Master Apprentice Archive The Sleeping Master Quick search:

Rating: NC-17. Mother Goose, it ain't.

Archive: M-A, ask, or Jacynthe Demorae's: http://jdemorae.slashcity.tv/lightsaberissues/index.html

Series: Suspension of Disbelief. (Cinders and Padawans / The Sleeping Master) This might be 2 of 2 unless I can come up with something really pretty for the next installment.

Categories: Q/O, romance, PWP

Feedback: Dying for it, please. padawanhilary@gonwan.com

Summary: At his birthday party, Qui-Gon receives a gift with a rather mixed blessing.

Spoilers/Warnings: Thin sleep pants.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

Notes: Forgive my deliberate flouting of Jedi canon on the gift thing. For Master Jac.

Obi-Wan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, keying notes into a datapad when he felt his master's close regard, gliding up behind his consciousness the way Qui-Gon's fingertips sometimes slid along the back of his neck. He smiled a little and glanced up.

Qui-Gon sat in a large chair before the fireplace in their assigned temporary quarters. He, too, held a datapad, this one containing specs regarding the desired outcome of this mission. He was watching Obi-Wan work on notes more than he was reading his own, however. "Making any progress?" he asked.

Obi-Wan made another entry and shifted his eyes back up to his master, now marginally involved in his own datapad again. "Somewhat," the padawan replied. He was laying out notes for the following day's talks in an effort to keep them on line with the mission goal.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, but the main problem was that the shipyard opening they were overseeing involved one too many nations, and that third nation wasn't cooperating. By their count, the profits weren't equal. Obi-Wan sighed, wondering at their logic. The delegates had equated population with need; they'd decided that being the largest of the three nations, they deserved the largest share of profit. Obi-Wan shook his head. He'd dealt with religious disputes less complicated than this. The talks were civil enough; the members of the congress were shrewd but reasonable in their presentation. He had to admit, he was impressed by their lack of personal attacks. Many financial contracts proceeded excruciatingly slowly due to character assassination. This one was strictly business. /Well,/ he amended, sighing, /with certain glaring exceptions./

They had been on the planet long enough now-- three standard weeks-- that the Council had told Qui-Gon that daily reports were unnecessary; the talks were moving too slowly to bother. This was due largely to the fact that the government of Lasyc Four consisted of a congress of sentients averaging twelve standard years.

Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes. Children. He'd never seen anything like it in nearly forty years in the field. This particular race's intellectual aging cycle was doubled. The average child of Lasyc Four rapidly attained the intellect of other humans twice their age. This mental aging process slowed as the child reached about ten or eleven, and by the time the children became adults the process had equalized. The peak of intellectual growth occurred at around eight years of age. From seven to twenty, the children of congressional age were referred to as sixteeners. Apparently this term dated back to a time when to reach sixteen meant to retire. Lasyc Four had dropped that regulation decades ago (thankfully, Qui-Gon thought).

Cultural mores dictated that a child must strive for a congressional seat by the age of seven. Parents groomed their children for it from birth. A child of thirteen was considered too old to begin a political career, though there were three members of Congress that were Obi-Wan's age. They had held onto their seats from their younger years by dint of skill and superiority. Veritable antiques. The cultural differences between the adults and the sixteeners were vast, and yet somehow the congress held its own.

However, the intellectual development had nothing to do with the emotional. Children on Lasyc Four were encouraged to maintain "emotional creativity" so that politics did not stifle them. So, for all intents and purposes, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were dealing with politically savvy ten-year-olds -- the decision-makers of the Continental Seat -- who carried trading cards and chewed bubble gum. Their political and cultural knowledge belied the fact that they still fought over which was the coolest Yo-tan Monster Warrior, a concept which amused Obi-Wan no end and which Qui-Gon found supremely irritating. Many females (and males, too, for that matter) of this race seemed particularly taken with the members of a five-man musical group that spanned several planets and were fond of syrupy ballads and overtly bouncy dance pieces. Qui-Gon was hard-pressed to see the point. Obi-Wan teased that he wouldn't mind doing the bass singer.

It wasn't a *bad* assignment. They had agreeable quarters, the food was good and Obi-Wan had made two friends in congress. Qui-Gon. well, Qui-Gon got his padawan off Coruscant, away from the Temple and out into the field. He knew the Temple stifled his padawan. Jedi do not crave excitement, Qui-Gon knew, but the young did.

They'd been given this assignment the day after the Presidential Ball: actually, they'd been slated for it a few hours before he and Obi-Wan had talked out their feelings for one another. It was proving to be very good for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had essentially let his padawan take over this mission as being the one with greater tolerance for the excesses and digressions of youth; it had been the right decision. Obi-Wan was holding his own, and never once allowed their budding relationship to hinder his sense of duty.

Even as he grew proud of his padawan's adeptness with this assignment, Qui-Gon wondered amusedly what this government of children thought of his own wizened state.

Obi-Wan smirked from his place on the floor. "Don't even," he said aloud, without looking up from his datapad.

Qui-Gon smiled faintly. "Ah, but Obi-Wan. I like it when you take it upon yourself to prove that I'm not old."

Lust flared in Obi-Wan's eyes as he looked up at his master. "Please, Master. If I don't come up with an outline for tomorrow's talks, you'll be hearing about the virtues of fire attacks and how the bass singer got a girlfriend." He paused thoughtfully, looking into the fire. "Which is really a shame, because he's rather --"

"Finish the outline, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon muttered, smiling inwardly at the way his padawan brandished his irreverence. Obi-Wan grinned at him, then returned to his work.

The day's progress had been minimal. Several arguments had erupted over whether B'lan, said bass singer, was going to go stay with the current love interest or start a production company on the side, as though they were mutually exclusive. Obi-Wan had taken it upon himself to rein the discussion back around to the shipyard contracts -- four times. It had not been a productive session, only a long one.

He didn't mind it, though, really. They had probably been selected for this particular mission because it allowed Obi-Wan to exercise his diplomatic capabilities while giving him a margin for error. However, he did feel badly for his master, who was extremely tired of the mission and who, of course, would never say a word. Duty over comfort, and all that.

Obi-Wan stole a glance up at his master, who was staring into the fire, his head slumped into his hand. The padawan sighed, tried to stave off a wash of sudden longing, and then caved to it. He'd tried so hard to separate duty from love these three weeks since the ball. In the end he'd found it best to allow them to reign where they would. The fact of the matter was that ever since that night, and the tender, shared confessions over the glove, he loved the way this new desire felt coursing through him.

He set the datapad aside and stood fluidly, drawing Qui-Gon's questioning glance.

"Finished already?"

Obi-Wan smiled, slinking over to his master's chair. "Not really, no."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows as his padawan straddled his lap in the huge chair. He put his broad hands on the hips now situated over his thighs and looked up expectantly. As he so often did, Qui-Gon thought what bliss it was to have this warm, willing, electric body so close after so long.

"No outline?" he asked, not particularly concerned about it.

Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed Qui-Gon, punctuating his words with little nips. "I thought. it might be better. if I did that later."

Qui-Gon smiled through the kisses. "Better.?"

Obi-Wan leaned over and traced his tongue around Qui-Gon's earlobe. "Better," he breathed, biting gently. He put his hand between Qui-Gon's legs to illustrate his point. Qui-Gon groaned and turned his head, capturing Obi-Wan's mouth.

