Feedback: Please? Purty purty please? Comments inspire me to
write so if you want more...
Disclaimer: Would you believe me if I told you I found 'em in a
cereal box? No? Ok, then, they aren't mine and I'm not making
any money, so please don't sue.
This plot bunny has been bothering me for a few weeks now,
disturbing me when I am trying to work on the nice long story
I'm writing, that actually has a plot, so I just figured I'd
write it and get it out of the way. Enjoy!
Flopping down on the large bed in their provided room, Obi-Wan
flung an arm over his eyes and sighed hugely, relaxing into the
mattress. He knew that he should get up and unpack his master's
and his own belongings, but for the moment he just rested
contentedly on the bed. No diplomat's, no rescues, no debates,
no chases and no near death experiences! For once, he and his
master had nothing more important to do than to be polite and
attend the wedding of the Magistrate of Tar- heer's daughter,
Leelandra. Qui-Gon was with the Magistrate now, no doubt
reminiscing about old times.
Years ago, before Qui-Gon had taken Obi-Wan as his Padawan, he
had been here on a diplomatic mission. During his stay,
Leelandra had fallen sick with an illness that the Tar-heer
healers could not cure, but Qui- Gon could and did. The
Magistrate had apparently not forgotten that kindness.
A knock on the door pulled Obi-Wan from his thoughts and with a
roll and a twist he was on his feet. He grinned mentally as he
thought of the pointed look Qui-Gon would have given him at his
showing off. Schooling his face to Jedi serenity he answered
the door and was startled to see Sarail, the magistrate's
personal assistance.
"Jedi Kenobi, I have need of your assistance." With a faint
frown he moved aside for her to enter, but she shook her head.
"I believe it would be better if you came with me," The protest
died on his lips when she added, "It concerns your master."
Instinctively he reached out his mind to Qui-Gon, felt him
nearby, there didn't -seem- to be a problem...He cocked is head
slightly to the side, studying the young woman before him. If
he didn't know better, he'd swear she seemed, well,
embarrassed.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked. He cheeks paled slightly
from their natural deep green, the Tar-Heelian version of a
blush. Hmm, curiouser and curiouser. Before she could reply he
bowed slightly to her. "Of course I will come with you," he
said smoothly, "Perhaps you can explain on the way?"
With a grateful look she nodded. As they fell into step
together, she began, "This is a bit difficult to explain, Jedi
Kenobi, you see, it's traditional among my people for long
parted friends to share a drink of Quallia Juice, in respect of
the One Who Is." She lightly touched her temples with the tips
of her fingers, a gesture of reverence that Obi- Wan copied
immediately, before continuing. "It is a gesture of gratitude,
for bringing them together once again and it renews the bonds
of friendship."
Obi-Wan quelled his impatience, he wanted her to simply get to
the point but obviously this was important if she was taking
the time to explain it to him. He waited while she continued,
both of them walking down corridor after corridor.
"The problem was with our new protocol droid. Quallia juice is
somewhat volatile and very strong. It is generally diluted
before it is consumed."
He was beginning to get the idea. "And your droid didn't dilute
it," he guessed. He gave a mental sigh at her reluctant nod.
"Are they both very sick then?"
She hesitated again, turning yet another shade paler,
"Not...exactly." They had stopped in front of an exquisitely
carved door, which she opened with a small key. The moment the
door swung open their ears were assaulted by a blast of truly
horrid noise.
Obi-Wan stood and stared, mouth gaping at the sight of his
Master and The Magistrate of Tar-Heel sprawled on floor, each
with an arm around the other as they warbled what he assumed
was supposed to be a song, abet -very- off-key.
He looked up at Sarail, who was staring at the two men with a
resigned look. "You see the problem." He did indeed. A
particularly ribald line of the song had Sarail wincing and
Obi-Wan had to bite his tongue to stifle the laughter that was
swelling with in him. This was not a laughing matter, this
could have consequences...
But the sight of his stoic, always so proper Master sitting on
the floor singing dirty limericks while completely plastered
was simply too good. Another line of the song, something about
the garters that wookies wear, pushed him over the edge and the
laugher forced its way out. Obi-Wan managed to disguise it as a
cough, but the amusement that glittered in Sarail's eyes
clearly said that she wasn't fooled.
