Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn is a very tall tree and Obi just might
see how the view is from on top. Is Obi's constant grin the
prelude to a joke or a grin of triumph?
Feedback: Feed the Muse:pongo@asan.com
Notes: Thanks to Kim Gasper for betaing this and telling me she
heard them too. And thanks to Lucas for giving me Qui-Gon Jinn
and reminding me that what the Lord giveth he can as easily
taketh away. Luckily, a devoted fan can always taketh back.
Despite years watching, teaching him, Qui-Gon had yet to
discover the motive behind that grin. It was nearly always
present. Even in battle, Obi-Wan's lips would often twitch
upwards at the corners. And when they spoke, of nothing of
great weight or on important topics, he would see it there,
just the smallest touch of it at times, sometimes hardly even a
grin, perhaps nothing anyone else would see or take note of.
And he had ample time to study Obi's face, to learn the
expressions there. Sometimes, the grin graduated to a full
smile, which at least he could understand, could usually
attribute to an event, a word, a place, a feeling he himself
could share.
But this constant grin was beyond him, a mystery--perhaps the
only thing about his student that remained so. Glancing up from
his food to pour out more water, he found it there, faint but
present in the set of the mouth, the light in the eyes, still
young but thoughtful, not flighty. Obi-Wan had never been that,
thank the gods. Yes, it was a pleasant enough face, familiar.
He was quite fond of his apprentice, all in all. But for that
grin... even now, when there was no cause for it, it hovered
around the mouth, never settling into a smile, and the joke, if
there was one, was unaccountable. They were merely eating, the
food itself ordinary, the table the same as it had been for any
number of days, set by Obi himself. For a brief second, as he'd
sat down, seen that near-smile, that hint of amused
self-satisfaction, he had surveyed the room, checked yet again,
for the hundredth time, for the source of Obi's amusement. But
there was nothing unusual, nothing out of place.
Just he and his apprentice sitting down to supper, vegetable
stew and bread and cheese. Forcing himself to ignore the
problem that he could not solve for the one that he could--his
own hunger--he began to eat, not looking across the small table
except when necessary. He had many things to think about
tonight, lessons and plans for the coming week, meetings at
which the Council and he would be at odds, he was sure.
Yet, even without looking, he could sense that, if he were to
look, that same grin would be on Obi's face, touching his eyes.
And if he asked what was so amusing? Obi would, as always,
say... what would he say? "Nothing, Master." or he would have a
reason, say something about the food, repeat an anecdote he had
heard. None of his reasons were ever convincing, although the
stories Obi told often were amusing. But somehow he
suspected that perhaps he was the main source of Obi's
amusement. If that were the case, he was no closer to
understanding his apprentice and his moods. What had he done
tonight to earn that expression? Was it merely something about
his form, his face? Something he had said once that Obi now
remembered? Something about the way he spoke? But he had said
little tonight but "Pass the salt."
And yet he was conscious of his person, made evermoreso
by that grin-- felt himself becoming self-conscious of his own
features and behaviour, and still, he could think of
nothing particularly humorous about himself. And many others
would agree with his own self-estimation. He was not generally
considered an amusing person.
Unable to give his attention to his duties, hardly now even
tasting the food, he gave in and asked, knowing it was
fruitless, but knowing also that he would be unable to focus on
the tasks of the evening until he had at least a story to go
with that grin.
"So, Obi-Wan, to what do we owe your good humor tonight?"
He looked up from his plate and met Obi's eyes, and for a
moment, he could see the searching begin, and then the calm
replace it as Obi found his story. So clearly he could read
that, at least.
Obi took a moment to swallow down some water, a hesitating
gesture that was unnecessary, Qui knew, as Obi always had a
story at hand. "I was thinking about something Yoda said
today."
He nodded, signifying that Obi should continue.
"He said that lust could be a positive emotion, if it were
given an outlet."
He nodded again, sipping his tea, forgotten till now and now
only lukewarm. He got up and poured out some more, waiting for
Obi to continue.
"Well, actually, what he said was, and I quote, 'Lust it is an
emotion positive. An outlet it should be given always. Outlet
having none, lust to jealousy leads, jealousy to hatred. Hatred
to the Dark Side.'"
He turned, offered Obi some more tea. Obi nodded his assent and
Qui poured, sitting down again at the table. "I'm not sure I
understand the joke."
Obi shrugged, "Then someone asked about outlets."
