Apprentice to Journeyman

by Susan Smithson (charlottechill@yahoo.com)

Chapter Six - Maturity

Obi-Wan moved like water over the master practice square, the Force a river flowing into him and finding a channel through every limb, around and between every molecule and atom. He sensed that his eyes were wide open, but nothing more than the idea of light or dark reached his mind; he was guided by the Force, without intelligence or doubt, and its sight made simple ocular vision far too limited, by comparison. The drones were excellent, set at their highest levels, but none of the seven were greater than the Force that guided his lunges and parries, his feet as he attacked or gave ground. Simultaneous attacks demanded the most subtle shifting through time as well as space, which some part of him catalogued via doppler effects. The sounds whispered through him: the inaudible hum of the drones' shielded power packs, the hiss of ionized molecules as they released high-energy bolts, the wind-like ripping of air as his body flowed through it, faster than thought, faster than light, faster than vision.

Words began to enter his world, quiet meditative questions his master posed from where he rested somewhere beyond the edge of the battleground.

"Padawan. What is the fallacy of fearing the dark?"

Fear is fear, Master. Fear is the dark, he answered in thought, diving into a shoulder roll and curving his saber up.

"What else?"

Nothing else. Fearing the dark is entering the dark.

"So there is no fear, Padawan?"

He rolled again, whipping through the air, passing his saber to his left hand and ducking under a swinging obstacle. There is no fear of fear, Master.

And then, one word, "Enough."

His body quieted, the fast-moving rapids of energy calming, widening and slowing as water does across a river delta. The physical experience of the Force never left him, now. It was as much a sense as his vision or his touch. He embraced it fully, as any advanced padawan must; indeed, this oneness with the Force was a primary goal of the training. Deactivating his lightsaber and clipping it to his belt in one smooth motion, he turned to Qui-Gon even as the drones powered down and returned to their racks along the south line of the practice square.

His vision returned between one blink and the next; Qui-Gon knelt beside the square, his face alert, his eyes curiously bright. "Master?" he prompted.

"Do you ever find your training tiresome or tiring?"

"No, master." He answered, faintly surprised. "Not in some years. In fact, it has become meditation, of a kind."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Yes. That it is. Observing is its own meditation, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Do I detect a note of praise hidden in your tone, oh Great One?"

"I hope you detect the entire symphony, my Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt his pulse flutter briefly; he hadn't heard that phrase in over seven years. "Master?"

"Eleven years of commitment, to the Force and the Knighthood. To each other..." Qui-Gon's brows rose, and a hint of a smile played along his full lips. "You are an apprentice in name only."

He shook his head in immediate negation. "I'm not ready--"

"For your trials? No. But in a year, probably two... "

"Yes, Master." Confusion rippled through him, and he sought through the eternal waters of the Force for the small eddies and currents that were his master's soul. Where he had once dammed the waters between them with his own youthful misunderstandings, they now flowed often together, pieces of them feeding and swelling through the other's energy like tributaries mingling near the river they fed. That closeness was as accepted as sunlight on his face or his now-constant awareness of his contact with the Force.

"Yes." The smile broadened. "It's good to be on Coruscant, isn't it, Obi-Wan?"

His pulse skipped once more and abruptly he became conscious of his work-heavy muscles, of the way he could sense his blood moving quickly through every artery and vein. "Yes, Master," was all he could find in reply.

"Starless nights filled with the city's light, reflections off the atmosphere at any time of day. So bright, sometimes," Qui-Gon continued absently.

Obi-Wan glanced up at the blue-white afternoon sky, seeking answers there to as yet unasked questions. He strode to the mat and picked up his tunic, sliding it over his head. He could feel those eyes on him, following the fabric down his torso--and again he felt his pulse thump heavily, oddly, a gong ringing through his body from crown to toes. He turned in time to watch those eyes travel blandly back up him, and meet belatedly with his own. Qui-Gon gestured to the ground beside him, waiting to continue until Obi-Wan donned his robe and sat. "I have watched you for so many years, Padawan. I have trained you, loved you, cared for your education and your needs. The experience has brought both pain and joy."

Obi-Wan nodded intently. "Yes. It's the same for me."

"Yes. I remember, some years ago, watching you struggle first into, and then through your adolescence. Not once do I recall an act of conscious rebellion. Not during that gangly period of adjustment, not during your sexual awakening, and certainly not as you stumbled and slid and eventually grew into your mature body."

Obi-Wan suppressed a smile; obviously the man was losing his mind. That time had been cumbersome and miserable and fraught with mistakes and tension, for both of them. "While I'd disagree with you on the fine points," he grinned, "I thank you."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, and the intelligence churning away behind those eyes was palpable. Obi-Wan held his breath, wondering, speculating on what his teacher was thinking so very hard about. "I know you missed me when I had to draw away," Qui-Gon offered gently.

Oh, those thuddings of his pulse were physically noticeable now; he curbed them with some irritation. "I know I held you away," he answered reasonably. "I know I had to fail, then, so that I might learn to succeed as an adult. I was a child, and you had to permit me to become a man."

"And that, you have." Qui-Gon nodded, his serenity approaching beatitude. "Your records are now released to you." He drew a cube from an inner pocket, extended it on the open palm of his hand. "The access codes are stored here. Take it."

Obi-Wan eyed the cube with barely contained awe. Padawans didn't actually know much about how they were trained, how they were graded, or what made some take longer or shorter times to complete their work and enter their trials. Padawans knew very little indeed about what was even measured, beyond the obvious; one worked toward proficiency in an area so one could advance to another area. Many classes were populated by students of all ages and species.

And lying on that broad flat palm was the answer to those mysteries: Obi-Wan's own training history as recorded and graded by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. As reviewed and assessed by whichever members of the Jedi Council had been compelled to the training seats over the course of his years.

It was an overwhelming moment.

"Take it, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon urged softly. The growing smile belied the sobriety of the moment. "Go and peruse your life through my eyes. Take a few days if you like, then find me if you have any comments or questions." The hand rose slightly, beckoning, and Obi-Wan reached out to snatch the cube as if it might suddenly disintegrate, or as if the window of opportunity was miniscule, and any nanosecond Qui-Gon might change his mind.

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"And think of something new to call me, Obi-Wan; 'master' has become a bit tiresome, with you."

Obi-Wan wouldn't even spare attention for confusion at that comment; he grabbed his clothes and sprinted away without a nod or backward glance.

Some sixty-seven hours later, Obi-Wan reached a place very near the end of Qui-Gon's notes. He had skimmed in many places and skipped others entirely; there was far too much information to cogently digest in a sitting. But the high points... and the low points... and the end point, the place he rested now....

He had spent almost three full days feeling his heart torn and mended, killed and reborn from the ashes of change. He had followed the thread of Qui-Gon's tale of training and brotherhood, and felt the man's love for him grow along controlled, linear, Force-guided lines. When that love had first been acknowledged, it had begun as the dedication of regent to child-prince--and never had Obi-Wan considered himself and Qui-Gon Jinn in such reversed roles of respect. That masters chose their padawans with such care, that they were choosing to dedicate decades of their lives to the upbringing of one individual being... somehow Obi-Wan had never truly understood the enormity of the undertaking.

That dedication had become careful intimacy, guarded and measured and ultimately controlled, as Obi-Wan grew into himself. Through those rocky years the love had lain dormant, pulsing and alive, until the seed of brotherhood had sprouted between them and been allowed to grow. And now, oh! now it was this thing that colored his master's recorded voice in this tiny chamber.

He imagined the pose that accompanied those earnest and sober tones, and seriously considered opening the holographic records that complemented this voice--but he'd be here another three weeks if he did that now. "Repeat the last ninety seconds of audio," he told the computer, and closed his eyes.

"Obi-Wan is apprentice in name only; his next years with me, however few or many, will be for the refinement of his independent decision-making skills and his continued growth into the Living Force. He'll remain my aide until the Council sees fit to set him loose upon the Republic." The pause was long, and it spoke volumes to Obi-Wan's attuned ears.

"I took on a caterpillar, swift and single-minded, hungry for the universe. We built his chrysalis together, he and I, here at the Temple, and I tended the pupa with the very best of me. And now the chrysalis is no more; the child is entirely usurped by the adult. And I find in myself the satisfaction of service well rendered, the joy of his fruition in the Force, and a love for the man that has only deepened with time. I love him without limit or boundary or rule." Another silence, thick this time to Obi-Wan's trained ear. "Such a beautiful man he has become, so fallible and dedicated and perfect, I find that I already miss the constant vision of him in my life."

He stopped the replay manually, and removed the code cube. There was more, but Obi-Wan had no listening for it; he needed a moment to think before running blindly into the future.

He made his way to the Temple's water garden, stripped off his clothes and stepped silently into a tepid pool. Taking a shallow breath, he pushed off the edge and sank to the bottom. Water pressed against him at every point, almost skin temperature, dulling the input to his senses. It reminded him of nothing more than being submerged in the warm, neutral bouyancy of a bacta tank. He inhaled slightly, filling his sinuses with the water to enhance the effect, turning questions over in his mind.

