Master Apprentice
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Series: Kindle Fire With Snow
Title: First Catch Your Hare
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Disclaimer: no copyright infringement is intended. This is non-profit venture for the entertainment of fans and the spread of the popularity of the movies only.
Betaed by: sirenumscopuli and ligia_elena. Thank you for your help, ladies.
Feedback: yes, anywhere is fine.
Back to Part One
Prologue
It wasn't until he was sitting in a broken-down ship on a desert planet on the Outer Rim that Obi-Wan had a spare moment to think about Bail.
When he did, he stood in a meditation pose outside the ship, and allowed himself a rare moment of daydreaming—when he gets back to Coruscant, he will find time to slip away from the Temple and meet Bail in a garden somewhere. He will be able to touch Bail—to kiss him again—and perhaps more, if that's what Bail wants.
When he gets back, he will smile at Qui-Gon and omit to mention where he has been, and whom he has been with.
Obi-Wan thinks that this might happen often, that it might become a habit. One day, Bail will say, "Come back to my apartment," and Obi-Wan will go. Bail's apartment will be decorated in the most beautiful way, all Alderaani fabrics and elegant paintings, and his bed will be large and soft, as beds in the Temple never are.
He didn't let himself form very specific images of what they will do in Bail's huge, downy bed, but he did think that he'd stop Bail from playing with his hair. By distracting him, maybe, or by letting Bail play with the braid that hangs over Obi-Wan's shoulder.
Around him, a breeze began to play. It was a welcome relief from the beating heat of the sun, though the sand particles it carried stung his skin.
Obi-Wan wondered if he could take Bail some kind of present, to make up for being called away so suddenly. The thought made him feel uncomfortable, though, because while he has no real idea what Bail would like, he suspected that Bail—lacking the training in calm of a Jedi Padawan—would not take kindly to the sort of gift Obi-Wan had usually been given.
The rock his Master gave him for his thirteenth birthday, for example, would barely be suitable for a man of Bail's refinement, beautiful though it was. And, having been commanded to stay with the ship rather than accompany Qui-Gon and the others to the marketplace, a desert rock would be about the only gift Obi-Wan could obtain on this benighted planet.
Once again, he realised, daydreaming had turned to dissatisfaction. He calmed himself, seeking the pure centre of meditation, raising his awareness of the Force and the natural powers around him: the sun's heat and light, the rock's strength, and the wind's push, now tugging at his robe.
Before long, however, Captain Panaka joined him, and he realised that the wind was gathering to become a storm. He pulled himself from his meditation and went to see Queen Amidala.
* * *
"You're sure you'll cope with being Senator?" Bail Antilles said one last time to his former deputy. "Seriously, being Prince and Viceroy doesn't mean much to other Senators; you're going to have to deal with them a lot more, and keep that temper of yours under control while you're doing it."
"I can cope," Bail insisted. "Really, Sen… Bail, I can cope. I pretty much only shout at Stace these days, anyway."
"And that's mostly to remind her that she claimed not to like you," Antilles sighed. "If you're sure, then, Bail: you are now Senator, as Alderaan has expected for many years, and I will run for Chancellor."
Bail grinned. "Suits me. Good luck."
"I think I'll need it," Antilles replied. "Now, somewhere there was a list of Senators you thought might be persuaded to vote for me, wasn't there?"
Bail Organa, newly appointed Senator for Alderaan, flicked through a pile of papers until he found the list in question. "Here you go. The ones at the top are the most likely, so if I were you I'd start there."
"If I were you," Antilles replied, "I'd start by talking to those Jedi friends of mine—they've got more influence than most people on this planet have ever guessed."
Nervously, Bail laughed. "Not the ones I know," he said. "They're always being called away suddenly on missions, at someone else's whim. I don't think they've got much influence in politics, if they're even interested in it."
"Perhaps not," Antilles allowed. "But I think you'll find that as they rise through the ranks, they'll be able to pull more strings than you know."
"That's a while off," Bail replied, and hurriedly changed the subject. "You'll take Elos with you, I suppose?"
"She's always been my employee rather than Alderaan's," Antilles said. "So, yes, I will. Which means that you will be left with Stace, who is perfectly capable and has, in fact, covered for Elos on several occasions."
"But she doesn't like me," Bail objected. "And I shout at her."
"Only because you think you should," Antilles told him. "Stop it, if you think it's not fitting, as you once told me you had already. The pair of you have been working together perfectly well for years, you can take on a new challenge."
Bail grinned. "Now it's you trying to talk me into being Senator—it always used to be the other way around," he pointed out. "Are you sure you don't want to change your mind about abandoning your precious job to me?"
"Positive," Antilles deadpanned. "It's a hideous job, boring and painful by turns, and I hope you hate every minute of it as much as I did."
"I'm sure I will," Bail replied. "Are you going to speak to those other Senators, or not?"
"I suppose I should," Antilles sighed. "Assuming that I can count on your vote?"
"Err…" Bail said. "Let me review my options… Palpatine has many fine qualities… No, of course you can count on my vote—Alderaan would never forgive me if I voted any other way, my titles notwithstanding."
Antilles grinned. "I'll speak to those others, then."
* * *
From Padawan to Master without a pause.
When Obi-Wan stopped to think, his head reeled with the suddenness of it: his Master dead and himself a Knight, with a Padawan of his own. A boy too old to begin training in the usual way, but younger than most human Padawans.
So he did not stop to think, if he could help it. He threw himself headlong into teaching Anakin, seeing that the boy was eager and clever, if not inclined to attend to lessons he considered boring. Obi-Wan refused to say as much to Anakin, but he could understand that: it had only been a week ago that he himself had thought how dull it was to work on more diplomacy, when there were lightsabers to train with and mock fights to hold.
The journey home from Threed took three days, trapped in a ship with two Jedi Masters—two other Jedi Masters, Obi-Wan reminded himself, he made a third—and Jar Jar Binks. Thankfully, the worst nuisance Anakin made of himself was to spend every free moment sitting alongside the pilot.
"What is your opinion, Master Kenobi?" Master Windu asked on the second day, after another hour of secret deliberation with Yoda.
Obi-Wan stared for a moment, startled. He hadn't expected to be allowed to join the conversation of the two Council members. "Of what, Master Windu?"
"Of the Sith whom you killed," Master Windu replied patiently. "Was he master, or apprentice?"
"I do not know," Obi-Wan said. "If he were a Jedi, I would call him 'a Master of the Force', having mastery of the skills of a warrior. Whether he was the master of the two Sith we assume to exist, I do not know."
"Fight well, did he?" Master Yoda enquired.
"Well enough to kill Master Jinn," Obi-Wan replied, and felt his calm begin to dissolve at the edges.
"But not well enough to kill you," Master Windu commented.
Obi-Wan could not deny it, but he didn't exactly know how to cope with the implications of its truth. "That means little, Master Windu," he said. "If you will excuse me, I believe I should allow the pilot a rest from Anakin's attentions."
Master Windu nodded, and, released, Obi-Wan fled the room. Could they not tell that he could not talk about it, could barely think about it without becoming upset?
He strode down the corridor to find Anakin, focussing wholly on the moment to shut out the pains of the past and the darkness of the future.
There was something missing, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was.
Bail thought that he should, finally, be happy: he was now Senator, was serving his world as he saw fit. He was disappointed, it was true, that Palpatine had been made Chancellor, but that shouldn't be enough to make him feel this… gap. Raymus was on his way back to Alderaan, ferrying the defeated Bail Antilles home for a holiday, but that was a common occurrence, and it didn't usually inspire this loneliness.
"Senator Organa?" Stace said formally from the doorway of his office. "Those are all the appointments for today."
Bail nodded absently. "Thank you."
"Senator?" Stace said. "Did you even hear me?"
Frowning, Bail said, "Yes, of course I did."
"You do know what it means, don't you?" Stace asked.