"And...?"
"And Yoda said, 'Jealous you are never of hand your own.'"
"Reasonable advice," Qui agreed.
"Yes, I think it is."
"But you think it is amusing as well as reasonable?"
"Lust is always amusing, Master."
"Is it?" he asked, curious now.
Obi took a sip of tea and smiled fully, "To lust is to want. To
want is to not have. Lust is always, like hunger, something to
fulfill and yet, like hunger, we are always empty again. So
lust cannot be fulfilled, only momentarily sated, like hunger."
"Philosophy now Obi?"
"Hardly, Master. Just idle thoughts in an idle mind," Obi
answered mockingly, pre-empting his own criticism. "So...
enough of my idleness. Are you sated for the moment? Or would
you like more of anything?"
The mouth twitched, the first signs that Obi was holding back
laughter, and still Qui was not sure of the joke. Was it only
that Obi was still young enough to be embarrassed and thus
amused by Yoda's suggestion? If that were so, why did he bring
it up now? Looking down at his plate he noticed that he had
finished his stew. "No thank you."
Pushing back from the table, he rose and turned towards the
door. "I have a meeting this evening and will be back late
tonight."
"Yes, Master."
Leaving behind him a strange unsettled feeling, he walked to
the Council chamber and set aside the problem of his
apprentice, turning his mind to the questions that would be
raised at the evening meeting, finding that he had answers to
those, at least, although they would be challenged by the
Council, as they always were.
The moon was fully risen when he returned, the halls quiet and
peaceful, everyone studying or sleeping, meditating or...
The soft sound reached his ears as the door opened before him,
and he completed the thought easily. Meditating or
masturbating. His apprentice, from the sound of it, was
pursuing the latter.
He pulled off his robes and stripped down to his underclothes.
The room was uncomfortably warm, so he opened a window and
stood before it, accepting the breeze that blew in, focusing on
the soft caress of the wind and letting go of the irritation
that had begun to tense his shoulders, creep into his neck,
letting go of the beginnings of a headache that threatened.
"Irritation leads to tension. Tension leads to anger. Anger
leads to hatred. And hatred leads to the Dark Side."
He grinned, suddenly realizing that, for Obi and the other
apprentices, Yoda's philosophy must seem predictable, nothing
more than a series of steps and stages that led down one path
or another, all of it rendered equal, lust seeming more
dangerous than irritation if you counted the steps to the
ever-present Dark Side at the end of the equation. But lust and
tension were equal, then--both three steps away from the Dark
Side--which, he considered, made a sense if one delved past the
implied simplicity of Yoda's homilies. Yoda's strange grammar
had a certain inevitable logic to it, a pattern that reflected
the thought behind it, reflected even the Force itself. Lust
was tension, of a kind. Formed of desire, not
irritation, but tension the same, and often as easily resolved.
Another soft sound made him turn from the window, but he knew
its source, the room next door, adjoining his own, separated by
a curtain of fabric. A moan, a sigh, then a sharp gasping
intake of breath. Yes, one might not ever be jealous of one's
own hand, but....
He set that aside as well. Lust had its own proper outlet. He
went to bed, stripping off his underclothes in deference to the
heat of the night, reminding himself to inform the Council of
the climate control problems in his rooms.
Closing his eyes to shut out the uneven darkness of the room,
the shadows cast by moonlight making odd shapes on the wall, he
brought his own hand down his body, stroking over his skin,
damp with sweat, taking himself in hand and letting out the
tensions of the day in long easy strokes. When he came,
finally, it was quietly, holding back his own groan, hearing
another echo from the adjoining room, low and deep.
"You are quiet this morning," Obi said over a mouthful of
cereal.
"And you are talking with your mouth full."
"Bad night?"
"Obi, quiet is, as you should know by now, no indication of
dissatisfaction."
"Ah, so you are satisfied?"
That damned grin again. "Yes, thank you. I am. Eat, then talk."
Obi nodded and took another mouthful of cereal, chewing and
swallowing again before speaking, "I was thinking some more
about what Yoda said."
"Were you."
"Yes," Obi answered, but did not say more. Feeling too tired to
draw further comments out of his apprentice, he turned to his
food, knowing they would spar in an hours time and could
continue the conversation, if Obi insisted, then.
