Summary: The Dance of Swords - for Master and Padawan it
becomes more than just a test of skills...
Feedback: Please! Any comment is welcome and appreciated.
Disclaimer: They are not mine, as much as I'd wish...
Thanks to: My beta-reader Lirren, fast as light.
Dedicated to: My beloved Padawan Mhij-Qij, to whom I owe
everything.
Illustration: please take a look at the m_a gallery page!!!
Qui-Gon Jinn stood in the doorway to the training-sale,
watching.
The girl and the boy on the mats moved to a series of
strenuous exercises, drenched in sweat, their work-out clothes
plastered to their bodies, showing off each straining muscle.
And everything else as well.
The corners of Qui-Gon's mouth quirked ever so slightly at the
sight. Now, young Lero was definitely no girl anymore.
And as for his apprentice... Where had that lanky youth gone,
the Jedi-Master had been used to seeing when he looked at him?
When did this fine-muscled adult superimpose himself over that
image? Familiar thoughts of late and he still wondered, still
was getting used to the changes this had brought to his own
equilibrium.
Due to his recent duties, Qui-Gon had not been able to oversee
the physical training of his padawan for a while now. With this
new distance of a mere observer, he had been given the rare
opportunity to see the young man like others did. When in
everyday contact with Obi-Wan, he had overlooked somehow the
drastic changes the young one had gone through. In mind as well
as body.
Now he was acutely aware of them, too acutely for his peace of
mind. Obi-Wan was no child anymore and the recognition brought
changes. The affection he bore for his apprentice took on
another dimension, a dimension unthinkable only a few months
ago. A barrier had dropped inside the Jedi-Master, leaving him
stunned with the sudden switch from love for a padawan to love
for ....ah, those were all very complicated matters he had to
meditate over - much, much more.
Qui-Gon settled cross-legged against the wall, his keen eyes
never leaving the pair on the mats before him.
The padawans moved silently throught the difficult katas and
only an occasional grunt could be heard when a hand or foot
impacted with softer flesh. Their Master-of-Training, who had
knelt attentive at the edge of the mats, stood up now and
interrupted the fight, correcting the girl's stance then
letting them do the last form again. When both fighters were
near collapse, Master Radam said something low to them and he
saw the young people stiffen. But obediently they moved to the
opposite sides of the mats, setting themselves into the opening
pose of the Kar Ban'at, a weaponless variation of the
Sword-Dance.
'Oh-oh,' Qui-Gon thought.
And then Obi-Wan and Lero danced the ritualistic Dance of
Swords, all moves timed to the second - or at least they should
be. An ill-timed Ban'at could lead to broken bones. Even a
weaponless one.
Their weariness considered, the young people began rather
well, their pant legs flapping as they flew in a whirl past
each other. But then his padawan was just a second too late and
his outstretched leg rammed squarely into the young woman's
belly and they both went down in a flutter of limbs and white
cloth.
Qui-Gon stilled the impulse to rush to his apprentice's side.
Through their link he could sense no real distress from him
other than shame. Another spectator on the opposite side of the
hall left her place and walked over to see to her own padawan.
However, everything seemed alright. Lero soon stood on her own
feet, flushed but unhurt. Obi-Wan had his arm around her waist
and looked like the personification of shame, his face bright
red. Qui-Gon heard Master Radam give both a stern lecture and
dismiss them at last to lick their wounds. He watched as Master
Kisarian laid her hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, smiling at him as
she spoke to him. His padawan cracked a smile and bowed deep
before the elder. Kisarian tousled her own padawan's
short-cropped hair and left with her to join the group of
people on the other side of the hall.
He looked after them, smiling inside over the other master's
protectiveness, when a white blur blocked his view. Looking up
crumpled leggings, his eyes slid over a heaving chest in a wet
shirt, over sweat-shining, well muscled arms and shoulders up
to a smooth face to meet with glowering green-blue eyes.
"You don't seem too overly concerned about me, Master."
"Should I be?" he returned mildly.
"Maybe." His apprentice flopped unceremoniously down in front
of him. "Oh, that was awful."
"It effectively showed you cocky younglings your limits, I
would say."
"Say that again. I can do the Dance. So can Le. I've
been practicing it half my life!"
"What did she say to you?"
"Hm?" His padawan looked up blankly, preoccupied with
untangling his braid from the shirt strap. "Oh, her. She
said she could remember several similar run-ins with a certain
Jedi-Master when she was my age." Obi-Wan looked up through his
lashes. "I'm rather disappointed, Master."
"Oh, why is that?"
"I thought you were born a perfect Jedi. You always give the
impression you never need any practicing for anything."
Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow at that and Obi-Wan grinned from ear
to ear. Flopping back on his back, arms spread wide, he sighed
sadly. "One more illusion destroyed."
The older Jedi smiled down at his wantonly sprawled
apprentice.
"My, my, the pedestal is crumbling," he said in mock
mournfulness. "Soon you will begin to question my authority."
"I would never dare, Master."
"Ah."
Qui-Gon had his doubts. His padawan had recently begun to
state his often opposing opinions unasked. A sign of Obi-Wan's
growing self-confidence and the beginnings of understanding the
mechanics of the world. Qui-Gon was very pleased. Most of what
Obi-Wan did pleased him. And on the rest they would work.
"Tomorrow you will practice with me."
Obi-Wan sat up, his face eager. "With real 'sabers?"
"With real practicing-sabers. I'm not suicidal."
Obi-Wan laughed at that. "As if you couldn't block anything I
could shove at you out of pure stupidity." He wriggled his
brows. "Or otherwise as well."
"We'll see." Qui-Gon stood up. "Come on, Padawan. I think a
hot bath will do you good. After that you have to study for a
test in political sciences tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken. I
have prepared a paper we should take a look at."
Obi-Wan groaned and let himself be hauled to his feet.
When Obi-Wan entered the training hall the next afternoon, he
found his master already waiting for him. Qui-Gon knelt, eyes
closed in meditation, on one end of the center mat that covered
the ground about fifty meters square. The "big arena", as the
students called it.
As he stepped up beside him, his master looked up. "There you
are. How was your test?"
Obi-Wan knelt in mirror image to his teacher.
"I don't know. It was about the Sadooine-Conflict, of all
things. I didn't agree with the solution. Maybe I flunked it."
"You didn't agree, hm?" His master looked serenely at him - or
was there a flicker of amusement? Obi-Wan stared a moment at
him, trying to read the expression, tapping into the link.