"I'll take care of mine if you take care of yours," she
offered, allowing a broad grin to escape. Obi-Wan grinned back
at her and nodded.
Just then Qui-Gon seemed to notice the extra occupants of the
room and smiled brilliantly at them both. "Obi-Wan!" he
exclaimed, apparently delighted to see the younger man. He
staggered to his feet and the Magistrate, his support gone,
sagged downward to the floor, still singing softly.
Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh, looking at his master, who was
standing somewhat unsteadily and smiling sweetly. So much for a
peaceful mission.
Moments later he was half-carrying, half-dragging his
protesting master down the corridors while silently praying
that they didn't meet anyone along the way. It would be
difficult to carry on the carefully cultivated Jedi appearance
of control and tranquility if half the castle had seen the Jedi
Master drunk and caterwauling in the hallways.
"We go left here," Qui-Gon announced, struggling to make
Obi-Wan turn, but his apprentice resisted.
"No, Master, our quarters are to the right." Qui-Gon halted,
then swung in front of the younger man, looping both arms
around Obi-Wan's neck and hanging from him like an Alderaanian
brush monkey. He peered owlishly up at his Padawan.
"Are you sure?" his tone so doubtful that Obi-wan, who was
already staggering under the abrupt addition of weight, had to
fight back the urge to smile. Qui-Gon apparently thought it was
Obi-Wan who had taken leave of his senses. There was something
rather endearing about seeing this usually self-possessed man
so utterly guileless.
He relaxed his features into an expression of complete
seriousness. "I'm very sure, Master."
Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon's head lolled to the left then the
right, his lips pursed in contemplation, before looking back
up. The older man heaved a great sigh then and straightened.
"Well, if you're sure," he said, clearly feeling as if he was
humoring his wayward apprentice. Again, Obi-Wan was forced to
tamp down his amusement and they continued on to their
quarters.
The older man seemed determined to keep up a constant stream of
chatter, about everything and nothing. And while it was
unusually loquacious for Qui-Gon, it wouldn't have bothered
Obi-Wan, if only Qui- Gon had realized that his Padawan's ear
was only six centimeters from his mouth and that the younger
man was -not- deaf. At least not yet, Obi-Wan thought somewhat
wryly, wincing as Qui-Gon's volume soared yet again. Repeated
attempts at quieting him had proved fruitless and Obi- Wan
resigned himself to getting his master to their quarters as
quickly as possible.
At the door to their room, Obi-Wan carefully disentangled
Qui-Gon's limbs from around his neck and leaned him against the
doorjamb as he keyed it open. Gathering his wayward master up
Obi-Wan led him inside.
A part of him was touched by the trust Qui-Gon put in him, that
he'd question the path to their room but never Obi-Wan's right
to take him there. And Qui-Gon seemed vulnerable in a way that
he never had before, making an unfamiliar feeling of
protectiveness swell in his apprentice. -Seemed vulnerable-
were the operative words he rather unexpectedly discovered, and
he was completely unprepared to be abruptly thrust against the
wall beside the door, the bulk of a much larger body holding
him there.
Qui-Gon buried his face against Obi-Wan's neck, inhaling
deeply. "Do you have any idea how good you smell?" he murmured
against the heated skin, making the young Jedi shiver at the
gust of moist breath against his neck.
Obi-Wan jumped when he felt Qui-Gon tongue lightly run upward
until it reached his ear, where it paused before lapping at the
curves, teeth nibbling gently on the tender lobe. Oh, this was
bad, this was really bad and he found that he was hoping rather
fervently that it was Qui- Gon's lightsaber that was jabbing
into his stomach. Even as he thought it Qui-Gon shifted against
him slightly, pressing him harder against the wall and denied
his wish. Worse yet, it was not his own lightsaber that was
pushing against Qui-Gon's thigh and his wish changed to a
prayer that Qui-Gon wouldn't notice.