His night had been restless, despite his satisfying his bodily
needs. His sleep had been disturbed, by the heat and the
questions that remained unsettled in his mind, and he was today
feeling less than genial as a result. It was entirely possible
that Obi might beat him during practice, if his own mood did
not turn and he could not recover his composure through
meditation before their sparring began.
Done eating, he got up and sat down in the center of the room
on the cushioned mat. Obi said nothing and he tuned out the
sound of chewing and swallowing, turning inward and letting the
Force gather within him, the stillness and peace of his center
disturbed only faintly by his awareness, always present, of his
Padawan's body, mind, and energy, itself calm and focused
despite his relative youth. More focused than it had been five
years ago. Obi was a man now, with a man's strength of purpose.
His odd humor was not a child's amusement, not the easy
laughter of adolescence anymore.
Yes, perhaps Obi would beat him today, he thought, his mind
clearing, his tension fading. But it would be a fair fight.
Rising again an hour later, Qui felt rested, strong, and ready
to take his student's challenge, should he present any. Obi was
already gone, the plates cleared. He would be waiting in the
gymnasium.
"May the Force be with you," he said, standing opposite Obi.
They would begin with simple hand to hand combat, working out
their bodies first. Here, Obi never won without tricks, without
relying on the Force and his own mind. With only his body as a
weapon, his youth and speed were never enough to compensate for
Qui's much greater strength and weight and reach. It was always
a good lesson for Obi, who would likely always be smaller than
his opponents.
Obi circled around him for a moment, then kicked out and Qui
easily took hold of him and threw him to the mat. Obi tried
again quickly, this time succeeding in bringing them both down.
Qui threw the smaller man off and watched, pleased, as Obi
sprung to his feet easily, gracefully, beginning again to dance
around him. His own method was to remain still, and he did not
vary that for all that Obi was used to it, would expect it.
There was always an advantage to stillness. He knew that, to
most others, he appeared daunting, and would exploit that here.
A wall that could not be brought down easily. A pillar that, if
knocked over, might bring with it great destruction.
But Obi did bring him down again, this time rolling on top of
him, landing with all of his weight across Qui's belly. The
braided hair tail slapped against his cheek, the bead woven
through the end stinging his face as it hit him below his right
eye. The air rushed out of him and he gasped. Obi was short but
not slight. He was solid, reasonably strong, his calm gathered
movements always deceptive, appearing slow, but moving quickly.
It was his own strange style, one Obi had had even before he
was able to tap the Force for his power consciously. It was in
every gesture Obi made, that same languid ease, the slow smile,
the ever-present grin now above him.
He caught his breath before responding, this time drawing Obi
close to his body instead of throwing him off, tightening his
arms around the man's back while rolling them both over so that
the pin was reversed and Obi was beneath him, still grinning
and breathing heavily.
Obi struggled under him, but was unable to break the hold,
finally giving up. "Let me up?"
"No. Release yourself," he answered, not letting Obi off so
easily. He would have to at least try to get loose once
more, if only for the practice.
"Right," Obi said, taking a strained breath. His own hair had
come untied and it fell into Obi's face, strands of it sticking
to the sweat there as they clung to his own face and neck.
Ready to put an end to the fight if Obi did not make his move
soon, Qui purposefully pressed down against Obi, nearly
flattening him, pressing one arm across the young man's neck so
that his breathing became strained, forcing him to take shallow
frequent breaths. Soon, Obi would get giddy, light-headed, and
his coordination would be impaired.
The danger of sparring with your apprentice was that he could
become complacent. Fear was discouraged, but it was important
for Obi to take this seriously, to feel there was something at
stake in each battle. Today, it was his very breath. He would
have to decide quickly. Qui monitored him closely. Another few
moments and he would ease up if Obi had not made a move. But by
then, Obi would have signaled his surrender, or, if he was too
stubborn to admit defeat, would have passed out.
But finally, Obi lifted his head, the tendons in his neck
straining, and Qui tensed, expecting further movement. But the
soft touch of lips that pressed against his own was followed,
before he could properly react, by the sudden thrust of Obi's
hips rising, the body beneath him straining upward in a fluid
movement, back arching upwards so that Qui was thrown hard to
the mat, the impact taken on his side and his left elbow, the
crack of his funny bone drawing a wincing gasp from him.
"Sorry."
He looked up to see Obi standing before him, swaying
unsteadily, his face flushed.
He held out his right hand and Obi took it, helping him to his
feet.
"An effective tactic."
Obi nodded.
"But it will only work once," he added, tempering the
compliment.