The recording he had listened to twice had been made almost four months past, as they returned from a mission on Clandar. The mission hadn't been spectacular. They had averted a minor civil conflict; Obi-Wan had saved the life of a little girl who had pulled the emergency exit lever in a public aircar, and graciously refused both her parents' efforts to thank him both physically and financially, quirking an admonishing brow at his master's near-smirk; the governing body had been unimpressed with their aid and sent them packing. He recalled his master's amusement at that last, and his own resigned acceptance that some things never changed.

Certainly, Obi-Wan had noticed no change in his master, either on that mission or in any of the days that had followed.

And why had he been given access to his records? A typical drill, typical discussions of philosophy... and Qui-Gon appreciating the beauty of the day. Was it no more complicated than that?

The answers were doubtless buried in his training records, but he had found himself unwilling to sift through them further.

Perhaps, he decided, pushing off the bottom of the pool to catch a fresh breath of air, the answers to those questions weren't really important. Perhaps, he decided, sinking slowly back to the curved, pebbled depths, the only truly important question was why he had listened twice to that portion of the record, then left the holochamber. Silly padawan, he thought, grinning. You know why. Those words could be heard as an invitation, a years-long-awaited 'yes' to a question he had never directly asked, but that had lain silent between them.

He rolled in the water, feeling its warm eddies caress his limbs, contemplating Qui-Gon's changed status. He hadn't thought of Qui-Gon sexually in at least a year. It simply hadn't come up. And now... he grinned, laughing at himself. It had definitely come up.

Pushing off the bottom once more, ordering his body to calm itself immediately or face the consequences, he pulled himself out of the pool, dried, and dressed.

He needed to see Qui-Gon. Now.

There was a great deal to talk about.

He opened his mind and looked through his master's eyes, had the mildly dizzying sensation of artificial light and a cacophony of speed and movement... the flash of sabers and the sparkle of joy-filled eyes... seventh floor, east wing, section nine, quad four, free-drill hall. He increased his pace to a jog, and then to a slow run, eating up the distance, taking stairs and bridges until the mile slid by. His energy was up when he bowed himself into the hall; flashes of light everywhere drew his eyes, made his hand twitch toward his own hilt that swung gently against his hip. All thirty-six squares were full, some with multiple sparring partners, all using lightsabers. The meters-wide lanes that separated the squares were sparsely populated with observers, or challengers awaiting a turn against whoever defended the square.

Qui-Gon was in the thick of things, having advanced himself to one of the four center squares. Obi-Wan smiled as he approached, watching his master play a game with a padawan team not much short of Obi-Wan's years. He recognized all three, a trio who fought together, played together, slept together and, whenever envoys of more than a pair were needed, were typically posted together. It was their masters' early teamwork that had bound the three, and Obi-Wan suspected they would remain so for many years to come; the two women were joined at the hip, and their male partner tended to walk around with an incredibly fatuous smile on his face. What a perfect love. Obi-Wan recognized it well.

His gaze turned to Qui-Gon. Very well, indeed.

Parry, throw, jump, swarm, gang up--and no one person could gang up on three others quite like Qui-Gon Jinn--it was a free-for-all, sabers set to low enough power that sufficiently violent contact forced one blade through another. Obi-Wan grinned at the scorch marks on various padawans' clothes; it looked like they'd been going at it for hours, and Qui-Gon wasn't in much better shape.

How many had he fought today, to reach and hold the fourth square? The intensity with which he played, the fierce joy on his face, the life that flowed from him and through him and around his sparring partners, the ferocious grins on competitors' faces, the entire scene was quintessentially Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had rarely seen padawans so enjoy getting beaten up.

He sidled up between two other observers, looking his fill, watching the speed and grace and raw, happy aggression. The horsetail of his master's hair whipped about, a lash that seemed yet another weapon for anyone who encroached too close from the rear. He caught the fever of the game, silently cheering Qui-Gon on, barely restraining his laughter at the spectacle. Anticipation seeped along his nerves and he narrowed his eyes, searching for the vulnerability his master must sense. Grinned as the three padawans formed an almost straight line along one edge of the square. Qui-Gon loosed an animal roar and launched himself, corkscrewing in the air to avoid the rising saber blades, sweeping with his own blade to knock one astray, and bowling into them lengthwise like a log down a hill.

"Enough!" he called out, laughing and stepping into the square to break the sensor's beam; a chime sounded, specific to square number four, halting the match. The melee on the floor separated itself into four independent beings.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Laughter colored Qui-Gon's voice with dark, sweet honey, yet he somehow managed to look dignified as he slung his saber hilt and tugged his burned and torn practice gear into order.

"Qui-Gon, attend me please. Unless you're too entrenched in your sport?"

Qui-Gon's brows rose, and he turned to the three padawans who were still laughing and righting themselves. "I concede, you ruffians," Qui-Gon bellowed, bowing in their direction. "Well-played indeed."

"Yes, Master Jinn," they chorused, pleased to have won the square by any means.

Qui-Gon stepped out of the ring and into the players' circle at its corner, and Obi-Wan joined him. Leonine, Obi-Wan thought, observing him with a lover's eyes; the man is truly leonine. And he is also truly a man... just a man, like me, like others. Made unique by his commitment and his will, made so precious to me by his invocation of the Light. So that answered the question, 'why now'. He had seen Qui-Gon as a man--and not a hero, in spite of all his heroic acts--for some time. Perhaps Qui-Gon had been simply waiting to be sure of this fact. Waiting, to be sure that Obi-Wan understood himself and Qui-Gon. Waiting, to affirm that maturity held, and that hero-worship had been truly cast aside.

As it had.

He watched, wondering at his perspective as Qui-Gon picked up a towel and scrubbed at his face. When his master loosened the cord in his hair and shook the mass out around his shoulders, however, Obi-Wan found his perspective as transient and insubstantial as a summer breeze, for he also was just a man, with desires and passions that were now permitted to surface and be fulfilled.

He took the single step needed to invade Qui-Gon's space, reached up with one hand and simultaneously asserted, "You'll forgive me if I'm out of line," then dragged Qui-Gon's head down and sealed their mouths together.

Qui-Gon had opened his mouth, doubtless to ask what he was talking about, and Obi-Wan felt no compunction about pushing his tongue inside, tasting and searching and inviting the fierce aggression he had just witnessed to express itself here in his arms. There was a second where Obi-Wan sensed the heat of battle transmute into a stiffening, defensive energy. He wondered if he was in physical danger, but only for a moment before the sensation shifted again into a reaction that suited Obi-Wan far better; his spine popped under the pressure of Qui-Gon's arms around his ribs, and he felt himself lifted completely off the floor.

So much for not running blindly into his future.

He slid his arms around his master's neck for leverage, and was just lifting his knees to anchor his ankles around the backs of Qui-Gon's thighs when the bite of fingers, harsh and deep into his biceps, halted him. Brute strength tugged him backward and he barely got his legs back under himself in time to stand. He gasped in a lung full of air, aching at the loss of contact, as Qui-Gon held him back an arm's length. Qui-Gon looked... surprised, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to understand: Qui-Gon was surprised at himself, surprised at the immediacy of his response.

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head to clear it of the buzzing that surged through it, wrenched his arms free and moved in again.

The thunder that replaced the surprise was a sight to behold. Qui-Gon's voice rose in a familiar if rare bellow that belonged distinctly to dissatisfied Jedi Masters. "Obi-Wan!"

He raised his brows, bemused, feeling his pulse thrumming gently, the Force humming alongside it through every cell of his body and through all of the space around them. It pushed him toward his master just as eddies in a river push a piece of driftwood along. "Yes, Qui-Gon?"

His master cast a furtive, wild glance around them, and Obi-Wan spared a look himself. The padawan trio exchanged speaking glances, but Obi-Wan suspected they were at least as interested in getting Qui-Gon out of the players' circle so their sparring could continue as they were curious about the kiss. Other observers had given Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon their full attention, but Obi-Wan didn't spare energy to determine their opinions. He didn't care about their opinions. He turned back to his master, waiting patiently for enlightenment.

"Obi-Wan, this is hardly the time or the place..."

Pushing his way inside Qui-Gon's defense until their bodies were separated only by a hand's breadth, he tilted his chin up and fell into the deep blue well of his master's eyes. "It is exactly the time and the place."

The demanding blue gaze flickered, diverted to a second of doubt, and Obi-Wan trusted his feelings completely. "It is exactly the time and the place, love," he said again, and this time when he reached and sank his fingers into his master's heavy fall of hair, he felt the surrender, sensed the heat and the fire he had sought in his first attempt.

Hands cupped his skull, gripping tightly as they pressed toward one another without moving at all; the hand's breadth that separated them was merely physical. The world fell away as Obi-Wan took in the high flush on cheeks and throat that might still be from exertion or might be from something else entirely; the rasping breath that had nothing at all to do with exercise; the pupils dilated so wide that Qui-Gon's eyes were as an eclipse before a blue, blue sun.

The universe seemed to be holding its breath, and perhaps it was. Obi-Wan felt the air press from his lungs in an eternal, silent exhale. With his heart he followed that breath across the space that separated them, reaching and embracing those most intimate parts of Qui-Gon Jinn, parts he never been permitted to fully see.

Until three days ago he had been the younger, the student, the person with no right to choose... because, perhaps, for so many years he had been utterly ignorant of how much time his choices could cost him.

"You knew," he breathed, hearing his voice catch, feeling the tight clamp at his throat and blinking fast to clear his eyes of tears.