They lay in bed, Obi-Wan pillowed against Qui-Gon's shoulder and idly playing his fingertips against the broad chest.

"What do you want to do for your birthday, Master?" he asked softly, from nowhere.

"Forget that I have one."

Obi-Wan grinned and propped himself up on one elbow. "No, no. I don't know how much longer we're going to be here, and I won't let your day go by without doing *something.* Besides, Thell was asking after you."

Qui-Gon tensed a little, looking at him. "Thell was? Why?"

The padawan considered the suspicion in his master's voice and replied, "She said she wants to do something *nice* for you."

Qui-Gon suppressed a snort and kept his voice neutral. "Of course she does. She's wanted to do 'something nice' for me since last week, and it's got nothing to do with my birthday."

Obi-Wan recalled his master's consternation at having been approached by the congresswoman. She was a starkly beautiful woman of twenty-three (ancient, for a politician, to be sure) with bright burgundy hair and pale blue eyes. Qui-Gon's attractiveness had drawn her and his natural kindness had heartened her. She had come to him one afternoon immediately after congress had adjourned and had made it plain that she desired him. Her blatant advance had stunned Qui-Gon, but he had tried to be kind to her, masking his astonishment. Her proposition went from openly persuasive to demanding. The master had ended up setting her away from him delicately. She had blustered angrily in the face of Qui-Gon's gentle unwillingness, and since then had avoided him outright.

For whatever reason though, the woman wanted to make amends. Qui-Gon seemed to be having none of it. It was unlike him, but Obi-Wan thought that perhaps it was for the best. Qui-Gon knew that a situation like that could not be remedied by talk. He certainly wasn't about to succumb to her demands, his relationship to Obi-Wan aside.

Obi-Wan settled back into Qui-Gon's shoulder. "At least consider it, Master, even without Thell. Let me do this for you."

Qui-Gon made a noncommittal noise. He couldn't keep his birthday from coming and realized he would probably do best to resign himself to his padawan's ministrations.

Obi-Wan, of course, steadfastly ignored his master's orders to forget the birthday party. He knew Qui-Gon well enough to see that his hermit-like attitude only extended to the *idea* of socializing. Once he got to a party, he would enjoy himself. The Presidential Ball had proven that much.

Ah, the ball. Obi-Wan still warmed pleasantly when he thought of it. He closed his fist absently, remembering that gorgeous ballroom, the dancing, the first touch of his master's lips. It had been perfect, and what had followed still struck him as something almost dreamlike.

He grinned as he forced his attention back to the plans for his master's birthday celebration.

It wasn't exactly going to be a big event; he knew that Qui-Gon would warm up as the evening progressed but it would be much harder going if there were a lot of people. Besides, the master/padawan team hadn't met enough people-- no, they hadn't met enough *adults*-- for there to be a real guest list. In fact, the list consisted of four people: the only two delegates old enough to have anything in common with the two Jedi, and the two Jedi themselves. Respecting his master's concerns, Obi-Wan had never included Thell in the plans.

Looking over the list of items he wanted and the things that he already had, he went to work.

When he entered their temporary quarters and turned on the lights to what was obviously a party, Qui-Gon's expression ranked somewhere between suspicion and amusement. Obi-Wan hadn't expected him to *really* be surprised; this was, after all, his master. But after the surprise had been shouted and someone had opened a bottle of ale, the padawan was pleased to note that his master looked, at least, unbothered.

Qui-Gon sipped his ale, licked foam from his moustache and said dryly, "Well, Obi-Wan, the beer's good. I suppose the evening can't be chalked up as a total loss."

The two guests chuckled and Obi-Wan flushed a little, smiling. The food was perfect: L'oara, a sweet little blond woman he suspected had a crush on him, had arranged for a roast and vegetables from the kitchen. Durian had brought music, and soft woodwinds filled the chamber. Both had brought gifts, though Obi-Wan had asked them not to. He wasn't sure his master wouldn't try to put that under the Jedi-don't-accept-presents heading.

He was gratified, though. The dim lighting in the chamber, the warmly scented candles, everything melded to create a relaxed, languid atmosphere. His eyes met Qui-Gon's across the table and he was speared through suddenly by a look that smoldered and promised. Obi-Wan smiled back faintly: he was beset by dizzy butterflies every time the man's eyes caught his that way. It was a wonder that he could focus on anything at all. With effort, he returned his attention to Durian's musings at the way the talks had gone that day.

". couldn't believe that they were *still* on about how much money the opening is costing. As if twenty-two million sules is really that much."

L'oara countered, "The more we spend on the opening, the less we end up with as profit for the first sixth. It's a sound argument."

Qui-Gon looked back and forth between them, not really knowing whether to interject. Obi-Wan laughed and refreshed their glasses. "Here, both of you. Drink your ale and hush or I'll have to mediate."

Durian laughed and L'oara blushed, but they drank their ale, nonetheless. Obi-Wan noticed then that L'oara was spending much less attention on him and much more on Durian, even if it was all business. Ah, but he thought too soon: now, L'oara was verbally swooning about B'lan and the gilded voice he bore, cattily cursing the girl who'd been lucky enough to end up with him. Durian was rolling his eyes and acting subtly jealous. They were enjoying themselves, nevertheless. He smiled a little and addressed his master quietly.

"There, see? It's not a bad birthday party," he chided gently. "Even if we can't get out of congress to have it." He smiled broadly and wished he could walk over and kiss that blessed mouth, but he was already pushing protocol by having a private dinner. It would do the Order no credit were he to make out with his master at the dinner table.

Qui-Gon smiled at him warmly, interpreting the desire in his padawan's eyes and feeling it wash through the bond lazily. "No, it's not a bad birthday party," he conceded. There was a note of happiness in his tone. "Thank you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan was grinning again, pleasure fluttering around in his stomach. He leaned back in his seat and sipped his ale contentedly. Surely, there was no happier padawan in the Order.

Eventually, L'oara called for gifts to be opened. In spite of Qui-Gon's calm demurral, the two congressional delegates pressed their presents into his lap, each demanding lightly that he open theirs first.

In the end, he opened L'oara's first, peeling back the thin, leathery paper. It revealed a delicately carved white marble bottle, corked with some soft yellow synthetic substance. He smiled at her questioningly.

"It's scent," she explained.

He opened it. A spicy fragrance wafted through the air. It was pleasant and clean, and Obi-Wan finally took this opportunity to move close to his master under pretense of smelling the cologne.

"It's wonderful," he commented, thinking it smelled just like Qui-Gon.

"Yes," Qui-Gon smiled at L'oara and inhaled the aroma, thinking it smelled just like Obi-Wan. "It is perfect. Thank you."

Durian grinned eagerly as Qui-Gon picked up his carefully arranged pouch. Opening it, the Jedi discovered a beautiful green book in hand-tooled hide. Qui-Gon was impressed. "Extraordinary," he breathed, running his fingertips over the leather. The workmanship of the cover simply astounded him. He opened the book almost as an afterthought, noting that it was a cultural guide on something called hitchhiking. "Thank you," he murmured sincerely, meeting Durian's satisfied gaze.

"These are wonderful," Qui-Gon told them, his voice carrying a smile. "It is not the Jedi way to accept gifts, but I appreciate them deeply." He bowed his head to them both, and they looked pleased and contented.