Obi appeared to seriously consider this and then nodded,
"Perhaps, Master. But you may, in the future, find it happening
again."
"Might I?"
"Yes," Obi said, his voice thoughtful, "And each time we spar,
you will be forced to wonder whether I will try it again. And
it will distract you, I think."
"You are incorrect."
"Am I? How's your elbow, by the way?" Obi sounded concerned,
but that grin touched his mouth, and Qui removed the hand that
had been cupping his injured elbow, straightening both his arms
at his side.
"Undamaged."
"Are you sure? Perhaps you should have the doctor examine it?"
"I said it was undamaged."
"Right. Then we continue?" Obi glanced at his own light saber,
then looked up and met Qui's eyes.
The elbow was undamaged, his hip only bruised. So they could
continue. He nodded, removing his saber from his side and
turning it on, standing on guard. Obi matched his stance, his
own saber glowing.
Obi made the first move, feinting and dodging, then diving in
to attack, but always staying just out of range of Qui's own
weapon. The sabers' hum and clash as they met in the air was
soft, merely light and a heat, but no power behind it. These
were practice sabers only, their hits registering without
injury.
Qui moved little, at first, letting Obi take the offensive. But
soon he drove forward in his own attack.
He lost this fight as well, and quickly, nodding to Obi and
acknowledging only to himself that Obi had been right.
Throughout the fight, he had been aware of the possibility,
each time Obi drew close, that he might be kissed again.
The final slash across his neck from Obi's saber had stung
slightly and he had shuddered, still able to feel the heat of
Obi's mouth against his own. The heat that followed it,
settling in his own cock, had not surprised him nearly as much
as had that kiss, and the intensity with which he wanted it.
Wanted it to continue. Wanted it to happen again.
"Enough," he said, firmly, as Obi resumed his readying stance.
Obi nodded and bowed deeply, sheathing his saber.
"Good fighting, Master."
"Yes. I will see you this evening for supper."
"Yes Master."
He bowed and left the room, walking quickly away from the
gymnasium and only when he reached his own doorway remembering
that he was due in a meeting with Councilmember Shi-Ling.
Changing his clothing quickly, not having time to shower, he
arrived there late and was distracted, his focus entirely
absent. Shi-Ling did not comment, only raising an eyebrow. But
that was enough, and Shi-Ling's suggestion that he might
meditate further on the matter under discussion was
unnecessary. He had already decided to set aside his work for
the rest of the day to meditate. And tonight, he was sure, he
would indulge in the other. Only then might he sleep.
"What are you reading?"
Obi looked up suddenly. Whatever it was, Obi had been intent on
it, not hearing him enter. But he was reassured. Only he could
enter so quietly and surprise his Padawan, and only because
they were as close as they were, accepting the other's presence
as a given. And yet he found himself uncomfortable by Obi's
presence in the main room. He would've asked him to retire to
his own room, but for his reticence to indulge in escaping that
which he should--must--confront now. His own meditations on the
matter had shown him this clearly.
Obi held the book up and Qui saw it was one of Yoda's tracts,
this one, he saw with some surprise, on jealousy. Obi got up
from the floor and poured out two glasses of wine. He sipped at
his, watching Obi's face for any signs of discomfort, but there
were none. Nor was the grin present. Obi's face was serious,
composed.
"More philosophy?"
"Yes. Have you read it?"
"Long ago."
"It's confusing. But interesting," Obi's voice was quiet, his
words, as always, low, clipped smooth, precise and careful.
"We should talk about your performance today."
Obi closed the book, marking his place with a strip of leather.
"Yes Master?"
"You were right. It will continue to be an effective tactic."
Obi didn't reply, and Qui continued, choosing his own words
carefully, not wanting to be misunderstood. "What made you
choose it?"
"Desperation? I was losing again."
"You always lose. And you have never before..."
"Kissed you?"
"Yes," he answered, glad not to have to say it, surprised at
how easily Obi had said it. The grin reappeared and Qui was
surprised to find that reassuring. Without it, Obi had looked
too intense, naked, perhaps as lost as he now felt.
"Not many people have kissed you, have they?" the way Obi asked
it, he might have been inquiring about anything at all.
"Not in battle. No," he answered, not giving away any more than
was necessary. "And you have not really answered my
question. Desperation does not explain your choice of tactics.
You have, surely, been desperate before."