And Qui-Gon, beautiful Qui-Gon, smiled gently, and drew in the same slow breath Obi-Wan had just offered up. "It was my job to know. To know your heart, to know your mind. It was my job to let you grow into yourself without the presence of any overwhelming influence."

"Overwhelming." He felt the word as it rolled through the cavern of his mouth and off his tongue, measuring it against the man he held so dear. "You certainly would have been that. You may yet be."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I believe you still overestimate me." Obi-Wan's eyes strayed to his master's mouth, measuring the smile, the softness of lips, wanting urgently to test that softness once more. "I daresay you've already destroyed our first kiss, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, understanding him effortlessly. "There's no hurry, now."

"No," Obi-Wan denied. "Almost nine years ago, Qui-Gon, on a dance floor far more public than this, the first kiss was generous and born entirely of the love you hold for me."

Thumbs brushed his jaw, his mouth, and he opened his lips against that feather touch. "You have always been a romantic, my Obi-Wan."

"And you have always let your wine breathe until it has oxidized entirely; stop waiting, Qui-Gon. I'm right here."

The hands tightened infinitesimally on his skull. "I have always known exactly how close you were. That knowledge was a great trial, at times."

There it was, that skip-thump that could not be mis-identified, sounding deep in his chest. "No longer." Impulse drove him forward, and he pressed his lips to Qui-Gon's mouth briefly, barely a touch at all. The breath that slid over his lips, hot and moist after being held in his master's chest, brought a tremble to Obi-Wan's entire body. "I want you," he whispered. "I love you. I'll go so far as to say I need you if you like, so don't deny me now." And with that order he pressed home again, opening his mouth, feeling the soft brush of beard as their mouths moved together.

For long moments all he could hear was the rushing of their breaths. All he could taste was Qui-Gon-flavored saliva. All he could feel was the pressure of their two shells, these two bodies that housed the hearts and minds that moved ever-closer.

A small cough finally nagged at his attention, and he realized it was being repeated, had been for some time. He drew his head away with an effort and turned to frown at the interruption. Padawan Hasse, the eldest of the trio, looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Master, Padawan... may we play on?"

"Do whatever you like, padawans," Obi-Wan answered, fully intending to go back to what he'd been doing. But Qui-Gon's face was crinkling with amusement when he turned back.

"Obi-Wan. We can at least move off the playing area, can't we?" Amused. Reasonable. And how dare the man be reasonable in a moment like this?

Obi-Wan glanced from his boots to the edge of the players' circle, a half-meter away. "I don't know."

A rumble of laughter, heady and drunken and music to his ears, and Qui-Gon lifted him bodily, taking the necessary steps to clear the players' circle. "Play on," Qui-Gon called, putting physical distance between them again. Obi-Wan swayed, stunned and dizzy and oddly surprised by the meter that now separated them.

"We should talk," Qui-Gon said eventually.

"We should fuck," Obi-Wan returned without hesitation.

Qui-Gon's eyes darkened to blue fire, but he answered mildly. "So eager, still? And here I thought you had grown beyond childish longings."

"Oh, I did," he assured. "Love without boundary or limit, Qui-Gon. It's the love I learned to have for you. But if you thought my love would somehow grow to exclude this intimacy between us, well, senility has settled in early for you." He paused, staring for a long moment, some part of him vaguely amused at this quiet, calm conversation. "You truly thought I might have passed you by?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "The heart is rarely fickle, but the body certainly can be. It happens often."

"Not to me, it doesn't." He reached out briefly, stroked down his master's upper arm. "I want you still."

Qui-Gon drew in a shallow, steadying breath. "Perhaps we should finally finish what you tried to start all those years ago, then," he conceded. "But most definitely not here."

Obi-Wan glanced around; most of the players were still deeply engrossed in their training routines, but here and there a knight or student had paused in their work and openly stared. Curiosity warred with disapproval on those faces, and he still wasn't sure that he cared.

Qui-Gon answered his look quietly. "We're being rude."

"We really should go back to our rooms," Obi-Wan agreed. His lips felt hot and puffy and hypersensitive. He wanted them to feel raw. He wanted his entire body to feel raw from the friction of flesh on flesh. He was, in fact, surprised at the intensity of his desire.

"Yes. We should." Qui-Gon's blue eyes were bright with feeling, so overwhelming and strong that Obi-Wan couldn't keep from reaching out his hand.

It was taken up in the strength of his master's, and Obi-Wan stared, distracted, at their entwined flesh. Their calluses were more equal in number, now, his own palm narrower than Qui-Gon's capable square one. In a flash of memory he saw his child-hand grasped by this Master's, saw his child-self supported through all the years between that moment and this one.

He looked up as the first tears spilled from Qui-Gon's eyes, and his heart expanded, filling his chest cavity, suffusing him with such emotion, such love, he had no words. There were no words. This must be what Qui-Gon had meant, all those years ago, when he said that the nurturer always saw the caterpillar in the butterfly; Obi-Wan still saw that caterpillar in himself, a ghost, an echo that colored and shaped the man he was today. He looked closely, deeply through the rising tears in his eyes, for the caterpillar that had once been Qui-Gon Jinn; oh, the incredible racket that boy must have made, shaking the quiet and somber Jedi Temple to its foundations! He could see it, blurry and out-of-focus through his tears and the span of time; intelligent eyes and small dark hands and laughter that would spill out at any moment, bubbling emotion that Master Yoda simply could not train out of the boy. No wonder the little green monster was so cross all the time... being bested by a child...

Between one blink and the next the image was gone, only its ghost left in the creased, mature shadows of Qui-Gon's face. Obi-Wan thought his heart would leap from his chest, the emotion affected him so deeply, and he was reaching with a strangled cry before thought, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon again and holding him tightly while emotion buffeted through him, through them both.

What an interesting ride they were on, careening wildly between near-mindless physical passion and this sexless, satiating embrace.

Eventually it became necessary to let the feeling complete its course, to wash through them rather than be held or caged. He eased the pressure of his arms only slightly, cleared his throat. His master laughed and stepped back, settling himself serenely as they each moved, putting space between them.

"You love me," Obi-Wan said, stating the obvious and sensing the feeling that embraced him, no different from three days before, or three years. "You always have."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Of course. Just as you love me."

Obi-Wan ducked his head to Qui-Gon's chest, listening to his heart beat as more pieces in life's puzzle snapped into place. "And now you can want me," he said quietly against his master's robe. He drew away, still hearing his master's heartbeat. "I suspect you have many things to teach me about sex."

"I doubt it."

"I don't."

"Ahh."

Ahh? What did ahh mean? He knew what he was saying. Sexual desire could be many things. It was simply one expression of many... yet coupled as theirs would be with this abiding love, it would be profound. And exhilarating. And--

"May we go to a public sex club sometime?"

"What?" Not quite aghast.

"I remember you offered to take Knight Shereld to a public sex club. I'd like to do that with you. Mate, on some dimly lit stage, with people who admire passion all around us."

"Do you mind if we try it alone first?" Dryly, but hardly dismissive.

"No. Not at all. Get your things."

Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow at the obvious order, but did as he was bid. They walked in near-silence through long hallways; there seemed not enough space between them for words or thought to travel. Qui-Gon was still exhilarated from his play. Obi-Wan was still exhilarated by his knowledge.

As soon as he opened the door to their rooms, however, he noticed both their message lights flashing yellow. "Coincidence?" he prayed, moving to his desk even as he willed those Council messages not to be urgent.

A moment later. "Mace Windu wants to see me. Now," Qui-Gon groused. "Imagine that."

"And me." Obi-Wan sighed. "If this is about the kissing in the exercise hall, that man learns of things almost as fast as Padawan Viswan."

"He is well connected." Qui-Gon sighed.

Obi-Wan blanched at what would likely be a dressing-down. While public displays of affection between padawan and master were as common to the Temple as public displays of disapproval or correction, he supposed theirs wasn't exactly typical... in fact, he couldn't recall such an event in his eleven years here, nor of hearing about one. "Is this forbidden?" he thought to ask. That the thought had never occurred to him before was proof, to him, of his commitment.

"I couldn't care less," Qui-Gon replied with feeling.

"Well that's a surprise." Obi-Wan glanced from his desk to his master. "We should couple," he said urgently. "Now."

"Now?" Qui-Gon queried. "Before answering a direct and immediate summons from a waiting Council member?"

Obi-Wan started stripping off his clothes. "If he is trying to deter us, we'll be stronger for having already consummated this thing between us." He grinned. "He can hardly order us not to do something we've already done."

"He could order us to stop."

"Better to stop, than never to begin," he replied fiercely.

"And if he isn't trying to deter us?" Qui-Gon continued. He seemed to be getting far too much amusement out of their situation.

Obi-Wan promised himself to make the man pay, in future. Somehow. "The priority was yellow, Master; five or ten minutes will hardly hurt."

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, but the speculation in them was sweet. "Your logic may have some merit," he conceded, "but I don't think a hurried, groping struggle is what I would have imagined our first joining to be."

Obi-Wan paused. "You mean you never imagined it?"

"No." Softly.

"Why?!"

"I told you that I wouldn't."