Obi-Wan was just about to explain that his gift would be presented later when the door surprised them all by chiming. He waved everyone else back onto their stools and looked at his master questioningly; Qui-Gon shrugged.

The padawan moved to the door and revealed Thell there in her particularly sharp brand of beauty. "Hello!" she beamed too brightly, and Obi-Wan, a little nonplussed, stepped back as she pushed her way in. She carried something that was large and tapered, wrapped in brown paper.

"And happy birthday to you, dear Qui-Gon," she said with an amount of cheer that was probably illegal on at least five systems. She bustled over to him with short, quick steps, her tight, gold gown trailing behind her jerkily. Obi-Wan didn't know her very well outside the congressional chambers. Still, he was sure he had never seen this kind of ebullience from *anyone,* let alone the sullen woman whom Qui-Gon had delicately turned down.

Thell bent at the waist without warning and kissed Qui-Gon's cheek. It took all of his decades of Jedi reserve to keep from recoiling. What in the frozen wastes of Hoth was she on about?

"I am so sorry to burst in-- I know I wasn't invited." She cast a hot smile over her shoulder at Obi-Wan. "But I couldn't let the night pass without giving you a gift." She shoved the paper-wrapped item forward, holding it out for Qui-Gon and shaking it at him lightly until he took it, puzzled.

"Thank you, Thell." He turned the thing in his hands and looked up at her, waiting to see some carefully veiled reproach or stony, unspoken anger, but there was nothing but that disconcertingly blithe smile. He glanced at Obi-Wan, who had taken his place at the end of the table again. Obi-Wan looked back over the rim of his ale glass, thinking he was going to need a lot more of this if that overt cheer was going to stay in the room with them all evening.

Qui-Gon shrugged mentally. Obviously Thell was trying to make amends as Obi-Wan had suggested days ago. Perhaps she was embarrassed for her behavior, though Qui-Gon was almost as bothered by her *current* comportment as he had been by her previous. Nevertheless, he put a look of serene contentment on and opened her gift.

It was an unusual bottle, glass apparently, as long as his forearm and shaped in a graceful, slow spiral. The label on it proclaimed it as local wine from sweet, ripe pallies, vintage seven standard years ago. "Thank you, Thell," Qui-Gon murmured, a bit at a loss and embarrassed for having told Obi-Wan specifically that he did not want to see her.

"It's a very nice year," she informed him, her voice suddenly soft. He looked up at her, noting the way her expression had developed a distinct predatory quality. /Goodness, the woman's moods shift like the wind,/ Qui-Gon thought.

"Thank you," he said again, not really knowing what more she wanted to hear-- well, he thought he had an idea. "Would you care to sit with us and have some ale?" he finally offered out of politeness, shushing Obi-Wan's urgent denial through the bond.

She giggled. "No, thank you, I shouldn't stay. I just came to wish you a happy day and hope that that kind of gift is allowed." She giggled again, and Qui-Gon wondered exactly what was in the wine that might fall outside that criteria. Before he could rise or walk her to the exit, she was scuttling out it again. "Evening!" she called over her shoulder, and was gone with a swish of closing door. They stared after her, blinking.

L'oara sighed suddenly. "Thank the gods great and small. I can't stand that woman."

"Now, be fair," Durian admonished her. "Just because she's on the Early Finance committee is no reason to dislike her."

L'oara pinned him with her gaze. "Committee be damned. She's a mynock on legs."

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon remained prudently silent.

When L'oara and Durian had gone for the night, Qui-Gon sank to the chair before the fire. "Obi-Wan, I am too old for birthdays," he declared, rubbing his eyes.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't let's start that again, Master." He moved toward the main table and began to clear away dishes and glasses to the kitchenette.

He worked silently for a while, relishing the knowledge that his master had enjoyed the evening. Qui-Gon wasn't an extremely social man-- not that he wasn't *sociable,* just that he didn't seek out the company of others. He was just as content to remain in quarters and read. Obi-Wan smiled. Charming, warm, devastatingly handsome-- and preferring to hole up with his padawan. Who could ask for more?

"What do you make of Thell's behavior?" Qui-Gon asked as Obi-Wan emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth. The master had risen and was standing before the cabinet near the hearth, contemplating the bottle she had left.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't know, Master. I am not very well acquainted with her. She doesn't argue Yo-Tan fighting styles, and I've never heard her mention B'lan *or* the songwriter, so she and I have never interacted much." His eyes sparkled. "I daresay you know her better than I do." He began wiping the main table down with the cloth as Qui-Gon looked for something with which to open the wine.

"Would you like a glass of this?" he asked his apprentice, finally locating a corkscrew in a cabinet by the hearth.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, thank you, Master. It's your birthday present. Besides, I think I had enough ale."

Qui-Gon uncorked the bottle and silently thanked their young hosts for taking care of such amenities. Then he took a glass down from the cabinet and poured himself a small portion of the amber-colored drink. He brought it to his nose and smelled it. He was no connoisseur, to be certain, but it did have a nice fragrance. Thoughtfully, he sipped it. It was tart and fruity and warmed his tongue.

"Oh, this is nice, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed. "I feel badly that I didn't give Thell more of a chance, now."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "There *was* something odd tonight, though, Master. I have never seen *anyone* act like that, and certainly I would never have guessed she was so-- so--" he frowned, trying to find words but unable to make them polite ones. "At any rate, she doesn't act like that in congress."

The master sipped the wine again and said nothing, preferring to silently watch his padawan move. Obi-Wan was puttering around their quarters now, straightening, picking up. Qui-Gon smiled. He moved behind his apprentice, taking him into a sudden, warm embrace. Obi-Wan immediately relaxed against him, sighing. "I forgot your gift," he said softly.

Qui-Gon's heart quickened as Obi-Wan stepped away to rummage through his bags. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to be fortunate enough to end up with Obi-Wan Kenobi as a padawan, never mind a lover, but he found himself being grateful every time he looked into those malleable blue-gray eyes. Sometimes it seemed too good, as though it were a dream.

"It's not wrapped," Obi-Wan said softly, apologetically, as he returned to Qui-Gon. He held the item behind him and rocked back and forth, shifting a little, suddenly nervous. "It's not much, either," he added, biting his lower lip and casting his eyes down. Suddenly he wished it were something more, something grand, like the ornamented green leather of the book cover or a bottle of scent that smelled perfectly of Qui-Gon. Quickly he held his hands out, showing Qui-Gon the gift.

Qui-Gon pulled in a breath. What Obi-Wan held in his hands was a pair of satiny, chocolate-brown leather gloves. He took them, feeling the completely unbelievable softness of them, and looked at Obi-Wan.

"I wanted to get black ones," Obi-Wan muttered nervously. "They didn't have any that big. And then I wished I had found you a stone like you do for me, but I wanted something from the night of the ball, maybe something from the gardens, and of course then --"

Qui-Gon smiled, shook his head and kissed Obi-Wan silent.

Obi-Wan woke gradually, drifting gently from his deep, exhausted sleep. Slowly, he came into his memories of the night before: Qui-Gon had kissed him senseless and then finished the glass of wine he had poured. It had taken them a while to realize that the wine definitely had some delicious side benefits to it. The result had been a night of sex so astounding, Obi-Wan was faintly amazed he was conscious this early in the day. Smiling, he stretched, cataloging several pleasant little aches and a couple of rather large ones. He would have to ration that wine out carefully-- or procure more of it. He shifted and pressed against his master's long, slumbering body, grinning with satisfaction.