Whatever gods existed did not seem to be on his side today. A
large hand slid in between their bodies to gently cup the
hardness that was straining in Obi-Wan's trousers. Obi-Wan made
a sound that was more like a squeak than a protest, so shocked
that he lost the capacity for speech.
Ok, this is -really- bad. Ignoring the protesting clamor of his
body, which insisted that it wouldn't hurt to wait just a
-little- longer, Obi-Wan tested his strength against Qui-Gon's,
pushing the other man away from him. He didn't budge. In fact,
he only pressed Obi-Wan harder against the wall and, oh, gods,
actually started rubbing against him, and Obi-Wan wanted
nothing more than to respond. Filled with a rising sense of
panic in the face of losing his control, Obi-Wan abandoned
pride and began to struggle in earnest, trying to get enough
leverage to break free.
"You are so beautiful," was gasped against his ear, the ear
that Qui- Gon had been tasting so fervently, and Qui-Gon pulled
back a bit. Obi- Wan paused, looking up at his master.
Qui-Gon's eyes were pools of inky darkness, just a rim of deep
blue around the pupils but it was the look of undisguised lust
in them, directed at him, that made something in Obi-Wan melt.
Qui-Gon's head descended and he ran his tongue gently over
Obi-Wan's lips, seeking entrance. Obi-Wan didn't fight,
couldn't fight, but neither did he respond. He stood stiffly in
Qui-Gon's embrace, waging a mental war even as he fought
another battle outside his body, against Qui-Gon's seduction.
This was wrong, he could -not- take advantage of his Master
this way, not when Qui-Gon was so obviously not himself. The
other man probably wasn't even sure whom it was he was kissing
and touching and stroking...his mind skittered away from those
thoughts. His brain tried a different approach; if he were to
do this, to take advantage of someone who was not in control of
his senses then he would never be worthy of being a Jedi
Knight, he told himself rationally. He would just pull away and
convince Qui-Gon that this was wrong, and...
"Obi-Wan, by the Force you are so beautiful. Gods, I love you,
I love you so much," the rest of the words were cut off as
Qui-Gon urgently pressed his lips against Obi-Wan's, trying to
coax a response.
Obi-Wan surrendered without even a whimper of protest, his mind
running up a white flag as he opened up to the soft, seeking
tongue pressing against his lips, responding to Qui-Gon's
skillful, if a tad bit clumsy, touches. They haphazardly made
their way to the bed, clothing stripped off and flung about the
room so that when they finally collapsed on the mattress they
were naked, a hiss of pleasure escaping them both as skin
pressed against warm bared skin. Qui-Gon pressed Obi- Wan down
into the mattress much as he'd held him against the wall,
ravishing the younger man's already bruised lips with yearning
kisses.
So intent was Obi-Wan on the bright flare of lust within and
around him, at first he didn't notice those heated kisses
becoming more and more passive, less and less responsive, until
Qui-Gon was almost completely lax against him.
Through a muffling curtain of blackness Qui-Gon thought he
could hear someone talking to him, but the words seemed garbled
somehow. Just before he sank into oblivion he was sure he heard
someone cursing, but he had no time to consider it before the
darkness overcame him and he knew no more.
Obi-Wan stared at his master in disbelief. The bastard was
asleep! Snuggled very cozy and warm against Obi-Wan's still
-very- aroused body, completely and totally dead to the galaxy.
Muttering a few chose curses he shifted uncomfortably under his
master's weight, the man was as heavy as a frozen Hutt, he
thought peevishly, before he began to chuckle ruefully. The
more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed until he was
laughing as hard as the shallow breaths he could take allowed.
Qui-Gon didn't even stir from his slumber and Obi-Wan pressed a
gentle kiss to his forehead before settling back, still
underneath his master, to try and calm his body enough to allow
sleep.
He was dying. That was obviously the only explanation. The
Neboidian Death flu, maybe, or a case of The Ravage, a viral
infection that consumed the infected from the inside out. Or
perhaps he'd been injured in some battle, defending...well,
somebody surely. Those were the only reasons he could think of
for feeling as if a draigon had chewed him up and spat him out
onto a bed of jagged rocks. Except he was on a bed and it felt
more as if it was bit too soft, not made of rocks.
