Archive: yes to Master_Apprentice; all others please ask
Categories: First-time, Romance, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Summary: Where did Obi-Wan learn that sexy walk?
Feedback: yes, early and often
Author's Note: I started this story inspired by the 'let's
dress up the guys' posts on the MA-list. Originally I intended
to produce a one-part (two, max) PWP based on this premise.
Alas for smutty intentions, a plot reared its head, and it
rather got away from me. In this story, Obi-Wan is any age that
makes the story work for you; I noticed on re-reading this that
he comes across somewhat youngish in certain scenes, but I
attribute that to a sheltered upbringing in the Temple.
Boilerplate: The characters belong to George. I wasn't planning
to keep them. Well, if I thought I could get away with it,
but... Don't ask, don't tell.
"Your boy is drawing quite a lot of attention, Your Grace," the
Captain mentioned to his noble guest. Both men turned to watch
the boy in question, and it was certainly true that theirs
weren't the only eyes following his progress through the
crowded salon.
From the feet clad in jewel-strapped sandals, to the
form-revealing white leggings that ended at mid-calf, to the
black full-sleeved blouse that displayed more than it concealed
of the finely muscled chest, adorned with a nipple-ring... the
boy was a walking inducement to sin. But it was the face, with
strong arrogant jaw, and large eyes made exotic by the use of a
strategic amount of kohl, and the feline stride as the young
man approached the buffet table, that caused the most
devastation among the glittering and wealthy travellers
convened in the First Class dining room of the Pleasure Cruiser
St'e-Ros.
The two watched as the beautiful young man was approached and
addressed by a slightly older man, one of the lords of Carazon,
by his dress. Tried not to laugh when the Lord took his
departure, and the young man went back to his task of filling a
plate at the buffet, his entire bearing broadcasting to all
observers the unmistakable message: You Can't Afford To Fuck
Me.
"I was certainly lucky to be able to snap up his first
contract," the elegant Duke of g'Voir agreed. "If his
availability had been more widely advertised, I'm fairly sure I
would have had quite a bidding war on my hands."
Master, the Duke heard in his mind, You are enjoying
this entirely too much. The Pleasure Boy across the room
had his back to him, but said back positively radiated
displeasure.
Just inhabiting the character, Padawan, and he inserted
a mental chuckle into his thoughts. You wouldn't believe the
number of compliments I'm receiving on my exquisite taste.
The Captain and the Duke were reclining on couchs set side by
side, on the Captain's dias. On this trip, only the Duke and
two other nobles had been considered sufficiently grand to be
invited to dine on the Captain's dias, and the others had
already made their excuses to the Captain to pursue their
gaming addiction at the card tables.
The striking young man returned to his place between the two
couches and sat on the floor, holding his plate filled with
buffet items at shoulder height so that the Duke could pick
through the offerings.
"What's this?" The Duke held up a purple and red vegetable
stalk. "You know I don't like Pak'na spears"
"They're for me," the boy said, taking the offending spear out
of his Master's hand. "I love them." He put the tip of the
vegetable in his mouth and swirled it around, sucking the sauce
off and making a delightful moaning sound.
Obi-Wan, his Master chided. You're showing off.
Obi-Wan bit down hard on the spear, enjoying his Master's wince
as he chewed the crunchy treat. "They're really good - your
cook is a wonder," he said to the Captain. "Most people cook
them too long, and then don't use enough sauce." He licked his
fingers, ignoring the salivating around him.
The Captain shook his dazed head to clear it and said, "I'll
convey your compliments to him."
"Will you need me tonight, Master?" the young man looked up at
the Duke through his artfully colored eyelashes. "Or should I
look for a berth with the crew?"
The Duke had been sampling a meatcube, and had to swallow
before replying. "Little slut," he said, rather dotingly, the
Captain thought. "You'll share my bed as usual. You know I find
space-travel chilling." He turned to the Captain. "You may wish
to warn your crew that I don't take kindly to any egalitarian
nonsense of sharing. The last time we travelled commercial, I
had to pay the line some exorbitant sum to replace the two
crewmen who thought they could borrow my personal property."
"I'm a Contract Employee," the young man said indignantly.
"Yes, and I hold the contract for your time. ALL your time.
Remember that." The Duke looked sternly at his mutinous charge.
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said contritely, forming a perfect pout
and leaning his head over to rest his cheek on his Master's
thigh.
Stroking the sleek copper hair so near to hand, the Duke asked,
"What did the Carazon lordling say to you, little one?"
"Wanted to know when my current contract expired," Obi-Wan
murmured sleepily; the first day out of port was always a long
one on a pleasure cruiser. "Only the eighth inquiry I've had
since we boarded."
"And what did you tell him?" The Duke prodded.
"What I always tell them - that they can inquire as to my
contract status through the Union." He sat up and stretched his
shoulders. "I feel like I should ask the Captain here to
include that in the morning announcements ... 'you may discover
the contract status of the Duke of g'Voir's Pleasure Boy by
inquiring at the offices of the Independent Pleasure Workers'
Union'. Save me having to repeat myself."
The Captain laughed, then said, "You're Union, then. I would
have thought you'd be Guild."
The Duke lifted a forestalling hand. "Oh, don't get him
started, Captain. I've already heard many times the lengthy
list of reasons why the Union is a much better option for a
young person entering the pleasure field than the Guild. Ask
him sometime when I'm otherwise occupied."
The Captain's eyes glittered. "I will certainly avail myself of
your so kind permission, Your Grace."
Uh-oh, Qui-Gon sent to his apprentice. Forgive me,
Padawan. I'm very much afraid I've left you open to some
lovelorn yearnings.
You will get yours someday, Master, the sleepy answer
came back. "I promise you that.
Qui-Gon Jinn threw down the briefing book, rattling the glasses
on the stone table in the garden, and glared at his friend.
"Absolutely NOT!", he stated.
Mace Windu sighed, and poured wine into two glasses. "Sit down,
Qui-Gon; your pacing is making me nervous."
Qui-Gon subsided and took the glass Windu was holding out to
him with a nod of thanks. "What ever happened to good
old-fashioned investigations? This fad for undercover
operations and skullduggery is absurd - you should have
outgrown this adolescent penchance for spy games."
Windu sighed. "It was good old-fashioned investigations that
got three of our best operatives killed. As well as turned up
the only clues we've had to follow so far. Now that suspicion
points rather strongly to someone at the Old Imperial Line, we
need to get some proof."
The two were talking about the on-going investigation into the
recent disappearances in the pleasure field. A few of the more
than thirty known missing had been found much later dead, with
signs of extreme abuse on their bodies. Both the Pleasure
Givers Guild and the Independent Pleasure Workers Union had
petitioned the Senate to do something about this terror against
their profession, and the Senate had asked the Jedi, as
Guardians of Peace and Justice, to investigate.