"You didn't agree, either, " he stated after a while. The
lines around Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled.
"No politics tonight. We have other work to do." With the
grace of a dancer Qui-Gon unfolded his long limbs and stood up.
Obi-Wan looked up to him, as always stunned by the lean
tallness of his teacher, so blatantly displayed in the work-out
clothes. He had the body of a consumate athlete, all long
muscles and sinews. The sight of it made Obi-Wan's pulse
quicken.
"What are you staring at?"
"I forgot, how great --," Obi-Wan bit on his wayward tongue.
"I mean, in your robes one cannot --" He blushed fiercely and
ducked his head.
"I think it's better we begin now."
"Yes, Master." The young man looked up to him. It did him no
good. Qui-Gon was in the process of tying his hair back into a
single pony-tail, his arms raised behind his head, all the fine
muscles of his frontside in full display and Obi-Wan gulped
hard as a fire set deep into his loins. Damn. Not now. Qui-Gon
dropped his arms, his eyes never having left the face of his
apprentice. A puzzled frown marred his forehead now.
"Padawan?"
"Nothing. I'm coming, Master." Obi-Wan hastily scrambled to
his feet, turning his back to Qui-Gon as he began the warm-up
routine, willing away the tightness in his groin. The fluid
stretches, done a thousand time before, finally calmed him
sufficiently and he was able to join his master in a short
pre-fight meditation to center himself in the Force. His master
then pressed the training-sword into his hand which was nothing
more than a meter long thin stick made of an almost weightless
alloy. It was the nearest thing to a real lightsaber, which had
no weight at all but the metal of the handle.
Most of Obi-Wan's sword training had been with a more heavy
fighting-staff. There was no other way to build the strong
muscles in shoulders and arms neede d for sword-fighting of any
kind. The quasi-insubstantiality of the lightsaber asked for
yet another fighting style from the staff, it was more a dance.
The difference had been made clear to Obi-Wan the first time he
had been engaged with a lightsaber by his sword-master. He had
bragged about his ability with the staff and had challenged the
training-master's advise to learn the 'saber as he would a
brand new weapon, beginning with simple katas. He had been so
sure he already knew everything there was to know. His
sword-master had needed altogether three strokes and Obi-Wan's
lightsaber had been slapped out of his hand. But he had only
been seventeen then, he had grown up since then.
After that, he had found out fast how difficult to master a
lightsaber really was. Many years of hard training was needed -
if not a life long. It was not only a weapon but an extension
of a Jedi, a manifestation of the force in an adept's hand.
The saber-fight was just a way to hone the reflexes and
training in getting one with the Force, more another form of
meditation than anything else.
For outside the training hall, by all probability, a situation
would never arise where it would come to a real duel between
two fighters equipped with lightsabers. Only Jedi wore this
weapon for it had no use for people who could not command the
Force. But for a Jedi it constituted simply the most elegant
and unendingly practical defensive weapon thinkable.
"Ready, Padawan?" his master asked, standing on his side of
the mat, his saber dangling.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan stroked his braid behind his ear in
what had become an automatic gesture. Gripping the saber in
both hands he lifted it before his face in salute and turned in
one fluid motion into position, body sideways, center low, the
blade at shoulder level beside his head, tip showing straight
upward.
Qui-Gon saluted solemnly and mirrored his apprentice, his
movements that of a cat, belying the supposed lankiness of the
long body.
Obi-Wan felt the shift in the Force and let go, flew into the
well practiced moves, turning, passing his partner in a
whirling of flapping pant-legs, his naked feet rarely touching
the ground. A flick with the saber - clack - and away
again, crouching low, the saber horizontal above his right
shoulder, left leg extended sideways. His leg muscles strained
to hold the position - six - seven - straighten, saber down,
whirl, kick. Their arms touched as they passed each other. Ah,
too near. Around and up with the saber in a classic block -
clack - staying in the position as if frozen, counting
the seconds, the force rushed like adrenalin through his veins
in exiting waves, bringing him on edge, feeling Qui-Gon with
him, getting in tune fast. His master stepped back, pulling his
saber free and Obi-Wan whirled around to execute the next
pass-by in a high fly, saber one handed - clack - and
down again in a controlled fall, kicking a low swinger, meant
to shove the legs of an opponent from under him. Of course he
hit only air, Qui-Gon's legs long gone. Up again, two steps,
ducking under a flying kick, a strike to the turned back of his
partner, of course blocked, jumping in a horizontal whirl above
his own saber, poking himself with the tip in the thigh. Damn.
He jumped up again in a pose, saber one-handed, straight in
front of him, the other hand in line with his left leg, palm
stabbed out in a right angle at the wrist. He felt the force
crackle in his fingers. Joy branded through him, as always when
he was one with the Force, as always when he did this Dance
properly. The Force flew over to his partner and they were
really two bodies with one mind in this, total synchronicity.
His eyes focused on his partner, seeing, not Seeing him, for
the first time in minutes, knowing then this time everything
was perfect. Qui-Gon was in a mirror pose, looking like a
statue personifying the ultimately perfect Jedi Knight.
Which of course he was.
In perfect synchronization they Danced on, their sabers
clacking together, feet and hands passing each other in
hair-breadths, and then the last pose and it was over.
Obi-Wan shook his head as if awakening out of a trance. His
leg muscles quivered and he let go, falling to the ground in a
loose-boned heap, gulping in air, becoming aware of rivers of
sweat running down his back. Wow, never had he Danced this way
before, almost without failure, never getting out of touch with
the Force or his partner.
He became aware of two naked feet next to his head. He looked
up and met the warm smiling eyes of his master and grinned back
sillily. And then he heard it.
Applause cracked in the air around them. Astonished he looked
up, seeing the other occupants of the hall standing at the
perimeters of the mat, Sword-Master Radam walked over to him
and bent down to cuff him gently against the side of the head.
"I knew you could do it, lad. You should practicing more with
your master, it seems he knows how to bring out the best in
you."
Obi-Wan only gaped at him, then looked up again to his master,
who still stood beside him, leaning nonchalantly on his
saber-stick. His face was shining with sweat, his breath a
little bit heavy - but all in all he seemed very composed - and
the proud little smile couldn't be mistaken for anything else.
Happiness suffused Obi-Wan and he grabbed the hand gratefully
that Qui-Gon offered to him. He was hauled to his feet, his
fingers automatically reaching out to bring his braid in order
but was beaten to it by his master, who plucked it out from
under his shirt, stroked it properly behind his ear and
straightened it out above his right breast. Obi-Wan's breath
caught, it seemed such an intimate gesture, like a caress.
