Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was
written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same
universe, but they are not in any sort of order. Each piece
stands alone. The snapshots will run the gamut from G to NC17.
Some may be several pages long, some only a couple of
paragraphs; some will contain smut, many will not; they will be
different styles with different voices.
Disclaimers: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm.
June 02, 2000
Obi-Wan scratched the small bump behind his ear in annoyance.
Master Yoda had refused to allow the initiates to use any of
the seagrass lotion to ease their slynfly bites, insisting that
ignoring the slight irritation was good training.
{Slight irritation, indeed,} thought Obi-Wan as he scratched
harder, slapping away another of the biting insects from his
cheek. Considering Master Yoda's decidedly blue hue, he rather
suspected that the small master had made the declaration after
using up their meagre supply to ease his own bites. The
slynflies seemed to prefer the wrinkled green skin to any
sported by the various species of initiates involved in this
exercise of survival in nature.
They seemed to be leaving Master Yoda alone now though and
Obi-Wan wondered how long the ancient Jedi would be able to
keep his Force barrier erected. It had been a day and a half
already and the venerable master was looking decidedly shaky.
Obi-Wan might have said pale, but he thought that was probably
due to the lotion.
A rumbling noise interrupted their pre-dinner meditations and
the initiates all looked up into the sky. A small black spot
stained the azure sky, growing quickly larger, the colour
fading to red as it got closer. The transport landed
unceremoniously several yards to their left and four Jedi
Knights poured from the ship as the hatch opened, lightsabers
raised.
Rushing over to the small camp, they surrounded the ancient
master and his cluster of initiates, scanning the woods around
them.
"We came as soon as we got your message, Master Yoda. Where's
the emergency?"
June 03, 2000
The water lapped at his skin, like the gliding touch of a
lover. Rising slowly as he walked, covering ankle, then shin,
then knees, then thighs and hips.
A soft breeze kissed him, peaking his nipples and raising
goosebumps along his arms and down his back.
Tipping his neck, he bared his face to the silver touch of
moonbeams. With his head tilted back his braid tickled down
past his shoulder blade, the end of it brushing the top of his
bottom.
Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his body, sliding fingers over
shoulders and along the bones below his neck. He let one hand
brush each nipple as it crossed his chest to slide around his
ribs, the other tested the mettle of the muscles in his abdomen
before coming to rest just above the water on his hip.
He held himself firmly.
If his master were here, this is how Qui-Gon would hold him.
June 04, 2000
I close my eyes, letting the fall of hot water from the shower
soothe the aches of a long day from my back. Obi-Wan's fingers
comb through my beard and moustache, the tips gently massaging
the skin of my face.
Heat from his body warms me.
It grows cold as he steps away, but he returns quickly, the
sharp snip of steel on steel warning me. I stand still as he
trims the hair on my face.
Even with my eyes closed I can see the deep furrow between his
eyes as he concentrates. The groove has grown deeper as he has
grown older. I doubt he is even aware that he does it.
I have a fantasy where I lean forward and kiss his forehead,
licking away that furrow between his eyes.
But then how would he concentrate without it?
And so I save my kisses and my licks for other grooves.
June 05, 2000
The dining hall was silent.
With the exception of the bang and clatter coming from the
masters' table. At the other end of the room, huddled together
at a low table, a group of initiates watched, wide-eyed, as
Master Yoda swung his gimer stick, hitting the table in front
of him yet again.
"Food fit for consumption, this is not. Try to poison me they
will? Hrrrmmm. Work it will not." His plate flew across the
room, propelled against the opposing wall with a loud crash.
Every head in the dining hall turned to watch as the orange and
fuchsia mash slowly slid down the wall.
With the exception of one. Little Obi-Wan Kenobi picked up his
own tray and walked steadily past all the tables separating the
initiates' table from the masters' table. Past the padawans and
the knights he walked, ignoring the heads that swivelled
towards him, not appearing to hear the whispers that followed
in his wake.
Coming to a stop next to Master Yoda, he reached up to put his
tray on the table and pulled a chair over. Climbing into it, he
turned to the old master. He reached over, patting the
three-fingered claw with his own small hand.
"It okay, Masser Yody. Share mine -it lots of good."
June 06, 2000
"Padawan?"
"Out here, Master."
"Yes, I can see that. I was wondering why?"
"The moon."
"The moon?"
"Yes, Master. It is my first."
"Surely you've seen a moon before."
