a year or two would do it.

He wanted to avoid talking to Qui-Gon about this topic, which meant he should avoid the older man altogether. His master could read him all too well; the last thing Obi-Wan wanted was to be asked pointed questions about the cause of his distraction.

Impossible to escape Qui-Gon for long, but in the short term, easy enough. Qui-Gon wouldn’t disturb him in the sanctum of his room unless it was absolutely necessary. That gave him until firstmeal tomorrow to sort through his thoughts.

Sitting in the dark, reading his datapad by its backlight, Obi-Wan sensed his master’s path towards their rooms, like watching a light approaching from a distance, unique in some indescribable way from all the other lights of bright Jedi minds that filled the Temple.

Obi-Wan forced his attention back to his text.

Some time later, when that presence neared the closed door of his room, Obi-Wan finally looked away from his glowing datapad, and wrinkled his brow in apprehension. Qui-Gon would never disturb him this late without good reason, and given the events of the day, he could guess the cause.

"Obi-Wan?" softly from the other side of the door.

That was a good sign, better than the deep, stern "Padawan" that preceded a reprimand. That ominous tone would have had Obi-Wan quickly standing before inviting Qui-Gon into the room, prepared to bow, kneel or prostrate himself, if the master’s face looked sufficiently forbidding. But "Obi-Wan" in this other timbre meant that Qui-Gon wanted a more relaxed conversation.

There was only one conclusion. Either Qui-Gon hadn’t yet heard the gossip about Obi-Wan, or he didn’t consider it a serious infraction.

Obi-Wan sat up straighter on the bed and said, "Please, come in."

The sight of Qui-Gon dressed in the Temple-standard set of casualwear that Obi-Wan himself currently wore -- a sleeveless pullover and loose leggings -- confirmed that this was to be an informal chat. As Obi-Wan had matured and become more of an associate than a student, Qui-Gon had been meticulously consistent in how he signaled the different levels of their relationship. Dress was one such signal: undertunic or pullover meant casual, whereas full robes meant formal, with the appropriate bowing and kneeling required.

Obi-Wan waved to turn on his couchside light as Qui-Gon settled comfortably on the floor against the wall across from the bed. The tiny beam of light cast a spotlight on the pillow but made odd shadows elsewhere in the room. In the small space, the master’s outstretched leg almost touched the edge of the sleeping cot, his other leg knee bent, one arm draped over it. Half-closed eyes regarded him.

Obi-Wan held his tongue. Qui-Gon would speak when it suited him. The master had come to him; there was clearly something the man wished to say; and he would say it when he was ready.

Obi-Wan studied the large hand suspended in midair a short reach away. He remembered his dream, the vision of that big hand on bare skin, and suppressed a shiver. Qui-Gon as a lover; what would that experience be like? Would it feel the same as with Bruck? Impossible. Qui-Gon was nothing like Bruck. Qui-Gon was--everything a Jedi should be. Self-controlled. Aware. Living in service. Obedient to the Light if not always to the Council. Disregarding of any cost to himself or of the opinions of others. A man to honor. To respect. To love.

"Are you all right?" asked Qui-Gon into the silence.

Obi-Wan started and hastily checked his mental shields. Still in place. He gave a faint smile; no point in pretending not to understand the intent of the question. "Yes. Just feeling the fool."

"No physical damage?"

No mistaking the intent of that question, either. Obi-Wan flushed but kept his voice steady. "No. He wasn’t trying to hurt me."

Qui-Gon said, "He might have done so inadvertently. Don’t be stoic."

You’re one to talk about not being stoic, thought Obi-Wan, but kept that comment to himself. "I know the health implications, I wouldn’t ignore it if there was a problem," he replied, with a touch of impatience, a warning to drop the topic. Humiliating, to be discussing the condition of a very personal part of his anatomy. "My pride took the worse damage. How did you come to hear about it?"

"Two padawans scurried past me in the halls, jabbering to each other."

Oh joy. So the whispers Obi-Wan had witnessed in the dining hall were already running wild through the temple. "What were they saying? So I know what’s being jabbered about."

"That you and Bruck coupled in a practice ring and then argued in the showers. From the little I overheard, it was unclear who instigated either event."

Obi-Wan said, "We both did. I’m responsible for what happened, as much as he is. More."

"What happened to annoy you both, so soon after--"

Obi-Wan cut in, "Bruck wasn’t annoyed at all. Amused was more like it. As for arguing--that’s how Bruck and I always interact. I’m the one who got it wrong."

"There’s nothing wrong with a mutually desired sexual encounter." Qui-Gon’s expression was neutral.

"There is something wrong when one partner completely misinterprets the situation," Obi-Wan said.

"What was this misinterpretation?"

Obi-Wan waved a hand vaguely. "Bruck is nothing if not consistent. I find him arrogant and annoying. But when he flirted with me, then propositioned me--I thought it meant something else. By the time I realized his assumptions and mine were not the same, it was-- I decided it was too late to back out. It wasn’t his fault. Bruck is Bruck. I just forgot that for a moment."

"It sounds like you weren’t in the moment at all." Trust Qui-Gon to turn even this incident into a lesson of better attention to the Living Force, Qui-Gon’s mantra to his Unifying Force Padawan.

But as usual, Qui-Gon was correct about Obi-Wan’s inattention and how it could lead him down the wrong path.

"That’s true," Obi-Wan admitted. "I was thinking of something else at the time." He didn’t intend to tell Qui-Gon about his recurrent dream. Qui-Gon tended to dismiss Obi-Wan’s flashes of precognition as irrelevant distractions. Perhaps Qui-Gon was right in this instance, perhaps not. Obi-Wan had learned that his own weakness in the Living Force was matched by a similar blindness in Qui-Gon as regards the Unifying Force. So Qui-Gon’s dismissive response would cast no light on the issue of the trueness of the foreseeing. Obi-Wan would have to puzzle it out for himself.