Qui-Gon risked opening one eye, if it exploded he would still
have the other, he reasoned. He -was- on a bed, but not in a
familiar room. He sat up and immediately regretted it as his
brain threatened to throb its way out of his skull, right onto
the wonderfully cool sheets.
He swallowed convulsively as his stomach announced that it was
contemplating joining in on his brain's plan. He tried to
swallow again but his mouth was painfully dry and tasted as if
he'd eaten the woolen blanket rather than slept under it.
Closing his eyes again, he concentrated on the pain and the
nausea, accepting them as part of his body's healing process.
Feeling somewhat better, he opened his eyes, intent on
uncovering the mystery of his surroundings.
At the sight next to him on the bed, however, his mind went
completely blank, overcome by a blinding wave of what could
only be called shock. Obi-Wan. His apprentice, His -Padawan-.
Sound asleep on the bed next to him. In a state of undress that
generally did -not- occur whenever they slept in the same bed.
The events of the previous day came back to him in a rush of
images and the nausea returned full force within him. By the
First Circle, what had he done?
The young man next to him stirred in his sleep and for the
first time in their acquaintance Qui-Gon found himself
shrinking from his apprentice, utterly cowed at the prospect of
facing him. His memories were something of a blur, he -did-
remember having a drink with the Magistrate, some laughter and
general silliness, a bit dim as to how he'd gotten back to
their quarters. But what he'd done to Obi-Wan, -that- he
remembered, with a sense of dread. Dragging the young man to
bed, stripping him of his clothes...Qui-Gon closed his eyes at
the shame of it. How could he have let himself do that, no
matter the circumstances?
Qui-Gon thoughts scattered as Obi-Wan stirred again, this time
shifting onto his back, blinking in the dim light. He looked
around in sleepy confusion before looking up at his master.
Their eyes caught and they looked at each other somberly.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon started, then fell silent. What could he
say? How could he excuse his actions? "I didn't mean...I
wasn't...I...I'm sorry," he finished, somewhat lamely, and
master Jedi cursed his usual articulateness for deserting him.
Obi-Wan was still looking at him, his face inscrutable, mind
shields woven tightly against any intrusion.
"So you didn't mean it."
Qui-Gon blinked. "I didn't mean what?" he asked somewhat
uncertainly, confused.
"What you said to me last night, you didn't mean it." Flat
words, Obi- Wan's face looked as if were chiseled from stone.
That did not sound good. Qui-Goon shifted uncomfortably,
running a hand through his tangled hair. He noticed absently
that he'd lost his hair tie sometime during the night's events.
Best to face this directly then. "I don't remember quite...what
did I say?"
Obi-Wan's expression never changed. "You said that I smelled
good. That I was beautiful," a brief hesitation, then, softly,
"That you loved me."
Qui-Gon winced visibly. Ouch. So much for directness. This was
much, much worse than he'd thought, -exceedingly- worse, there
was not a planet in the galaxy remote enough for him to hide
under a rock on from this. He mentally cursed that blasted
juice, the Magistrate that gave it to him, the Council for
insisting they came to this wedding and, for good measure, the
very ship that had brought them to this misbegotten planet.
Obi-Wan was quiet but for breathing and even that sounded
abnormally loud in the silence that stretched between them as
the young Jedi waited for some sort of answer.
Words came to Qui-Gon's lips, words that resisted being said.
No, I didn't mean it, no I don't think your beautiful, no I
don't love you. No, no, to everything, no. Somehow, they
refused to go past his lips, because he knew them for the lie
they were. And he had never lied to his apprentice, never
purposefully.
And how could he say such things when the emotions that surged
through him just looking at the young man, bared in all his
glory to his master's not quite reluctant eyes, gave lie to
what he was trying to say?
The Jedi Knight within him ignored that. The teacher/apprentice
relationship was far too important, it insisted, better to
soothe a few hurt feelings than to destroy their entire
relationship on a whim. His buried emotions scoffed at the word
'whim' but he pushed them aside. The Knight was correct, better
to just brush away this entire incident and try to go back as
they were.
