by Maygra (Maygra@bllsouth.net & Gayle
(Lair_art@yahoo.com)
Rating: R for adult stuff only
Archive: Yes to M_A
Catagory: Drama, First Time, Romance. 1st person POV (Obi)
Feedback: We'd love it. Offlist though, I, at least, am on web-
only)
Circumstances: Gayle, the Talented but Evil Overlord, tossed
temptation my way, and being completely under her power...well,
ya gotta see it. <G> It's a collaboration no matter how
you look at it.
The picture is "Then" and can be found at Gayle's site:
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Bistro/8185/lair_thumbnails.html
See picture. When recovered, read story.
The full text with the picture can be found at:
http://www.7parabians.com/Maygra/Musings/swtpm/then.html
Summary: A little reflection and the art of language shows Obi-
Wan and Qui-Gon a different path.
Warnings: None. Heh. I really did write this. No Angst, no
violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were. No harm, no money, no foul.
Geroge Lucas is a gifted man, they are all his. I'm only
borrowing.
thanks to Gayle (duh!) Rache, Lori, MacGeorge, Merry and Killa
for their once-overs, support and just general coolness.
The Jedi Masters tell us the future is written in each moment;
the Force itself changes the longer you dwell within it. The
trick is learning to listen to it. Those who are not Jedi, who
have only the barest understanding of the Force, think what we
do is simply listen to our hearts, our consciences.
Sometimes that is true. Sometimes it is difficult to tell what
is the will of the Force, and what is the will of our hearts.
They feel the same, the urgings sing to us in the same way, in
the same key.
But with different words.
It took me many years to understand the words I heard. Always
with approval, sometimes with correction.
"You have done well, padawan." I used to wait for those words.
I think I wanted them, to hear them, almost more than I wanted
to do well. That would be a failing. Even my master would say
so. But he would understand, I think.
No, I know he would. He is a wise man. Not always right, but
wise.
I must have been nearly twenty before I realized that his
words, his, "You have done well," meant more than I had merely
accomplished some task or lesson to his satisfaction. I think
it was...a look I saw on his face once. I don't even recall
exactly what it was we had done, that I had done, only that for
a few moments, I did not think I would live through whatever it
was, and worse, that my master might not survive either.
That seemed entirely unreasonable.
I don't know what I did, only that it was I who reached into
and through the Force to...provide an outcome I felt was more
reasonable. I was both frightened and annoyed. A little stunned
when my master reached out his hand to clasp mine and pull me
to my feet. He was trembling, as was I. Still, he steadied me,
made sure I had my footing, clasped my shoulder and looked at
me as if he could scarce believe what he saw and said,
"You...did very well, padawan."
It wasn't until much later that I realized the breath he took,
the faint glimmer in his eyes, the expression on his face that
seemed torn between anger and approval, was not from exertion
or adrenaline...but emotion. From fear, from pride, from....
Different words.
I suppose I am not entirely as intelligent as my Master and my
teachers thought...or perhaps not as insightful as I might be.
The Force cannot overcome all failings. It can provide insight,
but not make a person smarter, or more limber, or less blind to
things directly in front of him.
My master would deny that I am in any way reluctant to correct
such an oversight once I have discovered it. But then again, he
thinks very highly of me.
So, why then, did I wait so long to act on what I came to know
as an unequivocal truth?
Because I did not know then what I know now.
The words beneath my master's words - he was saying he loved
me. Something I knew, but didn't really understand. He loved
me, of course. He was, is, my master. I am his student. A
certain amount of love and respect are necessary for a
successful student/teacher pairing such as the Jedi promote, or
so I have always thought. Once I understood that my master
loved me with more than the respect a master might bear a
padawan, I felt honored, humbled and very warmed by his
affections.
I didn't understand then that what I felt was also more than
just the love and respect a padawan owes his master.
I am frequently foolish and rarely wise, but not so foolish as
to not try and rectify my mistakes.
I was near my trials. It is not normally part of an
apprentice's training to be sent on mission after mission, but
my master's skills as a negotiator are much prized. Even when
he endures private censure by the council, publicly and in all
his dealings on behalf of the Jedi and the Republic, he is much
respected. We have entered troubled times within the Republic
and more and more missions became as much about diplomacy as
espionage. That Qui-Gon was needed along with others skilled in
placating increasingly hostile factions was not a surprise. I
was old enough and close enough to my own knighthood to serve
as aide and adjutant to my Master, to embark on some
negotiations of my own.