"Look, everything in this investigation is coming together,"
Windu set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "We
finally have some people inside the line, and have managed to
get sensors and surveillance gear inplanted in one of the
cruisers. All we need now is someone to take a cruise, and try
to smoke out the slavers." The current theory was that the
missing pleasure workers were being sold into slavery outside
the Republic.
"So you need to stake out MY Padawan as bait?" Qui-Gon scowled.
"This is NOT a good idea."
"How else?" Mace wanted to know.
"I'm not questioning the need for planting bait," Qui-Gon
finally admitted. "I just question why you need to use my
apprentice."
"We sent the vitae and vids of the entire padawan class to both
the Guild and the Union. They returned us a list of of those
padawans who might possibly be accepted for admittance into
their schools. Qui-Gon, it was a really, really short list."
"Pretty sad state of affairs when it's harder to get into the
Pleasure Academy than the Jedi Academy," Qui-Gon grumbled.
"They select for different criteria," Mace said mildly. "I was
rather surprised that we had any qualified candidates."
The two men looked out across the garden to the greensward
where Obi-Wan and his friend s'Lantha were leading the
four-year-olds through the first 'lightsaber' drills, each
toddler frowning in concentration as they wielded their sticks.
"Did s'Lantha make the cut?" Qui-Gon asked curiously. "He's
certainly attractive enough." The two padawans were widely
known among the younger knights as the Luscious Two, and
Qui-Gon and s'Lantha's master Targo had their hands full
keeping their charges out of the path of these importunate
swain.
"Oh, yes... he was on the short list." Mace smiled as he
observed the two beautiful boys laughing as the drill dissolved
into a padawan versus toddler melee; the padawans being vastly
outnumbered soon disappeared under the toddler swarm.
"Well, then - why don't Targo and he take this mission?"
Qui-Gon asked.
"Oh. Dear... This is awkward... Well." Windu was at a momentary
loss for words, which puzzled his friend. "Don't get me wrong,
Targo is a good man, a great Jedi and a wonderful teacher,
but... he doesn't look like someone rich and high-born
enough to have a Pleasure Boy."
Qui-Gon was forced to consider the justice of Windu's words -
Targo, with a broad, amiable face and easy-going manner, would
more typically be cast in the role of someone who sold things
by the yard.
"And you're saying that I do?" Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow.
"Exactly," Mace laughed. "Targo couldn't give me that haughty
look if his life depended on it - you just look like a Duke."
"You're typecasting, Mace... I've met a lot of noblemen who
look like butchers."
"I know, but the people we're dealing with do judge people by
their looks. So we're playing by their rules, up to a point."
Mace looked hopefully at his friend.
"Targo would find the mission a lot easier on him than I
would," Qui-Gon insisted. As he took note of his friend's
puzzled expression he went on, "He's newly bonded to a pretty
young knight; they're expecting their first."
"And this is relevant how?" Mace asked.
"Just that he might not find it as easy as I would to... get
lost in the role," Qui-Gon voice sank.
Mace Windu looked shocked, which he tried to cover up by
pouring out more wine. He then rather spoiled the effect by
immediately gulping his glass down. "Qui-Gon?" he finally
queried.
"Oh, stop being so sensitive," Qui-Gon growled. "What I'm
trying to say is that if I am required to play the part of the
doting new contract holder of my luscious little apprentice, it
may very well be ME who winds up enslaved. Not exactly a good
example for the other padawans."
"Oh dear." Mace shook his head. "I had no idea. You certainly
hide it well."
"Please, Mace," Qui-Gon looked imploringly at him. "Please find
someone else for this one."
Windu just shook his head. "There is no one else, old friend.
Someone is kidnapping youngsters whose sole aim is to give
pleasure, and selling them to people whose sole desire is to
give pain. We've got to do something."
Qui-Gon picked up the briefing book, slapped it against his
palm, then stood up. "Padawan," he called, pitched to carry
over all the giggles floating up from the green.
"Yes, Master?" and Qui-Gon smiled to see a tousled head of red
hair emerge from the huddle.
"Mission briefing in ten minutes... you may wish to comb your
hair." And Qui-Gon turned back towards the Temple.
"You'll have backup," Mace assured him, as he joined Qui-Gon on
the walkway. "Both on the ship and trailing it. We've got
people everywhere on this one."
"Will you have 'people' in our bedroom?" Qui-Gon asked
curiously, and was pleased to see he had finally caught Mace
without a ready answer.
The Duke of g'Voir was reclining on the large bed in the
first-class stateroom his rank commanded, watching his pleasure
boy through sleepy eyes, as the boy unpacked and put away their
clothes. When they had first boarded and been shown to their
cabin, they had quickly located the force-signature of
surveillance gear. Given that the Jedi unit had only been able
to access public facilities and crew areas to install their own
gear, it followed that these were put in place by employees of
the cruise-line.
Do you suppose they're watching all the time, Master,
Obi-Wan sent rather nervously. I mean, how far are we going
to have to take the role-playing?
I don't know, Obi-Wan, his Master replied. Tonight,
at least, we can both be exhausted, I think. And of course if
your new master neglects your physical needs, that certainly
gives you an excuse to go slumming in the engine room, since
we've already established your predilection for low
company.
And how much role-playing will be required among the
swabbies, then? Obi-Wan thought indignantly. I think YOU
ought to be the rough-trader. It was your idea...
"Put those things away and come to bed," Qui-Gon spoke aloud.
"I'm cold."
Usually a man of the Duke's station would have travelled with
at least a valet to tend to his clothes, but the travel agent
cutting the tickets was not surprised that the Duke did not
bring any other servants, not when he saw the date on the
Pleasure Boy's contract. They saw a lot of these new-contracts
trippers - the master leaving behind his normal entourage to
impress upon the new hire his place in the household by having
him run all his errands and do his valetting, and also being
able to indulge his new companion with more tenderness and
gifts than he would be likely to do under the jealous eyes of
his other servants.
Obi-Wan closed the wardrobe doors a little more emphatically
than required, and turned around to look at his master, a
nightshirt hanging from one finger.
"Huh-uh," Qui-Gon shook his head. "Skin." We're supposed to
be new-contracts, remember.
Obi-Wan shot him an evil look as he removed his shirt very,
very slowly. Darting another glance at the bed, he was amused
to see that he had his Master's undivided attention. Throwing
his shirt over the back of a chair, he untied the fastenings of
his trousers, before sitting on the edge of the bed and drawing
one finger down his master's chest.
"Will you be needing ... anything?" he whispered.
"Body-heat. Now." the Duke demanded, pulling at the waistband
of Obi-Wan's pants. Obi-Wan stood up to slide his pants down
over his hips, and was startled to hear a low growl coming from
Qui-Gon. Was he acting? Because if he was, he was damned good.
This is so embarrassing, he sent to his master, as he
slid into bed beside him.
It's just me, Padawan, Qui-Gon sent back, while wrapping
his apprentice in his arms and pulling his head onto his chest.
Just your tired old master, teasing his wicked
apprentice.