"I've seen pictures. And the Garden of Trees has simulated
moonlight."
"But as Coruscant's lights never fade, there is no moon. But
what about the trips the initiates go on?"
"I know that some of the planets we visited had moons, but we
always managed to visit them in a moonless phase."
"So this is your first."
"Yes, Master."
{Silence for some time.}
"So what do you think, Padawan?"
"It changes how everything looks."
"It does indeed."
"It is beautiful, Master."
"Yes, it is."
June 07, 2000
Obi-Wan glared at Qui-Gon, though his mood seemed to be having
little effect on his master. He doubted the man even knew he
was uphappy.
"Would a kiss help?" Qui-Gon's query proved him wrong, which
only made him all the more grumpy.
"I do not believe it is possible," replied Obi-Wan. He knew he
sounded like a child, but really, at this moment, he did not
care.
"What's not possible? The kiss or you finding a better mood
this mission?"
"Both. Neither. Does it matter?"
They sat quietly for some time after that. The fire's snapping
and crackling the only other sound aside from the high pitched
whine that was always present on Flinsia. Finally Obi-Wan, no
longer able to stand the sound unbroken, spoke.
"I wish we were back on Drun'til."
"You hated Drun'til!"
"Perhaps, but at least the frogs would have eaten these
thrice-cursed flies."
June 08, 2000
The taste of silver honey bursts through my mouth: sweet with a
hint of wildness. I lick my lips and then my fingers, not
wishing to miss even the smallest amount.
"You really should try this," I tell my master before taking
another bite of honey-soaked bread. He leans over and slowly
licks my lips; tongue pointed and pressed against one corner of
my mouth and my eyes close in anticipation. He traces my lips,
dipping between them briefly before ending where he started. I
open my eyes to watch as he licks his own lips.
"You're right," he says softly, eyes on my mouth, "tastes very
good, one might even say addictive."
June 09, 2000
Obi-Wan had lost track of the number of times he and his master
had made love.
They made love under the stars and in their bed. Dozens of
missions witnessed their joining. Rain, snow, ice, sunshine,
heat, cold -the climate could not dampen their enthusiasm.
What they never had was the luxury of time. At any moment they
could be called to attend the council, an emergency meeting
while on a mission, the resumption of negotiations previously
deemed fatally stalled.
Today that changed. Today was the second day of the first
vacation they had taken since becoming lovers. There would be
no interruptions. For five days whatever they chose to do, they
could do uninterrupted.
The first day they slept. Awakened by his master at first
light, as was the man's wont, Obi-Wan mulishly refused to
budge. He declared a holiday from meditation, from breaking his
fast, from routine. In short, he refused the dawn.
His master pleaded. He cajoled. Demanded. And in the end,
joined him in the big bed and slept until evening meal, two
hours longer than Obi-Wan himself.
Now Obi-Wan stretched, his muscles limber and well rested. He
walked from the fresher to the large chair his master had
settled into, book slipping from the long fingers as he dozed.
Pulling the tome from his master's lap, Obi-Wan let it drop
carelessly to the floor. It landed with a soft thud and his
master stirred.
The blue eyes opened and trailed slowly up Obi-Wan's body,
lingering below his belly where his penis curled toward his
navel. Obi-Wan felt his breath grow short under his master's
scrutiny. His belly tightened and his penis twitched. By the
time Qui-Gon's eyes met his own, Obi-Wan's face was hot and a
light sheen of sweat covered his skin.
"I thought you wanted to sleep."
"That was yesterday."
"And when is it my turn to decide what we will do?" Qui-Gon's
casual words were belied by his hands holding onto the arms of
his chair, the knuckles growing slowly white.
"Not today."
"We only have five days, Padawan, and we have already slept
away one of them."
"While my plans do involve the bed most prominently, I can
assure you, Master, that more sleep is not my intention."
A low growl signalled his master's patience with their banter
was at an end. Even so, Obi-Wan was caught off guard when his
wrists were grabbed and he was pulled forward, causing him to
tumble into his master's lap.
Qui-Gon wrapped one arm around his back, hand curling
possessively around his side, pressing their erections
together. Qui-Gon's other hand wrapped into Obi-Wan's braid,
pulling him forward and holding him in place as his lips were
ravaged by a wild kiss. Obi-Wan's own arms slid around his
master's neck, and he pulled himself even closer, rubbing his
naked flesh against the soft linen of his master's clothes.