"Well done, Padawan," his master said, tugging at his braid
once.
"Thank you, Master," he managed. With a deep breath he looked
around and found the crowd had dispersed itself, everybody
minding their own business again. He smiled crookedly up at the
tall man beside him. "So, are we done for today, or was there
something else, Master?"
A gleam came into the dark blue eyes that he didn't like at
all.
"Up to more, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan straightened his spine. Yesterday his doom had began
with such a question by Master Radam.
"Always, my Master."
"Always, hm? Let's see."
Qui-Gon turned and walked away a few steps.
The Force tickled at the back of Obi-Wan's brain, a warning,
and then Qui-Gon was there like a flash out of blue sky,
bringing his saber down on him.
It was pure instinct that made Obi-Wan move at all, he let
himself fall to get more reacting space, bringing his saber up
in one-handed defense. Clack. The sticks collided two
fingers before his shock-widened eyes. He had to strain against
the push, had to take his other hand too, only to hold the
blades were they were. This was no Dance-move, no charade, this
was real. Qui-Gon looked down on him, his eyes alight.
"Up for something real, Padawan?" he asked again,
picking up the thought easily. Then the blade was lifted and
Qui-Gon stepped back.
He let Obi-Wan scramble to his feet. With effort, the young
Jedi stilled his heart which had tried to jump out of his chest
a minute before.
"Be always alert, young man."
"I will, " Obi-Wan murmured, eyeing his master suspiciously.
He walked a few meters to the side, using the stalling to find
the right state again where he could tap into the Force. The
other man made no move, stood there seemingly relaxed, but in
his eyes shone the concentration of a hunting cat.
With amazing speed his pose changed, his saber up and then he
was on Obi-Wan again. Parry almost too late, the young Jedi
deflected the blade and jumped out of reach. Qui-Gon stalked
him again and once more this explosion of motion, a whirling
pass, testing his defense. Their blades clacked again and
Obi-Wan stumbled a step backwards, not able to withstand the
brutal pressure, his shoulder muscles trembling under the
strain. Fates. Teeth clenched together, he gave and whirled out
of reach of the blade that missed him by millimeters. His heart
thundered in his breast like wild again.
Qui-Gon regarded him impassively. "You must concentrate," he
said.
And lunged forward again, blocked by his apprentice, swinging
the saber back and under the defense, causing Obi-Wan to make a
desperate stab which he swapped aside with ease.
"This is a Dance, too, Padawan. Think of it as the Dance."
Obi-Wan tried to heed the advice. He closed his eyes. Calm.
Deep breath. Stop thinking. Calm. Yes. The Force was flowing
back into him like a tide. Yes. Dance.
Eyes still closed he glide into the first pose of the Ban'at.
His eyes snapped open and his saber flashed into position to
block the first blow of Qui-Gon's stick.
This time his master didn't move back but engaged him in a
flurry of hard slashes, he parried, blocked, deflected. When it
got too narrow again to react properly, the space between them
pushed together to nothing, he let himself fall under the
attack and kicked out to bring Qui-Gon down with him. But his
master wasn't there anymore, exactly as in the Dance. Obi-Wan
rolled to the side, avoiding a stab to his head, and jumped up
again in a swirl of white, his saber aimed directly for his
opponent's heart. His blade was shoved aside and instead to try
to get out of reach Obi-Wan's hand stabbed out, feeling the
crackle in his nerves, and Qui-Gon stumbled a step back from
the Force-shove. Yes, the Dance.
Prancing backwards, he got into pose again, saber beside his
head. Attacking. Qui-Gon deflected easily and hooked his legs
from under him in the same move. Obi-Wan had his blade up in
time but got away only with difficulties, needing all his
acrobatic talent to avoid the stabs coming for him.
Then he was on his feet again and their sticks crossed once
more, as if in a kiss, rubbing at each other and the Force
reached out in him, gathered his opponent in. Dancing. Qui-Gon
looked at at him, astonished.
Their next engagement got longer again, their blades like two
living entities, dancing around each other, testing, suddenly
striking out. Blocking a vicious blow to his legs, Obi-Wan saw
the opening and with a twisting move swapped the saber out of
Qui-Gon's fingers.
His teacher danced backwards and Obi-Wan lunged after him only
to find himself suddenly flat on his back, his master kneeling
on his sword arm, his right hand in a flat straight angle of a
killing chop. The hand lightened to him and stopped as if
halted by a force field, only millimeters before touching his
nose. Obi-Wan's left hand closed a hundredth part of a second
too late around the wrist.
All movement ceased.
The hard tendons under his grip relaxed and Obi-Wan brought
the hand down to lay on his chest, directly above his madly
beating heart. His master let out a puff of air and used his
left hand to stroke back the long strands of hair that stuck to
his sweat-drenched neck and face.
"The fight is never over, Obi-Wan. The sword is only the
extension of your hand. Without it, you still have your
hand." With this last lecture, Qui-Gon moved down from his
aching arm and crouched beside him, his right hand still in the
grip of his padawan, laying flat on the pumping chest.
"As I said, we have to work a little bit on your
concentration. But otherwise --" The stern mien broke into a
genuine little smile. "Good fight! Can't remember when I last
had to work so hard."
Obi-Wan wasn't sure he deserved the praise, thinking that in
the beginning he would have been dead ten time over had the
fight truly been a real one. Seeing the doubt in his padawan's
eyes, Qui-Gon leaned over to him, catching his chin with his
left hand.
"As I said, concentration. You will learn that. Don't doubt
your old master, Padawan. You are on your way to becoming an
excellent swordsman. You will surpass me in not so far a
future."
"Never!" Obi-Wan found his voice through his need for air.
"You will always be the best."
Qui-Gon laughed then, a rare, wonderful sound that rang
through the training hall.
"Oh, my Padawan, your master is getting old. I should have had
you down much faster, you know."
"Thank you very much, " Obi-Wan fingered his strained
arm-muscles. "Faster..," he murmured.
Long fingers pushed his aside and started to massage the
abused flesh.
"Ah, Master, you don't need to...."
"Lie still, Padawan."
"Yes, Master." Grudgingly. But it was a token protest anyway,
too great was the joy of having Qui-Gon touching him.
"Hello, you two," a rough voice said from above them.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see Master Dan Mendoo there, her
hands on her hips.