"Yes, I know," Bail snapped. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
"Common or garden," Stace replied, and immediately added, "Sorry, Senator. I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you shouldn't," Bail agreed, controlling his temper with an effort.
"But," Stace continued, "I probably should ask why you're still here."
Bail stared at her. "Because I haven't gone home yet."
"I can tell," Stace said. "Why haven't you gone home? You've seen everyone who had an appointment today, you've dealt with the day’s paperwork, tomorrow's papers are in the blue folder for you to read tonight if you want to, and you can go home any time now."
"I can," Bail said.
They stared at each other for a moment, both stock still.
Finally, Stace said, "Well, I'm going home."
Bail said nothing, and she left. He heard her shuffle some things in her office, and then the outer door slamming behind her. Slowly, he stood up, gathered his coat and blue folder, and headed towards the door. He didn't really want to go home, but where else could he go?
There was definitely something missing, and it wasn't at the office.
* * *
Rumours raced through the Temple, and as soon as he heard them, Garen knew he had to find out which were true. The first free evening he had, he went to see Obi-Wan.
"Good to see you, old friend!" he cried as Obi-Wan opened the door, but almost instantly regretted his choice of phrase: with his Padawan braid gone and shadows under his eyes, Obi-Wan really did look older than his years.
"Garen," Obi-Wan said flatly.
Concerned, Garen began to ask what was wrong, but he was interrupted by a child's voice.
"Master… I can't find any socks…"
"Come in," Obi-Wan said to Garen. "I'll be with you in a minute." He then turned and hurried towards the voice.
So, Garen thought, it's true that he had been allowed to take a Padawan. He shut the door behind himself, and wandered through to the main living area—an area still very marked by Qui-Gon's personality: the single rug a plain one, and the comm unit and holo screen hidden away, as Qui-Gon had always preferred.
Garen found it a little strange that after his Master's death (one thing he knew was a fact; a formal statement had been issued to the Temple, along with an assurance that Obi-Wan had killed the Sith responsible), Obi-Wan had chosen to remain in his Master's quarters, rather than taking his own. But perhaps he had his reasons.
Garen could not dwell for too long on this, though, because he could hear Obi-Wan's voice and the child's in the next room. After a minute, they appeared from what had once been Obi-Wan's sleep chamber.
"Garen," Obi-Wan said, "this is Anakin Skywalker, my new Padawan."
Garen bowed a greeting to the child, noticing as he did so that Anakin was barefoot.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan continued, "this is Garen Feln, an old friend of mine."
Anakin stared openly at the newcomer. "You've got a Padawan braid."
"I have," Garen replied. Obi-Wan was frowning, so Garen grinned to show that he didn't mind the boy's impoliteness. "I'm a slower learner than your Master."
"Oh." Anakin just kept staring.
"Anakin?" Obi-Wan said. "Have you finished tidying your room?"
Anakin started. "Err… no, Master. Sorry."
"Please go and finish that now," Obi-Wan requested.
At that, Anakin hurried back to his room.
Obi-Wan sighed and flopped into a chair, his eyes closed. Garen took a seat next him.
"I'm sorry, Garen," Obi-Wan said, hauling himself upright and opening his eyes. "I'm not exactly fun to be around anymore."
"You look like you need a holiday," Garen replied.
"Ha! Some chance of that. I haven't had so much as an evening off since Threed. Not even after the…" Obi-Wan's voice faltered and he looked away.
"After the…?" Garen prompted.
"The funeral," Obi-Wan said. He leaned back again, but not fast enough that Garen didn't catch the glitter of tears in his eyes. "They made me a Knight, and I took Anakin as my Padawan because Master Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan had to swallow hard before he could go on, "—because my Master requested it of me. But I don't know that I'm ready, and Yoda is right, the boy is filled with fear and anger."
"You will cope," Garen said softly. He reached over and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you will cope, Obi-Wan," he said. "Now, it's not impossible for you to have the evening off, you know. Leave Anakin in a meditation class and come on out for a while."
Obi-Wan looked Garen in the eye. "Are you sure I should? I don't like to leave him."
"Master Windu is taking the three- to six-year-olds tonight," Garen said. "I saw the notice outside the Chamber of Light. He'll keep them so focussed, Anakin won't realise that you're not there."
Garen could tell that Obi-Wan was tempted.
"He'll be bored—with the three-year-olds there Master Windu won't be able to give them anything too complex," Obi-Wan said, a token protest.
Garen shrugged. "He needs to learn meditation from the beginning."
"We won't go far?" Obi-Wan checked. "And you won't make me turn off my comm link?"
"We'll go to Dex's," Garen said. "It's close, you like it, they're as used to seeing us in Jedi robes as anything else, and comm signals always get through."
"When Anakin has tidied his room, then, we'll go," Obi-Wan agreed. "You're probably right, a little time away can't hurt."
Satisfied, Garen nodded, and settled in to wait while Anakin finished his chore.
* * *
Bail didn't stay long at his apartment. He dumped his work things and changed his clothes, then wandered out into the Coruscant night.
Not really sure where to go without Raymus to argue with, he couldn't face the nightclubs or rowdier bars. A new Senator on a planet full of them, relatively few people recognised him, which was just as well.
Eventually, tired of being aimless, he decided to head for the quieter part of town, closer to the solemn heights of the Jedi Temple. He only really knew one place in that quarter: Dex's Diner, with the waitress Raymus claimed was so beautiful. Bail didn't see it himself. But then, he'd never been that captivated by women.
He bought a drink—at least they did serve familiar things like Alderaani ale—and hid as best he could in a corner. There was almost always something interesting to be seen if you were a patient watcher.
There was, for example, the young couple in the opposite corner, who also clearly thought they were hidden. They were still wearing clothes—though the garments left little to the imagination—but their hands rubbed so hard over each other's bodies as they kissed that Bail thought they would soon wear through the flimsy fabric.
The sight made him feel even lonelier, so he moved on to watch the new arrivals as they came through the door.
A party of young Twi'leks, probably planning on warming up with drinks and a meal here before hitting the nightclubs. An elegant Quermian woman, dressed in orange flowing silks. A Jedi Padawan—with a curiously familiar face.
Bail stared at the young man as he held the door open for someone to follow him. He had met him before. Here? Yes, here, when he had been with Raymus and Obi-Wan had been here. When Obi-Wan had kissed him.
The Padawan—what was his name? Bail thought it was Garen—was followed by a slightly shorter but older man without a braid. Bail started and nearly called out: It was Obi-Wan, changed, but definitely Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan's younger friend did sweep his eyes around the room, but he didn't seem to spot or recognise Bail. Obi-Wan himself seemed to have little energy for looking around on more than a perfunctory level.
They made their way to the bar, greeting Dex like old friends and—as if to prove that hypothesis—receiving free drinks.
Bail quickly drained his glass and went to join them.
When he was a mere pace behind Obi-Wan, he said, "Didn't expect to see you here!"
Obi-Wan spun around, eyes wide and hand reaching towards the lightsaber on his belt. Garen laid a hand on his arm as if to calm him.
"Bail Organa, isn't it?" Garen said.
Bail gave a brief bow of greeting. "Good to meet you both again."
Garen returned the bow, and, after a moment, so did Obi-Wan. "I hope your friend isn't sick again," Garen offered.
Bail laughed politely. "If he is, it's space-sickness; his ship is on duty again."
"An honourable place to be," Garen said. "I heard you, too, have been called to duty—Senator Organa, is it not?"
"It is," Bail acknowledged. "But there's no need to be formal." He tried to meet Obi-Wan's eyes as he said this, but Obi-Wan was apparently more interested in the floor.
There was an awkward pause.
"Excuse me," Garen said, "I must use the 'fresher briefly."
Bail nodded, though he didn't miss the slightly annoyed look that Obi-Wan gave his friend.
