The Impossible Distance

by Glimmer Girl (jediglim@aol.com)

Archive: my page (http://glimfics.homestead.com/index.html); M_A, OKEB, XEB, anywhere else, sure, just email me to ask!
Category: Angst, Non-Q/O
Pairing: Obi-Wan/Xanatos
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: *Slash*
Spoilers: TPM, a bit for the JA novels (but it's rather AU for the JA novels) Disclaimer: the whole she-bang belongs to Lucas!
Feedback: Sure! On- or off-list! (jediglim@aol.com)
Summary: Obi-Wan meets Xanatos and takes a chance that was never offered
Special thanks to my triumvirate of beta-readers, An'Arie, Antigone and Jen!! To the WAAS who listened to me moan and groan about this 'fic!! Cheers all!! :)

O love who places all where each is, as they are, for every moment,
yield
                                  to this man
                                                       that the impossible 
distance
be healed
                                  
                                  that young Augustus
                                  and old Zeus
be enclosed

                                  "I wake you,
stone.  Love this man."

~Charles Olson, The Distances

Four small moons, white against the gray morning sky, dimmed as violet and pink crept over the pale horizon. The twenty standard-hour night on Th'Ista was drawing to a close. The silvery light of night slowly disappeared, like water evaporating from some smooth surface and leaving only dull dryness. Obi-Wan stared blankly out of the large transparisteel window, his back turned toward the man with whom he had spent at least half of the long night. The harder he tried to hold on to the memory he was allowed to create last night, the greater the hollowness in his soul became. He wanted with all his being to believe that he had spent the night with the one he loved, with Qui-Gon. Surely, the images that flitted through his mind were of his late, lamented master. Ghostly touches and whispers drifted behind his eyelids, but escaped when his mind strained to examine them. Biting his lip, Obi-Wan suppressed the growing emptiness in his heart. The soft, hot breath on his shoulder finally forced him to do what he had been avoiding for the past hour, what he had hoped he could evade by continually playing out the half-formed memory. Obi-Wan turned around and looked at his lover.

A tangle of black hair fell over his face and shoulders, obscuring the side of his face not pressed into the pillow. Reaching over, Obi-Wan roughly brushed the hair off the other man's face to reveal fine, aristocratic features and smooth, white skin. Unmarred and even, his whole body was that same perfect pale. Like silk, like ivory, like the unforgiving winter sky, Obi-Wan muttered as he tore the sheet off the sleeping man's body. No scars, no battle marks, only the fine dark hairs at the base of his spine and over his long, slender legs. Beautiful, toned muscle and clear skin, Obi-Wan thought as he skimmed one palm over the man's buttocks. Last night he had not noticed the gentle curve of his lover's shoulders or the perceptible ladder of ribs above his flank. Obi-Wan exhaled gustily as he swept his hand over the man's back and brushed his knuckles over the pale cheek - flawless, save the tiny scar on his right cheekbone, the raised crescent of skin. The man moved closer to Obi-Wan's touch, eyelids flickering briefly. Using a Force push and another stroke across the face, Obi-Wan sent his lover back to sleep. He could not yet bear to look at them again, those hard, blue, devastating eyes.

Xanatos. He had known; some part of his mind had known all along that it was Xanatos. Nevertheless, from the moment he stepped into the crowded salon, he felt Qui-Gon through the Force. An annoying, tickling sensation at the back of his mind that Obi-Wan should have felt only if his master were in the room. The touch was faint, but unmistakable. Obi-Wan's heart sped up as desperate hope flickered in his mind for a moment - perhaps the distance between life and death could be closed. He glanced wildly about the room, even as he accepted a drink from a waiter, and searched for the source of the sensation. A riot of glimmering lights and lazy music, both dimmed by a haze of spice smoke, confused his mental probe. For a vanishing moment Obi-Wan saw a flash of bright blue eyes through the crowd and felt his mind quicken at the sight. A young man with dark hair and a wicked smile, clad in expensive blue and gold, stared at him. The feeling intensified and then disappeared as the crowd separated Obi-Wan from the man just as he turned away. Frustrated, he searched for the feeling again. Cursing himself for desiring both the impossible and improbable, Obi-Wan ventured further into the throng.

Well-dressed, well-bred and well-fed, the upper echelons of Th'Istean society gathered at salons like this to drink and gamble. It was easy enough for a Jedi Knight to blend into the background of intoxicated chatter and beautiful people. Dressed in black, Obi-Wan looked more like an outlander with credits to burn than a Jedi. Which, in effect, he was, being on no mission for either the Republic or the Order. Clad in slim, tight, black tunics and trousers, his hair unbound and falling over his shoulders, only his lightsaber betrayed his rank as one of the Jedi Order. Obi-Wan ran one hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his skull. The skin there tickled with anticipation. Prepared to ignore the tingling he felt across the fading remnants of a training bond, Obi-Wan approached one of the more empty sabacc tables.