"Oh. Well..." Obi's brows drew close, the smile fading, then
returning, "I suppose it seemed like the right thing to do at
the time."
"You trusted your instincts, in other words?" he asked, a bit
disbelieving at Obi's easy impertinence. He had taught him,
trained him, but Obi was not at all a Jedi made in his own
image. He still did not understand the man at all, it appeared.
"Instincts... desires... I suppose you might say it was the
Force that led me."
"I would not say that, no."
"Well, I would. And did," Obi answered, shrugging and
opening his book again. Sitting on the floor, cross-legged, he
seemed suddenly alien, and Qui realized he'd never looked at
him before, like this, as another man sharing his life, his
personal space, but not sharing everything. Holding back of
himself, as a man did. He had never given much thought to Obi's
life aside from his studies, nor to his apprentice's desires
beyond that of being a Jedi Knight. Everything else was what
Obi pursued in his own time, all of it a distraction he did not
find it necessary to deal with except when it interfered with
his own plans, his own tutelage. And here it was, irrefutable
proof that Obi was as headstrong as he himself was, if in a
different way. Challenging him quite subtly by turning away
from him, signaling that the conversation was at an end, as far
as he was concerned, and the lesson, if there was one --and Qui
himself was unsure there was-- was over.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, sometimes I do not know what to do with you,"
the admission, out of his mouth before he could fully consider
whether he should say it, was met with silence, unbroken
until Obi looked up, his grin wry and nearly a frown.
"I could make a suggestion, if one is welcome, Master."
"Your suggestions are always welcome, Padawan," he lied. It was
a matter policy, not preference, that he let his student guide
his own course of study.
"Well, then," Obi got to his feet, crossing to the doorway
where Qui had been standing, not even realizing that he had
stopped there, as if he was not sure he was welcome here, in
his own rooms, with his Padawan occupying the space he had
entered and seeming to control it, to claim it as his own.
Obi stopped directly before him, tipping his head up to look at
him, his expression curious, his eyes defiant, the suggestion
not forthcoming.
"Well then? If you have something to say?"
The hand that raised and touched his face was a surprise, but
he didn't pull away.
"This is easier, Qui-Gon Jinn, when you are lying down. You're
a bit... tall."
"More than a bit," he corrected.
"Yes," Obi admitted, and his hand went to Qui's neck, forcing
him with a gentle pressure to lean forward, to close the
distance between them. And this time, Obi allowed him the
illusion that he himself was leading this, this kiss, Obi's
mouth passive beneath his own, then opening under his pressure,
under his guidance, only then the sharp-witted tongue,
surprisingly warm and soft, stroking across his own lips.
The kiss lasted only a few moments, and it was Obi who pulled
away first, destroying the illusion that the Master was in
control. "I saw Yoda today."
Obi's words meant nothing to him at first, seeming to come out
of a different conversation, at odds with the humming in his
blood, the warmth flowing through him as he looked down at
Obi's face, so familiar, handsome and familiar, the square jaw,
the fair hair, the blue eyes that so often watched him. "Did
you?"
"Yes. I wanted to be sure that I broke no rules on this path."
"You might have asked me."
"I might have. But I did not." Again, Obi's dismissal,
impertinent.
Irritation at that, not so easily set aside despite the desire,
the twin tensions building within him, remained unresolved for
the moment. He put a hand under Obi's chin, forcing it upward,
although Obi made no move to look away. "You were about to make
a suggestion."
"Oh. Right. Yes. I was going to suggest that we have a rematch
tomorrow."
"Suggestion noted. Tomorrow, then. But it is late now. We
should sleep."
"Not very late," Obi protested, but Qui watched as he unbelted
his robe, pulling the fabric from his shoulders, draping it
across the cushion so that it covered the tract on jealousy.
His Padawan stood naked before him, not an unusual occurrence,
but unusual in the stance, so much like Obi's stance before a
fight, feet spread, body taut in readiness yet the strong limbs
loose and deceptively relaxed. Obi wore only that small smile
and made no move toward his own room, his own bed, nor did he
move closer.
"You are treading on dangerous ground, Ben."
"But treading lightly, as always Qui."
"Your sarcasm is unappreciated. Leave me. I have work to do."
Obi still did not move.
"And if you will not leave, at the very least stop grinning at
me."
"Was I grinning?"
"You're always grinning. Fools grin so easily," the words
snapped out from him, his composure, he realized, utterly gone.
