Archive: master_apprentice and Jedi Moon, others ask, please
Category: POV (Obi-Wan), PWP
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Obi-Wan muses on his lover's face first thing in the
morning. The first in the Kanji series, a series of short
fictional pieces inspired by a Chinese character font, the Mei
Ornaments.
A more extensive explanation can be found at my website:
http://members.dencity.com/jedimoon/fiction/kanji/index.htm
Since Pumpkin took the letters of the alphabet, and Mona took
the colors, I'm reduced to fonts . . . ;) This first one is a
little insipid, I think, but I hope to improve as the series
goes on. I have forty chances to get it right.
Kanji Series: Beauty
When I wake in the morning, he is the first thing I see. My
body (or perhaps it is my heart) seems to arrange it so that,
even if I turn over in the night--and surely I do, many
times--my last turning leaves me facing him, so that he is my
first sight of the day.
Not always his face, though--he doesn't seem to have the same
internal gyroscope that I have, that which causes me to turn
always toward him, as if turning toward the sun. So sometimes I
wake to see his back, which, while not as beloved to me as his
face, is still a not-unwelcome sight.
His hair is tousled in sleep, having been taken out of the
tight tail he keeps it in during the day. I am often the one
who removes the thong from his hair at night and combs it out
with my fingers, massaging the places where the hair has been
pulled tight, out of his way, sometimes so tight that his head
hurts from the pressure.
His hair is long, and thick, and luxurious, just beginning to
be woven through with strands of silver; more every day, it
seems, but if anything that silver seems to make his hair more
beautiful, not less. It makes it shine in the sun, or under
candlelight, and makes his face look softer, more gentle, I
think.
His face is so beautiful to me. Not classically beautiful, I
suppose, with its broken nose and firm countenance, but
beautiful to me. I've looked at that face for what seems like
every day of my entire life, and I can still see new things
there. There are so many aspects to it. The half smile when
he's teasing me. The broad, open smile when I've surprised him.
The small smile he tries to hide when he's pleased, but doesn't
want it to show.
He is such a private man, slow to trust, slow to show his
emotions. But I see them on his face, in his eyes. Happiness
and sorrow, pain and delight. And all beautiful because they
are all him.
This morning I woke to his back, again, and I reached out and
touched him, marveling once again at the broad shoulders, that
strong back. I molded my palm to his shoulder blade, and he
stirred, and turned, and opened his eyes, and smiled.
To think that this beautiful man is mine! I sometimes lose my
breath at the thought, and this morning was one of those times.
I returned the smile, and we closed the small distance between
us. It had been eight hours, after all, since we'd kissed.
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