But with such a schedule, I had little time to attend to my own
feelings, much less my master's. And Qui-Gon, for all he may
have suspected that I knew of his feelings for me, is not a man
to press his affections to the detriment of our roles as
ambassadors.
Or should he think his regard not be returned in full measure.
Even had I not felt as I did, and not realizing how I felt, had
my master asked anything of me, I would have done my best to
oblige him without reservation. Qui-Gon is not a shy man, but
he is a...traditional one, if I can say that without him
denying it. He would deny it to my face, but it is true
nonetheless. It is a characteristic I much admire and
frequently try to emulate. Were my master to court someone, it
would be done in proper form and in proper time.
I am not so patient.
I would be far more dramatic for me to tell you that we
stumbled across our mutual passion in a moment fraught with
danger and intrigue. That our eyes met across a battlefield and
we realized that nothing was more important than our love for
each other.
I do recall our eyes meeting, but it was more along the lines
of us both being too weary to even contemplate the demanding
tasks of our calling. After three weeks of incessant talking
and cajoling and backtracking and reasoning in an effort to
establish some kind of passage route between the Dialys system
and the Lucyzyns space freighters, we returned to Coruscant
late in a cycle and weary. Too late to report to the council as
is required after every mission, but the report would need to
be filed prior to that meeting. Such reports are tedious as
they needs to be precise as well as evaluative. Without
speaking, Qui- Gon volunteered to complete the report while I
attended to our unpacking and the restocking of our quarters. A
crueler master would have made me dictate the report. We had
been gone for three weeks. Prior to that we had been off
Coruscant for a month. Our quarters had been cleaned, but there
was no food and no fresh linens.
Playing housekeeper is far preferable to dictating a report
over less than optimal results of the negotiations.
I managed to procure some broth and tea for my master as I
requisitioned and collected linens and fresh clothing, remade
beds and put in orders for foodstuffs and sent our clothing to
be cleaned: Such tasks were equally tedious, but mindless. They
also allowed me the opportunity to bathe and relax far sooner
than my master. My own broth had cooled by the time I emerged,
but I drank it anyway, checking with my master to see if he
needed anything. He did glance up at me and perhaps his eyes
lingered on me for a brief moment, but I think it was more to
check on my weariness and general health rather than the fact
that I was dressed only in a thin robe. He had not changed
since our arrival and the hour was already late.
"Go to bed, Obi-Wan. I will be finished shortly." His eyes slid
back to the data screen, a bare smile touching his lips as he
reviewed what he had already recorded. I could hear his voice
in a low echo from the recording, something about my efforts
with the Dialys' prime minister. "You did very well, padawan,"
he said softly.
It doesn't really sound like much, does it?
I had been dismissed and knew it, but I lingered in the
doorway, still as the air in the room, listening as he
continued. My efforts had been no greater than his own during
the negotiations and his report was not about allocating credit
for what agreements we had been able to reach. He rested his
chin upon his hand as he reviewed and corrected the final
report, his other hand coming to rub his chest at some ache,
probably from sitting in front of the screen for so long.
He was tired as was I. Duty demanded he be thorough in his
report and he was.
The future is written in each moment, and at that moment,
watching him, seeing the same thing I had seen dozens of times
before, I saw a future, realized a moment I really had not
thought on over much.
I was very much in love with my master. I had no desire to be
swept off my feet, nor to hear trumpets or singing, only this:
that in the semi darkness of the common room of the apartment
we shared, I felt as though I had belonged to something for a
long time and never noticed it. Perhaps it was the familiar
gesture he made, to rub his chest to ease a small ache when a
summoning of the Force could have done a far better job.
Perhaps it was because he bade me go to bed, to rest, when he
needed rest as much as I, possibly more. Perhaps it was his
utterance of approval as the last words I would hear from his
lips before seeking my rest.
I set my cup aside and went to him, at that moment only
intending to offer a massage to his shoulders to ease the
stiffness in his back from sitting.
He did not tense under my touch, but closed his eyes,
surrendering to the skill of my hands, a skill he had taught me
after long hours of training when my own muscles were so tight,
lifting my lightsaber seemed an impossible task. The corded
muscles under his robe were like iron and I worked them gently,
easing the knots until I felt the tendons loosen.