After a while, Obi-Wan rose and began to prepare for his day. He was due in congress in a couple of hours to continue with the financial mediations. He left Qui-Gon sleeping in the large bed, smirking to himself that he needed the rest. The man had definitely outdone himself last night.

Obi-Wan showered, wincing through a large, brainless smile as his hands soaped places that his master had inadvertently bruised and bitten. Well, he'd left a few marks of his own; it was only fair.

Amazing. Qui-Gon had been utterly insatiable. They had christened everything in their quarters, nearly: the large chair, the main table, three dining stools, the hearth and a goodly segment of wall. He stretched his spine, rolled his neck to ease the stiffness under the hot spray of water, then turned it off and stepped out, suppressing a slow tide of arousal. There was no time, sadly.

He toweled off, relishing the little pains that remained in his body. He could heal them easily, but they were too enjoyable. Naked, he walked out of the 'fresher and into the bedroom, thinking Qui-Gon should be up by now.

"Master." he sing-songed, scrubbing his hair dry and squeezing the padawan braid in the towel. "Time to get up." Qui-Gon didn't move. Obi-Wan grinned, trailing his fingers down the lightly furred chest to where the sheet draped loosely over the flat expanse of stomach. "I'll wake you one way or another," he warned playfully, dipping his fingers under the sheet. Qui-Gon's stomach twitched ticklishly, but he did not stir.

Obi-Wan straddled the lean thighs and bent forward, resting on his elbows to either side of Qui-Gon's chest. "Hey," he whispered. "Are you doing this on purpose? We don't have time to play, Master. You've overslept as it is." He leaned down and delicately kissed a purplish mark on Qui-Gon's neck, swirling his tongue around it. His master hummed in his throat but still did not wake.

Obi-Wan sat up a bit, frowning. "Master. Come on now, wake up." He shook one wide shoulder briefly.

There was no response.

Obi-Wan's heart sped up. "Master." He shook the shoulder again, firmly enough to rattle Qui-Gon's upper body, his head rocking on the pillow. Qui-Gon made a grunting noise and frowned, but came no closer to consciousness.

Cursing, Obi-Wan flung himself off the bed and threw his clothing on. He probed through the training bond, finding nothing but swirling dream images and a vague sense of arousal. /Sith hells,/ he thought distractedly, cinching his belt. /She was angry enough to drug the wine./ He looked around for the offending bottle of wine, spotting it on the cabinet by the hearth.

He strode to it as though he were about to throttle it. He uncorked it and smelled it but found nothing offensive or odd. Increasingly angry and more than a little worried, he stopped the bottle up again and set it back down.

He scanned the bond again for any signs of distress, finding nothing out of the ordinary but an unusually deep sleep. Moving back to the bed, he slapped his master's cheek a few times and said loudly, "Master! Can you hear me at all?" Qui-Gon mumbled in his sleep and turned over.

Obi-Wan keyed the channel for the liaison office into his communicator, tugging his robe on.

"Padawan Kenobi, good morning," came a pleasant male voice. "What may I do for you tod--"

"Please," Obi-Wan said urgently into the com, "I need a healer to our rooms right away and I need you to notify the Congressional Leader of my whereabouts. I think my master's been drugged."

"Oh my! Yes, sir, immediately," the Liaison replied, his worry carrying plainly in his voice.

Obi-Wan then requested a call be placed to the Jedi Council. Relayed through the central communications unit, the call took several minutes to complete. Once he was through he was dispatched to Yoda immediately.

Obi-Wan ran down the incident quickly, finishing with his speculations. Yoda was silent a moment, then muttered, "Bad, this is. Reasons, there are, why the Jedi do not accept gifts." Obi-Wan could tell the little master was trying to sound stern, but worry colored his tone. "Finish the treaty negotiations, you must. Report back to me with the healer's findings, you will. Know, I do not, what will be required if Qui-Gon does not wake up." he trailed off, and Obi-Wan grew very concerned indeed that Yoda could not find words. Finally, the master finished simply, "Report back to me with the healer's findings, you will."

Obi-Wan murmured something-- he wasn't really sure what, probably a platitude of some kind-- and switched off. He stared at the great, slumbering man in the bed. Belatedly, he thought Qui-Gon should probably be wearing pants when the healer arrived. He struggled a pair of sleep pants onto the long legs, fighting with frustration to get them over Qui-Gon's lean hips (and impressive erection-- the dreams were apparently quite good). After a bit of trouble and a few choice interplanetary curses, he remembered to lift the man with the Force. Centering with difficulty, he managed it and tugged the pants up, cinching them just as the door chimed. He clenched his teeth and hands, forcibly calmed himself and went out to the door.

Not only had a healer arrived, but also the Liaison Manager and the Congressional Leader.

The Liaison Manager was slight of build and dressed in black, which countered drastically with his bright red hair and light brown eyes. He was about seventeen years old. He paced about wringing his hands, fluttering and worrying about the interplanetary fallout. Obi-Wan thought more than once about putting him under just so he would hush.

The Congressional Leader, one O'ja Messper, was a tiny little brown-haired nine-year-old girl. She had freckles and light gray eyes, and her hair was perpetually drawn into a long, stark ponytail, leaving nothing to frame her face. She reminded Obi-Wan of a crècheling he had seen tripping over her own robes.

O'ja was incensed by the incident and especially with the information that a delegate in her own congress was responsible. It seemed, to him at any rate, that Obi-Wan's word was more than sufficient.

"Show me the wine," she demanded in her small yet imperious voice, holding out her hand. Obi-Wan retrieved the bottle from the cabinet and brought it to her, kneeling down and leaning one elbow on his knee as he would before Master Yoda. She read the label, examined the bottle, turned it over in her hand. She held it up to the light, checking for sediment of any kind, apparently. Obi-Wan wished he had thought to do that.

"May I see Master Jinn?" she asked softly, and he nodded tightly and led her into the bedroom.

The healer was doing a scan of Qui-Gon's bodily functions and marking his vital signs. The Liaison Manager stood near Qui-Gon's feet, one arm wrapped across his stomach, the other propped on his wrist at the elbow. He had a hand cupped over his mouth, and his brow was furrowed in consternation.

"Leader Messper," he greeted the small congresswoman and bowed his head, never losing that worried expression. Obi-Wan noticed that he seemed to be taking this very personally.

The healer switched off the scanner and turned to the others. "I can find nothing. He is asleep; soundly so, but is not in comatose, nor is he in distress. His vital signs are normal and relaxed. His brain patterns remain in a standard dream state." He shook his head. "We will know more, of course, when the samples come back from the lab. I have sent a blood sample already; do you know how much of the wine he consumed?"

"A glass," Obi-Wan replied, trying to maintain his cool Jedi front. He made a "C" with his index finger and thumb, indicating how deeply Qui-Gon had filled his goblet.

The healer shook his head again. "That's not enough to--" He punched notes into his datapad. "What happened afterward?"

Obi-Wan took a slow, quiet breath, trying to steady himself and keep from flushing brightly. He most assuredly failed. "Um-- we-- You see, the wine, it appeared to be-- It had this property to it--"

Helplessly, he looked down at O'ja: an action he immediately regretted. She looked back up at him with an altogether unsettling expression on her nine-year-old face. "It's likely that a stimulant was added as well," she suggested quite matter-of-factly. "We will scan for any inorganic compounds; that should cover it. Was there any evidence of hallucination?"