He should leave his apprentice before he said more. But,
feeling outward, looking inward to himself, there was no
darkness, no danger. Nor any real anger. The tension was
desire, lust, and it was tempered. Always tempered.
"You are the only person, Master, who has ever complained about
my happiness."
"Happiness?" Was that what this was? Was Obi merely happy? He
shook his head suddenly, as if to clear it, and realized that
he had known contentment, but happiness? Was this what it
looked like? And how had he failed to recognize happiness in
another, in his student. In this man who stood before him,
naked and still smiling. "Why?" he meant why are you happy, but
it occurred to him that it might as well be a general question.
Why are you as you are? Who are you?
"Hmm..." Obi seemed to consider this, careful as always with
his words, "I think because you love me. And when you glare at
me like that, so stern and unforgiving, you are so much more
beautiful than anyone else I've ever seen. You are beautiful,
you know, if a bit too tall. Besides, the Force is... amusing,
if you look at it from certain angles. One day, I think I might
write a book about it, if the Council will publish it."
"What will it say?"
"It will be about how the Force is a desire unlike any others,
offering fulfillment where there is none for mere hunger, or
bodily lust. That the Force is love. Yes. I think that is what
I will say, one day," Obi's words were a low hushed whisper.
"Heretical philosophy. And unscientific as well."
"Unconventional, but hardly heretical," Obi was confident, his
tone at once mocking Qui and the Council.
"The two are often the same in the Council's eyes."
"As are we, then."
"Well-matched," he agreed; they were that. The Council did hold
him responsible for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Perhaps no such master and
apprentice had ever been as well-suited to each other, as
balanced. They might even become friends, now that Obi was no
longer a boy. But he had not been a boy for some time, and Qui
admitted to himself that he had been afraid of this as he had
been of little else in his long life. To be friends with one
who both respected and questioned him at every turn. To be
loved by one who called him Master now as if to remind him who
he was when he was too prone to forgetting in the face of his
own desire. To become allies, when Obi became a full Knight.
And, more alarming still, to be lovers with an imp like this.
The Council would likely lock them both away if they could but
sense the threat that he could, the tremendous power, all good,
but not easily controlled.
"May I make another suggestion?"
Qui nodded, for the moment, without words in the face of his
insights, and his desire.
"I would like to fuck you, Qui, and I would very much like to
see you smile."
"Any preference about the order in which those events should
occur?" he returned, already, despite himself, smiling.
"I leave that for destiny to decide."
"As you leave little else," he answered, acknowledging Obi's
manipulation of him so far tonight, and for how long? For a
long time, he was now sure. For as long as Obi had been a man
of his own mind, and he had failed to notice.
Obi smiled at that, this smile a new one. The same smile he had
imagined went with the soft moans he had heard last night, had
heard so often, had wanted to see offered to him only.
And thankfully, Obi had no other suggestions for the moment,
using only his hands to remove what clothing Qui was too slow
to remove himself. Then the callused hands were upon him, the
mouth following, and he felt his body give way under Obi's
uncertain, tentative touches. Gathering himself together again
before they could end up on the floor, he led them to his bed,
pushing Obi down onto it, finding it easier to instruct by
example here. Obi, far more compliant than he was elsewhere,
offered no impudent challenges, only that soft smile that he
kissed away.
He was, at first, surprised at his own desire. It had not
always been present. For a time, Obi had been a child, and then
adolescent, entering into his mind only as a student, as a
problem or a treasure, depending on his mood that day and Obi's
often unpredictable responses. But now, this was a new man to
him, a challenge and yet familiar, his as no one else had ever
been his before. A match to his own strengths, his own wit.
And, he admitted, tasting the soft skin, sucking the cock which
rose to his touches, he saw the beauty here, the reason so many
had, of late, looked longingly at his young apprentice when he
had looked at him with only annoyance, or indulgence.
Impatient, finally, he rolled onto his belly and maneuvered Obi
to lie on top of him, positioning him between his legs, hard
cock pressed against him eagerly. He reached over to the table
for the oil there, handing it to Obi.
"Now, Ben."
There was a pause as Obi coated himself with the oil, as slick
fingers came to rest on his lower back. "Hmm. You should call
me Ben always. I like very much the way it sounds when you say
it. I like the way you sound now, almost as if you were angry
with me. But you're not."
"I may become angry if you play with me, Ben. Now shut
up and fuck me."