Chapter Two
This time, the awkward pause stretched into seconds, then nearly a minute.
"I see…" Bail said, just as Obi-Wan began, "Sorry I…"
Obi-Wan managed to bow and say, "You first," before Bail could get the words out.
"I see you no longer wear the Padawan braid," Bail said.
Obi-Wan nodded. "I am no longer a Padawan."
Bail sighed. "I, err, know some things about what happened, if that helps. I was sorry to hear about Master Jinn."
"You and many others," Obi-Wan replied.
Stiffly, Bail gestured towards a table which had just been vacated. "Shall we sit?"
Obi-Wan simply nodded, and followed Bail to the table.
"So you are now a Jedi Knight?" Bail tried again when they were seated opposite each other.
"Yes, I passed my trials," Obi-Wan said. He did not sound proud, as Bail knew he did when he announced that he was now Senator. Instead, Obi-Wan sounded tired, and a little regretful.
"Which means… you now have a Padawan?" Bail guessed.
"In this case," Obi-Wan explained flatly, "it means that I have killed a Sith. I have, incidentally, also taken a Padawan, but that is a separate issue."
Bail nodded. "I see." What else could you say to a man who had killed a Sith?
There was silence again, but it was less uncomfortable this time. Obi-Wan shut his eyes, sipping his drink—a non-alcoholic fruit juice, Bail noticed—and Bail had the chance to study his face. There were shadows under his eyes, and new frown lines. Strangely, as the Sith-killing surely proved Obi-Wan’s ability to look after himself, Bail found that he wanted to hug and care for Obi-Wan, rather than, as previously, tie him to a mattress and fuck him into the middle of next week.
"Are you enjoying being Senator?" Obi-Wan enquired.
"Err… I suppose so," Bail said. "It's always fun to have more people to order around." He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
On the other side of the room, behind Obi-Wan, he saw Garen slip out of the 'fresher and hide by sliding into the midst of the Twi'lek party. Grateful for the chance to keep talking to Obi-Wan alone, he decided not to mention it.
"I'm not so sure about that," Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm not finding having a Padawan all that much fun."
"Ah," Bail said, and suddenly wished fervently that Garen would come back and rescue him from the conversation. "You, err, are assisted by the other Jedi, aren't you?"
"Those that approve of my taking this boy as Padawan," Obi-Wan said. "Others would have me find it impossible to train him. If I were to find that—and admit it—he would be sent away from the Temple, into the AgriCorp, or worse, back home to slavery."
"Internal politics," Bail said, nodding sympathetically. Politics he could understand.
"In a manner of speaking," Obi-Wan said. "It hadn't occurred to me to call them that, previously, but I suppose they are."
"The best way to deal with it," Bail advised confidently, "is probably to ignore them—take what support you can get but decide that you don't need the rest."
"Bail," Obi-Wan said. His eyes were sparkling and for some incomprehensible reason he seemed to be on the edge of laughter. "I like you very much and I'm sure you're a fine politician, but that is a singularly useless piece of advice. What else do you imagine I've been doing?"
"I…" Bail began, then gave in and laughed at himself. For a moment, they were laughing together, and it felt wonderful. Then Obi-Wan sobered.
"Where's Garen got to?" he asked, twisted around to see the rest of the room.
"I think he got held up by some Twi'leks," Bail replied, gesturing that the party. Sure enough, Garen was still there.
"He'll be there for the rest of the evening," Obi-Wan predicted, turning back to Bail. "You and I will have to manage without him for a while."
"I think we can cope," Bail said, smiling.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Let's not talk about work anymore, though," he said. "You told me about Alderaan once, but I don't know much about you."
"What is there to know?" Bail asked, shrugging. "I'm now Senator for Alderaan, and I carry the titles of Prince and Viceroy. When I marry, I'll be King and my wife, Breha, will be Queen. I work long hours every day and don't like to go home afterwards."
"You already know whom you will marry?" Obi-Wan said. To Bail's amazement, he looked disappointed.
"My parents arranged it long ago, as part of my inheritance," Bail explained. "She's nice enough in her way, but…" He tailed off, unsure what to say.
"Do you want to marry her?" Obi-Wan asked.
"I want to stay Senator, which means marrying her eventually, and with luck producing a few children so that the line of inheritance is clear," Bail said, trying to sound nonchalant. He wasn't entirely clear why he was telling Obi-Wan this much; he had previously tended to lie to those he wanted to get into his bed, not wanting to put potential problems in the path.
Obi-Wan nodded, considering this. "So… are you allowed…?"
"Am I allowed to have relationships with others?" Bail finished for him, and grinned. "Everyone asks that."
"Sorry," Obi-Wan said. "If you'll answer it, though, I'll tell you what everyone asks about the Jedi."
"Which is?"
"Do we use Force tricks in bed?"
"Deal," Bail agreed. "Yes, if I'm discreet about it. You?"
"We could, but it's considered something a misuse, and I'm told it's usually not worth it anyway."
Bail laughed heartily at that. "I can hardly say the same of discreet relationships," he said. "They're usually a lot of effort, but they pay off."
"I wouldn't know," Obi-Wan said, and Bail's laughter died.
"Your turn," he said. "Tell me something about yourself."
"Well…" Obi-Wan said. "I'm a Jedi. I was brought up in the Temple, and aside from missions I've lived there all my life. I'm now a Knight, and a young boy called Anakin Skywalker is my Padawan. I am forbidden permanent attachments, but allowed to experience the world as widely as I choose. I am more interested in doing my duty than making personal gains. I have Jedi friends who say I work too hard and drag me out to disreputable bars—no offence intended, Dex, I know you keep an eye on the security cams—where I find more friends."
"Such as myself?" Bail asked, hopeful.
"Such as yourself," Obi-Wan agreed.
"What do you mean by 'forbidden permanent attachments'?" Bail asked.
"It means that I am not allowed to marry, nor to make a commitment that might prevent my fulfilling my duty as a Jedi. I can't promise… any lover I might take, or for that matter any friend I might make, that I'll see them again after a mission, for example, because it might turn out to be my duty to die on that mission—and in such a situation, either the promise or the commitment to duty would be broken, and that is deemed unsuitable conduct."
"You always do come back from your missions, though?" Bail said. He tried to say it lightly, but a fear had gripped his heart and he knew it could be heard in his voice.
"I always have so far," Obi-Wan replied.
Bail nodded. "So have you ever taken a lover?"
"I…" Obi-Wan hesitated, long enough that Bail knew the answer. "Not more than fumbling, no."
So if I can get him, Bail thought, I'll be the first. He wanted that, very much. Absently, he smoothed down his robe and lifted a hand to check his hair—only to find it stopped by Obi-Wan's hand.
"Let me," Obi-Wan said. Bail stared into Obi-Wan's blue eyes as he gently stroked the offending lock of hair into place, then took Bail's hand again and lowered it to the table. Once there, Bail expected him to let go, but Obi-Wan kept a surprisingly firm hold.
"Thank you," Bail said, heart hammering. Never mind trying to find out what Obi-Wan wanted consciously, that touch had made it pretty clear what he'd like. Physical contact, here we come, Bail thought, and leaned forward.
He got close enough to feel Obi-Wan breath on his cheek, but something in Obi-Wan's face warned him to stop.
"Look… Bail…" Obi-Wan said, and Bail could have kicked himself for moving too fast. "I think we ought to…"
"Talk?" Bail suggested wryly, trying to cover a rush of anger. "You think we ought to talk? I'm not so sure that what you want, Jedi, but we'll talk if you like."
Obi-Wan's expression was shuttered now, and his hand rested below the table—on his lightsaber, Bail would lay money on it.
"I don't know what you want from me," Obi-Wan said, "but that… wasn't the right way of going about it."
"It was my turn," Bail said sulkily. "Last time, you kissed me."