"Hello, Dan," Qui-Gon said without stopping his massage.
"Really. For a while I thought you would kill each other. By
the Force, Qui-Gon, the next time give a forwarning, will you?
We have children over there, who really got scared."
Qui-Gon looked perplexed. "I did not realize that a little
training fight...."
"Oh, Qui-Gon, 'Little training fight'!" Dan got on one knee
beside them, her dark brown robes fanning out around her. "You
never have seen yourself fight, have you? It's scary, believe
me. And your padawan here...like master, like student. He moves
exactly like you. Or maybe as you did as you were his age. How
old are you anyway...Kenobi, isn't it?"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon supplied.
"Obi-Wan, then, " Dan acknowledged.
"I'm twenty, Master Mendoo."
"Twenty. And how long have you worked with the lightsaber
now?"
"A little over two years, Master Mendoo."
Dan stared at him. Then she frowned, the deep lines on her
face getting more pronounced. She turned to look at Qui-Gon
again.
"Two years. Shall I say: Amazing, or: How dare you to risk
him? You know the rules."
"He is capable. You saw him."
"That I did." The woman stood up and flicked her broad, white
braid back over her shoulder. "But I don't like it, Qui-Gon.
Don't push him too soon too far." With that and a dark swirl of
her robes she strode away.
"Who...?"
"You know her."
"Yes, I know her name. But who is she that she dares to speak
with you that way?"
"She was my sword-master when I was your age." Qui-Gon's mouth
twitched. "When she was younger she had a little bit
different views." His master smiled in remembrance, then
slapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. "Up, young man. I think we
rightly deserve a session in the steam-bath tonight."
Obi-Wan rolled onto his front and heaved himself up on all
fours. My, he began to hurt everywhere.
Obi-Wan moaned pitifully as he lay down on his sheet. Steam
whirled sluggishly around him, the heat wrapping him in like a
wet blanket, sapping the last strength out of his bones. But
mercifully with it the tension and hurt seeped away, too. At
least as long as he didn't move.
A hand touched under his left shoulder blade and Obi-Wan
winced.
"Shhh. You're black and blue here. I'm sorry."
Obi-Wan cracked an eye open to give his sheet-wrapped master a
sleepy-eyed look.
"My own fault."
"Always so eager to take the blame. No, Padawan. I don't need
to crack my student's ribs to get a point along."
"They're not cracked. And this student sometimes needs a thud
in the head." Obi-Wan reached out a bold hand and traced a
red-blue area high on his master's chest. "I see I marked you,
too."
"So you think we're even, Padawan?"
"Definitely, Master." Lulled almost to the brink of sleep,
eyes closed, Obi-Wan's thoughts drifted from alertness, his
hand absently stroking the slick flesh under his fingertips.
What a fantasy, to touch Qui-Gon this way, warm, smooth, firm
flesh.
Strong fingers captured his wayward hand, holding it still.
"Padawan?" And this voice. Husky, deep, erotic voice, making
him shudder contentedly down to his curling toes.
The hand squeezed his harder, asking for attention.
"Ow....," Obi-Wan's eyes opened again, took in the position of
his hand over Qui-Gon's left nipple, stared into an inquisitive
gaze from under slightly knitted brows and recoiled in horror.
He snatched his hand out of his master's grip and sat up
hastily, gathering the large towel to him like a shield.
"I'm sorry, I don't..., I didn't...,"
"Obi-Wan --"
Sliding past Qui-Gon's outstretched hand he all but ran from
the room. Outside the cold air slapped his hot skin like an
ice-storm and he wrapped himself in a tight cocoon from armpit
down to knees, not taking the time to dress, just gathering up
his work-out clothes from the bench and hurried out into the
corridor. He ran almost into two other padawans, who looked at
him strangely as they ducked against the wall to avoid a
collision. One called something rude after him but he ignored
it, hadn't understood her words anyway, the roar in his ears
deafening.
Without thought he found himself in the hall leading to his
quarters. Their quarters. His master would be there in
no time and, no, he couldn't face him right now, he needed time
to think, to meditate. Yes. Turning again he ran down the
stairs, descending level for level deeper into the
temple-complex, seeking a place to hide.
Taking the seldom-used paths, he slipped through the Eastern
Meditation Garden, down the path alongside the spearleaf-hedge
and to the old training-hall at the other end of the garden. He
Reached out and found nobody inside, as he had hoped. Slipping
inside he stumbled along the corridor until a shaft of sunlight
veered him into a room. He found himself in a small training
hall with ceiling-high windows looking out over the endless
skyline of Coruscant. The low standing sun blinded him, letting
him see black points and he lifted a hand over his eyes,
looking around, seeking for something, not knowing what. Right
from the door was a sun-flooded spot at the wall, glowing warm
and golden in a slanting sunbeam, in which tiny dust particles
swirled and sparkled like clouds of microscopic insects. He let
himself fall against the paneled wall and slid down to the
wooden flooring. The wood was warm against his chilled skin and
he dropped his head back against the time darkened wood,
feeling the whirling ornamental carvings press against the back
of his head, letting the sun rays wash over him, warm him from
outside, where inside no warmth would reach.
Calm settled over him at last. His heartbeat slowed in his
chest, but the dreadful twinge around it didn't lift.
'All right,' he thought. 'Look at it.' It. His hopeless
love for the man that thought him still a child. Who loved him
too, yes, - as a teacher does an obedient, eager student. Oh,
Obi-Wan had thrived in that love for all the time he cared to
remember. Had grown strong and self confident in its glow and
warmth. Qui-Gon had been his best friend, a sorely needed
father-figure, and he had given him his heart from the start.
How could he have known that the comfortable warmth would turn
one day into a flame? That one day his eyes would not only see
a mind to admire, an athlete's body to adore, a model for all
he wanted to be himself one day. But also a mind he longed
desperately to touch, a body he wanted to worship - not to
become like him anymore but becoming a part of
him. The feelings had disturbed him greatly when he first
understood them to all their extent a few month ago, in one
sleepless night, unable to meditate, his eyes glued to the
moon-lit form of his master on the pallet beside his.
His hopeless heart cramped again. He had nothing to give,
nothing a man like Qui-Gon Jinn could possibly want. He fell
short against the tall tree of strength and harsh beauty his
master constituted, in mind and in body. Against him he was a
thin sapling without experience, without skills. His master was
a such an unending enigma to him, only glimpses revealed to him
at times, glimpses out of a well of lived years, about all the
people he had known, loved, lost. The places he had seen. The
decisions he had made. Preventing wars and famines, talking
sense and peace into the hearts of enemies.