Qui-Gon’s voice called him back to the conversation. "What do you think of the situation now that you’ve had time to consider it?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "It wasn’t how I had envisioned my first time. But I suppose it’s good to get some experience, however cursory. I confess that I had an overly idealistic view of the whole thing."

Qui-Gon shifted his sitting position with an abruptness that Obi-Wan interpreted as a sign of Jinnian inner unrest. Qui-Gon’s voice was clipped, also a give-away. "Padawan Chun can be self-absorbed. Don’t dismiss your hopes because of his behavior, Obi-Wan. I know you, and whatever occurred, you acted with generous intent."

Obi-Wan blinked. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear from Qui-Gon, but that wasn’t it. "He didn’t mean any harm. He seemed to think he was doing me a favor. I didn’t realize initially how casual it was for him. I place a different meaning on the act than he does."

Qui-Gon nodded. "You say he enjoyed it. Did you enjoy it, physically at least?"

Obi-Wan glanced away. Qui-Gon was asking if he had enjoyed the sex. His reserved master was asking this? Why did it matter?

"Obi-Wan?"

The question, answer the question. Obi-Wan wrinkled his brow in thought.

"Is it that difficult to answer?" Qui-Gon asked, his expression amused and concerned together. "Should I rephrase? Did it feel good? Did you like it?"

"I’m not sure," said Obi-Wan. "Parts of it were exciting. Being naked with someone and touching so intimately, that was exciting. But overall it felt strange, and uncomfortable. Too abrupt."

Qui-Gon kept silent, waiting for him to process his thoughts.

"It was disappointing," Obi-Wan admitted. "I had looked forward to having sex. I thought I’d be overwhelmed -- like you see in the vids, when people join, they’re out of their minds with pleasure. The other padawans talk as if it’s wonderful. But that didn’t happen for me."

"It often doesn’t. Sex can be overwhelming, but like other peak experiences, it takes practice to reach the height of performance. And the right conditions." Qui-Gon paused a moment, then continued mildly, "What did you and Bruck do together?"

Obi-Wan evaded, "The usual I suppose..." Qui-Gon’s gaze flickered, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes briefly, then away. Obi-Wan sighed, then continued, "From behind. I was on my knees."

Qui-Gon’s expression was blank yet managed to radiate a sense of dissatisfaction, as if watching silently as Obi-Wan floundered his way through a challenging kata.

Obi-Wan asked testily, "All right then, what would you have suggested?"

Qui-Gon glanced at him, then at the wall above Obi-Wan’s head. "I’ve never had the honor of being asked to be someone’s first. If I were, and my partner were male, I’d probably suggest that we begin with my partner giving rather than receiving penetration. That’s the easier of the two roles for someone who’s new to that expression of sexual intimacy."

Obi-Wan gulped. He hadn’t expected an answer to his question. Then he realized he was half-hard, and he shifted uneasily.

Qui-Gon would offer himself to his partner. Qui-Gon on his knees, that broad naked back--.

Why was it that something that seemed so erotic when Qui-Gon talked of it, had been so disappointing in real life?

Obi-Wan said, "Could there be something wrong with me? That I wasn’t--the sexual act didn’t transport me to ecstasy?"

"There’s nothing wrong with you," Qui-Gon said. "It sounds like you had a fairly typical first experience. Perhaps rather more on the negative side, as you chose a partner with whom you were emotionally incompatible."

"Then what makes it better? Practice?"

"Practice, the right partner, the right mindset, the right environment--.it’s like a kata. Sex is a new pairs kata for you. Think of when you first try a new kata, it’s always awkward, it feels strange."

"It doesn’t with you," said Obi-Wan automatically, watching Qui-Gon’s big hand, hanging loose and relaxed over the bent knee.

"What do you mean?" asked Qui-Gon.

Too late to dissemble. Obi-Wan went with his original thought. "It never feels strange doing a new pairs kata with you. Even when I don’t know the moves, when we have to stop and start and do things at quarter speed. It always feels comfortable with you."

It was true, he never felt uncomfortable around Qui-Gon. Even when they disagreed, it felt like a disciplined saber clash, the other man in opposition but solidly there, present in the relationship, fighting fairly.

"That’s good," said Qui-Gon slowly. "I want you to feel comfortable when we’re practicing together. Nowdays, I think of it more as mutual practice, rather than as instruction from me to you. Showing you the movements is the best learning for me. To teach something requires that you know it thoroughly."

Now that could only be an intentional double entendre, from a man who was adept at diplomatic wordplay. He met Qui-Gon’s eyes, looking for some sign of where this conversation might be going, but got no clear response.

He had thought that Qui-Gon had come to his room to talk about the impropriety of two senior padawans fucking in a public sparring ring and badmouthing each other afterwards. A reprimand, or a Masterly lecture. Instead this was conversational. Personal.

Was Qui-Gon flirting with him? Flirting wasn’t a word he associated with his master.

Now the word seductive, that word could apply to Qui-Gon at times--.

Obi-Wan shifted and said, "It wasn’t that way with Bruck. It wasn’t comfortable."

"No. You’re both impatient, proud. And far too wary of each other. More experienced partners might have turned that into an incendiary sexual encounter. But given your mutual lack of knowledge, it had more chance to go wrong than to go right."

"Bruck has experience," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon waved his free hand in irritation. "Whatever experience he has, it didn’t result in a positive encounter for you."

"He said--" Obi-Wan hesitated. "He told me--"

Qui-Gon waited.