"Yes Master." But his tone was mocking, and yet Qui could
hardly argue when Ben complied, entering him slowly and holding
still, his control commendable for one so young.
"Now."
"Now and always, Qui."
The strokes into him brought a searing pleasure, the charge
between them balanced and flowing back and forth, the bond
between them growing without effort or intent, Qui not able to
control it now, lost to this lesser force, passion. And Ben,
however knowing, was too unskilled to control anything beyond
his own body at this point. Ben trembled against him,
sweat-slicked body warm and fitting close to him for a few
moments, thrusting then stilling himself with the effort of not
coming, until finally Qui felt the white heat of culmination,
and thrust backwards, coming, not at all quietly, the pulses
inside him matching his own, beat for beat.
Afterwards, he lay beside his friend, now certainly that, and
wondered whether he could resume being his teacher. But perhaps
that was over now, Obi's apprenticeship now a matter of
friendship and example, watching him and learning at his side.
Yes, he had been doing that for some time now. Had done that
tonight.
"Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi's voice was soft in his ear.
"Please don't tell me you have another suggestion to
make?" he responded, tired and sated and nearly asleep.
"No. Only a question."
"Ask, then, that we may sleep."
"Oh." Obi sounded subdued and Qui rolled over to see him,
seeing the grin was gone, Obi's face a study in serious
contemplation.
"What is it? Are you unhappy now?"
"No. Only I thought, as you said I should bring questions to
you before asking the Council..."
"Ask, your question so I may sleep," he said with false
gruffness, already fighting sleep and not willing to fight it
much longer, but sated and pleased with the soft low tones of
Obi's voice, the welcome strength of his body, spent for the
moment but still restless with energy even as his own was
nearly numb with exhaustion.
"I have noticed, my Master, that very few on the Council ever
smile." One blunt finger came up and traced over his lips, the
smile on Obi's face matching the one on his own.
"Ben, you might have noticed that I am not on the
Council. And that no one else on the Council shares your..." he
might have, but did not, say "your body" although at the moment
it was that which brought a smile to his own face, "...sense of
humor. And I should like to keep it that way."
"Oh. Good, then." Obi's sigh was matched by his body which
moved again, then settled and pressed against him, finding a
new place easily by his side, one arm and leg draped over him,
possessively. Qui could not find it within himself to mind the
gesture, nor did his own smile leave him again, even with Obi's
next words, contrived as they were to annoy him. "I had thought
that perhaps Jedi Knights were not supposed to smile."
"Oh, is that what you thought?" he asked, sincerely
doubting it. Although Obi had a point. Yoda had never, to his
knowledge, smiled. And Mace Windu had a face like a dark stone
mask.
Ben nodded, the grin still there, the blue eyes challenging,
but warm.
He smiled back, drawing Ben's warm body closer to his own. "And
even if it was a Council rule that we should not be happy,
which, by the way, it is not, when, young Ben Kenobi,
have I ever been known to do what I am supposed to do?"
"Never, to my knowledge, Master."
"Ah... to your knowledge," he repeated it to emphasize the
limits of that knowledge. It would not do for Ben to presume he
knew all. But Ben did not presume that, was even now watching
him carefully, learning, taking in everything around him. "Know
then that I make it a point to teach by example. So watch and
learn, Padawan, my love, as your Master goes to sleep. We have
much to do tomorrow if you are to find time to write that book
of yours. I should like to read it someday."
He meant it quite seriously, but Obi laughed and shut his eyes.
For a while then, they lay in darkness, neither of them
sleeping. And then Obi began to fill the silence with more
whispered suggestions about what they might do tomorrow and the
day after, enough for years hence, most of his suggestions not
likely to become part of his lesson plans, some of which would
require he cancel meetings with various council members. And
this he would do, putting his Padawan first, as always.
But finally the suggestions trailed off, replaced by soft even
breathing, Ben not yet asleep, but at last, hopefully, tired.
And he let himself sleep, then, trusting that Ben would follow
him there as he did everywhere else, as he had followed him
this night. Though he now understood Ben's knowing grins to be
more than simple expressions of happiness. The joke was, as he
had long suspected, on him after all, Ben having seen a clearer
vision of the future than even he had. Yes, the Force was
strong in Ben Kenobi.
All as it should be.
The Force, as Ben had with no small insight noted, finally led
them all, fulfilling all, even in-- especially in-- matters of
love.
The End.
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