"Yes, I meant it." He very nearly clapped a hand over his mouth
as those words escaped and only years of Jedi training kept him
from doing so. What are you doing?!? his inner voice shrieked.
The wash of emotion that fell over him like a breaking wave
pushed aside that voice; hope, desire, fear, love. All of it
coming at him, weaving themselves around him, in him. All from
Obi-Wan.
Before Qui-Gon could do anything but sit there in stunned
acceptance Obi-Wan had captured him in an embrace, pushing him
back onto the bed. He responded to the fevered kisses without
thinking, giving himself over to urgency of the moment.
Obi-Wan straddled the Jedi Master, almost holding him down as
last night's unfulfilled arousal sang through him. Qui-Gon was
beneath him, responding to his frantic kisses, with lips and
tongue and a firm erection that was rubbing against Obi-Wan's
stomach. It wasn't enough.
"Tell me that you want this," Obi-Wan pulled back to whisper,
licking Qui-Gon's lower lip before sucking it into his mouth,
nibbling it gently, "Tell me. Make me believe it."
Panting breaths and widely dilated eyes were his only response
as Qui- Gon stared up at him.
"Tell me," he persisted, scattering kisses over the Jedi
Master's face, "Tell me or I'll stop."
The mild threat seemed to snap Qui-Gon back to reality and
strong hands came around him, trying to pull him down. Obi-Wan
resisted their silent plea, he -needed- to be sure.
"-Tell me!-" Obi-Wan demanded, drawing away. He wanted this
almost more than he wanted to continue breathing, but this time
he would not give in. He would not take advantage...
I want this. A soft, almost timid whisper into his mind,
the voice of a man far out of his element, and so unlike his
confident, self-assured Master that Obi-Wan was overcome by a
feeling of tenderness for the man who lay trembling with desire
in his arms. He smiled warmly, relaxing back into his Master's
embrace.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly before reopening them with a
smile of his own. He pulled Obi-Wan closer, insistently, until
their lips were nearly touching and he paused.
"I want this," he whispered before capturing Obi-Wan's lips in
a kiss of his own, "I want this," he repeated, again and yet
again, between nips and licks, "I want this, my Padawan, my
beloved, I want this, I want you."
Quick, frantic kisses now, the still burning embers of last
night's thwarted desire flared to life, threatening to engulf
them. Their erections bumped, dragging a startled gasp from
both men. Obi-Wan thrust experimentally and was rewarded with a
ragged moan from Qui-Gon as their cocks rubbed together,
trapped between their bodies.
A moment of initial awkwardness and then they both found a
rhythm, moving against each other, each riding the slickness of
sweat and pre- cum between them.
Qui-Gon threw his head back, gasping for breath and Obi-Wan
took advantage of the position, burying his face into the
hair-roughened curve, biting and nibbling as he thrust harder,
seeking release. He felt Qui-Gon's hands slide down to his ass
as he sought to pull them closer still, the muscles there
tensing and releasing as they moved together. No gentleness now
as their frenzied movements peaked and with a strangled cry
Qui-Gon tumbled over the edge and came, slick wetness
lubricating their bodies further. That new slippery warmth
combined with Qui-Gon's shudders of pleasure was too much for
Obi-Wan, who came in a burst of liquid heat and blinding
ecstasy.
Panting, they lay together, Obi-Wan collapsing on the older
man, all his strength draining away with the force of his
orgasm. Qui-Gon shifted, resting his chin on Obi-Wan's head,
nuzzling the soft hair contentedly.
"I was right," Qui-Gon murmured.
Frowning, Obi-Wan tried to pull back, to look at his master but
Qui-Gon refused to release him. He relented, settling back
down. "Right about what?" he finally asked. Qui-Gon pressed a
kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead.
"You -do- smell good."
A sputter of indignant laughter escaped from the young Jedi and
he did pull away this time. "You don't even remember saying
that, do you?" He sat back, arms crossed as he waited
expectantly.
"Well, not exactly," Qui-Gon replied reluctantly, not meeting
Obi-Wan's eyes as he struggled not to smile, "But you said I
said it."
"You saying that I said you said it does not..." Obi-Wan shook
his head, "I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore!"