Nodding to the dealer, Obi-Wan sipped from the glass he still held, sat down, and examined his hand. As he scrutinized the small viewscreen, a jolt like liquid electricity coursed through his whole body. The glass fell from his left hand and tumbled down onto the table, rolled across the edge, and thudded softly onto the plush carpet. A puddle of dark wine oozed over the table's shiny surface as Obi-Wan gripped the edge to steady himself, slowly opening his eyes. His lips parted and he began to utter an apology to the other gamers, but slid shut as he saw a pair of eyes glittering in the reflection of the spilt wine.

"Surely, you did not mean to waste this," cultured and teasing, the owner of the eyes spoke, dipped one finger in the wine, and flicked his tongue over the finger, "it's much too expensive. Come, let me buy you another glass."

"That is not," Obi-Wan swiveled around in his seat and stopped when he saw the man, "necessary?"

Unsure of his own words, Obi-Wan stared into Xanatos' eyes. Deep and dark like the wine that reflected them, blue and hard like the sapphires they resembled, Obi-Wan recognized those eyes. He had seen them numerous times, flipping through a dusty pile of old holo-pics when his master was not home. For years he had longed to see the man who had stolen Qui-Gon's trust, affection, and love. The man who had stolen Qui-Gon from Obi-Wan long before Obi-Wan had a chance to claim his master. Qui-Gon's beloved padawan, loved even years after his betrayal, loved until his master perished -- Xanatos of Telos.

Xanatos had left the Jedi Order nearly two decades ago. Weeks before his knighting he got involved in the civil wars on Telos and chose allegiance to his home planet over that to the Jedi. And to Qui-Gon. Hushed voices followed Master Jinn after that event, rumors that his padawan had been tainted by the dark side and that the master himself had been tempted when he lost his lover along with his apprentice. Qui-Gon hardly had spoken of Xanatos to Obi-Wan, but when he did it was in the soft, broken voice that one would use when remembering the dead. That insanely quiet voice and clouded visage managed to drive Obi-Wan mad the last few times he witnessed Qui-Gon get caught up in memory. A vortex of emotion would swirl inside him, anger, hurt, love, confusion, hate and jealousy. Jealousy, for until the very last day, Qui-Gon wanted Xanatos.

"No," Xanatos replied with a smile, "but it will be enjoyable, unlike most things that are necessary."

"Indeed." The cards on his viewscreen flickered as the game continued without his participation. Obi-Wan threw down a few credits and rose from the table. "I would have lost anyway."

He strode toward the bar in the gaming hall, the silver quick tickle still in his mind, and felt a hand catch his elbow. Turning to Xanatos, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as they passed the area where those who had lost piles of credits sat, staring mournfully into goblets of amber and ruby wine. A thick cloud of spice smoke hung over their heads, stray wisps curling around their shoulders.

Xanatos nodded toward an empty table in a dark corner and ordered a bottle of the same costly wine Obi-Wan had stained the gaming table with. They spoke of idle matters until the waiter arrived with two glasses and a carafe. Obi-Wan reached for the carafe, but stopped as the other man's fingers curled over his. Cold, hard glass beneath the palm of his hand; the smooth warmth of another's palm on the back of his hand. The touch felt too familiar, it lingered a little too long, it reminded him a little too much of his master. Obi-Wan's eyes slid shut and he poured his strength into the weak bond, reaching out not to the man who sat next to him, but to the man who had crossed the distance to the other side of the Force. If he could just steal a few seconds from eternity ... The hand on his tightened, then relaxed. An explosion of blues and greens blurred behind Obi-Wan's eyelids. He had done it. A makeshift bond.

"Yes, perhaps you better pour." Obi-Wan looked up into the blue eyes that glinted in the dim light. "I might spill it."

"I saw you walk into the salon, proud and frowning," Xanatos said as he filled their glasses and held one out to Obi-Wan, "but then you dumped a glass of wine like a twelve-year old padawan at his first diplomatic function."

Obi-Wan lifted the glass to his lips, peering over the rim to keep his hold on the other's eyes. Xanatos spoke plain, unaccented Basic with the gentle, aristocratic lilt of one raised in the Jedi Temple. Only half concentrating on the actual words he uttered, Obi-Wan could hear Qui-Gon in that voice. The easy, relaxed flow of words, the ready smile that colored his turns of phrase, the way he paused between words - oh, yes, Qui-Gon, he could hear him again.