He was shocked anew, and more moved than he cared to reveal in this moment; hours-long, silent declarations of devotion hardly seemed compatible with the speed record for mutual orgasm he was aiming for. "Years ago." His hands tucked into his trousers, he hesitated before pushing them down. "That's the kind of control I'm expected to learn if ever I'm to advance to your level? And I thought attaining my knighthood would be difficult."

Qui-Gon laughed, and raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan's half-naked stillness. "Are you serious about this? You want to begin this way? Before we report?"

"Oh yes," Obi-Wan urged. "Definitely." With that mild suggestion, he pushed his trousers down and bent to unbuckle his boots. Qui-Gon seemed so collected, Obi-Wan actually felt the slight pull of self-consciousness. But whatever this might look like on the outside, it was no ill-considered leap. He knew where he was going, and he trusted Qui-Gon to know himself. "People keep telling me that first times with a new partner should be slow and filled with care. Why is that?"

"Respect, I suppose." And just on the edge of sound, Obi-Wan heard the rustle of fabric and drew in a sharp, controlled breath. He dared not look up, couldn't look up, sure that the sight that awaited him would rip his reason away entirely. "Conscientious attention to your partner's wants and desires. A learning process." Qui-Gon's voice was lecturing in tone, and Obi-Wan found this fact unreasonably funny given that he knew the man was undressing.

"Well," he said with a smile, stepping out of his boots and trousers, "I think there must be something for an all-out charge into the experience, a hurried, fumbling, frantic encounter."

And there was.

Obi-Wan had been right; when he finally looked up to see Qui-Gon standing there, still amused but naked and very ready, his mouth dried, his throat seized, and his erection sprang to such stiff attention he feared he was doing himself some injury. That he could look, and see with these eyes, and see those eyes looking back just the same way-- "I want..." he managed, feeling his hands clench and unclench, feeling his jaw working even as his brain supplied no words beyond, "I want, I want..."

"I know," Qui-Gon said, closing in on him. "You want everything. I'll do my best for you, Obi-Wan. For us both."

Before he could think, Qui-Gon grabbed him up, crushing his mouth in a kiss so fervent their teeth clashed and kept clashing. He was backed into the wall and held there by the simple weight of Qui-Gon's body as hands combed through his hair, stroked roughly down his neck and shoulders, in under his armpits to knead his pectoral muscles. It was like being taken over by a storm.

Qui-Gon's erection nudged at his belly, branding him with its heat and shape. Everything, he thought.

Sex was different when you loved. It was the difference between dried travel rations and a banquet; between water and sand; between death and life. It was a difference that made this frantic groping more important than any tender, drawn-out event, real or imagined. Qui-Gon pressed against him, here, spiraling down into the sensation of the moment with him, sharing passion and far more.

Everything.

He tucked his chin, breaking the kiss, gripping hard into the hot muscle and sinew of Qui-Gon's back. "I want..."

Hands stroked down his sides, wedging themselves between his ass and the wall, fingers sinking deep into his flesh. "Lift your legs, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ground out harshly.

Everything.

He pulled himself up, free climbing, finding handholds at shoulders, in hair, wrapping his legs around the outcropping of hip and waist. And when their different heights were finally accounted for and he felt the first pressure of groin to groin, scrotum to scrotum, cock to cock--it was all he could do just to breathe. "Ahh!" he cried out, heart pounding, sensation swamping and dampening his nerves even as orgasm screamed down on him, approaching like a an icy arctic wind trying to shear his soul from his body.

A thrust of hips, the friction of cock to cock like two files rasping together, and Qui-Gon gasped into his ear, "not that fast--wait--wait for me--" Oh, the sweet pain of it. He thrust in return, felt that rasp all the way through his groin and out to his soul, hearing the melody they made, their grunts and choked groans of an almost animal rut.

Everything.

"I can't--" His nails were digging in, he knew, and the resistance of flesh imprinted itself on his fingertips. Qui-Gon's hands finally settled on his ass, gripping, kneading, separating the mounds of flesh. "I'm--"

"Wait!" An order, a command, and when had he ever thought first and acted later when that voice was filled with such urgency? Suspended, using every last thread of his shredded control, he held himself on the brink as they thrust together, as Qui-Gon--Qui-Gon, beloved-- humped again and again, the force of those thrusts scraping his bare back against the wall, the heat between their bodies building into a slick sweat that eased the friction of their skin.

Obi-Wan... pleasure joy urgent pain near-death near-completion oh my Obi-Wan my joy my light. The emotions washed his mind, blending with his own cacophony of passionate sound and light. It filled him, swelled his body and finally, finally yes! Ahh sweet rush white-hot-cold Qui-Gon--

Everything.

The crashing approach of orgasm delivered him from madness to a place where he banged his head against the wall to see, to watch the wide-open blue eyes that stared back at him, the sweet look of agonized pleasure that contorted Qui-Gon's face, the lips that parted for air and sound. His mind could actually register the separate sensations as pleasure swept out of his body like water on a beach before a tidal wave, sucked down into his burning, aching erection. His cock quivered like a divining rod, pulsing, tightening with the pleasure it held. The familiar empty, hollow feeling settled deep in his pelvis and he gasped, surged forward almost knocking his lover off-balance in his haste to cover that mouth with his own, as semen splashed and blended between their bellies, sticky, welcome. As pleasure crashed through him, reverberating between them, laying them waste.

Long moments passed in gasping, suctioning silence, their mouths and hearts still firmly sealed together. Until finally, finally, they parted. Obi-Wan unclamped shaking legs, his toes finding the floor. Qui-Gon moved marginally back, letting him slide down until he held his own weight.

"You're hairy," Obi-Wan managed, the information just registering on his skin.

"Yes." Quiet murmur, delivered to the soft skin behind his ear.

"It never occurred to me how that hair would feel." He glanced between them at his reddened chest, down further to their erections, still firm, just beginning to lose their potent red heat.

His lover's body stilled. "You've been with men." It was a statement of fact but it was also a question, and Obi-Wan nodded against Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Man, actually. He wasn't hairy."

Qui-Gon's laughter tickled his neck; he scrunched his shoulder up to nudge it away. "Oh."

More seconds passed, and eventually Obi-Wan coaxed his stunned brain back into action. "Why on earth people suggested a slow and languid pace I'll never know."

"You've never had quick sex?"

Obi-Wan sighed as they separated, and shook his head. He wondered if there should be a time when he offered the--somewhat extensive--list of things he hadn't yet tried. "Perhaps I never knew anyone well enough, or stayed with anyone long enough, to trust such pleasure so."

"Ahh."

He glanced around the room at their scattered robes. "You get fresh clothes, I'll get a cloth."

"Yes. Master Windu."

The satisfaction still thrummed through him, and more, the sense of Qui-Gon's heart beating, pounding through Obi-Wan's own veins. He grinned. "Yes."

As it turned out, Master Windu had no personal interest in them at all. His brows did rise when they entered his chambers, and Obi-Wan suspected that their satisfaction was visible to any who knew them. For Master Windu, it was Qui-Gon who was familiar enough; Obi-Wan felt the urge to grin at his expectation of the reaction Challi would have--far less subtle and far more probingly vocal, certainly.

"Mission briefing, gentlemen," Windu said coolly. "Something of an emergency has arisen on Ossaveld. Qui-Gon, I believe you're familiar with their prime minister. It seems she has been abducted during this latest civil conflict. She must be found and retrieved safely. Transport has been scheduled, and your ship will be ready by mid-morning tomorrow. Please utilize all due speed."

A mission. The message had been about a mission. Obi-Wan felt laughter flow through him and released it silently, without reaction, into the Force. He'd find time to laugh out loud later.

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon said, all business. "And the current intelligence?"

"Already downloaded from the news banks, though it hasn't been transferred to your ship; please arrange to have it retrieved for absorption during your trip." He looked again between them, his eyes as cool and stoically calm as ever. "That is all; may the Force be with you."

"And with you, Mace," Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan bowed and followed his master out into the busy hallway. His attention was shifting piecemeal, like the cells in a computer's brain, toward work. Soon there would be no time for trivialities, for personal wants, for ego. For passion. It seemed he'd spent his life deferring this, and now that demands were upon him he would have defer once more. "I'd like to schedule rest allotments when we return; I need to learn you better, without risk of interruption."

"Our duty is hardly an interruption, Padawan; we exist to serve."

I exist to explore every satisfaction your body can tolerate, Obi-Wan wanted to say. He bit it back, knowing it for the emotion-driven and frivolous desire that it was, and settled for a half-hearted, "Yes, master. Did we repack after our last trip?"

"I don't know, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied mildly. "You stowed the gear."

"Oh. Yes."

"Are you all right?"

The question was asked with such sincerity, the look in his master's eyes so mild and innocent, that the earlier amusement came back full-force and Obi-Wan lost his composure. He had to stop, had to step aside in the hallway to let others pass as he near-crumpled with laughter.

"Padawan!"

Ah, a public display of disapproval. He managed to glance around through watering eyes, noted the same looks from passersby, the same range of expressions from curiosity to disapproval that he'd seen in the practice hall less than an hour ago. Less than an hour ago? The realization made him laugh all the harder. The look on Qui-Gon's face was certainly different, though; the man was not amused.

"My apologies, Master," he managed, trying to pull himself together, focusing on the living Force and letting it flow through him and take his laughter out with it. "I..." he smiled, straightening, still feeling the urge to chuckle. "A mission. The message was about a mission."