Obi-Wan was a little surprised to discover just how good it
felt to be totally enclosed in his Master's arms. "Mmmm."
This is nice. He ran his hand over his master's chest
and felt him practically purring.
Very, very nice Qui-Gon agreed, as his hands surveyed
his padawan's back. Your skin is so silky and warm...
His lips were making their own survey, over Obi-Wan's eyebrow
and temple. "So sweet," he sighed. "You are so sweet..."
Obi-Wan's hand closed over Qui-Gon's bicep, the one with the
armlet. I love that, he sent, as his eyes closed and his
breathing deepened.
Qui-Gon remained awake for some time after Obi-Wan had drifted
off, enjoying the sensation of having armfuls of naked padawan
pressed up against him. This mission was definitely going to be
much harder than he had anticipated, in more ways than one.
Obi-Wan had agreed to the mission much more readily than
Qui-Gon had, still young enough to enjoy play-acting. But then,
Qui-Gon thought, he probably wasn't spending his nights
dreaming of his master, as his master was dreaming of his
apprentice. He seemed to enjoy being fitted out with a false
identity, and studied his new background assiduously, watching
tapes of Pleasure Boys in motion and learned quickly to copy
that panther prowl that drove both men and women mad.
Their shared quarters were filled with whoops of laughter when
his new wardrobe was delivered, and he teased his Master
mercilessly by slinking through the common room in the role of
a very expensive pleasure-pet.
Qui-Gon didn't find his own noble wardrobe nearly as amusing as
Obi-Wan had his, although Obi-Wan seemed to think the thick,
rich brocades were just the thing, and petted Qui-Gon's chest
admiringly when he found his master trying out the more formal
garments. "Oh, Master," he breathed, "It's YOU!" Qui-Gon gave
him a dirty look, but Obi-Wan wasn't deterred. "You never told
me about your background - do you come from nobility for real?
Because you sure look it."
"Nobility doesn't come from birth, but from character,
Obi-Wan," his Master said reprovingly. "You know that by now."
"Yeah, but still..." Obi-Wan stopped stroking the rich fabric,
to Qui-Gon's guilty regret.
So Qui-Gon was surprised to discover an unhappy Obi-Wan,
shortly before they were to leave to take on their new roles,
mourning the loss of his padawan braid.
He'd been going to complain about the tightness around the
sleeves of his own noble blouses, the most recent offending
example of which he was carrying for emphasis, when he walked
into the shared freshing facilities. And found Obi-Wan sitting
at the seat before the mirror, with his braid in his lap and
unshed tears in his eyes.
"Obi-Wan?" he asked gently.
Obi-Wan met his eyes in the mirror. "I know it's silly. It just
makes me sad."
Qui-Gon sat beside him on the bench, as Obi-Wan scooted to make
room for him. "It makes you look like you've just been
knighted, that's all."
"I was really looking forward to giving it to you on my
knighting day," the apprentice said dolefully, and two tears
did break loose to begin the journey down his face.
"Give it to me now," Qui-Gon suggested, his voice soft and low.
"Master, would you accept this sign of our years..." Obi-Wan
began the traditional words before he couldn't speak further.
"I would be honored, Knight Kenobi," Qui-Gon said, then brought
the length of hair to his lips before fastening the ends
together to make a loop. This he slipped on his arm, and pushed
above his elbow to function as a arm-ring.
"You look like a barbarian king," Obi-Wan smiled and stroked
Qui-Gon's arm. "Thank you for understanding, and not...
laughing." He was touched by his Master's extravagant gesture;
Masters usually just carried their padawans' braids during the
ceremony and then did who knows what with them, although some
displayed them in their offices if they were particularly proud
of their padawans. He didn't know of any who actually wore
them.
Qui-Gon encircled Obi-Wan with his arm, pulling his Padawan
close to him. "Padawan...," he began, then stopped to consider
his words. "Obi-Wan, this mission isn't going to be pleasant.
I'm going to have to treat you in ways that would get a Jedi
Master tossed out of the Temple on his hindquarters if he
treated his apprentice that way. I want to make sure that you
understand that I hold you in the highest regard... have the
utmost respect for you as a man and as a Jedi."
"Of course, Master," Obi-Wan mumbled into Qui-Gon's chest. "I
know we're just role playing. I know I'll probably get outraged
at some of what a pleasure-worker has to deal with. But I'll
know you're just acting."
Qui-Gon stroked his apprentice's shorn hair. "Remember, we have
to assume we're being watched by the slavers at all times; all
verbal communication will have to be in character. We can use
thoughts, but they mustn't interfere with our acting."
"Master, will we have to..." Obi-Wan ground to a halt.
"Whatever we have to do to keep up pretenses, Padawan, remember
- it's not us, it's just our bodies," Qui-Gon told him. Hoping
and praying that it was so.
Qui-Gon Jinn was having one of his favorite dreams; one of the
dreams that make waking so difficult, and sleep so seductive.
His apprentice was naked in his bed, and in his arms, and he
was gently kissing him.
Master? The sleepy thought intruded and he awoke with a
start. To discover that his apprentice WAS naked in his bed,
and in his arms. And indeed, he was kissing him. The room was
only lit by the safety glows around the doors, but that was
enough light to see the glitter of his padawan's startled eyes,
an inch away from his.
Did I say anything? Qui-Gon sent, while pressing another
gentle, barely-there kiss onto Obi-Wan's parted lips for the
benefit of any watchers.
No... just... moaned a little, his apprentice replied,
while answering the gentle pressure just a tiny bit.
Qui-Gon radiated relief along their link. It would certainly
have been unfortunate if I'd called you Padawan, he sent.
You were dreaming of me? His Padawan's thought was
surprised.
Of course I was dreaming of you, - amused - You're
naked in my bed; who else would I be dreaming of? One of
the advantages of using their training bond to speak, Qui-Gon
noted, was that it didn't preclude their continuing to explore
each other's lips. I've dreamed of you before, Obi-Wan,
he confessed. But you were never... there at the time.
Qui-Gon was surprised at the relief that he was receiving now.
You've dreamed of me before? Like this? Obi-Wan wanted
to know.
Not exactly like this, but in similar circumstances... Why
does that make you happy? Because it did; his apprentice
was feeling a lot more comfortable at being kissed now than he
had been.
Because it means it's not just the clothes, and the pout and
the walk, Obi-Wan told him, pressing even closer if
possible to his Master. His tongue snuck out to probe his
Master's lips.
Qui-Gon groaned deep in his throat, sucking his padawan's
tongue into his mouth and gently chewing on the tip. "Obi-Wan,"
he sighed aloud. Don't tease, padawan, he begged
mentally. You may regret it.
"Maaassster," the reply was picked up by the listening gear.
"You are driving me WILD." Who's teasing? You are turning me
on, and you'd better be prepared to DO something about it.
Obi-Wan pressed his groin tighter against his Master's thigh,
his hardness making his point for him.
This is not a good idea, Padawan. Qui-Gon's resistance
was fast evaporating.