Obi-Wan sighed and took his hand off his lightsaber, deflating somehow. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "I didn't mean you to read it as a… as an invitation."
"So what was it supposed to be?" Bail demanded.
"I… don't actually know," Obi-Wan confessed. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
"I see." In that instant, Bail almost hated Obi-Wan's inexperience. "Well, when you know what you want, let me know."
Before Obi-Wan could reply, Bail stood up.
"Stace will patch you through to my private line any time you like," he said, and left.
Chapter Three
A few minutes after Bail had left the diner, Garen slid into the seat next to Obi-Wan.
"What happened?" he asked softly, taking in Obi-Wan's shell-shocked face.
"Bail said I need to work out what I want," Obi-Wan replied. He frowned. "It's true, I don't know what I want. Did I ever tell you, I kissed him that time before, when we met him here?"
"No," Garen said, but something else had caught his attention. This was the second time that they'd met Bail Organa at Dex's, seemingly by chance—coincidence, or something else? It seemed unlikely that the Force would bother to arrange such small things, but strange things did seem to surround Obi-Wan these days: one of the rumours said that Anakin was a Force-born child, with only one human parent.
"Well, I did. Tonight, I—you know how it annoys me when he pushes his hair back off his face like that?"
Garen nodded.
"Tonight, he started to do that, and I just stopped him and did it myself. And then he leaned forward and nearly kissed me, except I leaned back before he could." Obi-Wan paused, reflectively, and added, "I wish I hadn't."
"Then there's your answer," Garen said, but Obi-Wan wasn't listening because he was checking his chrono instead.
"The meditation class will be over in ten minutes, Garen, we need to hurry," Obi-Wan said. "I don't believe how easy it is to leave him there and forget about him."
"You have had other things on your mind," Garen said sympathetically. "But we'll get back now anyway."
* * *
That night, once he'd finally put Anakin to bed, Obi-Wan lay awake for some hours. He knew he could force himself to sleep, but he felt he needed the thinking time, so he let his mind wander—mostly, left to its own devices, it spiralled around thoughts of Bail Organa.
I wish I'd let him kiss me. I don't suppose I'll ever have time to see him again. I am not allowed attachments. My Master told me that love as well as lust can be allowed, if it makes no commitments. The Council would disapprove. Who ever achieved happiness by obeying only the Council? I would like him to kiss me—and touch me—and maybe more. I ought to comm him. It's one more thing I have to balance, have to organise and sort out. I'd really prefer it if he commed me.
I doubt he'd be interested enough to do that. Lots of people must find him attractive—probably more attractive than I do, since I'm still annoyed by his vain habits. Some Senate aides probably find his vanity as attractive as I find his quick tongue and smile and, oh, pretty much everything else about him. Except the vanity, of course. But the smile…
Eventually, Obi-Wan drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of Bail's smile for a while before the usual nightmares—a horned Sith face, a huge chest wound, an endless open tunnel mouth—shoved it from his mind.
When he woke, to the sound of Anakin clattering in the kitchen as he inexpertly attempted to prepare breakfast, Obi-Wan knew what he would do.
* * *
Bail also slept uneasily that night, thoughts of a certain handsome Padawan keeping him awake in a not wholly unpleasant manner, and the next day he shouted at Stace twice before it was time for the main Senate session of the day.
As such things often do, the session overran massively. He went straight home, only to find his comm unit flashing. Bail sighed; more work to do. Before he read any of them, he ate a quick sandwich and changed out of his formal robes.
Oddly, though, there was only one message—a text packet forwarded from his office. It was headed "Private: for Bail Organa only". He made a mental note to tease Stace that she'd probably read it precisely because of that header, and clicked to open it.
Dear Bail, it said,
You asked me to comm you when I knew what I wanted. Here's your answer. I am sorry to say that I do not have very much time for a relationship outside the Temple at the moment, nor do I think I will be a good partner to you. However, if you feel you want to be friends (or more) despite this, you are welcome. I have no time to organise anything except my Padawan's training schedule. All arrangements are therefore your responsibility; I suggest you communicate with Garen (whose comm code I attach) if you require any information. He is a still a mischievous child, who will doubtless aid you in many nefarious schemes should you request his help.
Yours sincerely,
Obi-Wan Kenobi
Bail read this communication through twice, and sat stunned for a moment. Damn right, he wanted to be “friends (or more).” Preferably more, and soon. And he was quite willing to take the lead, if Obi-Wan meant what he said.
It seemed to be an open request for a seduction. Bail decided that he was happy to comply. He started making a list of possible things to arrange.
* * *
"A friend of yours commed me last night," Garen said casually.
Obi-Wan glanced at him. "Oh?"
They were leaning against the wall of a lightsaber training room, watching a blindfolded Anakin practice deflecting the bolts of a droid. The boy was good, and improving fast, but he still missed the occasional bolt or deflected it towards his Master.
"Yes," Garen confirmed, taking a step towards Obi-Wan to allow a bolt to sink into the duracrete wall. "Definitely a friend of yours, and who'd like to be more if I'm not mistaken."
"Who?" Obi-Wan asked, getting tired of the game. He added to Anakin, "Relax, let the Force guide your movements."
"Bail Organa," Garen revealed. "Seems he'd like you to meet him tonight."
Obi-Wan shook his head, as Anakin said, "No-one can meet Master Kenobi tonight—he's going to help me start building my own lightsaber!"
"If you do today's duites," Obi-Wan corrected. He looked at Garen. "I did say that I would."
Garen shrugged. "Should I let him know, or let the poor man wait outside the restaurant for hours?"
Obi-Wan sighed. "Let him know, I suppose. I could be free in two night's time, if he asks."
"I expect that he will," Garen said, grinning. "He seemed very keen to see you again, and willing to be very flexible."
"Not as flexible as Padawan Jon is," Anakin said.
Garen raised his eyebrows.
"Anakin was practicing gymnastics with Jon yesterday," Obi-Wan explained. "Droid, end exercise."
Anakin pulled his blindfold off. "Am I good enough yet, Master?"
"There will always be room for improvement," Obi-Wan told his Padawan. "But you're getting better, yes. Now, if you change out of that sweaty robe, we'll go and find lunch."
Anakin rushed to the 'fresher. Obi-Wan and Garen followed more sedately. "Bant's to be tested next week," Garen said conversationally, but Obi-Wan didn't seem interested.
"Bail really commed you?" he said. "I didn't think he would."
"I think," Garen grinned, "that you underestimate the determination of Senators to have their own way."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No—it's more that I don't understand why he wants me."
"Can't help you there," Garen said, dead-pan. "As far as I can tell, you're as ugly as a bantha and not as sweet-tempered."
Obi-Wan glared at him. In their Padawan days, a brief scuffle would have ensued, but Anakin rushed out of the 'fresher before either could launch a preliminary swing.
"Lunch, lunch, lunch!" Anakin demanded, and added belatedly, "Please, Master."
Obi-Wan sighed theatrically. "Lunch it is then, Anakin. Garen, will you be joining us?"
"No," Garen said, "I'd better not. My Master's set me to research some planet and write an essay."
"Boring," said Anakin understandingly.
"It could be worse," Obi-Wan said, but he nodded to Garen. "I'll see you tomorrow, probably."
"I expect you will," Garen said, and departed.
* * *
Back in his quarters, Garen turned on his datapad, intending to get on with the research. But as his Master wasn't around, he decided to just check his comm messages first…
Seven text packets from young Twi'leks later, he found a “missed call” message—apparently Bail Organa had tried to contact him again. Curious, he instructed it to return the comm.
"Hello, Senator Organa's office, how can I help?" a bored woman's voice said.
"Hello, this is Garen Feln. May I speak to Senator Organa, please?"
"Hold a minute, please."
Garen waited, tapping his fingers against the edge of the datapad. The sound outlet playing a tinkling tune supposed to represent something soothing but abstract, without containing any notes offensive to any ears. Garen wondered if anyone actually liked it.
