Warning: This is my first attempt at either Q/O or slash. You
have been warned.
Spoilers: One, on the back of my Grand Prix.
Summary: A fractured fairy tale, in which a certain stalwart
Jedi Knight searches for his true Padawan. Ahhhh...
Feedback: Well, sure. Otherwise, I'd just sit around and read
this to myself.
Once upon a time, there was a tall, strong, brave and very
serene Jedi Knight with the most fabulous mane of silver-brown
hair. All the young initiates in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant
wanted to be his apprentice, but Qui-Gon Jinn--for that was the
Jedi Knight's name, and a fine, dignified, manly name it
was--wanted an apprentice who was a true padawan. So he
searched all of Coruscant, several nearby planets, a couple of
reputable slaver dealerships, and Republic hotspots the sector
over to find one. Unfortunately, he was never able to locate a
suitable padawan. Oh, sure, there were plenty of apprentices to
be found, but Qui-Gon simply could not tell if they were true
padawans or not.
One evening, while a particularly fierce rainstorm raged
outside, Qui-Gon was relaxing in his quarters on Coruscant
after another exhausting mission to protect the Jedi trademark
in toy merchandising (the Tickle-Me Yoda having netted the
Council sufficient revenue to re-landscape the meditation
garden and add a putt-putt golf course). Suddenly, he felt a
stirring in the Force and heard a knock at his door. He opened
the door and outside stood a young man of eighteen or so,
soaked to the skin by the driving, pulsing, throbbing rain. He
sported a ridiculous haircut and unflattering clothes--the
hallmarks of true padawans everywhere--and Qui-Gon's heart
leapt into his throat. Could it be? Was it he? But how, oh how,
could he really be sure that this young man was a true padawan?
He was handsome enough, with his light reddish-brown hair and
changeable gray eyes. And he was fit enough, with his slender,
strong body and graceful, sensual carriage. But he was awfully
short for a Jedi Knight.
"Heard that I did." The Force-projected voice of his former
master sounded in his mind, but Qui-Gon ignored it, focusing
instead on the shivering young man standing before him. Dipping
his head, the young man gave him the most provocative and
challenging, yet curiously disingenuous, look, which threatened
to send Qui-Gon's tightly-bound, but nevertheless silky,
luxurious, and infinitely grippable hair leaping theatrically
from its clasp. It was not the sort of look a
prospective master expected from a true padawan.
Still, the young man appealed to something--oh baby, did
he appeal to something--that Qui-Gon preferred not to examine
too closely, and so, like an abandoned pup or some pathetic,
homeless alien creature whose name had entirely too many
vowels, Qui-Gon gathered the young man up in his arms and
carried him inside, where the outwardly serene Jedi Knight
quickly stripped the young man down to his briefs, briskly
towel-dried him off, generously slathered him with Jedi No. 5
lotion, and, only by the most judicious use of the Force, kept
the drool from running down his own chin. After wrapping
Obi-Wan Kenobi--for that was the young man's name, and a
lovely, lyrical, come-hither name it was--in a soft blanket,
which slipped artfully to reveal one compactly-muscled,
alabaster shoulder, and ensconcing him in a large comfy chair
by the fireplace, Qui-Gon fixed Obi-Wan a cup of hot tea and
pondered whether or not he was, indeed, a true padawan.
Obi-Wan soon drifted off to sleep in the chair, and Qui-Gon
decided to go and ask his beloved former Master and respected
Jedi sage, Yoda, for advice on the matter.
"He certainly looks like a padawan, Master Yoda, but how can I
be sure that he's a true padawan?"
Yoda thought for a moment and then inquired, "Ask him did you,
whether true padawan or not he is?"
Qui-Gon looked slightly startled, and then he blushed. "Er, no,
Master. That didn't occur to me. I was, um, distracted."
Yoda sighed and shook his head. "Always an obtuse student you
were. In you I sense much...well, never mind what in you I
sense. However, a possible solution to your dilemma, I have."
Qui-Gon leaned forward expectantly, his dark blue eyes intense,
his breath shallow, his wondrous silver-brown hair practically
standing on end. Yoda frowned and rapped Qui-Gon's left shin
sharply with his walking stick. Qui-Gon yelped and sat back
quickly, rubbing his leg and exclaiming petulantly, "What was
that for?"
"Crowding me you were, you big galoot. Besides, your Jedi
Master I am. No excuse I need." The diminutive Jedi settled
himself more comfortably and announced, with a forward flick of
his ears, "This you must do. To your quarters return and pile
twenty narrow mattresses, suitable for spooning during enforced
proximity, and twenty rough quilts, amenable to huddling under
for warmth, on top of an Alderaanian pea. On this lay Obi-Wan.
Strike that. On this place Obi-Wan. In the morning
whether he is a true padawan or not we will know."
So Qui-Gon returned to his quarters, where Obi-Wan still slept
soundly by the fire, the blanket having slipped further to
expose a second comely shoulder and a rosy nipple. Obi-Wan
murmurred and shifted in his sleep, his face sweet and
innocent, his long eyelashes making soft shadows under his
eyes. Qui-Gon stared for a long, long, long moment,
then, adjusting his trousers and promising himself an extended,
intensive, positively mind-blowing...meditation session later
on, he quietly went about piling twenty mattresses and twenty
quilts on top of a Alderaanian pea in the guest room. Then,
with a skill that would have undoubtedly made the younger man
twitch with considerable erotic anticipation, had he been
conscious, Qui-Gon used the Force to levitate the sleeping
Obi-Wan to the top of the pile of mattresses and quilts.
The next morning, Qui-Gon waited anxiously with his former
Master in the front room of his quarters. Yoda had just whacked
his shin and admonished, "There is no passion; there is only
serenity" for the third time, when Obi-Wan entered the room,
the soft blanket draped haphazardly around his shoulders, a
grumpy, drowsy look on his pretty face. Yoda motioned the young
man over closer to the two Jedi Knights.
"Sleep well did you, young Kenobi?" Yoda asked.
"No, Master Yoda. I slept very badly," Obi-Wan replied, rubbing
his sleepy eyes and yawning. "My bed was hard and lumpy and
uncomfortable. Even worse, there was no one to cuddle me and
rub my tummy and nuzzle my neck and suck my earlobe."
Qui-Gon drew in a sharp breath, and two strands of hair sprung
spontaneously from the confines of his hairclasp. He would have
undoubtedly suffered another lick from Yoda's staff, but for
the fortunate fact that he was living in the moment and deftly
swung his legs out of arm's reach of the tiny Jedi Master.
Yoda frowned and sent Qui-Gon a mental image of Jedi latrine
duty, then turned his attention back to the adorably mussed
young man in front of him. "Perceive, do I, that a true Padawan
you are. Only a true Padawan the Force would have felt
emanating from an Alderaanian pea under twenty mattresses and
twenty quilts. As for the rest of it...my problem that is not."
So Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan as his padawan, and while spooning
together in enforced proximity on each of the twenty mattresses
and huddling together for warmth under each of the twenty
quilts, they missed the transport to Naboo and lived happily
ever after.
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