If we don't, we blow our cover, Obi-Wan used the logic
of duty, while applying the persuasion of his hands to further
his case. It's just bodies, right?
Qui-Gon's response was to reach between them to liberate his
own straining erection from the sleep pants he wore, and roll
onto his side. Both men gasped as the two cocks met and kissed,
then Qui-Gon circled them both with one big hand. Sensitive
underside to sensitive underside, the two rubbed against one
another, stimulating the tiny patches of nerve-endings under
the head. Qui-Gon's thumb made little circles first around the
soft plush tip of one, then the other, smearing the clear fluid
over both.
Obi-Wan's kisses became aggressive, his tongue plunging deep
into his Master's wlling mouth as he ground his hips into his
Master. "Oh yes... what you do to me..." he panted around their
duelling tongues. "Your kisses alone could make me come."
Qui-Gon couldn't quite believe he wasn't still dreaming - his
padawan not only now knew of his lust, but returned it. He
tightened his grip on their joined members, pumping them slowly
in time to their kisses. As Obi-Wan's kisses became more
empassioned, and he squirmed harder trying to get even closer,
Qui-Gon increased his rhythm, until Obi-Wan cried out "Master!"
and he felt his padawan's come spurted between their bodies.
"I love the way you say 'Master'," Qui-Gon growled, grinding
his penis into the sperm-slick stomach of the gasping young man
beside and half-underneath him. "Say it again."
"Master," Obi-Wan sighed, running his hands over Qui-Gon's back
and sides. "MY Master. Love me, Master.... Love me." The
pleading voice was all it took - Qui-Gon followed his
apprentice over the edge of ecstasy, rolling to cover his
apprentice completely with his body and continuing to rain
kisses on his lips long after the last spasms of his orgasm had
subsided.
"Ohhhhhh." This from Obi-Wan, some minutes later. Qui-Gon
roused himself from his stunned stupor, and, keeping his arms
tight about Obi-Wan's body, rolled to reverse their positions,
so that Obi-Wan now lay atop him.
"You are exquisite, my pet," he said in adoring tones, while
mentally Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Worried.
Obi-Wan raised his head and kissed a spot under Qui-Gon's chin.
I'd go for the lips, but I don't think I'd make it. He
laid his head back down on Qui-Gon's broad chest. Of course
I'm alright. I'm faaaabulous. He stroked his master's
chest, and pressed another little kiss there.
Later. Master?
Yes, padawan? Sleepily.
Was that just ... bodies?
Qui-Gon woke enough to understand the importance of the
question. No, love, it was not. That was hearts.
I thought so. I'm glad. Obi-Wan drifted.
Later still, Obi-Wan stirred and tried to disengage himself
from his Master's arms.
"Where do you think you're going?" the Duke growled.
"Um. Washcloth?"
"No." The arms tightened.
"No? But we're all sticky." Obi-Wan giggled.
"You may relieve yourself if necessary, my pet," the Duke said
sternly. "You may NOT wash until the morning."
Obi-Wan subsided onto his Master's chest. "Why?"
"Because I LIKE when you smell like sex," the Duke answered
fiercely. "Spilled semen mixed with sweat is my favorite
perfume, the only one you are allowed to wear, by the way."
"Oh." Obi-Wan's head drifted lower and he inhaled deeply over
the Duke's stomach. "It is awfully... erotic," he admitted.
Is that you talking, or the Duke?
The Duke and I have fairly similar opinions in this
regard. Qui-Gon stroked the back of Obi-Wan's neck,
groaning when his padawan's tongue gently tasted their mingled
juices, then sighing when Obi-Wan laid his head on his stomach,
and curled one hand around his master's penis, falling asleep
again. "Pretty, pretty pet," he murmured aloud, before he too
was asleep.
"Oh yes... what you do to me..."
The woman wearing the earpiece smiled sardonically. "What a
clever boy it is... listen to him persuading his Master that
he's the seducer rather than the boy."
[And on the Jedi's stealth surveillance ship Seeker, Mace
Windu's eyebrows threatened to leave his head altogether as he
overheard this dialogue.]
"You know," the woman went on, "I think this one is too good to
waste on the sadists list. Let's advertise him to the
hedonists..."
"Sadists pay more," a male voice answered laconically.
"Not for this one, I think... use the clip of him walking up
the promenade... that's so sexy. And the close-up of that
gorgeous face. I think the art collectors will jump in too.
Maybe a voice-clip; his voice is to die for."
"Mmm." Her companion called up a few files. "You know, this is
a new-contract, not just a first contract. Dangerous. The boy
isn't going to be very amenable."
"Of course not. His new master is rich, handsome and treats him
kindly - naturally he imagines he's in love, little doll. So we
put 'reluctant' on his description. That'll up his going price,
if anything. 'Woo a reluctant almost-virgin Pleasure Boy.'
Yeah, I think he'll bring in a big fee."
"It's still too dangerous," the man insisted. "The Duke will
tear the sector apart looking for him, and he has the clout to
cause some serious trouble for us. He's head over heels about
the kid, though he tries to hide it in public."
The two watched the monitor for a few moments, the woman
appreciatively, the man merely worried. "True enough," she
finally said. "We'll have to take them at the same time."
"You're going to take out the Duke? A Royal Duke? Have you lost
your mind?"
"Not kill him, silly," the woman said. "I just think it's time
we branched out a bit... started carrying other stock. And this
will probably be our last cruiser score before the pleasure
cruises become too hot to operate, so why not go for a big
payday?"
"Put a Duke up for AUCTION?" the man looked at her like she'd
just lost her mind, as perhaps she had.
"Well, just look at him," she gestured at the screen where the
exhausted couple could be seen petting one another sleepily. "I
think we could get a fairly steep price for him as well...
we've specialized in pleasure-workers long enough, don't you
think."
She started composing copy in her head. "How's this sound?
'Haughty aristocrat in need of humbling. If you like to
conquer, and need a challenge, check out this offer. Wimps and
mama's boys, move on; you couldn't handle this one.' Put that
ad out to our customers who have dominance needs, and watch the
bids soar."
"Sounds good," the man was flipping through clips, compiling a
selection. "How're these?" as he cycled through them for her
review.
"Oh, the looking-down-the-nose at the Captain clip is good...
do we have any voice other than the sex-stuff? He sounds too
agreeable when he's with his lover."
"I'll check; you're really gonna do it then? Grab them both?"
"Sure, why not? I think we can clean up, then lay low in some
nice location for a while until the heat's off and we can start
up in another venue."
There was a moment's silence, then the woman asked, "Oh, just
to doublecheck - you're absolutely positive that the kid's
Union, not Guild? We got some bad heat from the Guild the last
time."
"I'm absolutely positive - I scanned his tattoo myself,
remember," the man said impatiently. "Union. One-hundred
percent Union."
[Windu's motion to a man sitting at another station wasn't
needed - he was already sorting through the liner's personnel
logs, looking for who would scan tattoos. "Purser," he said
after a few minutes. "Voice prints match. We've got one."]