And himself? Nothing but twenty years of growing up, the usual
story, no hidden depths, nothing unknown to his master.
Nothing, really nothing, for the last, lonely secret he had
thrown into the man's face.
And now? What would happen now? Would his master pretend that
nothing happened? Would he himself? Would they ever again sit
together half-naked in a steam-bath? Would Qui-Gon's fingers
ever again massage away the hurts and pains of a strenuous
work-out?
Or would it spring to their minds again, whenever they
touched? Causing hands to drop in haste? Eyes to flicker away
nervously? They had always touched so easily. Obi-Wan had
strived under his master's gentle care, always in need of
connection.
All lost now.
Obi-Wan sighed. Better to get started, to learn to deal with
it. He sat up and entwined his legs into a cross-legged
meditation-pose. His hands lay clenched on his knees.
'Today is the first day of the rest of your life,' he thought.
'Get used to it. To grow up means to accept the inevitable. To
grow up means to stand alone. So learn to stand alone, Kenobi.'
Obi-Wan tried to find the state of mind that would help him to
accept what was. He sought solace in a simple
meditation-mantra, learned as a child. It, at last, brought
peace.
Qui-Gon Jinn left the bathing area in a more sedate walk than
his student had a while before. He went to their quarters,
looking for his apprentice when he stepped into their rooms,
but knowing instantly that he wasn't there.
Deeply disturbed but not willing to think about it right now,
he busied himself with washing and dressing. He stood before
the mirror, tying his sash, when he stopped to take a closer
look into his own face, surprised how much emotion it showed.
The line between his eyes was a deep ravine and a constant
frown marred his forehead.
'This is affecting you more than it should,' he thought wryly.
As if he didn't know why. He remembered all too well the
direction his thoughts regarding his padawan had taken lately.
But he had not suspected the young man harbored similar
feelings. So it was all in the open now and the next move was
up to him.
Before he could think of an excuse Qui-Gon took his robe,
shrugged into the wide arms and strode out of their quarters.
He opened their training-bond and followed the faint mental
emanations through half the temple, getting increasingly
concerned over how far his young friend had felt the need to
flee. He hadn't been in this part of the temple for years,
perhaps decades. When he finally stood in the doorway of the
oval training-hall, he was stunned by what he found.
Obi-Wan sat in lotus-pose on the parquet floor, his hand open
and loose on his naked knees, the white bathing-sheet bunched
about his thighs and hips, his naked torso shining in the soft
light of the moons who stood high in the windows. His hair was
bleached into a blue-white, giving his serene face an ethereal
beauty. Obi-Wan looked nothing more than an alabaster statue of
a meditating pagan god.
Qui-Gon walked softly over to where his padawan sat in the
bluish moonlight. He was reluctant to disturb this spellbound
image. Finally, he crouched down beside him, his fingers
lightly touching a fine cheekbone, a butterfly touch along the
side of a smooth face, running down his neck to trace a
prominent collarbone....Obi-Wan shivered as if from a sudden
chill. Translucent eyelids fluttered and opened over pale eyes.
They looked at him serenely, lifeless opals with no hint of the
soul beyond.
"Master," he acknowledged in a soft emotion-void whisper.
"Obi-Wan."
"Master, I apologize for my unseemly behavior. It will not
happen again."
"There is nothing to apologize for. I understand." Qui-Gon
laid his hand on the nearest shoulder and was perplexed when it
was instantly tucked from under his grip.
Obi-Wan broke his pose, stretched out one leg, his shoulders
sagging, his face turned away. Qui-Gon reached out with a
gentle hand and turned the face back to him. Obi-Wan's eyes
were pressed tightly shut. As he watched a single tear gathered
in the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek, a silvery
streak of misery.
Qui-Gon sighed unhappily and stroked the wetness away with
tender fingers, causing the young man to shiver under his
touch.
"You don't need to break your heart over this."
Obi-Wan opened his eyes at that, looking up to his master with
sadness.
"I never wanted to disappoint you, Master."
"You have not disappointed me."
"It's just.... sometimes it's just...." Obi-Wan tried to turn
his head away again.
His master would have nothing of that. "What was that,
Obi-Wan?"
The sad eyes lifted to his again, new tears gathering in them.
"It's sometimes just so hard to hide my feelings." A blink
that squeezed the wetness loose, to pool hotly above Qui-Gon's
hand on the young Jedi's chin. Obi-Wan gulped, turning
luminescent eyes up to him. "I just love you so damn much....".
He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried in earnest to turn
his head out of his master's firm grip, his right hand coming
up to tug at the older man's wrist. Qui-Gon didn't let go.
"That is good news."
"What?" Faint.
"It would be rather awkward if I were alone in this," and
saying so Qui-Gon bent down and laid a soft kiss on the
stubbornly tightlipped mouth of his padawan. Obi-Wan gasped
under him, his lips opening in astonishment and Qui-Gon let his
tongue flicker between them, making the young man a sudden
boneless bundle in his arms. He let the sweet lips go and
placed a soothing kiss on the high forehead.
He stroked the side of his beloved's face until Obi-Wan lids
lifted again, a hopeless, unbelieving look in his wet eyes.
Qui-Gon met the gaze quizzically, then he knew, angling the
thoughts of his apprentice out of the Force. 'He's humoring me.
He doesn't want to hurt me...he doesn't want me....'
"Obi-Wan."
His padawan shook his head and turned away from him, hugging
his knees to his chest. Qui-Gon was at a loss. He felt that
regardless what he said, he would not be believed. Not as long
Obi-Wan was in this state of mind. But how could he tell him
otherwise? How could he make him see?
Qui-Gon sighed inwardly and looked around, staring without
seeing up at the bright moons, till his eyes watered. Blinking
he looked down, focussing on the ingenious design on the floor,
the small wooden inlays set together in a beautiful, unending
mandala, spiraling out over the dance floor.
Qui-Gon's eyes lit up.
He stood and began to disrobe. When he was bare except for his
leggings, he stepped out onto the floor. The wood, smoothed
into polish by generations of feet, seemed warm and inviting
under his bare soles. He turned his eyes to his padawan, who
looked at him more then a little bewildered.
"Come, Dance with me," he said and held out his right hand,
palm up.
Obi-Wan stared at him as if he had gone out of his mind.