After a minute or so, the tinkling shut off and the woman's voice spoke again. "He'll be with you in just a minute, Padawan Feln," she said.
"Thank you," Garen replied, and tried to wait patiently through the next burst of tinkling music. It really was annoying. He briefly entertained the notion that this irritation meant that he was in love with the music's composer, but quickly reached the conclusion that the irritation-equals-love equation was subject to certain restrictions, along the lines of “only when the irritation is with the physical habits of someone you admit is physically attractive” and “you are a sex-starved Padawan who doesn't get out enough (like Obi-Wan).”
"Garen?" Bail's deep voice said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Hello, Senator," Garen said. "You tried to comm me?"
"I did," Bail said. "Look, Garen, I need to know when Obi-Wan will be free."
"Not tonight," Garen said, apologetically. "He'd promised Anakin something. But Master Kur has agreed—Master Kur was a friend of Qui-Gon's, so Obi-Wan trusts him—Master Kur has agreed to look after Anakin overnight, two nights from now. If you book a table somewhere for that night, I'll get Obi-Wan there if I have to knock him out and carry him."
Bail laughed. "Please don't injure him too badly," he said. "I don't want him to get concussion."
"He's got a thick skull," Garen returned. "But, honestly, I think I'll be able to do it without him knowing how much he's being manipulated, which is much better. I won't be much good to you if he stops trusting me, after all."
"That sounds excellent," Bail said. "I'd better go—the Senator for Khomm is waiting to see me. But Garen—if you ever want to switch into politics, I expect I could find you a job."
"I'll bear it in mind," Garen said. "Confirm with you later, yes?"
"Yes," Bail said. "Good luck." The comm unit beeped as Bail switched off.
Garen grinned, and set about composing a note for Master Kur.
Chapter Four
Bail had been waiting outside the restaurant for ten minutes when Obi-Wan finally arrived. He was dressed in plain Jedi robes which made Bail, in his best embroidered Alderaani suit, feel rather overdressed.
"Good to see you again," Bail said, as Obi-Wan bowed stiffly.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Obi-Wan said. "I… There was a lot to do today."
"Not a problem," Bail said. He had made a pact with himself not to worry about slight signs, but simply to continue with the plan and assess the evening's success only at the end. "Shall we go in?"
"You're in charge," Obi-Wan said, so Bail led the way, thinking as he did so that Obi-Wan sounded relieved. As they passed the mirrored windows at the front of the building, Bail couldn't resist turning his head to look at Obi-Wan in the reflection. Obi-Wan looked tired, still, and he was frowning. In some people, Bail would have read the expression as nervous, but in Obi-Wan it seemed more like concern for something absent.
* * *
Irritated with himself for not allowing enough time to speak to Master Kur on leaving Anakin and change into civilian clothes as well, Obi-Wan felt distinctly uncomfortable as they walked towards the restaurant doors, and not just because his shoulders ached from trying to teach Anakin lightsaber forms.
He noticed as they walked towards the entrance that Bail felt the need to check his own reflection in the mirrored windows, once again accidentally confirming his vanity. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea—though Obi-Wan did have to confess that the pale grey looked very good on Bail.
It was oddly comforting, though, to cede control, to let Bail lead as Qui-Gon had once done. To very different places, of course, but still it felt like coming home more than returning to his quarters now did.
"Have you ever been here before?" Bail asked over his shoulder as he opened the door.
"Never," Obi-Wan replied. In fact, he wasn't even sure what sort of place it was; he'd simply followed Garen's instructions and decided to rely on his Force-sense and lightsaber to save him from anything untoward.
Inside, everything was dimly lit. They were in an octagonal hallway from which doors opened out in every direction. The waiter, a pale green Cereaian, bowed deeply to Bail and waved them through the second door left from the one by which they had entered.
They walked down a long corridor, as dim as the entrance hall, and were shown into a small room on the right.
"I will bring starters in a moment, sirs," the waiter said, and disappeared.
Obi-Wan stood by the door, letting Bail take the lead. The room contained a minimum of furniture—a wooden carved table with a single lamp and a bench long enough for three—on a thick, soft, black carpet. The black walls were also covered with fabric.
Bail slid easily onto the bench and patted the space beside him.
"Obi-Wan?" he said, mid-way between a question and an invitation.
* * *
Bail wished that Obi-Wan would relax. It was going to be a difficult evening if he had to make all the conversation single-handedly.
Thankfully, Obi-Wan did slide into the seat on his right. Bail knew that leaping into a place as renowned for being romantic as this had been a risk, but he'd wanted to make his intentions clear. He wasn't sure, though, whether Obi-Wan's ignorance of the restaurant was a boon or a burden.
Lacking any brilliant ideas, Bail enquired, "How have you been?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Much as I expect to be."
"And how is that?"
Another shrug. Bail began to wonder if it was actually a response or just some sort of desire to move his shoulders. "Working hard."
"Too hard?" Bail questioned.
Obi-Wan's blue eyes caught his. "Who are you to comment, Prince I-Don't-Like-To-Leave-The-Office-At-Night?"
Damn, Bail thought, Obi-Wan really did pay attention. He'd only mentioned that feeling once, and in passing. "I'm much happier to leave when I'm meeting you in the evening," he replied.
Obi-Wan seemed about to answer, but the waiter reappeared. "Starters, sirs," he said, placing in front of them a large bowl, filled with something dark and viscous, and a flat round dish heaped with small pieces of vegetables and fruit.
"Thank you," Bail said.
"Anything else?"
"Alderaani ale for two," Bail said. He could feel Obi-Wan's eyes on him, but he'd been told he was in charge and it wasn't a position he would release easily.
"Very good, sir," the waiter said, and left once more.
"And this is?" Obi-Wan enquired.
"A traditional Corellian dish," Bail replied. "You dip the pieces of vegetable—these days, they come from all over the galaxy—in the sauce, and eat."
"With your fingers?"
Obi-Wan sounded so comically doubtful that Bail had to laugh. "Yes, with your fingers. Here, I'll show you."
Bail took a small piece of garh, a root vegetable he was sure Obi-Wan would be familiar with, and dipped it in the sauce. He offered it to Obi-Wan, who stared at him.
Too fast again. Sighing mentally, Bail grinned, and ate the piece himself. "Now it's your turn."
Gingerly, Obi-Wan lifted a lump of bera fruit, and dipped it as Bail had. He looked carefully at it, then slowly bit off a corner—a performance Bail found mesmerizing. The gentle suction of Obi-Wan's lips as they met the sauce, the tiny corner of tongue which appeared… it was beautiful.
"There," Bail said when Obi-Wan had finally swallowed and Bail could trust his voice to stay level. "Not so bad, was it?"
"I've eaten worse," Obi-Wan allowed. He munched into the remainder of the fruit piece with a much less romantic air.
Bail decided to leave the traditional method—feeding each other—for later, and picked another piece for himself. "So," he said, reaching for his standard stock of conversational gambits, "shall we talk about the outside world, or one of us?"
"Whatever you prefer," Obi-Wan said.
"Let's see," Bail said thoughtfully. He waited for a moment while the waiter slipped in, delivered two bottles of Alderaani ale, and departed, then began with, "Well, the Senate is dull as usual; not when I'm there, of course, but it doesn't make for good dinner conversation."
"Have things settled down after the Naboo incident?" Obi-Wan asked. "I'm surprised that with a new Chancellor things are so quickly boring."
"Well, that may just be my personal impression," Bail admitted. "In any case, I can think of better things to talk about."
Obi-Wan shrugged again, turning back to the food. "And that might be?" "You?" Bail suggested.
But Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm sure I'm not that interesting."
"And I am?"
"In my experience, most politicians find themselves so," Obi-Wan said. He kept his tone light though he wondered as he said it if the words would cut deep.