Obi-Wan was dully surprised. Even the healer was making a note of her words. "No," Obi-Wan said quietly, his eyes going distant as he tried to recall anything out of the ordinary. Qui-Gon had been quite lucid. Hungry, yes. Demanding, animalistic-- He snapped the train of thought off, staving off memories. "No, there were no hallucinations."

The healer made more notes, then looked back at Qui-Gon, who hadn't moved. "I don't know what to make of it. No extreme fluctuations in brain patterns, no decreased heart rate. He doesn't show any residual signs of having been sedated, no side effects. we shall have to wait and see. He is stable and comfortable, with the exception, I assume, of this." He trailed off, gesturing toward the vicinity of Qui-Gon's hips. "His state of physical arousal is. odd. I've never seen anything like this before." The healer sighed and looked at his notes again, as though he hoped they would suddenly help. "I will send orderlies to bring him to the healers' ward where we can monitor him."

Obi-Wan nodded and folded his arms into his robe. Once inside, his hands gripped his elbows, clenching and unclenching in his anxiety. What had happened to Qui-Gon?

Little O'ja (/I will have to stop thinking of her that way,/ Obi-Wan thought) spoke up then. "If you would like time, Padawan Kenobi, we will hold off the talks until--"

"No," Obi-Wan broke in, a little dismayed at the idea that this visit would be protracted any longer. He softened his tone and added, "I have been instructed to see the talks to completion, Leader Messper. As long as my master is in no danger, I see no reason not to." He managed to keep the resignation out of his voice but felt it in his heart. Suddenly he was very, very tired. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Qui-Gon's side in favor of a congressful of children bickering over boy band members and the attributes of monsters.

O'ja looked at him sympathetically, her freckled face betraying her concern, and said, "Padawan Kenobi, I assure you: Thell Arqal will be dealt with. I will have a sample of the wine sent to laboratory here and one sent back to Coruscant for your own examiners to check." She reached up and squeezed his hand. "We will get to the bottom of this."

As she turned and left, Obi-Wan mused on the complete surrealism of the entire situation. He knew that if there were only a few more like Leader Messper in congress, the talks would have been concluded satisfactorily by now.

The healer arranged his equipment into his pouch. "I will send someone by to watch over him until we can get him moved," he told Obi-Wan, and then he left also.

The Liaison Manager looked as though he wanted to say something, but nothing would come out of his mouth. He knotted his hands together, looked at the bed and then looked at Obi-Wan. As Obi-Wan began to wonder if the boy were even capable of speech anymore, the Manager said, "I'm terribly sorry. Please let me know if there is something I can do for you." He nearly scurried out.

Obi-Wan stared down at his master. The big, broad chest was uncovered, the sheet draped sloppily along one leg. Qui-Gon's breathing was steady and even, very slow, but that was to be expected in one so fit. The padawan put two fingers on a pulse point under soft, warm skin and found it steady and strong. He placed his hand on his master's cheek and felt the heat of comfortable sleep under the skin. No distress, no side effects. But no Qui-Gon. Truly, there was nothing wrong here but the unreasonable depth of slumber.

Qui-Gon lay there curled up in a tableau of perfectly trusting sleep. The man was magnificent, Obi-Wan realized for the ten thousandth time in his life, breathing and dreaming easily like a great, tamed lion. The comfort of it was tempting. Obi-Wan wanted to leave his tension and fear behind, just drop the worry over his master and the dread over the talks and crawl into bed beside Qui-Gon. He wanted to jump into his master's mind and be what he was: aroused and sheltered in that deep, senseless sleep.

Obi-Wan knew he should go back to the congressional building and work on finishing the talks: the sooner he finished, the sooner they could get out of here. But now, his only desire was to curl up next to that big, warm body and bury himself in the training bond.

The training bond-- Obi-Wan tested it. There was still that muted, snowy hiss of dreams and faint eroticism that Obi-Wan couldn't quite get a grasp on. He dug more deeply, past the dreams, insinuating himself into the lower levels of Qui-Gon's mind, the deep subconscious where his desires lived.

/Master. Please answer me./

Qui-Gon made a low noise in his throat.

/Qui-Gon, I am frightened for you./ Sharply, Obi-Wan realized he was. What would happen if Qui-Gon couldn't wake up? What would happen if he did, and wasn't the same? Never mind that, what was happening *now*?

He dared not push any further into his master's mind. That was for Master Yoda to do, or a healer perhaps. If this was chemical, then forcing his way through the bond wasn't going to help. If it was psychological, then Obi-Wan risked upsetting some unknown balance in Qui-Gon's mind, possibly to a damaging extent.

Obi-Wan sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, straightening the sheet over his master's body. His heart sped up when Qui-Gon pulled in a deep breath and shifted, but it was only to turn over. He moved, breathed and dreamed normally. Obi-Wan could only hope that they might find a way to help him wake normally, too.

He waited only until a healer arrived to sit with Qui-Gon, then he left their quarters and joined congress. There was no help for it; it wasn't doing him any good to sit and fret. The talks would not oversee themselves. There was only a handful of delegates, the Leader among them, who were able to maintain the focus it took to keep from squabbling over immaterial issues. What had once been amusing to Obi-Wan quickly became an aggravation. Nevertheless, he continued to draw on his enforced Jedi calm. Qui-Gon would demand that he saw this assignment through. So Obi-Wan would.

In the end, it was better that Qui-Gon had all but turned this mission over to Obi-Wan's discretion. He was, by now, well-equipped to handle the situation. By the end of the first day of Qui-Gon's sleep, two more contract points had been negotiated to agreement, and Obi-Wan had to redirect the haggling no more-- though unfortunately no less-- than he had before. At least things seemed to be evening out.

He spent the night in the healers' ward, sleeping on a cot that they had provided for him. Obi-Wan joked that all the Temple healers knew how to do was apply bacta and throw out visitors. The healer on duty looked at him in confusion. The padawan only shook his head, apologized and sank to the cot, staring at Qui-Gon.

He looked so peaceful. More than once, Obi-Wan stood and went to him, brushing stray hair from his master's face or straightening his blankets, making up excuses to touch him, to be near him. So relaxed was his master's slumber that sometimes Obi-Wan found himself instinctively suppressing his movements for quiet. The man was stunning even in sleep. Obi-Wan sighed. The urge to wrap himself around his master drove Obi-Wan to pace in agitation. By the second day, they had started a feed tube. If he interfered with it or the monitor hookups, the healers *would* throw him out.

The almost-perpetual line of worry between Qui-Gon's brows had smoothed. The face that was so often a mask of reserve and calm was now truly serene. At least his dreams appeared to be good. Obi-Wan tried to access them, hoping to ease the uncharacteristic ache in his heart by joining his master on a subconscious level. He could see nothing definitive, though, but red and black foggy swirls with that pervading desire he had already sensed. The man appeared to be in a consistent state of sexual excitement, with vacillating physical responses.

Obi-Wan sighed, damped down his own body's response to Qui-Gon's emotions and went back to the cot, dropping into Force-induced rest to keep himself from thinking. He heard the beeping of the monitoring equipment in his sleep.

