Archive: Master & Apprentice, all others please ask
Category: PWP, POV
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An old poem reminds Obi-Wan of what he has with his
Master
Disclaimer: Yes, George, Qui and Obi are yours! Satisfied? And
if I would make money out of this story I would immediately
invest it in further SW collectibles.
Notes: The poem "O tell me the truth about love" comes from a
collection of poems by W.H. Auden and was written in the
1930ties. I have left out one stanza of it, so if you want the
complete poem, just give me a buzz. A reference is made to an
occurrence described in WriteStuff's story "But For Grace".
Feedback: Yes, please to quigon_jinn21@hotmail.com
When it comes ...
It was late at night when I came home to our quarters from some
knighthood celebration of a, now former, fellow Padawan.
Qui-Gon had been more than relieved to see me enjoy myself in
the company of "my peers" as he liked to call them. Peers in
age perhaps, but certainly not peers in what my Master and I
shared.
I closed the doors to our quarters and hung my robe next to it.
My boots followed and I tip-toed to our bedroom.
When it comes ...
Qui-Gon lay fast asleep, or so I thought. Rain was gently
tapping onto the window, rather typical for the last period of
the year. No moonlight illuminated his features that night, yet
I could see his face in my mind as clearly as if it had been
bright day light. So familiar was every square inch of him to
me. He lay there on the bed, on his back, only partially
covered by some thin linen.
When it comes will it come without warning ...
I stood in front of the bed for a while, watching him breath
in, breath out, slowly. As peaceful as he only seemed to be
when he was sleeping. How I loved to see him so free of care,
something rarely awarded to him in his role as Jedi Master,
diplomat, teacher. One hand was draped across his broad chest,
the other gently gripping the sheets next to his body; his
strong legs almost exposed to the groin but not quite as much
as to reveal one of his most "alluring" assets. What a pity I
thought, but I'd soon remedy that. I watched on in silence and
looked - and still couldn't quite believe what had happened
between us such a short while ago.
"Obi-Wan?" Hm, it seemed Qui-Gon wasn't asleep after all, only
dosing, and I sat down with a slight sigh.
"Sorry to wake you, Master".
He stirred in bed, rolling onto his side, sleepily looking at
me. "Did you have a nice time with your friends, Obi-Wan?", he
asked sleepily, and I knew he didn't really expected an answer
from me.
"Hm? Oh, yes, it was quite nice. You would have loved it."
Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
"What was that?"
"What was what?", I asked while I sat down onto the bed and
tugged off my tunic.
"Whatever it was you just had on your mind, Padawan. That ...
was it a poem?"
Oh. I had forgotten. "Yes, a very old poem someone at the party
reminded me of tonight. I'm sorry if I have ... " Another part
made it's way into my mind.
Does it look like a pair of pajamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does it's odor remind one of Llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is its harp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
"I don't quite see how an emotion like love can smell," Qui-Gon
grunted as I proceeded to get out of my leggings.
"I think I'll forget my PJs for tonight", I laughed and saw a
faint smile on the face of my lover.
"What in the name of the Force are Llamas, Obi-Wan?"
"I guess some ill-smelling creatures like Eopies or Dewbacks".
I had no real idea what imagine the author was trying to draw
with those particular creatures, but somehow they struck me as
funny.
Finally devout of my clothing I lifted the covers and slipped
underneath them with Qui-Gon.
"Hm", he stretched his arm around my shoulder and gently patted
my hair. "Yes, I think I can say for sure my love has the
prickliness and the softness as well," he said as his hand ran
over my hair and ended up onto my cheek. I moved so I lay with
my back closely against his strong, warm body. "I could return
the compliment, Qui, something in my lower back does feel
somewhat prickly as well", I laughed and he gave me a small
slap onto my arm.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of rail-road guides.
I snuggled up closer to Qui-Gon, whose body warmed mine, whose
arms I found a welcome shelter from all the frantic
"relationship machinery" I had encountered that evening with my
friends. "Master, why is it so hard to find satisfaction with
what you have? Why is it that love can be the most destructive
thing someone can encounter?"
He pressed me closer to him. "I don't know, Padawan. It just
seems sometimes, if you don't know how to deal with love, it is
better to never have felt it's power over you". The words hit a
fresh spot, as very recently one of the Master had committed
suicide over the unrequited love she felt for her Padawan. I
shivered, trying to push that gruesome image of her out of my
mind. "The subject of suicide notes ...", I murmured to myself.
No, not with Qui-Gon and me! My lover must have felt my
shivering and as I recalled that particular incident in the
Temple had rattled not only me, but I knew my Master as well.
He reached out to me through our bond and spread a comforting
blanket of peace and serenity over my mind.
"Hush, Obi-Wan, don't you worry. It is different with you and
me. Nothing like that will ever happen to us."
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first rate imitation
On a saw or Steinway grand?
Is it's singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
Or tell me the truth about love
Right now we were quiet, enjoying each other's closeness and
comfort. We were at ease with one another. There were other
occasions, many other occasions, when we just could not keep
from yelling, shouting our pleasure to anybody who would or
wouldn't to listen. Our love-making often was passionate, wild,
daring, consummate. But for now, the quiet breathing and
nibbling of my Master at my neck, and his hand softly caressing
and holding my chest was all that I needed and wanted from the
world.
"That is not to say that I couldn't have been a riot at your
place tonight, Obi-Wan!" He chuckled and I had to agree. He was
a private man, my Master. But I had known him on occasions to
switch from his usual quite, contemplative mood to a downright
out-going, fun-loving one. It was just a side not many people
got to see of him.
"Yes, you certainly could have been. But think about what all
the other Masters would have to say about that!" He cuffed me
in the side.
"So what?" I smiled and kissed his hand to hold him closer
still.
Can it pull extraordinary faces? -- "Can it? You should
see Qui-Gon during a council session!"
Is it usually sick on a swing? -- "Obi-Wan does get
space sick from time to time."
Does it spend all it's time at the races, or fiddle with
pieces of string? -- "Well, thinking back to Watto and
Ani's pod-race ... "
Has it views of it's own about money? -- "A Jedi no
worldly possession seeks, and no, Republic credits will NOT do
fine!"
Does it think patriotism enough? -- "We are the peace
keepers of the Republic, my young Padawan."
Are it's stories vulgar but funny? -- "Never! Well,
mostly not. At least, when we are not in bed, they are not!"
Oh tell me the truth about love.
"Obi-Wan, can't you get this poem out of your head?" Qui-Gon
shifted me again so that we lay side by side, facing each
other. "As beautiful as it is... it's... distracting from our
..." . I kissed him gently.
"Almost done, love. But you know how I am with these things.
Once I get started on them, I just have to finish them." He
looked into my eyes with sheer delight, catching my drift.
"Of course, Obi-Wan, of course," as he returned the kiss to me.
When it comes does it come without warning?
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on the door in the morning?
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will it's greetings be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether -
O tell me the truth about love.
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