["Prints on the woman's voice?" Windu asked the room at large.]
["Not matching anything we have on file. We'll have to get her
to ID her."]
["Stay on it," Windu commanded. "This operation has just gotten
a lot more dangerous."]
The waiter tapped once on the door to the stateroom and then
opened it with his pass, calling out 'room service' as he
entered. Carrying his tray over to the table, he glanced at the
pair on the bed and suppressed a grin. The tangled limbs, the
disarrayed bedclothes, the sharp scent of overheated male told
its own story. "Those two are going to have a hard time
readjusting to Temple life," he thought, not without sympathy.
The Duke stirred. "I didn't order coffee," he complained.
"Oh no, sir," the waiter said obsequiously. "It's complimentary
- all part of our First Class Service."
The last phrase was one of the keys; Qui-Gon sat up and eyed
the waiter warily. "Well then, thank you."
He watched the waiter very deliberately re-crease the menu card
before replacing it in its holder. "If you'd like to order
breakfast, the kitchen is most expeditious." He bowed his way
out of the room.
Qui-Gon waited until the door had closed behind the waiter,
then stood with his body between the table and the surveillance
camera while he took up and looked at the menu.
"Eggs, little one? Fried gortney? P'lith with cider?" He
glanced over at his sleepy padawan, smiling. Suite 4325 at
third hour... from Windu. Wonder what he's learned.
"You," his pleasure boy answered the spoken query. "Breakfast
can wait." It's a long time until third, Master.
"Quite right. One can always eat... later." Returning to the
bed, he sat down beside his young companion and bent down to
bury his face in the young man's sleek abdomen, inhaling his
essence. We're outted, you know... the waiter was one of
ours. He lay down beside Obi-Wan and pulled him into his
arms.
So? There's nothing in the rules against this... is
there?
Qui-Gon rubbed his nose in the hair behind his Padawan's ear.
There doesn't have to be a rule against it. Masters know
what masters aren't supposed to do.
And what aren't masters supposed to do? Obi-Wan raised
himself on an elbow the better to look into his master's eyes,
and run one gentle finger over his brow.
Masters aren't supposed to kiss their apprentices so hard
for so long that their lips are all puffy the next day,
Qui-Gon answered him, running his tongue lightly over the lips
in question. Masters aren't supposed to leave their sperm
drying to crystals on their apprentices' taut little tummies,
either. He stroked his hand down Obi-Wan's chest and
stomach.
What else? Obi-Wan's eyes were devouring Qui-Gon's, as
he took his master's wrist and pushed his hand further down his
body.
Masters are definitely not supposed to leave teethmarks on
their padawans' necks and chests, Qui-Gon replied, pinning
Obi-Wan beneath him and biting him hard.
"Ow!" A gurgling laugh from his padawan as the master moved
lower.
Masters are more than likely to be discouraged from sucking
on their padawans' nipples as well, Qui-Gon continued,
sucking vigorously at the one without the nipple ring, while
pulling gently on the ringed one.
"Oooh. I'm giving you thirty minutes to cut that out; this is
your last warning." Obi-Wan buried his hands in his Master's
hair and laughed.
And I think we all can agree that Masters should never,
never... Qui-Gon kissed his way down Obi-Wan's torso,
making him quiver, ... ever go so far as to take their
apprentices' erections into their mouths... he took Obi-Wan
into his mouth ... and run their tongues around them, and
suck on them gently, and then blow on them, and nibble along
their length...
No, that's clearly outside the realm of what a master should
do, Obi-Wan agreed, groaning. What else?
Qui-Gon raised his head to look at his Padawan's avid face.
I suspect I would get no disagreement from anyone if I were
to suggest that Masters should never, EVER fuck their tender
padawans up the ass.
Obi-Wan froze. "Oooh, Master!" he breathed. Would you? Could
we?
The cramped spaces on the Seeker seethed with activity,
although an outside observer would probably not be able to
tell. Intell officers called up files from archives,
communications were encrypted to send and decrypted to read,
and thoughts and terse words flew back and forth among members
of the task force.
"Remember," Windu was telling someone over a secured line,
"stay on alert. We'll probably only be able to give you a
minute's notice when we need to close in. And don't let them
destroy any records - we need those bidders' lists."
"We're ready, we're wired," the someone replied. "Just give us
the word."
"How many we got now?" Windu asked the room at large.
"Three confirmeds," a woman at the next console also told the
room. "Enough on tape to put them away, but we're missing the
Guild connection."
"ID on the woman yet?"
"Not yet, and we may not... she doesn't seem to be a
liner-employee. Maybe a passenger."
"She certainly seems to be the one in charge," another
task-force member suggested. "Maybe the ring-leader herself?"
"Maybe... " Mace frowned. "We can't count on it though. Keep
going through the traffic; we can't afford to miss anything."
Now the earpiece was speaking again - Mace had left it tuned to
the same frequency where they had listened in last night.
Apparently the same two were back again.
"Look at that darling boy," the woman crooned. "Isn't he just
the sweetest thing? If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was
the virgin he's role-playing for his Master. What an appealing
combination; all hot-and-dangerous in public and shrinking
newly-wed virginity in the bedroom." Her companion in crime
just muttered an abstracted 'uh-huh' in reply. "I almost wish
we could sell them as a set; look how tender his Master's
being... just as if he really thinks his boy's never been
fucked before. I'd like to keep the pair of them as pets."
"You won't wanna keep 'em when you see the size of these bids
that are starting to come in," the Purser remarked. "Retirement
looks more and more possible."
Windu sighed, thinking "What have we gotten you into, old
friend?"
Qui-Gon returned from the lavish fresher facilities carrying a
tiny bottle he'd noticed when he surveyed their amenities
earlier. "New contract service is definitely worth the extra
fee, love," he commented. "Not just minora oil, but
serkt-scented... very upscale."
"Com'eeere," his Padawan moaned. "Come here, come HERE!"
"We exist to serve," his Master told him agreeably, joining him
on the bed and kissing him deeply. "Mmmmm. You taste so goood."
Masters aren't supposed to fuck their Padawans,
remember? Obi-Wan prodded. In case you forgot?
"Ohh, Obi-Wan... what a delicious boy you are." Qui-Gon was
once again kissing his apprentice's torso, making him squirm
with the skillful use of tongue and teeth. Forgot? Forgot
what?
"Maaassster," Obi-Wan hissed, then sat up and ordered "Fuck me,
dammit!"
"Patience, paaaa....retty one. Patience is a virtue." Qui-Gon
recaptured Obi-Wan's lips with his. Ooops.
I want you. I really really want you, he heard.
Are you sure, Padawan? It's bound to hurt the first time, at
least a little, no matter how careful I am. And I'm not sure
I'm going to be able to be careful... not now.
Want you... want you, Obi-Wan insisted. All of you.
Inside me.