"You know I'm Jedi?" Obi-Wan set his glass down and leaned closer to Xanatos.

"Oh, yes, Obi-Wan," a trickle of warmth seeped over the bond as wine-scented words whispered across the space between them, "and I saw Master's lightsaber on your belt."

So Xanatos knew who he was, had felt that rush of energy, had felt Obi-Wan forge the bond. Leaning in even closer, Obi-Wan licked his lips as a thumb passed over his knuckles. A careful caress that traced circles on his skin, this touch, too, bleared the line between recollection and reality. Closing his eyes, a rush of memory spilled over Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon's hand steadying his saber grip, Qui-Gon's hand lending him strength when ill or injured, Qui-Gon's hand stroking his with a faint shadow of the affection Obi-Wan desired.

Master. The word echoed in Obi-Wan's mind as the comforting touch inched over his hand and wrist. Master. The word fell from his mouth as his lips brushed against his partner's. Master. Recollected sight smell, taste, touch and sound crashed though him as his tongue slid into Xanatos' mouth. Master.

His memories were not enough.

"Let's not stay here." Obi-Wan coughed lightly. "Too much smoke bothers me."

"Are you so sensitive?" Xanatos reached over and pushed Obi-Wan's hair from his face, cupped his cheek, and kissed him again. "Then let us find someplace less irritating."

"Come back to my chambers with me?" Breathily whispering against the lips that touched his, Obi-Wan held back the desperation that thudded in his chest.

He had to have this man. He had to have more of what he felt when he touched the tenuous bond between their minds. He had to know what it was like to have his master's hands on his body. He had to have what Qui-Gon gave to Xanatos, but never gave to Obi-Wan.

A handful of credits chinked against the wine carafe, far more than the beverage or service was worth, and Xanatos held his hand out to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan hesitated; his eyes flickered from Xanatos' eyes to his hand. Xanatos had fine, slim fingers, pale and without calluses, strong and beautiful, but not those of a warrior or a Jedi. Raising his eyes, Obi-Wan shoved the thought to a dark corner at the back of his mind. The fingers that interlaced with his own felt strong enough and gripped his hand tightly enough. He didn't have to look at them to know that as Xanatos drew him up from his chair and led him toward the exit.

Stepping out into the clear, cold night Obi-Wan took a deep breath. The air was cold enough to make the eyes water and nostrils sting. Fighting back the shiver that crawled up his spine, Obi-Wan held Xanatos' hand tightly in his own and walked quickly. The new presence in his mind was at the same time familiar and unusual, like a well-known song played on a foreign instrument. He heard it in the pounding of his heart, in the fall of his steps on the hard ground, and in the breath that puffed from his lungs into the cold air. Despite the different nuance, he could easily pick out the melody. Certain parts of the song were so distinct, so true that it felt as if Qui-Gon was closer to him now than he had ever been.

So close that the energy tingled at the ends of his fingernails and set his teeth on edge with anticipation. He could fall in love this very second, keep falling, and never feel anything but Qui-Gon. The two of them entered the small chambers Obi-Wan had taken; chambers that could hold the universe rolled up in a ball, for what more was the universe to Obi-Wan than his beloved?

A large window took up most of one wall. Only the moons and stars illuminated the room and Obi-Wan prevented Xanatos from turning on the holo-lamp. The moonlight cast a silver curtain and in the surreal light, the world appeared to be made of ivory and crystal. Or marble, fine marble and glass, shaped into forms of beauty and pleasure.

"I'd rather not have the light on, if you don't mind." Obi-Wan touched Xanatos' hand as the door hissed shut behind them. He shivered as the warm air hit his cold skin.

"No, of course not." Xanatos raised both of Obi-Wan's hands to his face, kissed the palms, and brought them to either side of his warm neck. Placing his hands over Obi-Wan's, he lowered his voice. "First the smoke and now the cold? Who takes care of you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's blood pounded when he heard low growl of Xanatos' voice, the word 'padawan' sending selfish desire though his veins. The eyes that looked down into his were hard with lust, but Obi-Wan could not see past his own want. Touching the bond he had with Xanatos, Obi-Wan pressed his body to the other man's.

"Nobody," he answered, slipping his arms around Xanatos' shoulders. Their connection was weak, hastily formed, and thus, unshielded. Memories shouldn't be that hard to retrieve, thought Obi-Wan, as Xanatos' feelings filtered over the bond.

"Nobody?" Tracing the outline of Obi-Wan's eyebrows with the tip of his nose, Xanatos mumbled warm, moist words against his eyelids. "Such a shame, Obi-Wan, you are exquisite, such a shame."