"My thanks, Obi-Wan," he said quietly. He did not move, but his
intention was clear: to once more attend the data screen and
finish what he had begun.
I had the same thought and before he could move, I pulled the
heavy fall of his hair back with one hand and pulled at the
neck of his robe to lay the same soothing touch to the muscles
of his chest.
He may well have stopped breathing for a moment. I know I did
the moment my hand touched the warm flesh at his sternum. It
was an intimate touch for all that I had massaged his chest
before when he had overstrained himself. The strain between us
now was not a product of overtaxed muscles.
His skin is very smooth, very warm. When he draws a breath the
flesh becomes firm, flushing slightly when his breath stutters.
He kept his eyes closed until my fingers ghosted across his
breast to test the firmness of his left nipple.
I am sure he had doubts. We had not spoken of what lay between
us. We had acknowledged it only to ourselves, and not to each
other. It was not as if we both struck by a sudden frenzy of
lust, only the recognition that however the future might
stretch before us, this very mundane, comfortable quietness
would be what would anchor us. That this moment, and others
like it, would be the reward for answering the call of our duty
and our beliefs.
He needed only to turn his head and lift it a little for our
mouths to meet. We both drew a small breath in the moment
before and then shared that breath between us. His lips are
very soft, moist and tasted slightly of mint from his tea. He
touched my jaw lightly, opening his mouth to mine, inviting me
in, his tongue courting mine briefly - I needed no other
encouragement. His fingers caught my braid, not to tug, only to
finger. He half turned in his chair as I caught the opening of
his robe and pulled it lightly so that both my hands could
reach inside and smooth over the skin there. It felt very
right, instinct guided by my heart or the Force - I have no
idea which nor, then or since, has the distinction ever
mattered.
He pushed my braid back, his hand continuing on along my throat
to my shoulder to slip the robe off my skin. Our mouths parted
then, eyes meeting for a brief moment before he turned away. It
was only to save his report, and he untied the sash of his robe
as he got to his feet.
I took that as a yes to the question neither of us had ever
asked.
I had to smile at him then. He is so very tall and I had to
look up at him, wanted to see his smile. Then again, he has to
look down at me and bend somewhat to kiss me. Given a choice I
think I would rather look up.
He dropped his robe on the desk, which blocked the light from
the terminal considerably and kept us from tripping over it. My
robe did not serve us as well and required cleaning. I had no
idea the floor was so dirty. Tall he is, but skin to skin we
fit together perfectly well. The hollow of his throat is very
sensitive and I never knew that a kiss laid upon my temple
could send such warmth through my body. Yes, we fit together
excellently well.
I suppose all new lovers experience some awkwardness, but I
cannot honestly recall anything save the time it took for him
to remove his boots and pants and set them aside. He murmured
something about wishing he had bathed but it prompted no
concern from me, nor from him, save the comment alone. And then
we seemed to both be far too interested in exploring and
reacquainting ourselves with bodies we knew so well, but now
saw through different eyes. Awkwardness is often reserved for
those who are shy and uncertain. We were neither.
There was no rush to consummate that first encounter. It seemed
as if we had been lovers for years and perhaps we had been in
all but the physical act. But there was and still is a sense of
wonder in me when we make love, to watch him, hear his
breathing grow short and shallow. To see the expression on his
face when my hands cover him, fondle him, caress him. To feel
the muscles in his back tense and relax as we rub and rock
together. To know how much he loves to kiss me when he strokes
me, probes my body gently. To feel how he opens to me when I
finger him, how he moans softly, with a slight rumble in his
chest.
I don't need to recall the precise details, for every time
since then has been as easily complete. Sometimes more forceful
when desire and need collide rather than the simple knowledge
that this is what we want, where we want to be and with whom.
Qui-Gon is as generous a lover as he is a master. He teases me
as easily in bed as he does in the field. He fills my body as
fully as he fills my heart and tells me I do the same. There is
no better aid to my sleep than the taste of him on my tongue,
the feel of his body next to mine, the clasp of his arms around
me.
He whispers my name when he comes. Every time, or so I think.
Perhaps I hear it only in my head, but it is what I hear, my
name said in the same tone and with the same meaning as he once
used to say, "You have done well, padawan."
I love you as well, master.
-end-
Comments? send to maygra@bellsouth.net & lair_art@yahoo.com
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