Making a small sound in the back of his throat, he opened his
mouth wider, inviting further invasion. Qui-Gon spoke, the
words unintelligible but the sound of them rumbled into
Obi-Wan's mouth, making his whole body quiver as it felt like a
jolt of electricity travelling along his skin.
He could feel the soft velvet of the chair against his knees;
the weave of Qui-Gon's leggings pressed against his inner
thighs, marking the soft flesh. Qui-Gon's tunic, worn soft by
hundreds of washings, nonetheless scratched roughly over his
chest, against his nipples.
Pressing closer still, Obi-Wan rolled his hips in tight, little
circles. His erection ground against Qui-Gon's, their bodies
separated by the cloth of leggings and tunic and it made him
all the more frantic.
His master's hands slid to his hips, staying his movements.
"I thought you wanted to go slowly."
Obi-Wan shook his head and his master's hands loosened,
allowing him to resume his rocking.
"I want to make love to you, knowing that we will not be
interrupted." He kissed his master, taking Qui-Gon's lower lip
between his teeth and nibbling gently.
"I want to make love to you and know that we can do it all over
again in a minute. In an hour. In a day." He moved to his
master's neck, nipping and licking the warm flesh, revelling
the in the taste of his master's skin.
"Most of all I want to show you how you make me feel. I want to
demonstrate what you're body does to mine, over and over and
over again." Gripping his master's shoulders tightly, Obi-Wan
arched his back, pressing his penis against Qui-Gon's.
His master's hands guided his rocking now and Obi-Wan let go,
let himself lose his grip on his surroundings, on reality. He
knew only the pleasure of making love to this man -his master
-his lover -his Qui-Gon -his.
One of Qui-Gon's hands slipped from his hip and curled around
his bottom. A blunt thumb pressed against his opening and
Obi-Wan moaned as it penetrated him. He rocked back onto the
digit, surging forward again to rub against the hardness there.
His grip on his master's shoulder's tightened as he rocked,
suspended between the two sensations, moving ever faster, lost
to everything but the explosion that built within him.
Obi-Wan rocked faster, gasping for air, reaching for his
release.
"Come for me." His master's words were whisper-soft, felt more
than heard. They were exactly what he needed; the push he'd
been seeking to tumble him over the edge; the trigger to ignite
the fire of his orgasm.
He came silently, body clenching and arching. A shudder moved
through him, followed by another, and then a third. For a
moment his spirit touched Qui-Gon's and they merged, soaring
sweetly together.
Crashing back into his own body he collapsed against his
master, quivering within the safety of Qui-Gon's arms.
They sat like that for a long time.
For as long as they wanted.
June 10, 2000
I watch the young man sitting by the Master Jedi's side. So
serious. He is composed, eyes tracking each speaker, his face
free of emotion. Like his elder.
They project an aura of concern and honesty, good will. I do
believe they negotiate here in good faith, but I can not help
but wonder what manner of treaty such emotionless negotiators
can build for us.
How can the boy with the earnest eyes and calm face understand
the passions that drive my people? Does the elder know the
lengths we would go to for the protection of our children?
I look again into the young Jedi's face. His features remain
attentive, impassive. I realise that he is watching his
companion's hands as the man speaks, focussing on them with
great intensity. Perhaps the Jedi are what they appear. Perhaps
not. Perhaps the plain visages are merely masks that hide
passions to rival our own.
June 11, 2000
It is cold, damp and windy and we cannot light a fire. In the
distance a beast howls as rain begins to fall. A few moments
later the wail resumes, closer this time to the pitiful
half-shelter of the tree we huddle beneath.
My padawan moves closer, his head resting upon my shoulder, his
arm slipping about my waist to draw us together.
A jagged bolt of lightning splits the sky and the rain falls
harder, the drops fat and sharp and chilling as they land.
I am content.
June 12, 2000
Qui-Gon sat back with a long sigh. It felt good to be sitting
in the familiar chair, with the soft scent of dark earth and
green plants permeating the air. It felt good to be
home.
Obi-Wan came into the room, a stoneware bowl full of steaming,
fragrant water in his hands.
"You don't have to do that, Padawan," Qui-Gon told him softly
as Obi-Wan set the bowl on the floor next to the chair and
knelt at his master's feet. The softly scented steam wafted up,
gently bathing Qui-Gon's face.
"It is my pleasure, Master." Obi-Wan looked up into his eyes,
lips curved into a soft smile. He was humming softly as he
turned to his task, fingers moving to the buckles of Qui-Gon's
boots.