Obi-Wan tried again: "Do you think--based on--in your experience, am I, would I be a sub?"

Qui-Gon’s eyes crackled with energy, an intent behind them that Obi-Wan couldn’t fathom. "What do you mean?" the Master asked.

"Bruck said I was. He said I preferred a submissive approach to sex, what he called being a sub. He said he could tell. That it was inherent in my personality. Being deferential."

"What do you think?" asked Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan said, "Obedience is a positive trait in a padawan. I never thought that someone might believe it had sexual connotations."

Qui-Gon gave him a disbelieving look. Obi-Wan immediately knew what was behind that expression, and objected, "Yes, I know what others outside the Order sometimes think, about masters and padawans, how it appears, depending on their cultural context. But I didn’t imagine that another Jedi would put such a meaning on it. It shocked me. It wasn’t until during my meditation later than I realized why I was so angry."

"And--?"

"He made me doubt myself. He implied that my obedience had a sexual meaning, and by implication tainted my commitment to you and to the Order. I’m honored to be your padawan, master. I feel blessed to be a Jedi, to have the opportunity to learn and to serve. That someone could take my expression of that commitment, and turn it into a mandate for a stereotyped sexual behavior--it made me furious."

Qui-Gon said, "No one can taint your commitment, padawan. Or our relationship."

"Yes. After a few hours of meditation, I acknowledged that. Now I’m just regretful. Sorry that it went the way it did. I should have turned down Bruck’s offer, but--no matter. It’s over, master. I regret any embarrassment that I caused you, with the talk in the halls."

"No matter," Qui-Gon echoed.

They sat in silence briefly before Obi-Wan realized that he didn’t want to abandon the topic. Qui-Gon would tell him the truth. He trusted in that.

"Master--do you think I’m inclined by temperament to be sexually submissive? Is there any substance to that, or was it just Bruck baiting me?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "There’s plenty of information about sexual practices in the Temple library."

"I know," said Obi-Wan. The last time he had looked for any data on that topic was years ago during his classes on sentient physiology and behavioral norms. Since he himself wasn’t sexually active, he hadn’t been overly interested; there always seemed to be more useful topics for him to research, things more serious and appropriate for a time-constrained Padawan intent on his studies. "But it’s your opinion that I’m seeking. Unless you’d rather not discuss this." He didn’t want to force Qui-Gon into unwanted admissions.

"I’m willing to discuss anything with you, Obi-Wan. But you’re not required to discuss this with me, as a padawan to his master. I wanted to make that clear."

"Not as my master, then, but as the person who knows me better than I know myself, and who guaranteed knows more about sex than I do. Bruck said --"

Qui-Gon interrupted, "After one encounter, you would let him be your authority on sexual matters?"

Qui-Gon interrupting. Qui-Gon annoyed. Obi-Wan recognized the signs, that biting off of the words. Obi-Wan asked, "Are you angry with me?"

"No," said Qui-Gon more gently. "I’m displeased with you, and with Bruck. You both handled the situation poorly."

"But what he said, that I’m a sub--he also called it a bottom? It seemed to have to do with receiving penetration, but it also seemed to be a mindset --"

Qui-Gon interrupted in his driest, most didactic tone, "Bruck is confusing different things. Top and bottom are often used as terms for giving and receiving penetration. But it can also be a description for which partner is psychologically dominant in the overall relationship, or a specific encounter. And the terms sub and dom are even more particular."

After Qui-Gon paused, Obi-Wan said, "Don’t stop there."

Qui-Gon gave him a look but continued. "Sex is an activity where people can enact many aspects of a relationship. Just as with conversation: people can have discussions, arguments, monologues, quote poetry--so it is with sex. There are many different permutations. Including the playing of sexual roles, or games. Sub/dom is one such game."

Now they were getting somewhere. Obi-Wan asked, "How does one play?"

Qui-Gon shifted to a cross-legged position. "Sub/dom is a game about power. The dominant partner is officially in charge of the encounter; she or he acts as the master to the other’s servant, giving orders, setting tasks to perform. The tasks are to challenge the sub physically, mentally, and emotionally. The tasks are often manual, possibly sexual, and may involve boredom, embarrassment, or humiliation for the purpose of breaking down psychological barriers. The sub’s role is to perform the tasks promptly and obediently in order to experience the emotional intensity generated by the experience. There is protection for the sub; at the beginning of the game, the sub describes their limits, which are the things that are disallowed in the ensuing scene, and the sub also has a safeword that ends the game."

"If you remove the sex part, it sounds like what we do every day," said Obi-Wan with a raised eyebrow. "You give instruction; many of the tasks are manual; most of them are to challenge me physically, mentally and emotionally; and my role is to perform."

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. "The objective of your apprenticeship is to raise your abilities to the level of a full Jedi Knight, so that you can best serve the Light. The objective of sub/dom is purely personal -- it’s for self-knowledge, and for entertainment. The experience can be sexually exciting, purgative, transformative, whatever term you want to use. The roles are usually temporary, and may even be switched from episode to episode between the two partners. And the roles do not dictate who gives or receives penetration. That’s part of the game."

"What do you mean?"

"The simplest perception of dom/sub is that the dom is the master and the sub the slave. The dom gives orders, the sub obeys. But it’s just as true to say that the dom is the host of an event, and the sub is the guest. The sub empowers the dom by their voluntary submission. The power play has multiple levels. In no case does it automatically dictate who penetrates whom. I promise you, it’s perfectly possible for a dom to receive penetration from the sub. If you doubt it, ask any female."

Qui-Gon seemed suspiciously well-informed about this sub-dom issue. "You’ve done this. Played this game," said Obi-Wan.