The following day the Liaison manager informed him almost mournfully that Thell Arqal was nowhere to be found. Laboratory results on the wine had yielded nothing. Obi-Wan shook his head in despair and disbelief at the news. There was no trace of any sedative. There was nothing to counteract. The best they could determine was that the wine somehow interacted with the high concentration of midichlorians in Qui-Gon's blood, however that speculation did nothing toward finding a solution. After the results came in he reported the local findings to the Council, updated them on the missing delegate and received, again, a standing order to complete the talks.

So ran his days: he would rise in the morning, attend the congressional debates until meals, slowly-- too slowly-- ticking off points in the contractual agreement. When congress adjourned, he would go back to the healers' ward and sit with Qui-Gon. Sometimes he would test the bond to see at least if he could read Qui-Gon's dreams for some clue. They were murky and elusive, always colored with sexual implication that Obi-Wan couldn't place. He couldn't even see them clearly, let alone get any answers out of them.

They had to anchor it firmly because Qui-Gon rolled and turned every few hours as though he were sleeping on any ordinary night. Obi-Wan kept the Council apprised, though nothing changed. Qui-Gon slept. And slept. And slept. There was no help for it. Obi-Wan began to envy him his peace even as he longed for him.

By the end of the first week, Obi-Wan was haggard and worn. Yoda held out hope that perhaps there was some key in the wine, something they had missed, and that some kind of antidote could yet be found. But Obi-Wan clung to no such optimism. O'ja herself had contacted the vintner, requesting samples from other batches for cross-testing. Still nothing. Obi-Wan, desperate now to get back to Coruscant, continued overseeing the congress in spite of his flagging reserve and calm.

He began to notice with a dull kind of gratefulness that word had gone around about the Jedi who would not wake. The children in congress slowly stopped bickering over toys and singers, keeping to their negotiations in muted voices and shushing those who might veer off course. At first, Obi-Wan was suspicious. He didn't want to have to come back here and renegotiate due to rumors that talks had been rushed. Amazingly, the delegates were making a sincere effort to expedite the process. Within days, negotiations were nearly closed. Obi-Wan Kenobi was one grateful padawan.

The day prior to the two-week mark of Qui-Gon's interminable sleep-- Thell Arqal was unexpectedly located and brought in.

A meeting was called in Leader Messper's office that morning. Thell faced charges of endangering life, reckless use of illegal substances, and evasion of judicial discipline. Harsh charges, to be sure.

Obi-Wan was not surprised to see that Thell was bitter and irritable, even given the beamingly bright performance she'd delivered with the gift. He stood with his arms crossed inside his sleeves, his sternest damned-close-to-knight expression pinned on.

O'ja drew her little self up. "Congresswoman Arqal, you stand accused of three grievous charges against an off-world ambassador who came here to help us. It will not go well for you if you don't give us everything." The look in the wide, gray eyes was a mixture of anger and cold promise, and Obi-Wan found himself developing a sincere respect for the child.

Thell tossed her head, her deep red hair swaying. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The congressional head retrieved the wine from behind her desk and set it down with a thud. "Talk, Thell. He drank a glass of this and has slept since then. You know good and well what I'm talking about. What did you put in here that would make a man sleep for two weeks?"

Thell's eyes widened. "*Put* in there?" She shook her head, genuinely surprised. "I didn't-- I would never. That wine-- there was nothing wrong with it."

O'ja's eyes went as narrow as Thell's had gone wide. "Then you're telling me that the wine is *not* an aphrodisiac."

The woman tipped her head down and ran her hand over her hair. Obi-Wan observed her sudden nervousness and wondered exactly what was going on. There was a certainty to O'ja's look and posture that belied her youth: she was about to pin Thell down, and hard.

"It's not that the wine isn't--" Thell broke off, flustered, and met Obi-Wan's glare. "I didn't put anything in it," she maintained quietly, then fell silent again.

Obi-Wan shook his head in confusion and looked at Leader Messper, who began to explain in a hard, edgy voice, her eyes never leaving Thell's. "We received a call from the vineyard yesterday: one of the employees remembered a little-known bit of trivia. During dry years, the pallies produce a wax that coats the skin of the fruit to prevent evaporation of moisture. It was discovered decades ago that this wax develops erotic enhancement qualities when it isn't separated out of the fermentation process. The last drought was seven years ago, the year that bottle was vinted. Since the wax is, indeed, an organic compound and not a synthetic additive, it went unnoticed during our laboratory tests. Now, Congresswoman: bottles vinted from that crop are scarce and expensive, generally a lot of trouble to obtain. I suppose you just happened to have one sitting around?"

"All right, I obtained that bottle of wine specifically for Master Jinn," Thell conceded, disgusted. "How was I supposed to know that *he* was--" She broke off and waved her hand angrily in Obi-Wan's direction. "Yes, I wanted him. I expected him to come to me that night. When I gave him the wine, I thought he *knew*--" She caught Obi-Wan's stare, which was now a good deal colder and more incensed.

Obi-Wan struggled to keep his face from displaying his anger. He remembered, now, that Thell had remarked on the "good year" of the wine when she'd presented it to Qui-Gon. Coldly, he said, "You knowingly gave my master that wine. Tell us how to correct its effects."

Thell blanched and dropped her eyes. "I- I don't know."

The Jedi's hands clenched inside his sleeves. "Then we're back where we started," he said stonily, his hopes dashed. "And I hope that justice is well done, Congresswoman. I will be more than happy to testify, should I be needed," he added, turning his eyes to the Congressional Leader. Bowing, he received her nod of release and took his leave.

After he had gone, O'ja glared hard at Thell. "You will be put on trial, Thell, and regardless of his testimony, you will go to prison." She laid a small recorder on the desk. On it blinked a small blue light, indicating recording in progress. "If you are withholding any information--"

"It was just a prank!" Thell exploded. "Stupid, yes! But meaningless. I had no intention of-- It was only an *aphrodisiac!*"

The Congressional Leader sat back in her small chair and folded her hands. She looked at the wine thoughtfully while Thell hid her face and sighed. After a moment, O'ja placed a call.

Obi-Wan barely got through the afternoon session, in essence little more than formality. The following day, all parties would sign the shipyard opening contract and Obi-Wan would be free to go. The proceedings were quiet and subdued, much though he tried to shield his worry and pain.

His only hope was that the healers on Coruscant would be able to find something the local healers had missed. Somehow, though, he doubted it: the medical staff had regularly kept in touch with the Temple and had turned up nothing so far.

When he trudged back to the healers' ward that evening, he was surprised that the on-duty healer told him to return to the rooms they had been assigned at the outset of the mission.

Doing so, he was stunned to find Qui-Gon there in the big bed, asleep of course. He had no monitors, no wires, no tubes connected to him. Obi-Wan looked around the room, frowning, and spotted a datapad on a chest of drawers. He went to it.

"Padawan Kenobi:

The vintner maintains he has never seen this reaction in a human before, even to the "special years" wines. I was able to get nothing more from Congresswoman Arqal than a repeated assertion that the wine was "only an _aphrodisiac_." Since that is the only information you have to work with, I instructed that Master Jinn be returned to quarters to your personal care. It is the only thing we haven't tried.

I am hopeful.

--O'ja."

Obi-Wan stared at the datapad. /What in the nine hells --?/ He looked at the man slumbering on the bed. The healers had brushed his hair, bathed him, put him in fresh sleep clothes.