Qui-Gon anointed his fingers with the sweet-smelling oil and
began a gentle probing between his padawan's legs while
continuing to press kisses on Obi-Wan's open lips. Spreading
oil liberally over the hot crease, and circling the pinched
opening. Slowly inserted the tip of one finger, withdrew it,
pushed in again, a little further.
"Aaah. Like that... that's sooo goood." Obi-Wan sighed.
Qui-Gon paused to pour more oil, then circled his lover's anus
once before plunging his finger deep into the boy's body,
closely watching his face. "Ah! MASTER!" Obi-Wan's hips raised
off the bed. "Oh yes!"
"Love," Qui-Gon whispered into Obi-Wan's panting mouth. "My
love. My lover."
"Yours, yours. yours..." his apprentice chanted. "Oh, give it
to me... please..."
Now two fingers were inside him, scissoring and pumping. "You!
Qui-Gon! Master!" Obi-Wan was grabbing at him, trying to push
him where he wanted him to be.
Qui-Gon obligingly rolled over, and knelt between his legs,
splashing oil all over the bed in his eagerness to slick his
penis for insertion. He took Obi-Wan's right leg, and pressed
it back against his chest, holding it there while he stroked
his own penis with an oily hand. Then guided himself to the
exposed and vulnerable anus, he pressed gently. Open
yourself to me, padawan. Mind and body. He sent a tendril
of thought to probe the boy's mental shields while his body
probed his opening. Let me in, love.
He felt a yielding, and pushed harder, could tell he was
causing pain, but couldn't retreat, not now. "Open to me,
love... " He withdrew a scant half-inch, then pushed again. "I
need you to be opened to me... please."
"Master... hard... so full... " Obi-Wan groaned.
Let me in, dearest. Let me love you. His probe was now
meeting Obi-Wan's thoughts and the shields all men held in
their minds were falling. He was falling into his apprentice's
being, and was surrounded by him. "Aah. Like that." Qui-Gon
thrust his hips forward, gaining another inch of tight hot grip
around his penis. "Oh, you are so incredibly tight... "
"Master... " Obi-Wan sounded a half a galaxy away. "Oh. Right
there." Now Obi-Wan was swarming into his mind, and the two of
them were embracing there, too. So much love... I had no
idea, Master. So very much love.
Another thrust and Qui-Gon was fully sheathed in the tightest
place he'd ever been. He paused there, gasping for breath.
Obi-Wan. Show me... And Obi-Wan displayed his own love,
newer that Qui-Gon's, still slightly colored with the awed
reverence of the younger boy he had been, but growing by the
minute, and taking on heat and fire with the lust they were
sharing.
"So full... I feel like I'm all you now." Obi-Wan said in a
dazed voice. "Full to the brim with my darling Master."
"You will be... you will be." Qui-Gon began to thrust into him.
"I'll fill you day and night. You're mine."
The woman was dividing her attention between the couple on the
monitor and the rapidly escallating bids in her current auction
when the door to the control room opened and another woman
said, "Coril. You may want to take this call."
[People on the Seeker began searching on 'Coril, Corel,
Coral'.]
"Who is it?" she asked without turning.
"Says he's bidder232, but he's coming through Tatooine." This
was well-understood shorthand for communicating via the Hutts'
anonymizer services. "Says you really really need to hear what
he has to say."
"I'll give him a minute, but be prepared to cut the line if I
think he's a plant or a troll." The other woman nodded and left
the room.
"Bidder232?" she asked. "You have something you need to tell
me?"
"I certainly do, although you are probably unworthy of my
intelligence," the distorted voice was clearly being altered as
well. 232 had some serious paranoia working for him, she
thought. "I won't tell you a thing, however, until you assure
me that my user profile is completely obliterated in your
files."
"But 232," she objected, "I really can't do that from an
anonymous request - you could be anybody."
"Trust me. When you hear what I have to say, you'll understand
my decision. Erase my files. Now. Or face the consequences."
[Everyone onboard the Seeker was now listening to this
frequency. A query popped up on Windu's screen with one word -
Now? He shook his head. They had to hear what the anonymous
bidder was going to say, whether or not it meant losing him in
the records. It could be the elusive Guild connection.]
The woman gave a signal to the Purser, who set about the task.
"If you're not 232, I'm going to have one pissed off customer
on my hands; all his accumulated credibility, wiped out on your
say-so."
"You aren't going to have any customers after today," the voice
told her disdainfully. "Nor do you deserve them, you who
advertise merchandise you cannot possibly deliver, and don't
even have in stock."
"What ARE you talking about?" Coril was outraged. She rather
prided herself on her customer service.
"Is my profile gone? All records deleted?" 232 asked. She
looked at the Purser, who nodded.
"You're gone. What are you having problems with about my
inventory?"
"Just out of kindness, you understand, I think I ought to
inform you that you are trying to pass off a Jedi Master as a
Royal Duke," the distorted voice was almost smug. "And given
what I know of this particular Jedi Master," he went on, "I
simply cannot believe that you can deliver."
["Lock 'em out!" Windu was calling over his comm-unit. "Now."]
The purser suddenly looked up in alarm. "I'm frozen out. The
system's dead. Coril, we have to LEAVE."
But the doorway was already filled with what appeared at first
glance to be hundreds of men with blasters.
[And through the opened connection, Windu could hear the
distorted laugh of the mysterious bidder, and Coril's dazed
voice saying "A Jedi Master?"]
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan lay on their sides facing one another.
Qui-Gon was gently mapping contours on Obi-Wan's face with a
fingertip - brow, temple, cheek, chin - brow, eyelid,
cheekbone, lips, chin. Obi-Wan took the opportunity, every time
the tracing finger was within range, of slipping his mouth
around it for a quick suck or gentle bite. Their eyes never
left each other's.
Master? What happens after this assignment? Obi-Wan's
thoughts were anxious. Is this something that will get us
into trouble?
Not you, Padawan. Never you.
You, then?
I don't know. But I know one thing. I'm not giving you up.
Ever. Qui-Gon stroked one thumb over an eyebrow.
Love you, Master. Love you always. Obi-Wan stroked the
braid circling his Master's arm. I should have realized
then. You've always understood. I should have known before.
I didn't want you to know, Padawan. It wasn't right for you
to know, not then.
Is it right now? Can we love?
I'm not sure if we can. But I know that we must.
Windu was now managing operations from the cramped quarters
behind the purser's office, where all the equipment had been
discovered. The techies were already swarming through the
databases, trying to uncover identities, and 'Coril' and the
purser, with their accomplices, were being interrogated
separately in rooms scattered throughout the ship. The Captain
fluttered on the fringes of the investigation, anxious to be of
service, eager to remove the stain from his ship's reputation,
fearful that it was already indelible.
Mace couldn't help but glance at the monitor still displaying
the line feed from the 'Duke's' stateroom, however much he
tried to avoid it. At least the two weren't actively engaged in
coitus, although what he was seeing - the slow touching, the
unwavering eye-contact, the total silence that said minds were
speaking - was more intimate that the most vigorous of pelvic
thrustings. He wanted to look away, was ashamed that he
couldn't.