"I have." Qui-Gon’s expression hid some inner emotion. Whatever he was thinking of, or whatever he was remembering, it was intense.

"Show me," said Obi-Wan suddenly.

"What?" said Qui-Gon.

"Show me. Play the game. You pick your side, dom or sub. I’ll do the other."

Qui-Gon’s eyes bored into him. Obi-Wan returned the stare evenly, without hesitation. He trusted Qui-Gon. Whether they proceeded to play or not, it would be the right thing.

Qui-Gon said, "Obi-Wan. I only play this game with a sexual partner."

"Good," said Obi-Wan. "Do you want to establish any limits?" There, he’d said it. He’d put Qui-Gon in the position of being the sub.

Qui-Gon’s stare intensified, if that were possible. "You want to dom?"

Obi-Wan sat up straighter on the bed, lengthening his spine. "The question is, will you acknowledge me as dom?"

Qui-Gon was silent, looking at Obi-Wan as if he was peering into his soul. Obi-Wan kept his composure. There was no shame in this. He was of age, he was curious, and he would rather learn from Qui-Gon than any other person he could imagine. It only remained to be seen if Qui-Gon would assent.

But as the moments stretched out, Obi-Wan’s latent insecurities, already bruised due to the disaster with Bruck, began to surface. What was he thinking of, to make such a statement to his master? He had crudely forced the issue from discussion to action. "I’m sorry, I was impulsive. We don’t have to do this. Or I could take the sub position, if you prefer."

Qui-Gon said, "It’s not an issue of who takes which role. This game is not the way I usually enter into sexual intimacy. The game has its risks, especially for new partners who don’t know each other well."

"I said earlier that you know me better than anyone else in the universe. I’m not sure I could claim to know you better than anyone else does, but I think I know you well enough."

Qui-Gon said, "On the contrary. You know me very well. Just not in this dimension. Obi-Wan, you just had a disappointing sexual encounter. Are you sure you want to follow so quickly with this?"

Bruck. Of course, the encounter with Bruck that had precipitated this entire conversation. "I’m sorry," said Obi-Wan, "what I did with him was too recent, I didn’t mean any insult to you --"

Qui-Gon said, "I don’t care about what you did with Bruck, other than its impact on you. But, I don’t want to act on a request from you that was made only as a reaction to recent events."

"It’s not," said Obi-Wan, trying to sound sincere and not defensive, and almost succeeding.

"Let’s back up several parsecs," said Qui-Gon, scrubbing his brow with his hand. "First, do you believe that you’re ready to have a sexual encounter of any type? Second, are you certain that you want to have to have that encounter with me? Third, do you believe you’re ready for the exotics of sex, games and such, when you haven’t had experience with the more common variety? To return to an earlier metaphor, it seems you’re attempting a kata that’s several levels above where you’ve previously performed."

"You think I should have more modest aims," said Obi-Wan.

"I didn’t say that. I asked what you believe about your readiness."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, to block out the distracting view of his master, and pondered. Was he ready for a sexual experience with another person? Absolutely; the fact that he hadn’t indulged already, had more to do with his seriousness towards the act, and his fixation on his dream lover’s identity, than in a lack of interest or emotional readiness.

Did he want to have that experience with Qui-Gon? Most definitely yes. Even if his dream was just an erotic fantasy, it was true in the sense that he felt closer to Qui-Gon than to any other being, was attracted to the man, trusted him. He had just never considered, before today, that the older man would have any interest in his own Padawan as a bedpartner.

As for the games--he was probably rushing there. He hadn’t even heard of such things before tonight. But there had been something in Qui-Gon’s reaction that was intriguing. This sub/dom game meant something to Qui-Gon, and if for no other reason, that made it interesting to Obi-Wan.

"Yes, I’m ready," he said. "But you’re right about one thing, the game aspect is probably beyond me right now."

Qui-Gon nodded silently.

"But--"

Qui-Gon wrinkled an eyebrow, waiting.

"I do want to be intimate with you," said Obi-Wan. "That became clear to me, in my meditations today. The Force calls me to you. But we are Jedi first, and I owe you duty as your padawan before all else. If you think that our being together in this way would detract from the master-padawan commitment, I understand. I can wait. If after my knighthood you still have any interest in coupling with a very inexperienced if devoted ex-padawan--.we could try it then."

Qui-Gon smiled. "One thing I agreed with, in your earlier assessment of yourself. Your commitment to the Order, to your learning, and to my authority in my temporary role as your master, is unshakeable. Let Bruck mock that obedience as submission, if he likes. But that obedience reassures me that you have the strength of character to balance the dual roles of lover and student. I would not have initiated this conversation were I not certain of that."

There it was, baldly stated. Qui-Gon had already considered him as a lover. He had considered it before he came to Obi-Wan’s room tonight. "I thought you came here to reprimand me for my lack of control, in both my lust and my temper," admitted Obi-Wan.

"No," said Qui-Gon. "I came here to find out what had changed. For years there was no sign that you were interested in sex or had any involvement with a sexual partner. I sensed that you were waiting, but for what, I didn’t know. When I heard the gossip, my first reaction was puzzlement, then an anger so strong it took me some time in meditation to resolve it."

"Don’t waste anger on Bruck," said Obi-Wan. "He was just being himself."

"I wasn’t angry at Bruck," said Qui-Gon unexpectedly. "I was displeased, but not surprised, given what I know of Chun. I was angry at you. If you had decided to become sexually intimate with another, why choose Bruck, of all people? Why would you waste yourself on him, surely one of the least compatible people in the Temple for you?"

Obi-Wan flushed. "I made a mistake."

"It was your decision to make. My frustration was my issue. It arose from my own weakness, not from yours."

"Weakness, master?"