Qui-Gon nodded, mildly amused, extremely indulgent. "Ahh. Well. Are you quite finished?"

He rose, wiping a stray tear from his eye, gathering himself. The laughter was relief, he knew, and joy, and a myriad of other emotions roiling through him that he hadn't yet had time to process. "Yes, I'm finished."

"That's a relief." The words almost made him laugh again. Qui-Gon knew exactly the cause of his display. "I need to retrieve the data wafers from the library. And you need to prepare our kits."

"Yes, Master." Love you.

Qui-Gon's brows raised, and his expression softened even further, but he made no other reply.

They separated near the lifts, Obi-Wan returning to their quarters to prepare for their departure, Qui-Gon to retrieve the data awaiting them.

As he inventoried gear for the warm-weather planet of Ossaveld and made a mental list of what replacements to order from stores, Obi-Wan permitted himself to contemplate the events of the day. His training was near completion. His beloved had deemed him prepared to accept and return the passion that he had so recently learned they shared. He had lost himself to emotion twice in public--and he still didn't care overmuch. He and Qui-Gon had shared seven or eight minutes of frantic intimacy, and now they would share days or weeks of their common work.

He had no doubt that they'd leave this new intimacy behind on Coruscant, and truthfully, he couldn't see another way. This new element in their relationship could only be a distraction from duty. And perhaps it was this perspective for which Qui-Gon had been forced to wait; love had its place, sex had its place, and their work was far more urgent to them than either of those lesser, more personal needs. It was the life of a Jedi: service, compassion for others, solidity of self. It was the life he had chosen.

Qui-Gon returned not long after, going straight to his desk across from Obi-Wan's, and Obi-Wan completed the supply order at his own desk, comming it down to the stores depot. It would be at least an hour before the supplies were sorted and ready for pick-up, and he could pick them up anytime between now and dawn. He turned to Qui-Gon.

"Tell me," he opened, interrupting his master's attention on the data, "that we'll use these next hours to begin a slower and more intimate acquaintanceship than the one we had thirty minutes ago."

Qui-Gon's head lifted, his hair fanning out around his shoulders and face, his bearing regal and proud. The image lifted Obi-Wan's heart, now as always. "We'd be better served by sleep and study."

"We have a three day flight ahead of us; we can sleep and study then."

"And you think we'll choose to do that?" A smile hinted at the corners of Qui-Gon's mouth, and Obi-Wan felt its answer on his own face.

"I think you're testing me even now," he admonished. "I think you'd be very displeased indeed if I thought we'd be spending that time in bed together." Qui-Gon continued to wait, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. "Also, I think it would be incredibly stupid to spend our preparation time making love."

A measuring nod, a thoughtful look. "Let me get this data housed, and I'll let you get our gear aboard ship, and then we'll see."

We'll see. Qui-Gon seemed as he had been the day before, the week before, the year before, and it occurred to Obi-Wan to ask a question. "What did you mean when you said 'I'll do my best for you, Obi-Wan'?"

"Just what I said. You had a very real, tangible desire. I wanted greatly to satisfy it in a manner that suited your need."

Well, Qui-Gon had certainly managed that. "And what of your desires?" he asked mildly.

Qui-Gon's teeth flashed suddenly in an almost rakish smile. "I do indeed have my own desires, and they are now haunted by the image of you pressed and pulsing between my body and that wall." He nodded to the wall in question. The smile faded then, replaced by familiar intellect. "I also have priorities. As do you."

"Qui-Gon..."

"Yes?"

"If you think we can spare the time, I would very much like to replace that image by one that better suits your needs." They shared a look, a silent communication. Like it or not, Qui-Gon was far more mature than he was, and his body rarely--if ever--commanded his actions. What had happened against that wall, Obi-Wan realized, had happened because Obi-Wan had so desperately desired it. Not because Qui-Gon necessarily had.

"Obi-Wan." His master's voice was somber, so serious it almost hurt to hear it. "I very much enjoyed our coupling. You must know that."

Obi-Wan swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I do. I also know that you are terribly kind, Qui-Gon, and terribly generous. I know that you would sacrifice yourself in a thousand ways for me. I'm asking you not to do that, just for tonight."

Qui-Gon rose from his chair and hurried across the room, enfolding Obi-Wan in a tight embrace. "It would seem I've passed that generosity along to you, my friend," he breathed. "How very fortunate I am, to have such a considerate lover."

"How fortunate you are to have a lover at all, old man," Obi-Wan sniffed.

That Qui-Gon had waited as long as he had frightened Obi-Wan, just a little. He could have grown away from his master, grown away from this love. All of this between them, Qui-Gon had risked, for Obi-Wan's ultimate good. He didn't know if he'd have had the strength to do the same, if their positions had been reversed.

"I know," Qui-Gon replied, still so very somber. Obi-Wan stepped away, letting his master return to his work, but he couldn't keep from staring for just a little longer. This man was so very precious to him, and so very important.

"So we'll fuck tonight?" he blurted, not willing to leave things to chance. He'd rather know, now, what would come of the evening. Or what wouldn't.

Qui-Gon smiled, muttered, "What have I created?"

Perhaps it was self-indulgent, but Obi-Wan followed his urge and borrowed his master's eyes once more. It confused him at first; before his master stood a man who waited, who watched with quiet attention, with familiar face and form. Then there was a subtle push, an urging to Qui-Gon's rich heart, and new perception altered the image.

Before his master stood a man--young, but still very much a man, able-bodied, sometimes sober, often alone, with intelligent warmth that shone from alert and quiet eyes. Before his master stood a man whose wry humor lifted and filled an already serene soul. Before his master stood a man whose beauty began from within: a compassionate heart, a generous spirit, a Force-loving soul; and continued without: compact form, beautiful and fine in all ways with favored curves from thigh to waist, again at ball of shoulder, once more along the neck. Before his master stood a man whose love shone from him with the light of the eternal and universal Force, whose light called to Qui-Gon, warmed him in such a comprehensive way, made Qui-Gon grateful to be alive and conscious in this space and time.

Obi-Wan felt that curious tension in his chest, like a balloon expanding and pressing out against its confines. It was familiar and comforting and in all ways the breath of the Force, the very breath of Life. He detached himself from Qui-Gon's senses and shook his head, deeply moved by his master's ever-present love. "You do me such honor," he couldn't help but say. "Now tell me about tonight."

"To use your ever-eloquent phrasing, my Padawan, yes, we'll fuck." Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say more, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

"Please. If it isn't work-related I'd prefer you held onto it for just a little longer. I find my perspective untrustworthy, knowing what of you awaits me."

The heat in Qui-Gon's eyes cooled, his face settling into serene calm, and he turned back to his desk. "I'll be an hour or so; do you have work to fill your time? I had planned to check us out of the system, but if you'd like the distraction..."

"Yes, thank you. I'll take care of it." First things, first. It was their way.

Obi-Wan left the room without another word or glance, and went to a public terminal in a nearby study hall. There, he signed them out of the Temple system, replaced their mailbox messages, took them off teaching assignments and himself out of classes, and signed himself off of the physical training roster. He then recorded notes for several friends, scheduling them on delay so they wouldn't be received until morning; the very last thing he wanted was to be disturbed all evening by good wishes and good-byes.

He had to smile at the thought; so many of these people were close to him now because of a direct order from Qui-Gon. They were all small lights in his life, lights that warmed his memories and his visions of the future. They were all benefits of that order given him years ago. He had much to thank his master for.

He felt the smile on his face and controlled it, restraining it to a mere look of peace. He knew what he said these days, be it with his body, his tone, his words or even his relationship with the Force, and he had no wish to share this part of himself with anyone else at the moment.

The supplies were ready, and he transferred them to the ship that had been provided by the Ossavelder Senate representatives, meeting the First Officer and letting the man lead him to his and Qui-Gon's quarters. "I'm sorry, Jedi Kenobi," the FO said formally, "but space for supplies is in great demand. I have only these two small rooms."

"It is more than enough, sir. I thank you for your consideration of our comfort." He stowed the gear in the cramped space and took his leave, thinking of only two things: dinner, and dinner. To think beyond that would be to overwhelm himself.

Back in their quarters, he passed his master who still sat the terminal, sparing him only a glance as he headed to the small kitchen and prepared a meal. When it was finished and he had set the table, he called his master from work, sending the easy sense of his own growling stomach and the smell of the food.

Qui-Gon's head popped up and he smiled over at Obi-Wan, finally giving the computer its last orders for the night. "That smells delicious, Obi-Wan."

He only nodded, already eating from his own plate, already struggling with his body's urges to contemplate what lay ahead of them this night. Qui-Gon seated himself and dug in, eating more meditatively, seeming to savor each bite, paying the meal far closer attention than the simple fare seemed to warrant. Obi-Wan finished first and rose, dropping his plate in the cleaner and leaving the mess for his master. "I'm going to bathe," he announced, amused with his odd combination of perspective and anxious haste. The two sensations shifted together like sand in a strong wind.

"You do that." The look Qui-Gon gave him did nothing for the perspective part of his combination. "In fact, pay close attention to your ablutions, if you don't mind; it is my great desire to taste you as thoroughly as I'm tasting this food."