/Surely not.?/

Still confused but suddenly hopeful, Obi-Wan moved toward the bed. Qui-Gon lay sprawled out, his brown-and-silver hair draped over the pillow, face turned to one side. Obi-Wan opened up to the bond again and found that same odd sense of languid, fuzzy arousal. Unrequited desire-- the wine was *still* an aphrodisiac, even through sleep. Why hadn't he thought of it?

Now he realized slowly that he knew. He'd been so busy wishing Qui-Gon would just wake up and be the master that he hadn't considered that he, Obi-Wan, was going to have to take charge. He'd done everything technically possible, overseen all the research, contacted everyone within the chain of command on both Coruscant and Lasyc Four. He had overseen the shipyard agreement nearly to completion. He'd taken control of everything but his master's sleep, a sleep that had, by its sexual nature, everything to do with Obi-Wan.

He opened up to the bond, flooding himself with Qui-Gon's dreams. They would not resolve at first, though Obi-Wan found himself aroused by the energy in them, by the strange, nameless quality that lent them their eroticism. Drawing on this hope and his connection to his master, Obi-Wan took a piece of that mist and concentrated on it, hard. After a few moments, he was able to push it into focus.

It was a piece of the night of Qui-Gon's birthday. He saw himself through Qui-Gon's vision, pinned against the wall, close and flushed, staring into his own-- no, his master's-- eyes. He felt himself through Qui-Gon's skin, hot and damp, tense with want, legs wrapped around those lean hips, clinging. Obi-Wan's memory of the wall behind him and his master inside him superimposed itself over Qui-Gon's dream image, and instantly Obi-Wan was hard. He pulled in a shuddering breath and stared at the sleeping figure on the bed. Of course. Sharply, he realized he was the only one who could do anything about this.

Immediately, Obi-Wan peeled off his clothing and dropped it where he stood. He nearly fell over trying to take off his boots. Excitedly, he dared to wonder if it was as simple as waking up Qui-Gon's body to bring it in tune with his mind. Medically, it didn't make much sense-- Qui-Gon had dreamed himself into and out of countless erections since going to sleep-- but once the thought occurred to him he couldn't get undressed fast enough. He climbed onto the bed.

He undressed Qui-Gon gently, sparing a thought for all the trouble the healers must have gone through to dress the long body without Force assistance. He dropped the clothing unheeded to the floor. Obi-Wan shifted and tugged the blanket over them both, draping himself along that rangy body, one leg between his master's. Qui-Gon was warm and pliant, but Obi-Wan could feel the strength waiting underneath. He was reminded again of a great, sleeping cat.

He tilted Qui-Gon's face toward him gently. Then, hoping and praying to any listening deities, and the Force, and Sith only knew who else, he kissed his master.

He brought his lips down tenderly on Qui-Gon's, drifting delicately over the warm, dry skin. He darted his tongue out and swept it over the pink flesh under the fringe of moustache. /Qui-Gon,/ he called into the bond, tracing the firm lips. /Master, wake up, I have something for you,/ Obi-Wan planted a row of small, light kisses across Qui-Gon's mouth, then sucked the lower lip between his teeth, running the tip of his tongue over it in a way that always made his master groan.

Qui-Gon groaned. and slept.

Obi-Wan tried harder. He pushed past the relaxed lips and found his master's tongue. He played with it, coaxed it, whispered, /Master. I want you./ Obi-Wan did not stop nibbling at his master's lips, teasing with his tongue. /Come on, come on./ His breath caught and hope exploded when Qui-Gon's mouth finally responded under his.

It began slowly. At first, Qui-Gon's kiss was listless and slack for all the warmth under it: a sleepy, reluctant kiss. His lips moved softly under his padawan's and Obi-Wan experienced a flash of panic when they paused and went lax again. Immediately he bit Qui-Gon's bottom lip and sucked on it.

Qui-Gon surged upward with a broken-off moan, lips suddenly seeking and hungry, tongue ransacking Obi-Wan's mouth. Obi-Wan gripped his master's head in his hands and replied eagerly. /Oh, thank the Force./

Qui-Gon was no longer loose with slumber: immediately he was tense and needy, but still not quite awake. The patterns through the bond remained cloudy and erratic. Obi-Wan levered himself sideways and straddled his master's hips, struggling to keep hold of Qui-Gon's mouth with his. He was afraid if he broke the kiss he would lose all the ground he'd gained.

He gasped as Qui-Gon arched up toward him, never breaking the amazing, stormy kiss. Fire shot through Obi-Wan's body at the contact, pooling hotly in his groin. He pressed downward, thrusting his hips, chanting, /Yes, yes, yes/ into Qui-Gon's head. The haze in his master's consciousness was beginning to lift. /Oh, yes./

/Obi-Wan./ Qui-Gon's mental voice broke into Obi-Wan's litany. The voice was quiet and sedate, a sharp contrast to the starved kisses and grinding hips. /What.?/

Obi-Wan pressed himself closer to his master's body, pinning the man to the bed from shoulder to hips, afraid he might try to break the kiss. /Don't. Don't stop./

/ Why in all the hells would I stop?/ Qui-Gon countered, moaning. It surprised Obi-Wan: his master's waking was not a gentle rising to consciousness, it was jerking forward by leaps and bounds. Obi-Wan found he could not concern himself with how it was happening. He was too grateful that it was happening at all.

Still the kiss went on. Obi-Wan was licking and biting, his tongue and body relishing the strained desire in his master's form, awake at last. Qui-Gon, for his part, didn't quite know what was going on, but he wasn't about to ask questions. There was a strange sort of insistence in his padawan's kisses that he didn't want to break, even if he didn't understand it.

Now he was pushing upward, grinding his erection against Obi-Wan's. The sensation of it after two weeks of fear and loneliness tore a cry from the insistent apprentice's throat. Before he even formed a thought about it, he was kissing his frantic way down Qui-Gon's throat.

He froze and raised his head, staring at Qui-Gon. The indigo eyes were sharp with lust, but still not altogether lucid. Obi-Wan just wondered at them a moment. Two weeks without looking at them, without hearing that voice outside of an unconscious groan-- and then that voice was speaking to him.

"What is it?"

Obi-Wan stared a bit longer, absorbing the new wakefulness appreciatively. Obviously, Qui-Gon had no idea that he was rousing from anything other than a good night's sleep. "You've--" Obi-Wan began, but knew that he didn't really want to get into all the explanations now. 'You've been asleep two weeks' could only endanger the great, surging desire between them. He was not altogether sure, but he had a feeling that desire was all that was keeping his master awake now.

"I'll tell you later," he breathed, and descended again on Qui-Gon's mouth, kissing ravenously. He jumped when Qui-Gon's hand tucked itself between them and found his shaft. That large, warm hand circled him snugly, drawing out a moan. Obi-Wan hitched his hips forward and paused in the kiss, his lower lip caught in Qui-Gon's teeth. He expected a bit of teasing but Qui-Gon was working his hand insistently, immediately goal-oriented. Obi-Wan levered himself up, hips bucking as his master's thumb brushed over the tip of his cock, drawing moisture over the head and dragging it down over the shaft. Obi-Wan thrust into the hand that was holding him, shifting against the rest-softened calluses, unable to help himself.

It was too much, too soon and suddenly he was close, too close. "Wait--" he gasped out, bracing himself against the tense chest under him, but Qui-Gon was adamant. Obi-Wan struggled against the impending climax, but his master's hand continued pumping.