Qui-Gon smiled then. Not the small upturning of the very edges
of his lips, that tiniest crinkle in the corners of his eyes.
But a full-blown smile that let his teeth flash in the blue
light.
It was something Obi-Wan had never seen before.
"Come." A command. A promise. The voice as deep and velvety as
the dark sapphire eyes that looked at him as if they could see
right into his soul. Which they probably could, for the link in
Obi-Wan's mind tingled as if a thousand little spiderfly-legs
were running over it, each contact a microscopic spark in the
Force.
Before Obi-Wan knew that he would do it, he had already risen
from the floor. Without conscious thought he bent for the heap
of his discarded clothes and slipped into his leggings. Then he
found himself out on the floor, facing his master.
Qui-Gon still wore that smile that reached right into his
heart. Before his spellbound eyes his master stretched once all
of his long muscles and flew then with his matchless grace into
First Pose.
Obi-Wan followed. The bond tingled stronger and he looked
inward, touching it with wonder.
On the other side of the floor Qui-Gon closed his eyes.
Reaching through the Force and along their bond he met his
padawan halfway and gathered him into the flow. Obi-Wan gasped
and his lids fell shut, his face calming into stillness.
They began.
With closed eyes they Danced, motions more fluid than human
muscles should allow, jumps higher, whirls faster. But that
aside, this time there was even a larger difference. Where
before there was the carefully measured space between the
Dancers, painstakingly avoided contact, there seemed now to be
new rules applied.
This time not only flapping clothes and gusts of air from near
misses touched the other.
This time bodies whispered along each other, arms brushed,
hands lingered. Every contact a bolt of Force-tingle, like
static sizzled between them and jumped over every time skin
touched skin.
Knowing nothing but the singing of the Force in him, the
pulsing of his blood in his veins, feeling alive as never
before, Obi-Wan Danced, really Danced, Danced as if this moment
was for what he had prepared all his life.
He knew suddenly was the Ban'at had been in its beginning.
He let his hand meet his master's skin as they glided past
each other, his fingers running from chest to fingertips, held
on for a second, let go again, left with fire tickling at his
fingertips. Spinning away, he felt the joy in him rise,
suffusing his chest in golden euphoria. Qui-Gon whirled pass
him, his hand branding a path over his chest, making him gasp.
This was Ritual Lovemaking.
He careened for a straight-legged high kick, Seeing Qui-Gon
turn into it, not away, a grip on his ankle stopping him in
mid-motion, holding him in position. He felt the strong hands
shift along his calf, his knee, his thigh. The hand gripped
hard, the other hand suddenly on his shoulder and he was
lowered to the floor in one fluid motion, Qui-Gon coming down
with him, gently lowering his weight onto the smaller body. His
master shifted his grip on Obi-Wan's outstretched right leg and
made it curl around his waist.
Yes. Ritual Lovemaking.
The young Jedi laced his fingers in his master's nape, feeling
the hot dampness under the thick mat of hair, feeling the urge
to bury his face right there, but as he couldn't reach it he
pressed his face in Qui-Gon's throat instead, nuzzling his
beard, inhaling the sweet smell of him, getting intoxicated
alone from the thought of being so near to his love, to finally
be allowed to touch him like this. He opened his mouth to taste
and found a hand on his chin lifting him away from his feast.
Darkest blue eyes bored into his.
"Do you believe me now?"
"Yes. Yes I do."
Before he could say anything more his mouth was taken in a all
consuming kiss. This was even better. Oh, please...with a last
nip Qui-Gon left his mouth, and began to kiss and lick all the
rest of his face, it made him moan, he arched his body against
the hard one over his, becoming acutely aware of his pulsing
need pressed between their bellies, of his aching nipples
rubbing against the slick, hot skin above him with each gasp.
His hands stroked in urgent cycles over the older man's back,
down his arms, up into his wonderful hair again, oh, how he
loved that hair. His fingers combed through the strands,
finding the clip, that held them away from his lover's face,
fingering at it, not managing to open the mechanism, but he
needed to have that hair loose, a tingle in his fingers and the
clasp fell open into his hand. Well..Obi-Wan flicked the
offending thing away, his fingers already busy in fanning out
the mane.
Qui-Gon came up from nipping down his neck and smiled
indulgently at him. "You are a hair fetishist, Obi-Wan," he
said in such a deep, throaty voice, it made the young Jedi's
skin tingle. As if warming to the idea, his master's hand
stroked through his apprentice's short hair affectionately. He
nipped down on his right earlobe, sucked at it once, nuzzled
behind the ear, of course finding his braid there. Qui-Gon ran
it through his mouth, wetting it thoroughly down to the wispy
end. The wet strand fell back on Obi-Wan's heaving chest.
"And you're not?" he gasped, trying to wriggle closer,
grinding his hips up into a firm belly. Qui-Gon took the braid
and used it to tug Obi-Wan's mouth against his again.
"Now I am."
Obi-Wan forgot how to speak for a while then, drowning in the
sensations that were invoked in him. He whimpered in protest
when Qui-Gon's wonderful lips left his to wander down his neck,
to fasten on his right nipple. A strangled cry broke from the
young man's lips as fire raced directly into his groin. His
master looked up again at him.
"Some problem, Padawan?" he asked and Obi-Wan found himself
reduced to giggles.
"No." he gasped out. "Nothing I'm aware...ohhh". The firm suck
on his other nipple ended the conversation. Obi-Wan thought he
would die. But his master seemed to take pity of him at last.
The mouth kissed a path down his belly, his pants vanished and
then was he engulfed in wet heat, a knowing tongue his undoing.
He cried out, sat up and buried his hands again in Qui-Gon's
hair, tugging at him, thrusting his hips into the wonderful
mouth. He felt Qui-Gon tense and lift off, cold air hit his
stretched, flaming skin and he cried out, trying to press the
head down again on him. Qui-Gon's hands came up and loosened
with steely fingers the death grip Obi-Wan had on his hair. The
older man took both of his shaking hands in his and stroked the
palms soothingly.
"Calm down, love, there is no hurry." The edges of his lips
twitched. "Even if you like my hair so much I don't think that
is reason enough to scalp me."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't ..."
"It's okay, just calm down a bit."