Xanatos was strong in the Force, but not skilled as Obi-Wan. Years of training enabled him to subtly separate the various threads of Xanatos' Force aura. Obi-Wan delicately picked out the vestiges of Qui-Gon's own Force signature that colored both Xanatos' and his own aura. Mingling these together in the bond he shared with the other man, Obi-Wan convinced himself he could feel Qui-Gon.

For the hands that slipped his clothing off were ones that undressed him countless numbers of times, though with no passion in their touch those previous times. Beloved fingers danced over his shoulders and collarbone, sending tingles throughout his body. Warm palms rubbed up and down his arms and chased away the lingering chill of night from his body. When the lightest of touches swept over his nipples and down his rib cage, Obi-Wan felt need tingle through his limbs. Heat pooled in his groin, jerking his hips off the bed. Turning his head, he muffled a sob into the pillow.

"You are sensitive," Xanatos whispered as he lay next to Obi-Wan, tickling already hard nipples with his fingertips.

"It's been so long," Obi-Wan forced out with ragged breath, "too long."

Too long. Too long since he wanted Qui-Gon, too long since he had wanted that touch on his body, that voice in his ear, that taste in his mouth. It had been so very long and now his whole body itched for more. Gathering filaments of memory and feeling from his lover's mind, Obi-Wan let out another helpless groan. The hand drifted to his stomach, lingered above his straining erection, and stroked across his hipbone.

"Should I stop?" The hardness of his lover's own erection pressed into his thigh. Xanatos rocked his hips against Obi-Wan as he curled fingers into the thatch of hair at Obi-Wan's groin. "You feel so ready, what's wrong?"

Obi-Wan shook his head furiously, clenching his jaw and trying to slow his heart down. One of his hands gripped the blanket desperately, as if letting go of the material would make him let go of his delicately constructed illusion. The other forced Xanatos closer to him, pushing into the small of his back.

His eyes closed, Obi-Wan heard Xanatos reach one arm off the bed and rifle through the pile of clothing next to the bed. The bed dipped as Xanatos rose and then settled himself between Obi-Wan's legs after gently parting his thighs.

Hot, slick hands glided over his erection, bringing it to painful hardness, then over his thighs. Yes, the touch was his master's, it had to be. The fingers that slid into his entrance were slow; loving, not harsh, Qui-Gon would never hurt him. The lips that brushed over the tip of his penis were the ones that had touched him only chastely so many times before. But now, yes, oh, yes, that had to be Qui-Gon's breath that panted warm and damp on his stomach, that had to be his master's hands that slid up the sides of his body. The hardness that began to penetrate felt just like it should, if he concentrated. Yet, it was not enough. He had to know.

"Show me," Obi-Wan begged, his eyes opening partway, "show me, show me what it was like."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth together as waves of desire flooded his mind and body. He needed to get a hold on the Force for just a few seconds, just long enough to bring it to bear down on the bond he had with Xanatos. Frantic, he let his mind invade Xanatos' and search for the memory. He discerned a small struggle on Xanatos' part, but the memories were still so strong, so easy to access.

"Show me my master!" Obi-Wan screamed into the other man's mind, hopeless and desperate for the completion he yearned for.

Xanatos stopped as the memory tore from his mind and pulsed across their bond. Forced to relive old passion while he throbbed with present desire, Xanatos buried himself deep inside Obi-Wan.

A flood of emotion, memory, and sensation engulfed Obi-Wan and he knew. He knew what Qui-Gon looked like at the brink of climax, he knew what the touches, caresses, and kisses really felt like, he knew it all. His senses overwhelmed, Obi-Wan's body grew taut with incipient climax. His lover came inside him with a hoarse cry and touched their bond so intensely that Obi-Wan spiraled into orgasm, too. The cry sounded too much like 'padawan'.

Compared to night, day does not last very long on Th'Ista. Four hours of weak sunlight is all the planet is allowed before it is plunged back into the silver cold light of night. Standing at the window, Obi-Wan shivered as tiny streams of cold air seeped through the cracks between the ill-fitting pane of transparisteel and the window frame. A feeling of hollow pain had settled in the pit of his stomach, as if all his insides had spilled out and left only the ache of lonely desperation. Obi-Wan had taken exactly what he wanted from Xanatos; along with the few seconds of knowledge, he had also gained the pain of knowing. He not only knew what it felt like to make love to Qui-Gon, but also knew, with the most acute of senses, that Qui-Gon had never truly loved him.