Oh Force, the slow and silent dining was his master's opening gambit, some sort of gustatory foreplay. The very thought made his muscles quiver. "Yes, I will," he croaked, wondering where his usually reliable wit had wandered off to. It returned in the fresher, and several appropriately pithy replies occurred to him far too late to be of any use. He sighed and chose water over sonics. Standing under the cool spray, paying close attention to genitals and armpits, feet and throat--he knew his master far too well--he felt that familiar density settling into his limbs. Already his respiration was beginning to climb and he laughed at himself, delighted, before releasing the energy into the Force. He wanted this joining to be something far different from that radiant, hurried grinding they had given themselves to earlier. He wanted to entrench himself in the moment and his master, not be caught up in his own urgent needs. He had no fear that his needs would not be taken into account, no doubt that this joining would be beautiful... and so he had no desire to waste attention on himself until passion gave him no choice.

Qui-Gon... the hunger that pressed the thought out to his master seemed almost desperate, almost greedy, and he released that as well. Greed existed when one feared the lack of something, and he knew it was impossible to lose his master's love. A gentle sensation was returned to him, of quiet expectation, and of care in simple tasks; Qui-Gon was cleaning up the mess he had left from dinner. Oh, love...

Oh, love, he sensed in reply, a warm liquid slide through his soul.

His hands were trembling. He stared at them under the water, awed, then let impulse drive him out dripping wet. His wet feet leaving tracks across the carpets, he walked silently to his master, reached to stroke down the long cloth-layered back, watched, awed anew as a tremble followed his touch. "Come with me, Qui-Gon. I should like to bathe you."

Qui-Gon turned, peaceful, serene, his eyes bright with love.

Together they returned to the fresher, following the wet trail of footsteps, and Qui-Gon stood still and silent as Obi-Wan knelt to remove his boots, his belts, his trousers, then slid his hands up the long thighs and under the fabric of his tunics, rucking them up altogether and reaching high as he stood to pull them up over his master's head and raised arms.

Qui-Gon stood in naked splendor, his cock quiescent, his scrotum heavy in the vee of his thighs. It was a sight he had seen often enough, and even though he now looked with new eyes, observing the gooseflesh that broke and scattered along arms and thighs, the body before him was as familiar to him as his own. He took his master's hand, tugging gently, pushing him under the water's spray. Watched as Qui-Gon's belly tightened against the cool caress, savored the hollows that appeared around tight abdominal muscles. Taking up the soapsponge, he painted the man's body with long, gentle strokes: shoulder to wrist, neck to pubic hair, armpit to jutting hipbone.

The task filled him with serene and quiet joy. When he soaped his hands and dropped the sponge, reaching to lather Qui-Gon's beard, his master breathed a long sigh of pleasure, basking in the care. When he dropped his hands to Qui-Gon's groin, lathering the hair there, the sigh stuttered and caught in his master's throat.

Obi-Wan smiled, watching his hands, enjoying the coarse feel of hair and the silk-like skin that his knuckles brushed. Qui-Gon's penis barely stirred, blood just beginning to settle more heavily, and Obi-Wan sighed; in this there was no hurry, now, no mad rush to bring to an end what was beginning between them. Carefully, almost clinically, he hefted Qui-Gon's scrotum in his palm, gently testing the weight of the sac as he cleaned it, then applied the same gentle touch to the slowly filling cock. His throat felt tight, his very skin felt tight. He turned his lover under the spray, taking up the sponge again to clean Qui-Gon's back, his backside, his legs.

Kneeling, he turned his master again, tapping an ankle to encourage the foot to lift as he would school an animal to do the same, and felt his master's breathy laughter tumble down over him. He cleaned between each toe, used a firm pressure on arch and instep, and rinsed the soap away before lowering each foot back to the slick tiles. Looking up, seeing Qui-Gon looking down, he could only focus on the expanse of body that lay between their eyes. His hands moved of their own volition up past knees, over the coarser hair of thighs, thumbs settling in the join of leg to trunk. "I..." He had no words, really, and nothing in fact needed to be said. His master bent slightly, and Obi-Wan felt the gentle brush of a big palm over his hair, cupping his skull carefully, as if the bone and skin were the finest and most fragile of glass.

His moan was a thready and distant thing.

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes to Qui-Gon's groin, framed between his spread fingers, and felt his mouth water. It was an easy thing, a necessary thing, to lean forward and lick up the back of the heavy, half-hard shaft. He sensed the shuddering emotions in Qui-Gon that so perfectly mirrored the shuddering of his flesh, and licked again, mouthed the down-turned tip, finally, gently bringing it into the warm cavern of his mouth.

The hand tightened on his skull, and fingers slid into the short wet tail of his hair to hold him steady and slow. He felt his tendons stretch as the shafted thickened in his mouth, relaxed his face and neck and throat in total service to this moment. The shaft rubbed against his soft palate, a gentle nudging, and he swallowed around it. The resulting gasp from Qui-Gon was as effective as a hand in his crotch and he felt his own erection rising fast now. No! Too fast!

Qui-Gon's hand gentled again, a thumb brushing his cheek, his lips where they stretched around that heat and bulk. No, Qui-Gon agreed, and the long shaft drew back and out of him, leaving his mouth aching and empty, and some part of him wanted to cry with the loss. No, loved one. No. Gentle urging brought him away from that sudden desperation and he drew calming breaths, staring at the thick shaft that now bobbed silently before him. He looked up again and, accepting the urging hand on his biceps, rose to his feet.

Qui-Gon's grin was filled with affection. "Do you think I'm clean enough, now, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head at his own riotous passion. "There is your hair..."

"I'll wash it. And you, will you go turn down my bed, and wait for me there?" The gentle query was touched with some fine thread of emotion. He couldn't find the word to describe the feeling Qui-Gon shared, but empathically it spoke volumes to him. He ran his palm down the wet hair on Qui-Gon's chest, sluicing the water down hard planes of muscle.

"Don't make me wait much longer, Qui-Gon."

"No."

Obi-Wan did as he was bid, drying himself as he walked from fresher to bedroom, folding the thick cover all the way down to the foot of the bed. And then he stretched out on the mattress, legs slightly open, palms resting quietly beside his hips, and stared at the ceiling, thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

Qui-Gon entered only a few minutes later, got two strides into the room before he raised his eyes--and froze. Obi-Wan glanced around the room, wondering what had startled his master so, and felt a flush creep from his ears to his thighs when he realized it was his own body that had caused such a reaction. He looked down at himself, remembering his body as Qui-Gon saw it, grinned, and lifted one knee to emphasize the curve of his hip.

It was exhilarating, sensual, to feel his own self-conscious tremors in response to those hungry, examining eyes. The look was as heavy as a touch, and he felt his cock twitch, and flushed at his reactions. "Tease," Qui-Gon finally accused.

"Never, Master." The answer was threat and promise, and he propped himself on his elbows to look his fill. Qui-Gon's body was dry, his hair loose and wisping around his face, his eyes bright, his mouth parted. His thick, heavy cock was still erect, pointing like a compass needle toward the bed, and Obi-Wan smothered a laugh. "Are you just going to stand there?"

Qui-Gon shook his head as if to clear it, and walked over to the bed. Sat on its edge and reached out a hand to brush the skin at his hip. "You are so beautiful to me, Obi-Wan," he breathed.

"And you to me, Master." He had long since grown out of his first manic infatuation, and given up the belief that Qui-Gon Jinn was the most handsome thing in the universe--but that was only an objective measure. To Obi-Wan's eyes the sloping forehead, the too-prominent nose, the grey in his beard and hair, were the artist's finishing touches to make human a too-perfect palette. He grinned at himself; he was so very much in love, and to feel it again, to give this emotion free rein, was a gift in itself.

"What?"

"You," Obi-Wan replied. "Your imperfections make you perfect to me."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I can't say the same for you, Obi-Wan; you're a beautiful man by any human measure." Enhanced as the words were by the image that followed, Obi-Wan had no choice but to believe. He was both proud and wary of his own physical form; the galaxy paid too much attention to such trivia, and often judged unfairly because of it. "Stop it, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, following his thoughts. "As a Jedi apprentice, you have always been measured on your merits; no more, no less. And if your appearance makes certain negotiations easier, well, that's a gift as well."

"Yes, Master." He answered by rote; what was important to him in this moment was that Qui-Gon found him beautiful--though Qui-Gon knew him so well, he knew he'd look beautiful to the man no matter what his outward appearance.

"Intelligent as well," Qui-Gon said airily, still following his thoughts.

Then all desire for conversation faded as Qui-Gon stretched out beside him, groin nestling in against his hip, arm like a brand resting across his belly, the breath that sustained his master's physical form gusting out beneath his chin. Oh...

One slow kiss was followed by another, and the moist sound of their lips meeting and parting did strange things to his body. He was aquiver, nearly shivering, from nothing more than the sound and feel of their mouths moving together. He sank his hands into the wealth of Qui-Gon's hair as he wriggled onto his side, and the kisses continued.

Eventually, Qui-Gon pulled away, fingers replacing lips, and he asked, "What may I do for you, Obi-Wan? Tell me what pleases you most."

You do, he thought, already lost in the moment. Qui-Gon smiled gently and raised his brows. "What would please me most is your pleasure, Qui-Gon," he breathed, knowing it was true.