"Greed. Greed is a dangerous emotion, even if it is on behalf of another. I wanted more for you."

"For me? Or from me?" asked Obi-Wan.

Blue eyes flashed. "The first, certainly. The second...only if you choose so."

"Both our choices matter," said Obi-Wan. "Do you want me?" There. He’d said it, straight out.

"Want you? Certainly. For years," Qui-Gon said calmly. At Obi-Wan’s poorly concealed shock, Qui-Gon gave a brief smile and continued. "Whether we act on it or no, it need not be a barrier between us. Or create any unhappiness or obligation. I haven’t been living in the pain of unrequited love, let’s put it that way. I know you love me. I love you, and I am attracted to you, and I enjoy that sensation for what it is. My enjoyment of your physical presence is a proper match to my enjoyment of your emotional and spiritual presence."

Astounding. His master freely admitted that he had lusted after Obi-Wan, yet made it sound tame, almost cerebral. Was this what happened to one’s sexual drive, after decades as a Jedi Master? Perhaps that was what was meant by ‘no passion, only serenity.’ Obi-Wan confessed his bafflement. "Years of physical attraction, with nothing more? It sounds frustrating."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "A desire can be enjoyable in itself, without being enacted. I routinely desire to smack Mace Windu about the ears, and while I never act on that desire, I do enjoy having it. Similarly I can enjoy wanting you but never anticipate actually having you. It may sound frustrating, to a younger man such as yourself. Self control does become easier over the years."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You may be content to experience your desire and not indulge it, but I’m afraid I don’t have a master’s stamina yet. I want you. Please. If you’re certain that you want me. And soon, perhaps? Would now be too precipitate?"

Qui-Gon grinned, that flash of white teeth that was such a rare emotion on that stern face. "Years of celibacy and now so impatient?"

Giddy with revelation, Obi-Wan said recklessly, "Why waste any more time? Fair warning: if you aren’t interested in me, please take your leave, before I embarrass myself even more than I have already."

"I’m intrigued to discover what you have in mind for embarrassing yourself," said Qui-Gon.

It was his move, Obi-Wan knew. Qui-Gon was a master, his senior by two ranks: the senior could not initiate to the junior, for reasons of tradition as well as ethics.

Obi-Wan unfolded his knees, placing his soles on the floor, one foot on either side of Qui-Gon’s outstretched legs. Slowly he eased himself off the bed and settled down in Qui-Gon’s lap, hands grasping the bigger man’s shoulders, meeting him eye to eye. He could feel Qui-Gon’s hardness pressed under his own crotch. The position felt odd. A new pairs kata, as Qui-Gon had said. Qui-Gon smoothly bent his own legs, snugging Obi-Wan’s hips forward, and Obi-Wan felt two large hands gently clasping his back.

Obi-Wan said quietly, as he was so close in the other man’s face: "It must get tiresome for you. Always the teacher."

"No," said Qui-Gon just as quietly. "Every kata I share with you, becomes new to me again. I expect this will be the same," and Qui-Gon closed the brief distance between them.

Soft touch of mouth to mouth, and Obi-Wan realized belatedly that Bruck hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t tried to, and he for some reason, hadn’t thought of initiating it either. So this at least was new. He hadn’t kissed anyone before, not as a lover kissed.

He followed Qui-Gon’s lead, slow movement of lips and tongues. That warm firm body between his thighs and under his chest, that gentle slick glide of mouths, caused a thrumming excitement through the core of his body. Big hands moved over his back, kneading, and Obi-Wan tentatively ran his own fingers over Qui-Gon’s sides, feeling ribs beneath the thin fabric, and up to where the collarbone stood exposed beyond the open neck of the shirt. He wasn’t sure how to touch in a way to excite a lover, so he settled for gentle repeated strokes, like soothing an animal. Humans were animals, after all, and he hoped to be fully animalistic before long.

His erection, which had been hopefully standing at attention for most of the earlier conversation, became insistent. He was acutely aware of his groin, every heated measure of skin from his balls to the tip of his cock. Obi-Wan gave an urgent moan and pulled back.

Qui-Gon murmured interrogatively, stroking fingers along the back of Obi-Wan’s neck.

"It feels so good," Obi-Wan managed, "it’s too much, I want, I can’t concentrate."

"Your body’s hungry," answered Qui-Gon. "Did you have an orgasm with Bruck?"

"Yes, but it didn’t feel as good as this already does."

"You’ve been sublimating for years, and then you have aggressive penetration followed by extended meditation about the sex act. Did you masturbate later at least?"

"No, I didn’t think, it didn’t occur to me."

"Letting your thoughts distract you, rather than focusing on the reality of the moment, as usual, my padawan. No wonder your body is so insistent. Here, let --" Qui-Gon’s hand began to migrate from his padawan’s back around the curve of hip, on a roundabout path towards Obi-Wan’s groin.

Obi-Wan reached down to intercept that seeking hand. "No, I don’t want to come yet, it’s too soon, I want to last --"

"You can come several times tonight. Trust me. You’ll better enjoy yourself when you’ve released this first tension."

That insistent hand teased along the edge of Obi-Wan’s crotch, gently tickling along the soft curve of his lower belly. His penis surged in response. He had never needed to come so badly in his life.

"Please, I, just, not just for me," Obi-Wan heard himself babble incoherently. "I want, what you like, what do you like."

"As I said before," Qui-Gon murmured, "always generous, my Obi-Wan. All right, then, it’s all right. Lie down." Qui-Gon’s hands, previously gentle, tightened their grip, moving Obi-Wan backwards, lowering him to the floor. As his center of gravity shifted, Obi-Wan clutched instinctively on the bigger man’s biceps. "On your back. Down." The words were commanding, but the voice was soft, murmuring. Hands pulling at his leggings, the waistband slipping over his hips, thighs, shins and off his feet. The open air blew coolly over his inflamed crotch.