The knowledge created an even greater distance between himself and Qui-Gon, one that could never be broached now, not even in death. Obi-Wan's invasion of Xanatos' memories was like reading the pages of a most private diary and vicariously experiencing the most intimate of emotions. No matter how intense, how powerful, how sharp the experience had been, he could not erase the sense of guilt and loss that grew as his carefully constructed memory faded. Qui-Gon's love was never meant for him, it was not his to take, it was not his to create.

The lonely streets and alleyways returned a blank, gray stare to Obi-Wan as he leaned his forehead against the cold transparisteel. No longer brilliant and shining, the ivory towers and crystal windows of last night had fallen and shattered. The remnants of the night, if he attempted to assemble them, stung and pricked at his mind and heart. A myriad of tiny, biting memory-shards left his soul laced with the complex pattern of pain. Obi-Wan trembled again with cold.

The rustle of bed clothing and the fall of footsteps on carpet told Obi-Wan that Xanatos had awoken. Turning, he suppressed a look of surprise as Xanatos approached and wrapped a sheet around Obi-Wan's body. With a touch more tender than Obi-Wan deserved or desired, Xanatos smoothed his hand down Obi-Wan's back and rested it on the small of his back.

"There is no word for 'day' in Th'Istean." Speaking as if he thought aloud, Xanatos avoided Obi-Wan's eyes even as he began to stroke his hip. "There are only 'the hours of light' and 'the hours of darkness'."

Obi-Wan clutched the sheet closer to his body. Xanatos' heat still lingered, as did the light scent of his cologne, in the material. The brush of the hand on his hip through the material created warmth which had eluded him since waking. A cringing feeling tightened in his stomach as the feeling drifted to all his limbs and touched their bond. It wasn't even his own warmth.

"Not many Th'Isteans leave their homes during the hours of light." Xanatos looked at Obi-Wan, blue eyes hard and unsmiling. "Except, perhaps, for the poets and lovers who already are blind to the dullness of reality."

"Xanatos," Obi-Wan's voice cracked after hours of disuse, his throat tight with the reality of his own emotion, "just leave, please."

"He didn't want you, which, I have to admit, is a shame, as you are beautiful, Obi-Wan," Xanatos faced him and curled one finger along the curve of Obi-Wan's ear, "and you do not want me. Which, again, is a shame."

The bond now pulsed with muted desire on Xanatos' side and unshielded anxiety on Obi-Wan's. He had nearly forgotten about the bond, the feeling had grown almost comfortable inside his mind. It was the one piece of the whole affair that still felt real and good, for he had forgotten how it had been forged -- against Xanatos' will and for Obi-Wan's own need to know. Letting go of the bond would be like losing Qui-Gon all over again.

Xanatos lightly touched Obi-Wan's cheek and then walked away from the window. Obi-Wan watched as he dressed quickly and hastily fixed his hair. Nearly two decades had passed and Xanatos still looked like the bright-eyed, handsome padawan in Qui-Gon's old pile of holo-pics. This seemed achingly right to Obi-Wan, as that bright-eyed, handsome padawan still held Qui-Gon's heart. All Obi-Wan had was a tenuous bridge that attempted to cross the impossible distance and reach his master.

"We have a bond. It must be dissolved."

"Not a real one, we aren't truly bonded." Serious, but apparently not disturbed or worried by the situation, Xanatos uttered calm words.

Taking his place next to Obi-Wan again and pressing his lips to the other man's temple, Xanatos allowed the bond to burn with life for one more moment. An indefinable feeling of warm desire flashed through Obi-Wan's mind. The heady splendor of drunkenness, the exhilaration of cold air and anticipation, the languor of loving after the excitement of orgasm - in a few seconds time the energy and exhaustion of life filled his body. Just as rapidly, in an outburst of jumbled memory and sensation, the bond disappeared. Weak and angry, Obi-Wan pulled away from Xanatos, cursing the other man's strength.

"Why did you let me?" Pressing his tongue to dry lips, Obi-Wan sat on the bed. The sheet fell from his shoulders as he buried his face in his hands. "Why?"

"Haven't I told you I find you beautiful? I thought, perhaps, I would like to make love to you." Leaning over the bed, Xanatos kissed the back of Obi-Wan's head. "Such a shame you wouldn't take what I was willing to give. Farewell, Padawan."

All color had faded from the sky by this time, leaving only the flat paleness of the hours of light. Monotonous grays and whites, dingy in the weak light, that had been bled of all life and color. Obi-Wan returned to the window. Qui-Gon was long dead. Xanatos had walked away quietly, his deep blue eyes and evil smile long gone. He had never had either one of them although he had almost tried to have both of them. Alone, he stared out of the window. Neither a poet nor a lover, he could not bear to face himself just yet.

~finis~