"Oh, Master Kenobi, you wound me," Bail said, faking offence as best he could. "I'm not that self-obsessed."
"No," Obi-Wan agreed mildly. "You're just selfish and vain."
"I'm neither!" Bail objected. Absently, he lifted his left hand to smooth the hem of his surcoat.
"See?" Obi-Wan chided gently, reaching—when had that happened? The movement had been faster than Bail could follow—across Bail's body to the halt the movement. "You are vain."
The gesture abruptly brought them into much closer contact, and Bail felt his body react. He forced himself to breathe deeply, scared he would move too quickly now and lose his prey. "So, you check it for me," he said. Carefully, he lifted his other hand and rested it on Obi-Wan's shoulder, hoping to establish further physical contact while Obi-Wan was distracted.
Taking Bail at his word, Obi-Wan released Bail's hand and stroked down the hem, over Bail's chest and onto his leg. At the end of the stroke, Obi-Wan paused, seemingly unsure of his next move.
Now with a free hand again, Bail reached languidly towards the table, chose a piece of fruit and dipped it, and tried again to feed Obi-Wan.
Chapter Five
If this was a training room, Obi-Wan knew, he would be cursing himself for allowing his opponent to trap him. Entranced by the feel of Bail's leg beneath his hand, Obi-Wan did not want to move, and with Bail's hand resting on his shoulders, he could not go far if he did want to do so.
Then there was the titbit of food only inches away from his lips. It smelt good, and now that Obi-Wan knew what the ripe fruit and sweet-and-sour sauce would taste like, he felt confident enough to let his lips open.
He met Bail's eyes for an instant, and saw not triumph but happiness, which reassured him greatly.
As he chewed, he tried to analyse the way he was feeling—to store it up for future reference if nothing more. He found himself focussing on Bail's warm hand resting on his back, now rubbing small circles over his spine and shoulders. Physical contact was rare among Jedi, even between the best of friends, and this was unexpectedly welcome: he felt the aching muscles beginning to ease, the stiffness flowing away.
Obi-Wan shut his eyes, the better to enjoy it.
Bail must have seen the effect he was having, because there another hand joined the first. Instinctively, Obi-Wan twisted back around, resting his elbows on the table so that Bail could reach more easily.
"Feels good?" Bail asked, a whisper in Obi-Wan's ear.
Obi-Wan nodded. Time seemed to stretch as Bail's hands—soft hands, Obi-Wan thought, hands for gesturing rather than fighting—rubbed up and down Obi-Wan's spine, over his shoulders towards his chest, and generally wandered in widening circles.
Eventually, Bail's hands paused. His right hand still rested on Obi-Wan's shoulder, but the other had slid down to take Obi-Wan's hand.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan whispered.
"There's more where that came from," Bail said, and Obi-Wan could hear the smile; obscurely, he knew he'd surrendered somehow. But if this was losing, he didn't know that he wanted to win.
Bail fed Obi-Wan a few more pieces, and then insisted that he try the Alderaani ale. As a sort of gentle revenge, Obi-Wan tried his hand at feeding Bail—easy, really, and he didn't mind at all when Bail sucked the dripping sauce from his fingers—and before Obi-Wan could take it all in, they were reaching the end of the meal.
It seemed very strange. If you'd asked Obi-Wan, only a month or so ago, what he thought of Bail Organa, he would have said: a vain, irritating man who can stay well away from me if he likes. Now, Obi-Wan was feeling distinctly regretful that the evening was ending.
Out of habit, he checked his chrono. It didn't matter when he went home—Master Kur had said that it was much easier to have Anakin stay overnight, and return him in the morning—but Obi-Wan couldn't see anything else happening this evening.
He actually finished that as a whole thought before it occurred to him that Bail, if he knew that Obi-Wan was free to stay out as late as he liked, might very well have plans for the rest of the evening. Even for the whole night.
* * *
Bail watched Obi-Wan check the time, and then saw the anxious glance Obi-Wan threw towards him. Here it came, then: the excuse, the escape, and going home alone once more.
"Okay?" Bail queried. Obi-Wan could take that whatever way he pleased.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said. He didn’t meet Bail's eyes.
"Do you have to get back to the Temple?"
"Eventually, yes," Obi-Wan said, and laughed. "Nobody will miss me tonight, though."
"In that case," Bail said, feeling suddenly shy, "would you… we don't have to, but… there's no-one else in my apartment, if…"
"I've sometimes wondered," Obi-Wan said, apparently ignoring Bail's stuttering, "what your home is like."
"Well, come and see, then," Bail said. He grinned, and took hold of Obi-Wan's hand to pull him along as he stood up.
* * *
They took an airtaxi because, Bail said, it wasn't very far but he was terrible at navigation.
Next time, Obi-Wan thought, he'd try and make Bail walk; the area was a richer one than some, dotted with the occasional garden, the buildings elegant rather than utilitarian. Tonight, though, he wasn't unhappy to ride—especially as Bail had, seemingly without thought, found a better class of airtaxi than Obi-Wan usually rode in.
It was clean, for one thing, and the seats were comfortable.
Obi-Wan realised a few minutes into the ride that they were still holding hands. Before he could do anything about it, however, they'd arrived, and Bail was pulling him out, at which point it felt perfectly natural.
Bail paid and tipped the driver smoothly, then led Obi-Wan indoors.
For all that Bail called it an apartment, it was a mansion next to Obi-Wan's quarters at the Temple. For example, they'd landed on a private balcony, and they came through the doors into a hallway the size of the living room Obi-Wan now shared with Anakin. It was richly decorated in what Obi-Wan recognised from pictures as the Alderaani pattern: delicate but not pale colours, mostly neutrals with some blues and greens. There were paintings and weavings on the walls, showing natural scenery.
Bail marched straight through it, evidently accustomed to the beauty. He turned back at the door when Obi-Wan hesitated.
"It's beautiful," Obi-Wan said, a pathetic kind of explanation.
Bail shrugged. "Home is better—Dad wouldn't let me bring my favourite paintings, he said I'd tear them or something."
Years of practise—of seeing luxury in palaces and state rooms—had accustomed Obi-Wan to the sight, and he knew that at his heart he preferred the plain rooms of his Master's quarters. He wanted, though, to take what he could from this room in the way of information about Bail.
"Are the pictures of Alderaan?"
"Mostly," Bail said. "One or two are gifts from other planets." He sounded dismissive.
Obi-Wan nodded, then, sensing Bail's impatience, followed him.
The next room was even larger, though it bore more signs of someone dwelling it in: the comm unit was surrounded by stacks of datapads, another datapad lay on the low table, and the chair directly opposite the holoscreen had a blanket draped over the back.
Bail waved him in, then paused, standing awkwardly behind the sofa. Obi-Wan, too, felt awkward.
"Would you like a drink?" Bail offered, formally. "Caf, ale, anything?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. He wasn't entirely clear what he did want (to change his mind and go home? to be told what to do next? Bail to touch him again?) but drinks didn't feature on the list.
* * *
"Right," Bail said, frustrated with himself. He'd thought that once he got Obi-Wan up here, everything would flow fairly smoothly—the one or two times he'd brought someone home after an evening meal, they'd both been very certain that sex was the next thing on the agenda, and had largely got on with it without preliminaries.
Obi-Wan, though, seemed unlikely to want to jump straight into bed—and it wasn't the sort of question one could simply ask.
Dammit, he needed some more alcohol, even if the Jedi didn't. "Well, make yourself at home," Bail said. "I'll be back in just a second."
Once in the kitchen, he almost kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid? There was no way this was going to work. He looked meaningfully at the knife drawer, but quickly decided that he would probably only faint at the first sight of blood and be revived to floods of embarrassment.
No, fainting could only be a good thing if he could somehow engineer it so that Obi-Wan was forced to catch him.