"When you gonna tell our bait that they can drop the act?" one
of the taskforce members asked him.
"Act. Right." This from the erstwhile waiter. "If I could act
that good, I'd still be married."
Mace winced. "Leave them be. I'll tell them when we've
catalogued all this mess." He reached up and forced himself to
turn off the monitor.
What a difference a day makes. The dining salon of the St'e-Ros
was filled and every person in it was talking about the morning
raid that had resulted in the arrests of 6 crewmembers and two
unidentified passengers. The Captain was trying to pretend that
nothing out of the way had occurred to soil the refinement of
his craft and the line's services. And he was studiously
pretending he had never met the two Jedi, no longer
sufficiently elevated enough to share his dinner, who were
sitting with a third Jedi at a table at some remove from the
crowds.
The glittering throng could not emulate the captain's
disinterest - every third word spoken was 'Jedi'. And every
diner in the salon kept covert or frankly open watch on the
interesting table in the corner.
Perhaps Lord Harthan of Carazon was suffering the most violent
mood swings of anyone in the room. When he had first realized
that it was the gorgeous creature from last night that was now
wearing brown robes, he was desolated beyond despair - if his
crush were a Jedi, then there was no contract that would
someday expire and leave him an opening to woo. He had thought
that nothing could have looked as enticing as the Pleasure Boy
looked last night; that was before he had recognized the
indisputable appeal of white tunic and plain brown robes on the
right body. But after a moment, he realized that if there was
no contract expiration, then it followed that there was no
contract at all. Which meant that perhaps he had an
opportunity! He didn't know a lot about the Jedi, but maybe
they were allowed to have a patron or gallant. He would have to
find out.
Here we go again, Qui-Gon sent to his buffet-bound
apprentice. Beware approaching lordlings, love.
Qui-Gon turned back to Mace Windu, and began to speak rapidly
and fiercely. "I would have made it until his knighting day if
you hadn't thrown us into the same bed, Windu. Now I won't give
him up - not as my padawan, not as my lover."
Mace shook his head sadly. "You may have to pick one role or
the other, Qui-Gon. If you can't live without the lover, the
council can assign him to another Master..."
Qui-Gon interrupted. "Oh, you think. What master would accept
as padawan a young man who spends his nights in another
master's bed? I couldn't do it... How could you hope to have
any influence?"
Mace acknowledged the truth in what Qui-Gon was saying. "I
don't suppose you could... return to a celibate relationship
for the duration of his apprenticeship? With the understanding
that you could resume your love on his knighthood?"
"We both know too much, Mace. He knows I love him. I know he
loves me. We can't unknow that."
"Could you ... acknowledge the love and not ... act on it?"
Mace didn't sound very sure of himself here.
Qui-Gon's voice dropped so that Windu had to lean forward to
hear him. "I know what his lips taste like, his skin, his come.
I know what he sounds like when he groans my name in passion. I
know how beautiful he is in the moment of his climax..."
Mace straightened. "Point made."
Both men sat silent for a moment, then Windu said, "Well, I'll
stand your friend in front of the Council, although I'm not
sure it'll matter. If it comes to that, I'll take him as my
padawan, in title, and leave you to continue training him. I
know there's nothing wrong with what's between the two of you -
I can see that. But what's going to concern the Council is the
precedent, and the example. "
As it turned out, the uproar surrounding the successful wrap-up
of the slavers' ring occupied all the Council's attention for
months after the voyage of the St'e-Ros. While both Windu's and
Jinn's reports did not attempt to hide the fact that the
undercover pair had significantly altered the traditional
Master-Padawan relationship, the Council chose to set aside the
issue for the time being.
Because it was discovered, when the case against the slavers
was being made, that they were not just kidnapping pleasure
workers to sell outside the Republic - sexual slavery was
occurring within the boundaries of the Republic itself. A
number of high officials were learned to have purchased from
Coril's gang, and many of the slaves could not now be located.
Many more were freed and their stories were told in every
medium available. Coruscant was rocked to the very core.
While they never discovered the identity of the mysterious
Buyer232, the fact that he recognized Qui-Gon Jinn had to mean
that he was someone fairly important, who would have reason to
deal with the Jedi; no one seriously entertained the theory
that he might be Jedi himself. Still, it caused quite a number
of Jedi to examine their contacts in a whole new light.
Yet for all this, Qui-Gon was shocked to learn that the Jedi
were making a deal with the ringleader Coril. This news sent
him directly to the offices of Mace Windu, in a rage.
Windu waved all his hovering adjutants out of the room, and
wouldn't speak until Qui-Gon had seated himself and at least
accepted a cup of something; holding it, if not actually
drinking it, ought to keep him seated and not flying over the
desk to wring his friend's neck.
Qui-Gon visibly controlled himself, then asked, "How? How can
you possibly justify a deal with the animal behind that
business?"
Mace looked at his friend, debating how much to tell him, then
capitulated. "Two reasons. One - to be able to bring a case
against the Guild." For it was the thousand-year-old Pleasure
Givers Guild which had first contacted Coril, who was at the
time running weapons and the odd randomly acquired slave, to
persuade her of the profits to be made in the kidnapping and
sale of Pleasure Workers; as long as they were Union, of
course. The enormity of their collective hatred for their
fifty-year-old rival was one of the most disturbing facets of
the whole story.
"Okay, you need testimony against the Guild - you couldn't have
gotten that from one of the others?"
"Only she had the whole story. And there's the second reason."
He stopped.
Qui-Gon prodded him to go on with a look.
"So far we've kept your name out of this... and Obi-Wan's.
Everyone knows the Jedi sent teams undercover; just what roles
those teams were playing hasn't been made public."
Qui-Gon was looking like a thundercloud now. Mace went on,
"She's threatening to introduce the recordings into evidence.
All the recordings."
"Let her," Qui-Gon said unequivocally. "My Padawan and I have
nothing to be ashamed of."
"The Council says no - they don't want the Jedi Order subjected
to the kind of gossip and innuendo it would mean. The deal is
made. It's over, Qui-Gon. Let it go."
But gossip within the Temple itself was intense and never
ceasing. The entire Order at least thought they knew the whole
story of Windu's undercover operation, and thousands of pairs
of eyes followed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan everywhere, searching for
confirmation.
It wasn't too hard to find. Qui-Gon couldn't seem to remember
to preserve the Masters' space from his padawan's
encroachments; rather than the 18-24 inch perimeter most
masters effortlessly maintained, he allowed Obi-Wan to stand
significantly closer, and there were times when Obi-Wan was not
a half-step behind him, but actually beside him. Sharp eyes
could sometimes catch that the two frequently walked and stood
hand-in-hand, although with the sweeping sleeves, this was not
always obvious.