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to respond and Obi-Wan kissed him
quickly, just to hush him. Pressed full length against the warm
naked length of the man he loved was wreaking havoc on his
already rattled senses and Obi-Wan felt his cock begin to
stiffen again. Sprawled across Qui-Gon as he was, there was
little chance that the other man wouldn't notice. In fact,
Obi-Wan was rather counting on it.
As if on cue Qui-Gon pulled back slightly "So soon?" he sighed
against Obi-Wan's seeking lips, "Ah, to be twenty again.
Perhaps you should just bury me now, I don't think I can
compete with you." The devilish grin that flashed across
Obi-Wan's face did nothing to soothe the older Jedi.
"You aren't -that- old, Master. Aside from that, the Council
does not approve of burying living Jedi Knights." Qui-Gon
snorted laughter at those primly spoken words but it quickly
shifted to a groan as Obi-Wan slid down his body, tugging on
Qui-Gon's chest hair with busy lips.
"Ouch! You little brat! I...oh," his scolding was halted by
soft lips moving lower, following the narrow line of hair down
his body to his groin. "And you think...ah...that...oooh...the
Council will approve...oh, gods yes! Of...of this," Qui-Gon
managed.
Obi-Wan would have answered but it was rude to speak with ones
mouth full. He carefully sucked on Qui-Gon's still flaccid
cock, just barely holding it in his mouth, tasting the residue
of their earlier orgasms. The soft flesh stirred, a quick pulse
throbbed through it as it came alive in Obi-Wan's gentle mouth,
hardening under Obi-Wan's stroking tongue until it was again
erect and eager.
He pulled back then, slithered his way back up Qui-Gon's body
and blithely ignored the other man's hiss of dismay. Propping
his elbows on Qui-Gon's chest Obi-Wan grinned triumphantly down
at him with an arched eyebrow.
"Still feeling old, Master?" he asked innocently. Annoyance
flashed over Qui-Gon's face.
"Shall I show you how I feel, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked silkily.
Before Obi-Wan could respond he found himself abruptly on his
back, Qui-Gon looming over him. Strong hands caught his legs,
lifting them so that he could feel the smooth skin of Qui-Gon's
back underneath his calves. Without warning his erection was
pulled into the hot, greedy cavern of Qui-Gon's mouth
He cried out, struggling against the urge to thrust upward as
he was engulfed in wet, tight heat. A fire was growing far too
quickly low in his abdomen and he fought it back, wanting this
moment to last an eternity.
A dim flicker of determination rose up within him underneath
the heady swell of pleasure, a resolve not to experience this
alone and with a great effort he tipped Qui-Gon off of him,
rolling onto his side and turning so that he could reach his
Master's neglected erection.
Obviously agreeing with the presented agenda Qui-Gon's
appreciative murmur communicated itself in a vibrating touch on
his cock and Obi-Wan nearly came then. Struggling to hold back
the ever-growing flame within him, Obi-Wan concentrated on
stroking his Master's cock with lips and tongue, taking it deep
within his mouth until his nose pressed lightly against the
soft sac underneath.
It was fast becoming a kind of battle, each struggling to push
the other over the edge first, moving faster, sucking harder,
tongues stroking a frantic duel with a hard, thrusting cock.
They each hovered on the edge, as they sought the one touch,
the right caress to push the other over.
If Qui-Gon could have grinned, he would have, and if Obi-Wan
could have seen the wickedness in that mental smile he might
have surrendered right then. Youth may have its advantages but
so did age and Qui-Gon was about to use one last trick that
he'd held back. Sucking hard, he pulled Obi-Wan's cock deeply
into his mouth and, without warning, dropped his mental
shields.
Buffeted by unexpected emotions, Obi-Wan had no chance to block
out the sensation as pleasure ignited every nerve ending in his
body, doubling and redoubling as the flames within him were
echoed through Qui-Gon and back to him. In an explosive rush he
came, the world swirling in a dizzy mist of blackness even as
he felt the Qui-Gon struggling to swallow the warm spurt of his
seed around the cock in his mouth, even as he felt the sweet
rapture of Qui-Gon's orgasm rush through him, surely only
seconds after his own but time was at a standstill and his
entire being seemed give one last convulsive throb before
surrendering to the darkness.