"Spread your legs." Those big hands firmly adjusted his thighs, up and open. Hands just like Qui-Gon corrected his stance in a kata--

Then Qui-Gon’s own large body pressed up against him, folded down over him, boxed him in. Qui-Gon’s face filled his vision, blue eyes so close. Obi-Wan could feel his master’s chest against his own doubled-up legs, the weight there but not heavily oppressive.

"This is a position I very much like," Qui-Gon said very quietly, so close Obi-Wan could feel the breath on his face. "When you’re ready, we can join like this."

"I’m ready now," whispered Obi-Wan.

"Not now. You can’t take penetration again so soon."

"Yes I can, I --- arg!" gasped Obi-Wan, as a touch to his hypersensitive opening shot a bolt of panicky energy through him.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "See? Even that’s too much for you."

That faint rub was irritating but in a stimulating way -- sore, but with the neediness of an itch wanting to be scratched. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "I need it, I need something, please, can’t we --"

"You don’t need to be filled. You’re craving orgasm, not penetration," and Obi-Wan felt a hand close around his erection and begin a slow slide up and down.

"Ah," Obi-Wan said incoherently.

"Yes," said Qui-Gon, and that wonderful hand clutching Obi-Wan’s penis tightened to near-pain.

"Ah, more," Obi-Wan demanded, vainly attempting to thrust his hips up against Qui-Gon’s weight. The hand gripped him firmly and pumped, while that electric touch against his ass moved fractionally, slowly, against his opening, teasing without penetrating, the head of Qui-Gon’s cock rubbing his abraded tissue, sufficient to cause every nerve to contract. His entire body felt tight, turgid with energy, and he was close, close --

"Ah, yes yes yes" -- into a fireball of release, muscles straining.

And then the weight of that other body was gone, and his legs were being unfolded to lie limply akimbo. Qui-Gon moved up to lie next to him, and Obi-Wan’s sense of time faded as they lay against each other.

He woke with a sense of disgruntlement at himself; he had fallen asleep briefly, fallen comatose rather, while his master, his lover --

Obi-Wan mumbled, "You didn’t come."

"Patience," said his master. "I’m sure I will soon, now that you’ve rejoined the living."

"Sorry," he began, but had to stop when Qui-Gon kissed him, chuckling.

"There’s no harm. You’ve had a long day."

"Hopefully it’s not over yet." Obi-Wan noted that the distance between his mind and his mouth seemed unusually short. Was that an aftereffect of sex? "Earlier, you had made a, a suggestion --"

"Stated a position?" inquired Qui-Gon, raising an eyebrow. "A position that seemed of great interest to you."

"You noticed?"

"Your eyes bulged alarmingly. You usually have better control over your facial expressions." Qui-Gon tapped a forgiving finger over Obi-Wan’s mouth before the younger could voice an apology. Qui-Gon continued, "My offer stands. But we need not try that particular kata tonight. The offer will be held open indefinitely until you decide if you want to pursue it."

"I’ll pursue it now. Will you show me?"

"Wait," and Qui-Gon rose and stepped from the room.

Obi-Wan’s brain, simultaneously hyperalert and stupefied, distracted by his singing body, puzzled over the word "wait" -- wait for what? -- until Qui-Gon returned and sat on the edge of the sleepcouch, holding something between his hands.

Obi-Wan peered up from the floor. The master was backlit by the small lamp, making his expression difficult to read.

They watched each other in silence. The soft darkness in the room became palpable. The light, pure and sharp as saber blade. Obi-Wan was aware of his body settled deep into the floor. Qui-Gon still and unmoving.

Time passed.

Finally Qui-Gon said, "If I had known that intercourse would help you center this well, I would have encouraged you to become sexually active years ago."

Obi-Wan smiled in return, then said, "Why is that? I do feel balanced, as if after a long meditation. Does this always happen?"

"For you? You’ll have to discover that. For myself, yes, sex usually does help me center. I suspect that’s when it’s done with proper intent and focus. My understanding of others’ experience is that while an orgasm can induce temporary mindlessness, the emotions afterwards depend upon other factors. Most importantly the relationship between the partners. How did you feel after Bruck?"

"Bruck?" It took Obi-Wan a moment to remember. Bruck. He had had sex with Bruck, earlier -- today, it had been. It seemed so long ago. "Afterwards? I was annoyed. Embarrassed."

"So even with only two encounters, you’ve gained a sense of the range of emotions related with sex."

Obi-Wan slowly sat up, conscious of each muscle, each vertebra lifting from the floor. Levering up onto his knees, he grasped at Qui-Gon’s thighs for a handhold. The older man leaned down into his face, cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw in his palm.

"How do you feel? Do you still want more tonight?" the master asked, voice impossibly deep.

"Yes. Yes."

"How do you want me?"

Obi-Wan paused. "I don’t know. I’m afraid I failed to study the briefing for this particular mission, master. I defer to your greater experience."

"You must have some preference."

Obi-Wan considered. Qui-Gon had said that he preferred face-to-face. But Obi-Wan wasn’t certain he could look his partner in the eye while fumbling with their nether regions.

"Could you turn over?" Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon obligingly turned, shifting off the couch onto the floor onto his knees, leaning forward, spreading his legs. Obi-Wan watched, not sure where to put his eyes or his hands. Qui-Gon bent over his folded arms, his torso relaxing, showing no sign of impatience.

Finally Obi-Wan slid his hands along Qui-Gon’s outer thighs up to his hips, then back. Qui-Gon sighed in acknowledgement.