"Slow-- ohhhh," he moaned, trying to regain his mental footing. He had a vague recollection that he was supposed to be the seducer but he couldn't think to do anything other than thrust.

"I dreamed about you, my Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in his deep, newly awake voice. It was enough. With a strained cry, Obi-Wan came to perfectly clear dream images of himself doing just that. Thoughts were rolling out of Qui-Gon's mind and into his: flashes, remnants, bare snippets of images that formed a scintillating whole scene between them.

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's semen in his other hand, staring up into those wide, stunned eyes. Obi-Wan was still gasping for air when Qui-Gon shifted him back and slicked his own erection with Obi-Wan's come. Obi-Wan's breathing caught at the sight and at the wicked glimmer in his master's eyes. A lazy sense of déjà vu washed over Obi-Wan. He'd tapped into enough of the dreams to take them in unconsciously, and now Qui-Gon was acting one out. All Qui-Gon knew was that he was *hungry* for this. The hunger was fueled by the fading dream images and the memory of hot, hot sex all over their quarters, and not least of all by the astonished, grateful look in his padawan's eyes.

Obi-Wan felt glazed over. His eyes were glassy, his skin shone with sweat, his lips were parted and moist from a swipe of tongue. His hand still rested on his master's chest so Qui-Gon grabbed it, twining their fingers together. He tugged Obi-Wan over him and down for a kiss, not letting go, using his other hand to maneuver his padawan's hips. Obi-Wan welcomed the sudden closeness. He was still hard, still excited by his master's labored breathing and the images he'd received straight out of the long-sleeping mind.

Qui-Gon steadied himself as they kissed. Obi-Wan pressed backward onto the hard, slick shaft, inching onto it, taking it in slowly. His master hissed air in through his teeth and went very still. His hand clenched around his padawan's almost painfully, but the moan escaping from that wet mouth denied any discomfort. By the time Obi-Wan had sheathed his master completely, Qui-Gon was fighting the need to thrust. His breathing was ragged and heavy, his eyes sliding shut with the effort of controlling his body in the face of the sharp, sweet pleasure.

"No!" Obi-Wan gasped, and when Qui-Gon's eyes flew open worriedly, he stammered, "I- I want to look at you, I want to see your eyes."

Immediately Qui-Gon levered himself up, caught Obi-Wan to him and rolled them over, pinning his padawan under him. Obi-Wan gasped and squirmed, hotly aware of the hardness filling him. His master finally began to move inside him slowly, staring into his eyes.

Qui-Gon reveled in the sparks between them. He was confused at the longing that his padawan was radiating, but enjoyed the need, nevertheless. Obi-Wan pushed back the silver-brown hair, tucking the curtain of it behind Qui-Gon's ear and stared, lost in the sea blue gaze and the sound of his master's breathing. Suddenly Qui-Gon pushed another series of images into his mind: the image he'd already seen of himself against the wall, his orgasm minutes prior, a picture of him draped over the dining stools, a dozen instantaneous thoughts of him.

It built slowly between them. Obi-Wan could see his master's eyes brightening, could feel the excited buzz beginning to subside to a wash of pleasure. He arched upward, pulling Qui-Gon down to him. They kissed briefly, hotly before Qui-Gon's mouth traveled down to capture one nipple, spiraling electricity straight to where they were joined. Obi-Wan grunted something unintelligible and climaxed, biting his lip, jolts of fire zipping through him as he ground against his master's stomach. The padawan's abrupt, groaning release sent Qui-Gon over the edge. He thrust one last time, painfully hard, and came, biting back a scream, pulsing wetly into Obi-Wan's body.

When he would have relaxed to one side, Qui-Gon found himself tugged straight down into Obi-Wan's arms. The intensity of his padawan's grip and the badly shielded relief leaking into the bond made Qui-Gon wonder what had happened, exactly, that had disturbed him so much. Holding on tightly, he asked, "What is it, love?"

Obi-Wan released a shaky breath, enjoying the warm, heavy weight of his master's body on his enough to ignore the stickiness between their stomachs. "What do you remember?"

Qui-Gon puzzled a moment and raised his head, looking into his padawan's earnest, questioning gaze. "Remember?" He shook his head. "I drank the wine. We made love about eighteen times." He smiled fondly, his eyes glinting, and shook his head again. "What am I missing? What's bothering you, Obi-Wan?"

The tender concern tugged at the young man's heart. "You--" He took a deep breath and nuzzled Qui-Gon's neck, murmuring into his skin, "You've been asleep for two weeks, Master." At the shocked gasp and Qui-Gon's pulling away, Obi-Wan opened up the bond between them, letting it do most of the explaining while he babbled, "We tried everything. The healers could find nothing. it was the fruit, the wine, it wasn't drugged, but Thell knew. I didn't know you would wake up now, but little O'ja, Light bless her, she thought that since it was an aphrodisiac to begin with.." He trailed off, staring into his master's amazed eyes and pushing his own memories of the past two harrowing weeks through the bond. The fear, the worry, the tension, all bled from him as his master shouldered it and then released it.

Suddenly Qui-Gon smiled, a deliberate, masterly effort to diffuse the last of his lover's fear. "Do you mean to say, Padawan, that a nine-year-old head of state had to tell you to have sex with your sleeping master?"

Obi-Wan stared a moment, then simply had to laugh.

"Master Jinn," O'ja greeted warmly, positively relieved to see the man walking. She rose from her desk and came around to clasp his huge hand in her tiny ones. "We are all very grateful to see you awake and unharmed. Are you well?"

Qui-Gon smiled down at her faintly and took a knee before her, as Obi-Wan did. "As well as can be expected, Leader. Terribly stiff, but I suppose that's to be expected." He cast a look up at Obi-Wan, who stifled a grin, deliberately mistaking his meaning.

O'ja, however, was nothing if not businesslike. "The contract has been signed. We are gratified to have that out of the way. And as for your incident, please be assured we have notified the vintner of the effects of that crop of wine on consumers with high midichlorian counts. They are beginning testing. I do believe they intend to market it somehow; it would not surprise me."

Qui-Gon simply bowed his head slightly. It mattered not a whit to him what they wanted to do with that vintage, as long as people were made aware of its effects beforehand. He did, however, have one question. "Leader Messper, I must know. The age of consent on Lasyc Four is twenty years, is it not?" At her nod, he went on cautiously, "May I ask how it was that you came to the conclusion that the wine's effects had to be counteracted. in that way?"

Her eyes sparkled in amusement. "Ah." She nodded her little head sagely, and her ponytail bobbed. "Doubtless you wonder how it is that a 'child' such as myself would think of such things. One reason, Master Jinn, is that running a planet brings with it so many pitfalls, it is necessary to be open to any possible contingency."

Qui-Gon nodded his head and felt Obi-Wan lean closer as the Leader continued. There was obviously more to this than either of them thought.

She continued, "Another reason is that I am not from this planet. There is no law stating an inhabitant must be a native to run for congress, or indeed for Leader. On my homeworld, we age altogether differently." She looked at Obi-Wan critically, as if sizing him up, then did the same to Qui-Gon, whose expression had grown quite curious.

"Yes, Master Jinn," she said, half to herself, and put her hand on his cheek unexpectedly. A look of regret tinged her eyes. "It's really a shame. I daresay I must be twice your age."

End.