Qui-Gon watched as his padawan worked, the capable hands
methodically undoing his buckles and easing the boots from his
feet. Ever since Obi-Wan had been required to perform this
service for Qui-Gon on Rin'ylat Prime, it had become a ritual
they performed whenever they returned to the Temple.
Qui-Gon would sit while Obi-Wan washed his feet, symbolically
washing the mission away, cleansing both of them.
While he always told Obi-Wan it wasn't necessary, not wishing
to add to his Padawan's post-mission duties, he very much
enjoyed the ritual. A Jedi's life could be a lonely one and
this small act always reminded him that he wasn't alone, that
he had a home and a family in his padawan.
June 13, 2000
I kneel at my master's feet, running my hands lightly up and
down his legs, from his knees to his ankles and back again. I
let the Force dance lightly along my fingertips, imparting tiny
pieces of myself with the touch.
I never dreamed I could take such pleasure from such a simple
and, some might say, servile act. But several years ago on
Rin'ylat Prime I had to perform this duty during the course of
our mission in order to be accepted by the negotiating teams.
In the end we returned from that mission, bloodied and defeated
and I washed my master's feet, telling him I was removing the
failure from our souls. It seemed to give him some solace and I
began to do it at each return to the temple.
I have refined the ritual over the years.
In Bugrei on Simil I found the heavy stoneware bowl we now use
and I added herbs to the water after Master Yaddle caught me in
her garden on evening, meditating in the midst of the
sweet-smelling suka. She insisted on teaching me the mores of
the various herbs found in her small patch of greenery.
I hum as I work -a tune of my own composition, grown over the
years from a few simple bars into a complex melody that
reflects our life together.
He tells me every time that I need not perform this duty and I
always reply that it is my pleasure. And it is. But it is also
so much more than that. It is my touchstone, my talisman -as
much a part of my life with my master as my lightsaber.
June 14, 2000
His hands are gentle, but they don't tickle as he takes one
foot into his lap and then the other. He cups his hands,
filling them with water, trickling it over each foot and
rubbing the soothing, wet warmth in.
I watch him as he works, his braid falling forward to brush
against my calf. My ankles, the soles of my feet and each toe
-all are touched in this ritual of homecoming.
His kiss signals its end.
June 15, 2000
His feet are beautiful. Long, like so much of him, but not
wide. I always take my time, wetting each part of them,
anointing heel and toe, ankle and sole. I can feel the tension
leave his body as I caress his feet and my own body eases.
We are home. We are safe. We are together. I bend and kiss the
top of each foot; my task is complete.
June 16, 2000
Step. Swing. Pull. Step. Swing. Pull.
I ignore the muscles that scream at me to stop. I don't worry
about the salgrain that lies in my wake. My job is to cut it.
I stop a moment, leaning on my scythe. I take a long swig of
water from my skin, looking out over the grain I have yet to
cut. I can only just see over the tops of the dark blue grain.
It shifts in the wind like some great lumbering beast and
though I have been cutting for three days, I still cannot see
the end of the far fields.
I wipe the sweat from my face with my sleeve and pick up my
scythe once more. My body protests, but I ignore it and centre
myself, beginning again the rhythm my waking hours have become.
Step. Swing. Pull. Step. Swing. Pull.
June 17, 2000
I hold his length in my hand.
Soft, growing harder, surging to fill the tunnel of my fingers
closed around my palm.
So eager.
So hot.
I pump slowly, relishing the feeling.
Relishing the power.
I did this to him.
I brought his penis from flaccid organ to full, pulsating
hardness.
It is my touch that brings those small needy moans to his
throat.
I set the pace. I control his pleasure. He will come when I
choose it.
Here, at this moment, I am the master.
June 18, 2000
His touch is like a brand upon my skin, bringing me to hardness
with a swiftness that belies my advancing years. He slides his
hand so slowly along my phallus, each glide is pure torture.
I know I am making noises, but am helpless to stop them. My
body is his to play upon as he sees fit. My control is in his
hands, as is my pleasure.
I feel as if I were some wet behind the ears padawan with his
first lover.
June 19, 2000
"What do you think it is?" Obi-Wan asked his friend t'Lanut. He
poked cautiously at the round, black object, looking as if he
expected it to poke him back.
"What do you think it is, Obi-Wan? I can see plainly
that it's a rock."