"I’m not sure what to do," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon turned his head to answer. "Touching is always good. Anywhere. Take your time, there’s no rush."

Encouraged, Obi-Wan ran his hands along the length of thighs down to knees, up the back of legs to buttocks, skimmed along the curve of ass up to the lower back. He took hold of his Master’s waist, noting how the notch above the hipbone seemed perfectly made to fit his grasp. His hands began to wander again.

"Slowly," said Qui-Gon. "Think quarter-speed."

Quarter speed, the pace at which one learned the finer points of a kata. Obi-Wan moved his hands deliberately, pacing himself, repeating the strokes as he would repeat a movement on the training floor.

Qui-Gon made a pleased, guttural sound, and shifted under the touches. Confidence and excitement growing, Obi-Wan reached one hand around the waist, the other between the spread legs, reaching. It felt both familiar and odd to hold another man’s erection. He fondled the testicles gently, feeling the texture of hair under his fingertips. His hand blindly examined the hard column of penis from the root to the softer tip.

Obi-Wan’s own organ was fully hard how. This was wonderful -- Qui-Gon was here, letting Obi-Wan enjoy him. They were enjoying each other.

Qui-Gon asked, "Do you want to penetrate me like this?"

Obi-Wan released the balls he’d been cupping, and slid a finger back along the seam of the body until he felt the indentation of anus. "I want to, but I don’t know how."

Qui-Gon gestured sideways, and Obi-Wan spotted the lubricant lying at the end of the sleeping couch. He retrieved it and flipped open the cap.

"Just a little," said his master, his voice muffled against the blanket.

The fluid poured readily into his palm, with a slick oily consistency. Obi-Wan clenched his fist, coating his fingers.

"Start with one finger first. Then when it feels right, try two. And so on."

"How will I know when it feels right?"

"You’ll find out."

Hesitant, Obi-Wan pushed gently with his index finger, and felt the flesh give. There was a tight clutching around his finger, and he gingerly moved the digit in deeper. Past the entrance, it felt warm and slick, but not tight.

"Yes, that’s it," said Qui-Gon. "Back and forth."

Obi-Wan rocked his hand carefully, his finger gliding in and out to its full length. He watched it disbelievingly -- his finger disappeared magically into the other man’s body, then returned, glistening in the dim light.

After a few moments, this seemed too easy. It must be time for more. Obi-Wan tried two fingers. This was trickier. He finally settled upon pressing his fingertips together tightly to help with the initial breach. Once inside, he kept his fingers acting as one unit for awhile, then experimented with moving them separately.

Qui-Gon was breathing deeply from his diaphragm; his back rose and fell with the effort. "Obi-Wan, feel downwards, reach downwards --"

He did, aware that he was pressing into flesh, trying to be careful, when he touched something through layers of tissue, something small and dense. Qui-Gon moaned then, at length, and clenched his thighs. So that was the prostate; Obi-Wan moved his fingertip over it, noting the feel and location. Qui-Gon rocked his hips against Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan fell into the rhythm, working both hands on their respective targets. It seemed like he could do this forever, despite the building tension. He noted the signs in the other man’s body: the faint shine where the light reflected off sweat, the sensation of heat, ribcage rising and falling with panting breath.

He wanted to hear Qui-Gon’s voice. "Master.."

The head shifted, hair falling into his master’s face, concealing. "You needn’t call me master in this."

"Qui-Gon." But Obi-Wan realized that he liked it; liked associating that title and this act. There was something perverse and exciting in it. "Would you prefer I not use your title? Because I rather like it."

Qui-Gon’s erection jumped in Obi-Wan’s hand. "Whatever pleases you, padawan."

"Master, does one always prepare for penetration in this way?"

"It’s not always necessary," and Qui-Gon sounded light-voiced, short of breath. "Not with an experienced partner. It probably wasn’t even necessary this time. But you needed to learn it. And I wanted to feel you like this."

Qui-Gon had thought about this and had wanted it before it had happened; he had wanted Obi-Wan’s fingers inside him. What else had Qui-Gon wanted?

Obi-Wan said, "I want to please you, I want this to be good for you. Tell me how to make this good for you."

Qui-Gon shifted his torso on the bed, took a fresh grip of the blankets. "Keep talking to me, padawan. I can hear your desire in your voice. Tell me what you want."

"I want to penetrate you."

"I’m more than ready."

Obi-Wan grasped his erection, now painfully hard. He had just enough presence of mind to think to pump himself once, to spread the lubricant, then he pressed the tip of his organ between the other man’s ass cheeks. He looked down; he had never considered whether he was particularly well endowed, but his cock looked obscenely large, poised against his partner’s buttocks. He pressed forward and felt resistance.

"Harder," said his master’s voice. "Just thrust forward."

"I don’t want to hurt you," Obi-Wan gasped.

"You won’t, just do it. Do it."

Obi-Wan aimed and jerked his hips forward, feeling a tight slick heat along the length of his cock as it sunk easily into the other man’s body. Oh, it was good, insanely good, he had never felt anything like it in his life, it was too much --

He yanked backwards and his erection slid free.

"What?" asked Qui-Gon, sounding both testy and concerned. "What is it?"

"I’m going to come too fast. It’s too fast."

"Of course it’s going to be fast, you’re young, despite that we got you off earlier, it would be a miracle if you lasted more than a few strokes." Frustration was warring with patience in Qui-Gon’s voice.

Obi-Wan objected, "I want you to come first."

"Here --" and Qui-Gon seized one of Obi-Wan’s hands in his and returned it to the bigger man’s erection. "Here, just --" and Qui-Gon was guiding his strokes, harder and faster than what Obi-Wan had done previously. "Now fingers again. Get me close. I’ll tell you when I’m close."