Instead, he poured glass of wine and returned to the living room.
Obi-Wan was still standing beside the sofa, his head tipped to read the titles on Bail's holomovie collection. He looked up when Bail entered.
Bail smiled at him. "Now, Obi-Wan," he began, "when you said, 'All arrangements are your responsibility', what did you actually mean by 'all'?"
A moments' thought, and then Obi-Wan offered, "Whatever you felt necessary to the continuation of our relationship?"
Nodding, Bail asked, "And how do you define our relationship?"
That question was clearly a harder one for Obi-Wan—as Bail had intended it to be.
"Easier question," he said, when Obi-Wan blushed but didn't reply. "If I may be so blunt: do you want this to be a sexual relationship?"
Okay, Bail admitted, one could ask, plainly and simply. Whether one would be answered, though…
Bail looked away, sipping his wine, wanting to give Obi-Wan the chance to think, or to say “no”, or to pull his lightsaber and commit murder in deep offence, or simply leap out the window.
He was almost put out when Obi-Wan said, "Yes."
Chapter Six
Bail stood in stunned silence for a moment.
"If you want to, of course," Obi-Wan added.
The uncertainty in Obi-Wan's voice galvanised Bail into action. He strode across the tiny gap between them and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Never doubt it," he said, his voice low and firm. "I won't force you, but you must never doubt that I do want you."
Blue eyes wide, Obi-Wan nodded. "So this isn't just a one-time thing?"
Bail shook his head, then hesitated. "Unless you want it to be."
"Can I answer that later?" Obi-Wan asked. He sounded slightly breathless.
Bail didn't like that answer much—it left him with the feeling that he'd exposed too much of his emotion—but he did like the breathless sound of Obi-Wan's voice, so he moved closer and let his arms wrap around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Was there something you wanted to do first?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered. He shifted towards Bail, leaning on him, resting his head on Bail's shoulder.
For some reason, Bail had never noticed that Obi-Wan was several inches shorter than him. It seemed to symbolise the difference between them: Bail was very aware that he was older, more experienced, and in control.
The first two may or may not be advantageous. But Bail definitely liked the third.
"Close your eyes," he told Obi-Wan.
"Done," Obi-Wan said, and although Bail couldn't see his face, he had no doubt that it was true.
Eager to get on with it, Bail contemplated the sofa for a moment, but decided that the bed would be easier for a first time. He loosened his arms around Obi-Wan without actually removing them, and slid his hands down to hold Obi-Wan's.
"We're just going for a little walk," he said, and slowly led Obi-Wan into his bedroom. Obi-Wan's eyes were indeed closed. He seemed calm, and Bail noticed that he managed to avoid even the things Bail didn't warn him about. Jedi senses, probably. Could be a nuisance.
Shrugging, Bail went on with his plan. He pulled Obi-Wan back towards him.
"Take your belt off," he commanded.
Obi-Wan obeyed, flicking the buckle with practised fingers. Bail took note of the procedure for future reference, and then went to take the belt from Obi-Wan's hand—but Obi-Wan casually leaned backwards and placed it neatly on a chair, eyes still firmly shut.
"You're either cheating, Obi-Wan, or you've been sneaking into my apartment," Bail accused, grinning, keeping his voice warm so that Obi-Wan could be sure it was a joke.
"It's not cheating," Obi-Wan objected. "It's using what I've been taught."
Bail snorted, and slid his hands beneath the hems of Obi-Wan's upper tunic to push it off. "How many layers do Jedi wear, anyway?"
Obi-Wan shrugged, arms hanging loosely at his sides. "I usually wear three or four, depending on the season and the planet," he said. "If you think that's too many, you're not alone—Anakin was horrified by how complex they are."
"Let's not talk about Anakin now," Bail said. He didn't think that he was actually jealous of the time Obi-Wan lavished on Anakin, any more than he'd been jealous of the time Qui-Gon had with Obi-Wan; but he didn't want such a clear reminder that Obi-Wan wasn't his, wouldn't remain in his bedroom forever, was only a temporary gift.
A rush of possessiveness made him lean forward and kiss Obi-Wan, hard and hurried.
To his surprise—if he'd thought at all, he would have thought he might scare Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan returned it, instantly. As they kissed, Obi-Wan's hands came up to tangle in Bail's hair.
When Bail finally broke the kiss, panting, he found that without noticed it he'd worked his hands in under Obi-Wan's second layer of tunic.
"Arms," he whispered, and was gratified when Obi-Wan lifted his arms straight up to have the tunic pulled over his head.
The second, heavy tunic removed, there was only a lighter and paler tunic of a softer material between Bail and the skin of Obi-Wan's chest. Bail saw Obi-Wan tremble slightly.
"Are you cold?"
Obi-Wan shook his head.
"Nervous? You don't have to answer that."
This time, Obi-Wan reached out, finding Bail's shoulders and leaning towards him. "I trust you," Obi-Wan said quietly.
"Good," Bail replied, and found his voice gone rough with emotion. He leaned briefly into Obi-Wan's touch. "If you take two steps backwards and sit down, you can take your boots off."
Nodding, Obi-Wan obeyed. Bail stood back to watch him. Obi-Wan's eyes were still shut, and he kept his face turned up, towards Bail, as he bent down to undo the complex straps on his boots. Looking at that perfect face, Bail dismissed all thoughts of penetration tonight—too complicated with someone inexperienced to manage it face-to-face, and Bail wanted to be able to see Obi-Wan's face when he came.
While Obi-Wan undid his boots, Bail shed his own shoes and outer layers. He kept one complete layer of clothes on, though. It would help him take his time over the important matters.
* * *
Boots and socks removed, Obi-Wan sat passively on the edge of the bed. He didn't have to reach out with the Force to know that Bail was still nearby; he could hear his breathing, and the rustle of clothes.
Using the Force, though, he could learn more: Bail's Force shape was not clear-cut like those of Jedi, but neither did it fade into misty patches as a tired or unfit being's might. In fact, it seemed brighter than many, and when Obi-Wan reached out towards it, trying to sense all he could of Bail's mood and posture, the touch of his own Force reach on the living Force of Bail made him tingle pleasantly.
Bail seemed thoughtful, but happily so. Instinctively, he smiled.
"You look cheerful," Bail said.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Glad to be here." It seemed a mundane thing to say in such unusual circumstances, but it was true.
"Get the rest of those clothes off, then, and lie down," Bail said. His voice sounded warm.
As he obeyed, Obi-Wan tried not to think about the fact that it was some years since he'd been naked in front of anybody—after a disastrous and never-discussed experiment with Bant of the “you show me yours and I'll show you mine” variety as a teenager, he'd been either too nervous or too busy to pursue this sort of thing. Instead, he found himself focusing on sensing Bail, trying to work out what Bail would do next, as he'd been trained to anticipate an enemies' next action.
Bail was watching carefully. Watching with interest, and not because he was searching for Obi-Wan's weakness; no, Bail was looking for Obi-Wan's strengths. It was a strange feeling—even Qui-Gon had usually searched for flaws—and Obi-Wan found it exciting. He could feel his body reacting to it.
* * *
Bail had always found Obi-Wan good-looking, but stripped of the drab Jedi robes he was glorious.
For a moment he stood there, stunned, drinking in the image. He had expected Obi-Wan to be fit—he knew he was strong—but the muscles rippling under skin were more beautiful than he had been able to imagine. Bail managed to wait until Obi-Wan was lying on the bed, but then he could no longer stop himself from reaching out to touch.
Purposefully, he started with Obi-Wan's face, dragging his fingertips gently over forehead and eyelids and down into a week or two's growth of beard. When he reached Obi-Wan's lips, he rubbed a thumb across them, but couldn't resist following it with a soft kiss.
Obi-Wan tried to kiss him back. Bail pulled away slightly.
"Not yet," he whispered.