The sensation of something wet and cold pierced through the
warm blanket of contentment surrounding him, as well as the
sound of someone calling his name. Obi-Wan flung a hand out,
trying to push the coldness away and was rewarded with the feel
of his hand slapping something and a startled yelp.
Forcing his eyes open, he squinted at the figure next to him.
Qui-Gon glared down at him, rubbing his abused nose. Mortified,
he scrambled into a sitting position.
"Sorry?" he tried, earning another glare, this one a bit amused
as Qui- Gon held the wet cloth he'd been washing Obi-Wan's face
with up to his aching nose.
"I'll accept your apology if you accept mine, Padawan," Qui-Gon
replied, ruefully, "It wasn't my intention to overwhelm you
-that- much." Memory returned to Obi-Wan and a flush that
wasn't just from embarrassment heated the young man's face.
He captured Qui-Gon's hand and pulled it away from his nose so
that Obi-Wan could press a solicitous kiss to the bruise that
was already forming. He tilted his head so that he was looking
into the deep blue of his master's eyes, a hint of a smile
tugging on his lips. "If only I could always be overwhelmed
so...pleasantly." A butterfly touch of his finger on Qui-Gon's
thigh at the words and the blue in those eyes deepened. Qui-Gon
leaned forward, their lips nearly touching and then...a knock
at the door.
A voice called through the door, "Jedi, sirs? We were just
coming to take you to the ceremony."
The wedding. Qui-Gon frowned, "I thought the ceremony wasn't
until three." Two pairs of eyes flew to the chronometer. Two
forty-five. Casting each other looks of combined dismay and
horror they both flew to their feet.
"Uhhhh, just a minute!"
The ceremony was lovely. The bride, Leelandra, a far cry from
the child that Qui-Gon remembered, was resplendent in her
shimmering gown and flowers woven through the length of her
hair. And if her father was a bit bleary eyed and the honored
Jedi guests were nearly late she gave it no notice, totally
absorbed in the joy of her day.
Obi-Wan stood quietly by the wall, watching the other guests
dance. And his Master, who was chatting not too far away with
the exceedingly embarrassed and apologetic Magistrate. His
Master was smoothing over the incident, assuring the Magistrate
that there was no cause for concern. This Obi-Wan could feel,
without really pushing, their mental link as strong and as open
as it had ever been, and he smiled inwardly. He should be
-thanking- the Magistrate, for indeed the Quailla juice had
been more of a boon than a curse. He idly wondered if he could
pick some up before they left.
"Enjoying the celebration, Jedi Kenobi?" Startled, he turned to
see Sarail at his elbow, smiling at him. He bowed deeply before
her and smiled warmly in return. He felt her pleased surprise
at his gesture, he rather owed her his gratitude as well,
although she wouldn't know it, and he intended to show it.
"Indeed I am, it was a beautiful ceremony." An image rose
briefly in his mind, of him with his Master, declaring their
bond before those people who were most important to them. He
dismissed the thought immediately. It was a bit early in their
relationship for that. Still...he started slightly as he
realized Sarail was speaking to him.
"I trust you had no...difficulty with our...situation last
night," she asked archly, brows raised.
He graced her with an enigmatic smile. "Nothing that I couldn't
handle, Madam."
She nodded her head then, with a mysterious smile of her own.
"I'm so glad to hear it." She started to turn away, but then
paused, moving to whisper in his ear. "Do invite us all to your
Bonding ceremony. I would so like to be there." Before he could
respond she had moved away and he could only stare after her,
bemused. How had she...?
It was obvious to him when he turned back to his Master and
their eyes caught. Visible within those depths was a love that
made Obi-Wan ache to his toes and he might have melted to the
floor in a puddle had that not been a most un-jedi-like action.
He almost did it anyway when Qui- Gon committed a most
un-jedi-like action of his own by capturing his Padawan's hand
and kissed the palm gently, flicking his tongue moistly against
it. Obi-Wan wondered, briefly, what he had done to deserve such
love.
Perhaps all those gods weren't against him after all.
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