"As it happens, then, I know very much what I'd like," Qui-Gon whispered, and the intensity in that quiet tone set his blood on fire.

"Then by all means, share this secret with me."

The kisses went on, no longer mouth to mouth but mouth to ear, lips to throat, tongue to nipple, and Obi-Wan was squirming, already so close to climax that he was compelled to think, to hold himself, to bleed off bursts of sexual tension into the Force that surged between them. Qui-Gon bit down, applied his tongue to the nub now trapped behind his teeth, and Obi-Wan gasped, feeling the snake-like writhing of his body around that one imprisoned point. A pebble of pleasure dropped into still water, the ripples spiraled out from the tender, sensitized tip of flesh.

He found his arms wrapped tightly around Qui-Gon's skull, pressing him hard against his chest, felt his lover's lips mashed against his skin. And then the sucking began, drawing pleasure from the tip of his cock and down deep into his groin, sparking an arrow back up to his nipple in a closed, convulsive loop.

"Ahh! No, wait--" he dug his hand into the thick silk of Qui-Gon's hair and pulled, hard, gasping as the man's laughter gusted against his wet nipple. "Oh, no... oh..." He barely caught his body in time to stop the impending orgasm.

"How very precious you are to me here, like this," Qui-Gon chuckled. "What a special gift your youth is."

"Tell me that's not a challenge," he panted, "because I'm quite sure I can't rise to meet it." He knew full well that age hadn't dampened Qui-Gon's passion, but he didn't feel competent to prove his certainty at the moment.

"You'll be surprised," Qui-Gon parried, and Obi-Wan drew back to look, to witness the high flush of color at cheek and throat. He slid his hand down and over Qui-Gon's groin, testing the near-iron rigidity of the thick erection, delighting in the eyelids that fluttered at his touch. Ah, such love, and such an eloquent expression of it that they now shared.

"Perhaps I can rise to meet it," he breathed.

"Not just yet, I think." Qui-Gon returned to his oral examination, and true to Obi-Wan's expectations, it was very thorough indeed. He was turned, manipulated, his legs spread, his arms raised, so that no part of him save his aching genitals was spared the prodding sniffing nose, gentle brushing fingers, the soft silk lips, the hot wet tongue. His toes were laved, fingers spreading two so the tongue could slide in between. His instep was nibbled, and his ankle. His buttocks were parted, and the crease explored from beginning to end, sending icy tremors through him. The hair at his armpits was sniffed and nuzzled, and tickled with short puffs of breath.

His ribs were counted and tested by gentle hands, then his throat, his neck. The entire circumference of his hairline was traced by lips and tongue... and this was what pleased Qui-Gon most? Of course it was; the man hadn't even afforded himself a fantasy of this night, so every touch was new, unburdened by comparison or expectation. Every reaction Qui-Gon dragged from Obi-Wan--and they were many and varied--was a treasure, a gift. He looked forward to taking the same gift in his turn, sometime this night.

When finally, that snuffling nose buried itself beneath his balls, Obi-Wan gasped and shuddered and called out "No!"

Qui-Gon raised his head. "No, what?"

"I want to see your face when I come."

"You will," Qui-Gon promised, and dropped his head once more.

The hairs on his scrotum tingled, the skin pulling taut over the tight-drawn knobs of flesh. His cock fairly thrummed with anticipation. And Qui-Gon--generous, experienced Qui-Gon--finally rose from between his legs to lay himself out beside him, head pillowed on Obi-Wan's thigh, long body stretched out at an acute angle to his right. He could reach and stroke the thighs, the waist, the stomach... the wine-colored cock that curved up over Qui-Gon's belly. Like this, then? The image suffused his mind, carried itself out along their bond to burst fully formed in Qui-Gon's brain.

Yes yes yes. An unequivocal and emphatic yes that sussurated back through his body. He looked down the length of himself to meet his master's eyes, smiled at the way Qui-Gon supported himself on one hand nestled high up between his thighs, the wrist just brushing his scrotum. Qui-Gon merely watched him, smiling in return, before turning his head and bending just enough to capture the tip of his erection, and oh the herald of completion was sweet.

He lifted up on an elbow, reaching with his hand, squeezing Qui-Gon's erection in time with the measured strokes of lips and tongue.

In his admittedly limited experience he had found that fellatio taken to completion was incredibly pleasant physically, and somehow lacking in other ways. It had seemed a selfish pleasure, the giver and receiver isolated by their positions and the incredibly different rhythms with which they encouraged their individual passions.

Never had it occurred to him that he could lock gazes with his partner, that he could reach out and touch the hollowed cheek, or trace a cheekbone and up under the sockets of intently staring eyes. Never had it occurred to him that selfishness might even have its place, between lovers.

He didn't know why he hadn't thought to choose a position like this, where the receiver could use a hand to stimulate his partner, could observe the rising sexual tension in the person giving him this bliss, and make sure it kept pace with his own.

He did all those things here and now, hating the need to release the gently thrusting cock so his palm could cup that strong, bearded chin. Torn by how inundating the hot sucking pleasure he took was, and how it distracted him from the pleasure he wanted to give. Hating that he hadn't several more hands, so he could pinch a nipple while stroking a cheekbone, trace the shell of an exposed ear, gently roll testicles in their twitching sac while pulling strongly on a quivering erection.

He settled for as rapid a succession as possible, suffused with pleasure at each twisting, grunting reaction he received in reply, jerking when those grunts vibrated over the head of his penis.

He had just accepted the fact that his hand couldn't move again from the erection that tunneled hungrily into his cupped palm, when he realized it didn't need to. Silly padawan, he scolded himself--and he noticed absently that the voice inside his head was no longer Qui-Gon's but his own-- you have a far greater ally than your hands...

The Force responded to his direction as easily as would his fingers, and he choked out joy-filled laughter at the suddenly jerking, gasping, writhing body attached so limpet-like to his erection. More than enough hands to touch with, he thought feverishly, pinching, kneading, stroking, pressing in so many places at once. Qui-Gon was whimpering, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure, a sweat breaking out on his skin, his hand quivering where it fanned out, big and broad, across Obi-Wan's belly.

Qui-Gon's eyes scrunched shut, his body quaking, undulating like a tree in heavy wind, and Obi-Wan eased back a little; he hadn't intended to strip his master's reason from him and throw him quite so far into senseless animal passion.

This wasn't the time for that.

Qui-Gon released his cock momentarily and he watched it bobbing before the man's mouth, glistening with saliva, pulsing and singing to him with need. "Do... do that again," Qui-Gon gasped.

Well. Perhaps this was the time for that. He repeated his attentions, savoring the quaking responses, the pleasure that twisted Qui-Gon's face, the deep, staccato grunts that forced themselves through clenched teeth. He couldn't avoid the backlash of that pleasure, couldn't avoid his own reaction to seeing this man affected so, and found himself veering perilously close to orgasm just from the feast on which his eyes and spirit fed. Qui-Gon's long legs jerked spasmodically, opening as he pressed the Force between them and cupped the flesh from perinium to spine. "Wait! Enough, no!" his lover gasped, and immediately he stopped, panting, clinging precariously to his own control.

Qui-Gon dropped his head, his beard scratching at the head of Obi-Wan's oversensitive cock, and breathed heavily against Obi-Wan's belly. "Oh, Obi-Wan." Oh, love...

Love pleasure need light heat passionate joy, he responded, unable to assemble actual words. Just the feelings passed between them, heightening this physicality. And pleasure, oh such a gift to be one with this living, feeling flesh. Such a gift...

Such a gift. Oh quiet joy. sublime surrender. And Qui-Gon lifted his head once more, staring deeply into his eyes, and took his cock in again. Deeply now, as deep as there was penis to push, swallowed down by a throat tight and slick and turned ardently to this service.

The wind whipped up between them, stimulating every sense, and Obi-Wan clutched spasmodically at Qui-Gon's erection. They were so close, so together, so intimate, that there was no need to dissuade their approaching onslaught. He curled forward, still fisting Qui-Gon's cock, used his other hand to push the curtain of Qui-Gon's hair away, so they could see each other's eyes.

"Oh..." the sound was quiet, surprised, and dragged from his own lips. "Oh..."

Milder suction combined with more movement and he rested his palm atop the urgent, bobbing head, surrounded, subsumed, destroyed by the sudden jerking of Qui-Gon's hips, the wet splash of semen against his wrist, the tiny keening vibration against the head of his erection. As a gentle tongue pressed against the delicate skin behind the head of his cock, his thoughts exploded in a brilliant display of light.

His vision narrowed to the head in his lap, the brows furrowed tight together in passion and release and need, the eyes that stared up at him with such a depth of love. His orgasm rose up and grabbed him bodily, shook him like a demon. Whimpering, his hand shaking where it barely touched Qui-Gon's hair, his hips jerking in tiny, uncontrolled movements, he felt the pleasure score through him and out of him, out of every pore, so that the ejaculate that he released, that Qui-Gon took in, seemed like an afterthought...

They held themselves there, a silent, shaking tableau, as moments passed, each as precious as the last.

"Oh..." His face was wet, he realized. He sniffed, hard, feeling like a ragdoll, a child, and something else entirely. He sensed his body as merely a vessel, a cup which housed nothing more--and nothing less--than this pure and abiding love. "Oh..."