"I'm telling you, I saw it move." Obi-Wan moved a little closer
and poked a little harder, growing braver as the black object,
the diameter of a lightsaber, remained unchanged.
"So why are you poking it?"
"I want to see if it'll move again." t'Lanut crowded next to
him and both boys squatted to get a closer look.
"Poke it again," suggested t'Lanut. Obi-Wan did. The rock-like
object retained its rock-like qualities. "Harder."
Obi-Wan poked again, harder this time. This time the rock did
move, jumping slightly and making a snapping noise. Both boys
leapt to their feet, shrieking and tripping over each other as
they scrambled back up the slight hill and ran into the forest
as if there were Sith behind them.
A wheezing sound filled the quiet forest.
"Aren't you ever going to grow tired of that?"
"Grow tired of it, I will not. Good for initiates, running is."
June 20, 2000
"The ground is hard."
"That's not all that is hard."
"Something's poking me in the back."
"Something is poking me in the stomach."
"Is that thunder I hear?"
"It is the sound of my heart beating."
"I don't think I can breathe."
"I too am left breathless by you, my love."
"You're heavy."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a distinct knack for
ruining the mood, padawan?"
June 21, 2000
It is the night of Tam-amsum and all around us is the pounding
rhythm of sex. The plants, the beasts, the people, driven by
the tides of the seven moons arising in conjunction. I can feel
it stir within me, making me hard and eager to join in the pile
of writhing bodies next to me.
But we are here to witness, not participate. As always.
I'm not quite sure why it always winds up this way. Certainly
we strive to be our best, but in the end we are still beings
-human in the case of my padawan and myself. We are as tempted
by our bodies as those we guard and protect and yet it is only
when we fail and give in to temptation that notice is taken. It
seems odd, wrong somehow to expect one's peacekeepers to be
beyond the stuff of mere mortals, for when all is said and
done, that is all we are.
I look across the clearing to my padawan. Obi-Wan looks up as
if he has felt the weight of my gaze and his mouth quirks into
that funny little half-smile of his that means he finds
something amusing. I can't help but wonder if he has divined my
thoughts and knows me to be as affected by the convergence of
the moons as the planet itself.
I return his smile and settle my cloak more firmly about me,
releasing my tensions into the Force and picking up again the
mantle of my duty.
June 22, 2000
I am nervous as I watch him close his eyes. I can feel him
sinking into a light meditation, opening himself to the Force.
He has stripped down to his undertunic and leggings, his feet,
hands and head are bare and unadorned. The flicker of light
from the torches we hold dances over him.
He is still for so long that I begin to worry that he had
changed his mind, that he will not perform the Tagsgrill -the
dance of welcome to the season of light and life.
I was a little surprised when he agreed in the first place.
He's a good dancer, has learnt many steps from me, accepting
the lessons as he always does -with good humour and
concentration, determined to master all that I have to teach
him. But he has never excelled at it the way he excels at
'saber fighting and the katas. He had never enjoyed performing
the dances in public, the necessity of knowing the steps for
political reasons.
But he was asked and so the duty fell to him to perform, to
bless the people in the coming season. His dance would make or
break us as negotiators of peace in this place where nature was
supreme. When he asked the priestess what the steps were she
told him that the planet would tell him -the wind would teach
his feet and the trees would educate his heart to hear the
rhythm of the earth.
Finally he begins, body moving as sinuously as I have ever
seen. He dances to a beat that only he can hear, the music
coming to him on the Force. I have never seen him like this.
His body moves in such a way that it is not long before I
believe that I too can hear the music that moves him. And as
the other's in the circle around him begin to sway, I know that
I am not the only one who hears it.
June 23, 2000
I cannot blink.
My nose itches and I scratch it carefully.
I cannot blink.
My eyes are locked with those of my master's latest rescue
project.
I cannot blink.
It's been over an hour and I need the bathroom and my stomach
rumbles hungrily.
I cannot blink.
If I look away, this cursed biyal will see it as a sign of
submission and I won't have a moment's peace.
I cannot blink.
I am rendered immobile by a pathetic stray no larger than a
loaf of bread.
I cannot blink.
I feel the biyal's surety -it will not look away, it will not
blink and I will eventually be forced by my own body to break
the stare.
I cannot blink.
I begin to devise excuses in my head and I try them aloud to
see how they sound, and perhaps to scare the biyal into looking
away. "Of course I didn't leave the balcony door open, Master.