Obi-Wan slid in three fingers this time, and the master pushed back aggressively, forcing the younger man to thrust harder in response to keep his balance. He continued the finger fuck, hearing the slurp of flesh and lubricant as his hand moved back and forth. He tried to hit the prostate on each stroke, uncertain if he was succeeding, but Qui-Gon was arching his back and making an encouraging guttural noise.

Qui-Gon’s head snapped back and he gasped over his shoulder, "Now, I’m close, you can finish it --"

Obi-Wan grabbed his swollen cock and jammed it in. Amazing. He shoved his hips flush against the other man’s buttocks, drew back, thrust again. He was a little tentative, remembering how this had hurt when Bruck had done it, but -- "Yes, harder, hard as you can --" Qui-Gon seemed to want it badly, so Obi-Wan gripped the man’s waist with his free hand and began pistoning into him. They found a good pace, fast but smooth, and Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek to try to keep from coming, hold off, wait, just one more moment --

A loud groan burst from Qui-Gon, unlike any noise Obi-Wan had ever heard his master make, and Obi-Wan could feel the body under him break its motion, muscles clenching, which must mean that Qui-Gon was climaxing, and Obi-Wan lost control, the energy pouring out of him in a great sweeping tide.

Obi-Wan was gasping for air, and he noticed he was hot and wet with perspiration. His face was dripping sweat onto Qui-Gon’s lower back. He felt shaky, as if recovering from a fever. His cock was still inside the other man’s body, but it was softening, shrinking, and as he panted, he felt it slip free. Obi-Wan sat back on his heels, breathing.

Qui-Gon shifted on the bed, moved one leg, bumped into Obi-Wan, and they both awkwardly moved out of each other’s way, Qui-Gon coming off the couch and onto his knees, turning to face Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon as wet with sweat as his padawan, the master’s hair drenched where it framed his face.

Obi-Wan sat there on his heels, his breath slowing. Qui-Gon reached out and touched Obi-Wan’s arm, his face. "All right?"

He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and what could he say to communicate how it had felt, which words would capture the experience. Qui-Gon smiled at him, a full broad smile. Then Qui-Gon embraced him, that big body pressed full on his own, and both of them steaming hot and wet as from the shower. Obi-Wan kissed the bigger man’s neck, tasting salt and sweat.

Together they lurched onto the sleeping couch somehow and lay there in a tangle of limbs and hair and braid.

Some time later, Obi-Wan said, "What now?"

Qui-Gon’s voice came back, "We rest. At some point we’ll shower. And then we’ll probably want to do it again."

Do it again? Obi-Wan had barely gotten his mind around the fact of having done this once. And with Qui-Gon.

"Unless you think that this encounter was sufficient," the Master’s voice continued.

Obi-Wan quickly turned his head to look at Qui-Gon. The bigger man stared back.

"Were you implying that we should stop?" asked Obi-Wan.

"No. But you should know that the choice is yours. I said it before, Obi-Wan. I love you, and I desire you. Both of those things will continue to be true, whether we are sexual together or no. You’re just learning this aspect of yourself. Having us as lovers in addition to being master and padawan learner makes both relationships more complicated. It might be wiser for you to explore sex with a person other than me. Sexual intimacy cannot be the ultimate focus of our relationship. If your coupling was with another, it would be less encumbered."

Obi-Wan asked, "Would you do this with me again?"

"Gladly, if you wished it."

"I do wish it," said Obi-Wan. "If I had wanted sex as a main focus in my life, I would have pursued it before now. This, this with you seems right to me."

"And to me." Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s chin, then trailed fingers down his braid. "One last piece of information. Older men need a recovery period after exerting themselves. Meaning, I need my sleep. Shall I go back to my own room?"

"Am I welcome there?"

"Always."

"Then we’ll both go. Your couch is larger than mine."

"Practicality is a virtue." Qui-Gon heaved himself up, held out his hand. Obi-Wan took the hand, used it as leverage to swing his own feet to the floor.

Before he exited, Obi-Wan glanced back at his room. The small space seemed different in some way -- it contained a sense of fulfillment, of closure, as if a book that had been left half-read for too long had reached its last page. Or perhaps one chapter had closed and another opened.

Obi-Wan closed the door behind him.

Epilogue

Through the crowds of midmeal diners filling the refectory, Bruck Chun watched Jinn and Kenobi make their way through the milling crowd. Although any other observer would likely have missed it, Chun noted the master and padawan standing rather closer than usual, the master’s hand on his student’s shoulder, Kenobi leaning into the larger man as he said something that was impossible to hear above the hubbub.

The padawan seated next to Bruck, upon seeing Chun’s nemesis, elbowed Bruck in the ribs and chortled. Bruck ignored him.

As if feeling Bruck’s gaze on him, Obi-Wan’s head turned. He met Bruck’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded his head in polite acknowledgement. Bruck gave a casual toss of his head in response.

As Obi-Wan moved away, Master Jinn, who had observed their nonverbal exchange, continued to stare at Bruck. The white-haired padawan felt a twinge of alarm, then realized he saw no hostility in Jinn’s face, but rather, a quiet attention that evolved into an unspoken question. Bruck watched with amusement as the master actually wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. Jinn’s expression cleared, apparently enlightened, then faded back into the master’s usual reserve.

Bruck gave a formal half-bow from his seated position. From across the room, Jinn returned it, then followed his padawan from the room.

His seatmate said, "So Chun, why did you bother having sex with Kenobi? Everybody knows you can’t stand him. You well know that there are plenty of us who are happy to screw around with you anytime you get the urge."

Bruck returned his attention to his food. "Kenobi? I was just doing what needed to be done. That’s what Jedi do, right? We do what needs to be done."

END