Under the soothing petting the young man did. Qui-Gon sat up
and looked down at him, his eyes running over his features and
body as if storing it away in memory. Obi-Wan felt his heart
again thudder into a dangerously high gait as he took in his
master's appearance. With his long hair loose about his face,
Qui-Gon looked positively wicked, the total antithesis to his
usual neat, serene self. The bright moonlight cast a bluish
aura around his lover and Obi-Wan reached out a hand to touch
him, ran it up the smooth chest, cupping a firm pectoral,
stroking the nipple pressing in his hand. Qui-Gon laid his head
a little to one side and gazed at him like a sleepy cat.
"Master...", Obi-Wan had to look away to gather his thoughts,
his hand dropping away.
"Master?" Still that soft, deep-humming whisper. How
should he get his wits together when just the voice of his
lover - a shiver in his heart at that word - made his
down-belows turn to a hot, needy cry?
"Qui-Gon, " he amended, tasting the name on his lips like
wine. To call his master by his given name was an intimacy he
had never allowed himself outside his dreams.
"I can't...it's hard... Force, can't get one complete sentence
out anymore...". He took a deep breath. "Qui-Gon. I wonder what
you see in me that makes you love me." As he said love,
something in him raised its puny hand to attract his attention.
What if it is not love? What if he wants only your body?
Obi-Wan looked hoodedly up to his master, steeling himself for
what Qui-Gon might say. Anticipating his answer: Love? Come,
on, Padawan, let's just have some fun with no strings
attached.
"Love?" Qui-Gon's hand was on his cheek, his thumb caressing
the corner of his lips as the endearment caressed his ears.
"Tell me your thoughts. I feel such conflict in you."
The young man let go the self-made horror-scenario and smiled
thinly at the real Qui-Gon.
"If...if you would only love me for..." an audible gulp,
"...my body - I don't think I can deal with that. But..."
"But?"
"I have nothing else to give. This is all I have, all I am."
The young man's hands made a disparaging gesture along his
body, his eyes downcast. From out under lowered lashed he saw
Qui-Gon frown and the big hand dropped from his face, leaving
an icy cold spot on his chin. The young man pressed his eyes
shut then, not wanting to see any more.
His master's whispering voice was rough with emotion and
against his will, Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn back to the
sorrowed ones above him.
"Let me tell you something, Obi-Wan. When we met for the first
time, all those years ago, I was a bitter man. I had been hurt
very deeply and never wanted to give my heart to anyone ever
again. Not to a friend, nor a lover. And especially not to a
padawan." The older man's eyes flickered away again to stare
unfocused across the room.
He looked so forlorn for a second, Obi-Wan couldn't help
himself. His hesitant fingers reached out into the space
between them and as they faltered shortly before making
contact, they were captured by a strong hand. Qui-Gon brought
the smaller hand down into his lap, where he held it between
both of his own. He seemed to be fascinated with tracing the
blue veins in the young man's wrist, caressing them with a soft
thumb, while he continued: "And then you came into my life,
forcing me to open up to the bright light you were, forcing me
to open my heart again. I had no chance against you." His
master looked up then and his eyes were soft and open, windows
to his soul and to the young Jedi it was a glimpse into a
bottomless sea. "Obi-Wan, you are the sweetest part of my life.
Have been for so long. It is a pleasure to be with you. You
have such a bright mind and such goodness in you." Qui-Gon's
fingertips touched a place above the young man's heart,
lingering there for a few heartbeats before his forefinger
grazed over his padawan's temple. "And it is a great pleasure
to be allowed to touch your soul with the link." Qui-Gon's eyes
clouded over with, for once unbridled, emotions as he stared
into Obi-Wan's wide ones. "You are beautiful, my Obi-Wan." His
thumb traced a kiss swollen bottom lip. "In body - and foremost
- in soul. I find myself unable not to love you."
Obi-Wan was stunned, this unbelievable declaration settled a
swirling happiness in his chest. To be praised this way, to be
wanted for himself, himself by this man. Without
conscious thought he fell into Qui-Gon's arms, hugging hard,
burying his face in the convulsing neck, getting a lump in his
throat that clogged everything, feeling warm wetness between
them, realizing he was crying, not caring about it, his only
reality the strong arms coming around him, holding him securely
in a tight cocoon of acceptance.
He had no idea how long he had clung to his master this way,
it was still hard to swallow and his eyes burned. But there was
calm now. A tender hand was stroking his neck, his hair,
soothing him into contentment, filling him with affection and
love. Not so different from what he had felt from his master
before, he realized, only stronger. He sighed
contentedly and rubbed his face against the slow, even pulsing
in Qui-Gon's neck.
He felt long hair slide over his shoulders and then warm lips
grazed his temple, the soft beard tickling him.
"Back among the living?" the beloved voice whispered in his
ear and Obi-Wan leant into the lips, which kissed his left
eyelid now, causing his lashes to flutter in reflex.
"Not back. I'm just beginning to live at all."
Qui-Gon's breath hot in his ear again: "Then let me take care
of you."
The young man felt himself shifted and his head came to rest
in the crook of his master's left arm. His lips got devoured, a
large hand lazily stroked cycles over his shoulder, his chest,
his abdomen, brushing down his flanks, over his thigh, and up
again to begin anew. The fire inside was rekindled with vigor
and Obi-Wan leaned up hungrily to take the sweet lips for
himself, his fingers again in Qui-Gon's hair. The hand stroked
up the inside of his thigh, brushing over his pulsing genitals,
over his quivering abdomen, his aching nipples, along his neck
into his hair and down again, trailing his braid, tickling over
sensitive ribs, down, to the inside of this thigh again, to
reach under and fondle his bottom.
Obi-Wan left his own plundering of the other man's sweet mouth
to lean back and lock eyes with him.
"What ever you want." A beat. "Qui-Gon". Meaning
Beloved.
The heat in the dark blue orbs made him shiver in sweet
anticipation.
"What ever we want." A smile, a bobbing eyebrow. "My
Obi-Wan." Yes, really saying Beloved.
Obi-Wan was lowered to the floor and his master leaned over
him. The young man's hands stroked down over a hard-muscled
back to encounter the broad waistband of his leggings. He
tugged at it. "This has to go," Obi-Wan commanded.
Qui-Gon's tongue-tip traced the deep line between the stern
young Jedi's brows. "Yes, my Master," he whispered low in his
throat and Obi-Wan ran a shudder down his spine. It fanned the
fire in him even higher. Oh, what that voice alone could do to
him....
Qui-Gon wriggled out of his leggings and lay still under the
scrutiny of his young lover, who sought out every newly
revealed part of him with devouring eyes and shaking fingers.