Trying to get easier access, he climbed further onto the bed. He had been half-kneeling on the edge beside Obi-Wan, and he now moved to straddle his lover. For some purposes, perhaps, it was a good move, but Bail could tell at once that it wasn't exactly going to help to make this last a long time: it brought Bail's thigh, only covered by a single layer of soft cloth, into contact with Obi-Wan's erection.
Obi-Wan suddenly thrust up into the touch, and Bail found that his underwear was a few sizes too tight.
* * *
Obi-Wan had anticipated the movement, but he hadn't known how good it would feel. The soft cloth, warmed by Bail's body heat, with the firmness of muscle behind it, was more than enough friction to send exquisite sparks running up Obi-Wan's spine.
He tried to hold still. It wasn't easy, and when he realised that the heat now resting on his hip was Bail's erection, he gave in to the urge.
Bail's gasp was almost as satisfying a reward as the rush of pleasure produced by the physical movement.
* * *
On being asked for advice about politics, Bail liked to tell people that the key thing was to be able to change your plans: to negotiate, or to suit changing circumstances.
It was, he thought, something that could well be mentioned in sex manuals.
Abandoning the previous plan, which had involved teasing Obi-Wan with gentle touches for rather longer, Bail gave in, leaning forward to rest more of his weight on the hand he had placed below Obi-Wan's shoulder. With the other hand, he fumbled with the fastening on the waistband of his final layer of clothing.
* * *
Eyes still tight shut, Obi-Wan was puzzled for a moment about what Bail could possibly be doing. Then it dawned on him—getting rid of clothing.
He brought his hands, which had been resting uselessly on the bed, up, to explore, and quickly found Bail's waistband.
"Help you?" he offered.
"Please," Bail gasped.
* * *
Needing help from Obi-Wan had definitely not been in the last plan, but Bail decided not to care.
"Please," he said again, when the offending cloth was around his knees and Obi-Wan's hands had dropped away again. "Let me… touch you."
By way of a response, Obi-Wan thrust his hips upward again, meeting empty air and then Bail's hand and thigh almost together. Bail enjoyed that for a moment, stroking firmly but he hoped not too hard, setting a rhythm going, then tried to work out what should come next.
Inspiration came in a flash—a game he'd played with Raymus when they were in their early teens, in which you followed someone down the street, trying to copy their every move without them noticing. Well, never mind the noticing part, but copying was good.
He took a deep breath, and said to Obi-Wan, "Copy me."
* * *
The mirror game, thought Obi-Wan wildly, when pairs of initiates practice lightsaber stances by copying each other. He could do that. He and Garen had sometimes even played blindfolded.
He put one hand on Bail's shoulder, mimicking the pose as best he could, and brought the other hand in to touch Bail's erection.
It wasn't exactly easy to concentrate, given what Bail was doing, but somehow he managed to fall into the rhythm, rubbing Bail's erection between his hand and hip. Through the Force as well as in his own body, Obi-Wan could feel things building, filling, ready…
* * *
Biting his lip and reciting trading statistics, Bail managed to hold out long enough that Obi-Wan came first. He watched the bliss cross Obi-Wan's face—and with a couple more thrusts into Obi-Wan's hip, Bail was there, too, collapsing onto his lover in a boneless heap.
Warm, sweaty, tired, they clung to each other. Bail felt Obi-Wan's sticky hand come up and weave into his hair, but he was too happy to mind about the mess.
Epilogue
Oww.It felt like somebody had kicked him.
Somebody had kicked him.
Bail struggled to wake up properly. Someone was next to him—someone who was turning in their sleep, who was muttering, who sounded upset. Someone who had, in their disturbed sleep, kicked out.
Hard.
Rubbing his bruised shin with his other foot, Bail reached a tentative hand towards the man next to him. "Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan stirred again, shrinking away from Bail's touch. "No…" he moaned into the pillow. "M…n… no…"
In the light from the next room—they'd cleaned up quickly and then climbed back into bed, and Bail hadn't bothered to switch off the lamps—Bail could see the pain on Obi-Wan's face. "Obi-Wan," he said again. "Obi-Wan, wake up. Obi-Wan!"
For a moment, the only response was Obi-Wan's deepening frown. Then Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open and he started to sit up.
Bail let his hand rest on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "It's okay," he said, soothingly. "Obi-Wan, it's just me."
"Bail," Obi-Wan sighed, and sagged towards him.
Catching Obi-Wan by the shoulders, Bail pulled him into a hug. "You were dreaming."
Obi-Wan nodded against Bail's chest. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"
"Not a problem," Bail said, silently vowing to blame a low table for any bruises on his shins. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought Obi-Wan was trembling slightly.
"What time is it?" Obi-Wan asked. He pulled away, which Bail felt as a great loss.
"The early side of late," Bail said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Does it matter?"
"I should probably go," Obi-Wan said. "I ought to get back to the Temple." He was already moving away, climbing out of bed and leaving.
"Now?" Bail asked, feeling the situation spinning out of his grasp. "It's… night."
"I know," Obi-Wan said. Bail saw glimpses of his body, his pile of robes, as he gathered up his clothes and dressed in the half-dark. "But I need to be there in the morning, and if I go now only the guard and those who are also creeping in after dark will know how late I am."
"Oh," Bail said. He felt keenly disappointed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Finished, Obi-Wan moved towards the door and Bail finally saw him clearly in the beam of light—sleep-tousled, still looking tired, frowning. He paused there, and Bail could see that he felt awkward. Sometimes, Bail would have tried to ease the moment; but now he was not inclined to make this easier for Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan sighed. "I do have to go, Bail. I… I enjoyed last night."
"Good," Bail said.
"You can comm me," Obi-Wan offered.
It wasn't much, but at least it was something. "I will," Bail promised.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Good night," he said. "I'll, err, find my own way out." And he was gone.
Bail listened until he heard the door click shut. Obi-Wan wouldn't have trouble getting home; Coruscant, the all-day city, liked to party all night as well, so air-taxis ran at every hour.
When he was sure Obi-Wan had left the apartment, Bail sat up in bed and cursed, solidly, for several minutes. He cursed himself for handling it badly, he cursed whatever Obi-Wan had been dreaming about for hurting Obi-Wan so badly, and he cursed whoever at the Temple expected to see Obi-Wan in the morning. When he ran out of curses in Alderaani—too elegant a language, really, to have many—he switched to Basic, which was inventive if plain.
Eventually, though, he ran out of curses in Basic, and, sighing, settled back down under the covers.
Rubbing his shin reflectively with his other foot, he tried to sort out how he felt about Obi-Wan—the possessiveness he had felt the night before seemed to be a natural extension of the lust and desire to protect of which he had felt stirrings before, but it was unexpectedly strong. So strong, in fact, that when he tried to consider it, he found himself scared.
It wasn't hard to admit that Obi-Wan was attractive and clever and good company and incredibly hot in bed. No, it definitely wasn't; Bail spent several long minutes contemplated those things and concluded that he found all of them to be wonderfully true.
However, it was hard to admit that he was hurt by Obi-Wan's sudden departure, and especially so when he remembered that last night Obi-Wan had declined to say whether this was just a one-night fling or a long-term prospect. Bail knew he felt that the effort he'd put in ought to be rewarded by more than one night, but he feared that Obi-Wan didn't agree.
After all, he thought, what do I have to offer a Jedi? He's already got an exciting life and friends at the Temple—why would he want to spend time with a boring senator?
Bail tried to put such thoughts out of his head. Obi-Wan had agreed to see him, hadn't he?
Yes, but he hadn't wanted to stay. Perhaps he hadn't enjoyed it. Perhaps he didn't want to face Bail in the morning. Perhaps he'd wanted to say no, but couldn't…
Miserable thoughts swirling in his head, Bail curled in on himself and dropped into an uneasy sleep, dreaming vaguely of grey mists and silent explosions.
Part Three soon.