But he was a very smart biyal -he must have figured it out on
his own and wandered off."
I cannot blink.
I am doomed and
I cannot blink.
June 24, 2000
The column of flesh before me is hard, eager. I make a slow
feast of it; licking from base to tip, collecting its tastes on
my tongue. Salty from his sweat at the bottom, growing sweeter
as I move up the length. Lans spice and sowen honey lead me to
the crown and the small, beaded drops from within his body. I
lick around the tip, teasing myself, and him.
Finally I lick away the translucent drops, their flavour
exploding in my mouth. I lick greedily and then press my tongue
into the small slit, searching for more. I close my mouth
around the hot flesh and suck until I am rewarded and his come
rushes into my mouth.
The taste fills me, lingers behind though his seed is now gone.
The flavour...I cannot describe it but to say it tastes like
the very soul of him. My Obi-Wan.
June 25, 2000
He comes into the office where the Prefect and I are
negotiating tomorrow's schedule. He holds his arm, but his face
is calm. I am the only one who recognises the slight pinched
white around his mouth.
He stands quietly by the door, not interrupting us, not asking
for the healing he needs. Some time ago I felt the flash of
pain when he sustained the break, but as he did not call out to
me, I did not go to him.
I wrap the meeting up quickly and stand. The Prefect is jovial,
having won the majority of concessions from me. I am, I fear,
far less serene than my padawan. I can hide my worry from the
Prefect, but not from myself.
Obi-Wan smiles at the bird-like being's jokes and bows
politely. The Prefect finally leaves.
I slip to my knees in front of my padawan. His mask of serenity
slips and his eyes grow luminous with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, Master," he says, sounding miserable. I wave my
hand, silencing him. I take his arm between my palms and close
my eyes, sending healing energy to mend the flesh and knit the
bone. How it came to be broken can wait, first I must make him
whole.
June 26, 2000
Reach. Pick. Drop.
First the endless salgrain and now bina fruit. Just as with the
grain the rows are never ending, each tree fully laden with
ripe fruit, their branches reaching toward the ground.
I am Jedi and I have the Force, but still my body screams at me
for rest. I have long since ceased to notice pain's call to end
this torture. I know it must affect him too, but like with the
salgrain he goes before me, his energy seeming boundless as he
climbs the trees and does his part.
No mission has ever seemed this long and never ending.
Reach. Pick. Drop.
June 27, 2000
Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on a large flat rock in the Garden of
Lakes in front of the mirror lake, chin in his hands, watching
glumly as the tiny ytsa flies briefly landed and took off
again, leaving ripples in their wake.
He heard the taping of Master Yoda's gimer stick long before
the little master pulled himself up and settled next to
Obi-Wan. They sat silently for some time before the ancient
master spoke.
"Problem there is."
"Everybody is sad, Master Yoda. It makes me sad too."
"Great tragedy there was. Many Jedi died to bring peace to
Letmilor."
"But Master Yoda, my teachers all say there is no death there
is only the Force."
"True that is. Not easy to lose friends, hmmm? Even to the
Force."
"But I thought we weren't supposed to feel."
"Feelings you have. Accept them into yourself, yes? Then let
them go you must."
"So it's okay if I feel sad sometimes?"
"Only if best way to feel better you also know."
"What's that, Master?"
"For sadness, hug is best," said the small master, spreading
his arms. Obi-Wan threw his own arms around Master Yoda and
hugged him tightly.
For the first time in several days he felt a break in the
sadness that seemed to hang over the temple.
June 28, 2000
Obi-Wan tried to push away his fear, but the barred sides of
their prison kept it caged along with them.
"Master," he called softly to the man kneeling next to him.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?"
"I'm scared," he admitted. He felt Master Qui-Gon shift and
then he was being pulled against his master's chest into a
long, fierce hug.
"Better?" asked his master, not releasing him.
"Yes, Master," he whispered, feeling warm and safe for the
first time since their capture.
June 29, 2000
I love being held in his arms; folded against the powerful
chest. Sometimes it is arousing, sometimes not.
Sometimes it is because I need the simple reminder of his
touch, the comfort of a padawan in his master's arms.
We could never speak again, never make love again, never look
into each other's eyes again and yet I would be content if I
could still find myself, from time to time, being hugged by
him.
June 30, 2000
I have folded him in my arms since he first became my padawan.
A parent comforting his child. A friend warming his companion.
A lover clasping the other half of his soul.
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