"You're magnificent," his padawan moaned before leaning over
him, setting a kiss on the tip of his straining erection.
Qui-Gon held still, let the young man explore as heart desired.
But soon enough he had to lift the sucking mouth off from
himself, the fire in his loins getting too high, too soon.
Obi-Wan complained inarticulately as he tugged him up to lay
face to face with him again. But when he draped his leg over
the young man's hips and drew their groins together in a
tightly molded kiss, the complaint changed into a long,
wavering moan.
Qui-Gon stroked the side of the beautiful face and watched as
glittering eyes lifted up to his and he basked in their glow,
in the unending trust there, the devotion, the love. And the
passion. Ah, that he deserved this, that he was granted this
was ecstasy all in itself. He felt the scars on his soul wither
to thinnest white lines, the healing finally complete that had
begun on that memorable day, when this spark of light he held
here in his arms, had peeked for the first time into the, for a
Jedi, all too dark-shrouded emptiness of his heart.
Qui-Gon set a peck on the nose-tip of his apprentice and
rolled to his back, taking the smaller body with him, settling
it between his legs.
Obi-Wan lay sprawled on him, his face pressed into his neck,
hands on his shoulders, his need pressed firmly against his
own. He could feel the rapid, wet gushes of breath fanning over
his throat, could feel the fast, strong staccato of his heart
against his stomach, felt the same pulse a blink of an eye
later in their kissing cockheads.
He let his hands glide over the firm buttocks and grasped the
slim hips, holding the young body still as he started to move
his own hips, causing them to rub over each other, to ignite
already tingling nerves to an all-over consuming fire.
Obi-Wan moaned into his neck, clenched at him and moved into
his thrusts with ever increasing gusto. Soon they moaned
together with each move, the older man as carried away as the
young.
They moved faster, their hips grinding together, not getting
near enough, and fell together into the rising tide of ectasy,
getting higher still, connected through more than their bodies,
the Force like a swelling ocean in them.
Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open, he caught Obi-Wan's head in his
large hands, ground their open mouths together, making their
breaths one like their bodies, and then they jumped out into
the blue, sparkling wave that rose above them, to enfold them
and take them away with it into the Force-enhanced ecstasy of
their kind.
Obi-Wan knelt behind his sitting master and began to
straighten the tangled lengths of hair down the broad back. His
combing fingers stroked the skin beneath, half massage, half
caress.
"You don't need to..."
"Let me. Please." Obi-Wan parted the hair to lay a kiss on the
long neck.
Qui-Gon sighed indulgently. Picking up his belt, he zipped
open a compartment and produced a small comb. Obi-Wan took it
eagerly out of his hand, placing a kiss in the palm.
He combed the fine hairs into shining compliance and gathered
the top half together to the usual pony-tail. And found himself
without a clip. There must have been one, but Obi-Wan couldn't
remember what happened to it. Shrugging, he braided the hair a
few times and held it in one hand, while he reached up to his
own thin tress. With patient fingers he loosened the yellow
thread at it's middle and unwound it. At last having the thin
thread free, he used his teeth to double it up, creating a
strong enough string to wind tightly around Qui-Gon's hair. The
young man tied the ends into a knot, and was overcome by the
sudden realization that using the bindings of his own hair was
like some ancient ritual of claiming.
As if sharing the thought, his master reached behind to finger
at his handiwork, then turned around to look at him strangely.
Qui-Gon's long fingers caught the dangling padawan-braid and
stroked its smooth, shiny length, unhindered now by the knot of
yellow thread, that had graced it for so long. At the smallest
tug at the braid Obi-Wan swayed forward and their lips came
together in a soft little kiss.
A sigh coming from the depth of his breast, Qui-Gon stood and
pulled his padawan up with him. He gathered his lover's back to
him and wrapped his long arms around the slim form. Obi-Wan
laid his head back against the broad shoulder and entwined his
fingers with the long ones of his master, sighing contentedly,
feeling secure and loved as never before, feeling their link
strengthen with the minute.
Together they stared out into the grey light outside, waiting
for the new day to begin. They watched as yellow and orange
fingers crept over the pale sky and finally the first
skyscraper got topped by a glint of gold as the first sunbeams
cleared the horizon. A stray thought came to Obi-Wan then, a
memory of his anguished meditation of the night before. The
first day of the rest of my life. How disturbing then. How
fitting now. Qui-Gon's hand squeezed his in acknowledgment.
A beam of golden light blinded them suddenly as another
skyscraper's facade reflected the rising sun back to them.
As if waking out of a dream they moved, stepped out of the
embrace and looked for the rest of their clothes.
Standing at the paneled wall, shrugging into his shirt,
Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on the wooden floor, seeing for the
first time its elaborate design. Wonderingly he stepped out on
it again, following a meandering in the parquet to a swirl. A
memory whispered at the fringes of his mind. A memory in the
Force...of this place? The memory of a thousand feet whirling,
of them touching right here and here, Dancers one with the
Force...without thought he lifted his arms and turned in a
slow, one-footed pirouette. Then staring down on the floor
again with understanding. A Dance laid out in wood. But not
the Dance. Sighing, he crossed his arms before his
chest.
"I don't think I will Dance the Ban'at ever again, " Obi-Wan
said.
Qui-Gon didn't answer and the young man looked up to find him
staring at him, something like awe in his eyes.
"It's kind of a Mating Dance, isn't it?"
His master blinked and looked his impassive self again. "In
its long lost beginnings, yes. The claiming of a sword-mate, to
be exact."
"You knew that all the time?"
Qui-Gon looked smug. "I am a studied man. It's all there in
the library, if you had cared to look it up, Padawan."
Obi-Wan bowed deeply. "I will do so the soonest, Master."
Qui-Gon looked doubtful but let it slip. He tugged on his
dark-brown robe and folded his hands into the wide sleeves. He
regarded Obi-Wan with hooded eyes.
"I think you are right."
Obi-Wan made a questioning sound as he bent to retrieve the
bathing sheet from the floor.
"You should not Dance the Ban'at again." Pause. "Unless --"
"Unless?"
Qui-Gon held out his hand. Obi-Wan clasped it and was tugged
into the dark folds of the wide robe, strong arms holding him
close.
"Unless you Dance it with me," Qui-Gon murmured, bending his
face down to him, breath hot against his eagerly opening lips.
"Always." Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let the sweet mouth
claim him.
(Finis)
Want to see an illo??? Then take a look at the m_a gallery
page, please!
Archive 