The petty-minded looked for signs that Obi-Wan's education was
being neglected, but in this they were thwarted. In fact, the
Council agreed when the issue was raised, his education and
experience were being accelerated, as a result of being almost
constantly in his Master's presence. No negotiation was so
sensitive that the disputants could exclude Master Jinn's
apprentice, not if they expected to get Master Jinn himself to
attend. Obi-Wan became quickly accustomed to operating at the
highest levels of Republic diplomacy, and Qui-Gon was known to
confer with him over substantive issues and to value his
opinion.
Nor was his martial training perceived to suffer in any way.
The pair had a long-standing custom dating back to their first
missions, that whenever they were in residence in the Temple,
they looked for sparring challenges, master-padawan pairs to
test their lightsaber skills against. Qui-Gon maintained that
when padawans only fought against their masters, they only
learned to defend against one style, and that in real-life
situations, master and padawan were fighting together rather
than against each other. But it was often the case that no
challenge could be found, and in those instances, they fought
against each other.
After the events aboard the St'e-Ros, these Master-Apprentice
duels quickly became one of the spectator events of Temple
life, and word spread quickly when Jinn/Kenobi appeared on the
reservation sheets for one of the saber-arenas. Windu first
thought that this was just vulgar curiosity until he heard such
enthusiastic reviews that he decided to try to catch the next
one.
The appeal was obvious, yet also subtle. The two fought with a
slashing aggression that few could defend against, so against
each other they were magnificent, and almost evenly matched.
Qui-Gon had the advantage of reach, and Obi-Wan of speed, and
control of the bout went back and forth between them. The
watchers on the viewing level were heard to make comments on
the skill, the artistry, the athleticism of the display, but no
one mentioned the very palpable eroticism of the encounters.
Windu wondered if most of the viewers even recognized what they
were responding to.
At one point in the battle, when Qui-Gon had driven Obi-Wan
back against the wall of the enclosure, their swordhilts
clashed together and held, each seeking to disarm the other,
their eyes locked together, their muscles straining, their
faces inches apart. The crowd held its collective breath until
Obi-Wan broke the hold, and the two were fighting back down the
length of the court. Windu exhaled with the rest of the
watchers, realizing that he had half expected the moment to end
in a wild warriors' kiss. Or hoped it would?
But while everyone who knew the entire story and set of
circumstances agreed that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan could not be
faulted for falling into, and then continuing a physical
relationship, it was clear that their doing so was having
unfortunate consequences. Masters could no longer turn aside
their padawans' fumbling protestations of adoration with the
gentle, if not always true, suggestion that while they would
otherwise be flattered and proud to acquiesce, masters simply
didn't, not with their apprentices. Because at least one
counter-example was now so widely known. Several masters had
been forced to send their love-struck padawans to outside
counselling, a recourse that would earlier have been considered
quite extreme.
Another subset of the padawan cadre were also made dissatisfied
with their relationships with their masters, these with more
reason. For it was discovered, once the issue had been raised,
that a number of knights were simply not interested in or
qualified to training a padawan. These knights only accepted
the role as a neccessity to further their own advancement;
easier than actually acquiring some quantitative learning and
experience, as the healing masters or any of the other
specialities were required to do. They had no particular
interest in their apprentices, and employed them for a few
hours a day as glorified messengers and secretaries, leaving
their Jedi education in the hands of the various special tutors
in the Temple, and the saber-instructors, force-guides and
healers were overburdened as never before taking up the slack
left by these indifferent knights. Their padawans were all
hopelessly in love with Qui-Gon Jinn.
Eventually even the most ardent Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan supporters
recognized that something had to be done; it was the shower
incident that convinced Ki-Adi-Mundi to talk to Mace.
He had been leading a class of some dozen learners through some
rather vigorous balancing drills, boring, but groundbuilding
for their future lessons. Since the showers associated with the
exercise facility would only accomodate eight showering beings
at once, Ki-Adi-Mundi had taken the overflow to the next
facility's showers, rather than shower in shifts.
At this point in his description to Windu, he stopped.
"Qui-Gon?" Windu asked. "Obi-Wan?"
Ki-Adi-Mundi merely nodded, and then sent the mental image:
Qui-Gon sitting back on his heels in the shower, with a
squatting Obi-Wan impaled on his rampant erection. Obi-Wan's
hands were tangled in Qui-Gon's dripping hair, his back arched,
and his eyes closed; his thigh-muscles bunched and straining in
the effort to maintain his position. Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan in
place with hands on his hips, and thrust up into Obi-Wan's
body, growling and biting at Obi-Wan's chest. Obi-Wan's own
erection jutted between them, rubbing against Qui-Gon's
abdomen, and by time the stunned students had realized that
they probably ought to be quietly backing out of there, Obi-Wan
was crying out his Master's name, spurting viscous fluid on his
chest, gasping out in climax. The unnoticed intruders did not
wait to see if Qui-Gon too would find release; they fell back
to regroup in the hall and decided that they'd just go sweaty
to their next classes.
Mace contemplated the mental image for a moment, then said,
"What incredible athletic ability!"
"That image will be shared throughout the entire padawan
population by dinner time," Mundi foretold. "Mace, something
has to be done."
Thus it was that MaceWindu found himself back at the stone
table in the garden where it all began, trying to think of a
kind way to exile one of his best friends, and cursing the
Council for leaving this task to him.
"Homebase off Coruscant altogether?" Qui-Gon was asking him.
"Not just outside the Temple?"
"It's not as though you wouldn't be fully employed as a knight
and master," Mace told him. "With your schedule, you're
probably gone more than you're here anyway. It's just that with
so many force-sensitives, and with so many rather tottering
Master-Padawan relationships, the Council thinks that when you
and Obi-Wan are between assignments, you should live and
work... elsewhere."
"Any elsewhere? Or some particular elsewhere?" Qui-Gon had been
relaying the gist of this conversation to his apprentice, who
was once again being drafted into service by the Temple
teachers. Not Hoth. Not Dagobah, he heard, and smiled.
"Obi-Wan is insisting on a temperate climate."
Mace inwardly sighed with relief; there was apparently not
going to be any resistance to what was really an unfair demand.
"Anywhere you like that doesn't have a training Temple. The two
of you are just too disruptive to the training process."
Half-way decent restaurants, Master, Obi-Wan chimed in
again. I will not be made to suffer your undistinguished
cooking.
Qui-Gon laughed, and answered Mace's questioning expression,
"Obi-Wan also insists on fine dining. And I draw the line at
Carazon."
"You don't have to decide right this minute," Windu told
him."Do some research; take some exploratory trips. But you may
want to consider Naboo..."
Qui-Gon's laugh exploded in the quiet clearing, sending a
tree-full of birds skyward in alarm.
"I'm serious; it's quite charming. I spent several days there.
Granted it's a bit remote, but it's very highly civilized, and
I think Obi-Wan would find both the climate and the cuisine to
be exceptional." Mace was smiling broadly now.
"But isn't there a danger, if I returned to his point of
origins, that I might find myself transmorgifying back into...
The Duke of g'Voir?"
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