Qui-Gon finally released his erection and clambered up over him, where they wrapped their arms around each other and held so tightly, it was difficult to breathe. "Obi-Wan." My all.

"Qui-Gon. Master." Everything. "I remember a day," he said with shaky voice, "I told you that sexual desire was a trivial thing."

Qui-Gon chuckled lazily. "Yes?"

"I was mistaken." He shook his head, awed and sated and deeply amused. "I wonder what you'll teach me tomorrow?"

"I wonder if you'll let me survive tonight."

They rested briefly, replete, huddled together like children against the cold. But soon enough the urgency of youth and the awareness that dawn and work and danger was not so very far away drove him up to begin kisses anew. "What do you think," he asked between kisses, "of sofas?"

Soft laughter touched his soul. "Well, I can certainly guess what you think of them."

And so not much later Obi-Wan found himself indulging a favored position and a favorite location, leaning back in the cushions of the sofa in their salon while Qui-Gon straddled him, head bowed, thick thighs splayed open.

It was different and similar to the few women he'd done this with. Qui-Gon was so large he towered over Obi-Wan, blanketed him; it felt a bit like cowering beneath a huge rock ledge. He urged Qui-Gon up, and slipped a hand between them to hold and guide himself, asking with his eyes.

Qui-Gon found the angle and pressed down onto him, and each watched as the other's eyes dilated wide. Each sensed as the other's heart opened even wider. Each cried out across the waves of Force that bound them, until Qui-Gon was seated once more on his lap and he was buried deep in the tight embrace of Qui-Gon's body.

He sensed a distant pain and stroked his hands over Qui-Gon's buttocks; over their years together, the man had given up much that he enjoyed. But it seemed his master didn't agree. "No, Obi-Wan," he gasped. "It is a small pain to be measured against the greatest pleasure." He spoke of both the specific and the general, and Obi-Wan had to close his eyes for a moment at the enormity of it all.

They barely moved, barely needed to. Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon set the pace, the bare rocking of an inch up, an inch down. Over and over, then deeper and harder, until Obi-Wan's thrusting hips joined in Qui-Gon's motion, and with many kisses and whispered words, they rode their next orgasm like a meteor through a black night sky.

And after, they found a way to curl together on the sofa without falling off into an ungainly pile on the floor, and held each other once more.

Lying on soft cushions, curled around his master, Obi-Wan felt oddly pressed to talk, though he knew there was nothing pressing to talk about. "It has never been like this, for me," he whispered, stroking Qui-Gon's beard.

"I suspect you've never opened yourself enough to let it be." A long sigh gusted against his palm. "It would be a good idea for you to attempt it with other partners; intimacy is a very important skill, Obi-Wan, sex or not."

Obi-Wan yawned, uninterested in the liaisons of his future. "Perhaps," he mumbled sleepily.

"I'm serious, Padawan."

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "The next person I find even marginally appealing, I'll throw myself at."

Qui-Gon's laughter was full-throated, rumbling through his chest. "Thank you."

"This is hardly an area that I expect a Jedi master to teach in," he scolded.

"Why miss any opportunity?" Qui-Gon breathed against his lips. They kissed again, slowly, and Obi-Wan controlled a flinch; his lips were raw, his cheeks and chin abraded by Qui-Gon's beard. "Too much?" Qui-Gon whispered, drawing away.

"Never enough," he replied, pressing his lover back into the cushions.

They held each other, watched each other, and breathed each other's air. Obi-Wan marveled at their languid pace, at Qui-Gon's easy, slow care. So his new lover enjoyed the long climb to completion, loved to savor every sensation along the way. Obi-Wan would remember, just as he knew he knew Qui-Gon would remember the youthful fire of his own passions, and attend them.

Much later, as dawn approached, they found themselves on the floor after all. "I want you in me, Qui-Gon." Love.

"Always in a hurry to experience more, aren't you?" He knew he was being teased, and reveled in it.

"I want you to have many thoughts to guide the lonely nights ahead," he quipped back.

Qui-Gon raised his brows. "I know you've outgrown hourly masturbation, child."

"Hourly, yes. Until this, at least..." He sighed. "Who knows how long we'll be away?" He spread his legs wide around Qui-Gon's thighs and raised his hips up in invitation. "Do this for me, Qui-Gon."

"For us both, I think," Qui-Gon murmured, his voice rich with promise.

He sensed movement, saw a bottle fly to Qui-Gon's hand, and involuntarily his buttocks flexed. Wriggling, he kicked his feet out and dug his heels into the sofa cushions, raising himself further. One slick finger traced the crease of his buttocks, nudging against his anus. It breached him slowly, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation: cuticle, blunt nail edge, the added thickness of a knuckle. Soon it would be Qui-Gon's cock pressing into him, and the thought made him lightheaded with anticipation.

He willed his body to relax, and humped down against the digit. "More," he breathed.

The finger retreated, returned with a partner, and the tension mounted within. Slow movements, infinitely gentle... apparently going nowhere. He opened his eyes. Qui-Gon's gaze shifted back and forth from heated to worried. "You've never done this before?" he finally ventured.

How had Qui-Gon read that secret on his body?

Certainly, he wouldn't lie about it. "Only with Challi," he replied. He didn't see how it mattered.

Qui-Gon smiled faintly, genuinely amused. "And with what, may I ask, did she accomplish this feat?"

Obi-Wan grinned and pressed his buttocks down against his master's palm, grunting a little as he seated those fingers fully. "With the only things you've used so far. Now hurry up!"

But Qui-Gon paused, and Obi-Wan felt the fingers withdraw, leaving that oddly stretched, slick, comfortable feeling between his buttocks. "This isn't something that should be rushed. And you'll doubtless be sore afterward; I can't have you limping all over Ossaveld."

"I'll be fine."

"Obi-Wan..." he glanced down at himself. "I'm a bit more substantial than your friend's fingers, love. This isn't a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" He almost spluttered the words. "What are you talking about?"

Qui-Gon frowned, even as his fingers returned and continued their gentle thrusts in an obvious effort to appease him. "You're rushing. There is no need."

"Perhaps not for you..." he gasped when the fingers turned, touched off a spark inside him. "All right, now we're definitely doing this."

The fingers retreated again, and when a third joined them, stretching him to a limit he hadn't known existed, he flinched, grunting, and rebelled by pushing down hard on them, forcing them fully inside. Whimpering when again, they touched off that spark inside. The pain seemed only to accentuate the pleasure, and he found Qui-Gon's eyes, begging, demanding.

"This isn't a good idea," Qui-Gon said again.

Into the continued resistance of Qui-Gon's eyes Obi-Wan assured, "I'll use a healing trance if need be, when we're aboard ship."

His master shook his head, indulgent and amused and very obviously in love. "And I thought we'd be sleeping and studying aboard ship."

It was an odd conversation to have, he mused, while three thick fingers probed him so intimately, while his legs splayed out around the warm weight of Qui-Gon's thighs. "We'll do that too. Now please, Qui-Gon, stop arguing and fuck me. I want this, and I want it now. With you."

If he'd known that sex would make his master so compliant, he'd have figured out a way through his defenses years earlier. For even as Qui-Gon sighed with resignation, he gently removed his fingers and did exactly as he was told.

And it did hurt, the entry of such bulk a burning, searing pain that shocked the breath from his lungs. Mentally, he hurried the man along, seeking... he didn't know what he sought. Perhaps it was the look of ecstasy that had swamped Qui-Gon when their positions had been reversed. Perhaps it was the slow sliding together of minds and hearts that accompanied each coupling.

Most likely, it was the look on Qui-Gon's face now, of tight-held control and obvious, melting pleasure.

When Qui-Gon was fully sheathed inside him only then did he beg for quarter, forcing himself to breathe against the pain, forcing his concentration from the combined lust and pleasure and worry that filled Qui-Gon's eyes and onto his own body so he could tell it what was needed of it.

The bulk was overwhelming. It seemed to fill the entire cavity of his stomach, leaving him open in a way he'd never been before. He blinked back tears, of pain or vulnerability he couldn't say, while Qui-Gon waited, and worried, and panted.

Open, relax, he sensed, and he focused his entire attention on the spasming muscles, the overstuffed sensation, gentling it, relaxing his flesh.

When he sighed and nodded a few moments later, a hand found the small of his back, holding him. And he wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon's waist, holding him.

Qui-Gon curled over him, breathing shallowly, struggling for control; that in itself awed Obi-Wan, that he could so move this immovable man. He clenched his thighs, squeezing that narrow waist, feeling his sweat-slick skin slide over his master's. He sighed, relaxing more fully.

The look in Qui-Gon's eyes was so very familiar, so very filled with love. The face that hovered inches from his own was so strained and yet so very serene; he knew every mark on it, every line, and cherished them all. He reached a hand up to cup his master's cheek when Qui-Gon drew his hips slightly away, pulling that thick length partly from him; he gasped at the sensation, some abundant combination of pleasure and pain, as Qui-Gon settled back into him. Slowly. So painfully, blissfully slowly...

And then the end began, with looks and careful thrusts and touches so tender they stole his breath once more. And eventually, the pain receded enough for those sparking jabs of pleasure to take his mind from him entirely, and they fell into each other yet again.

Morning found them as it should, fully dressed, fully prepared for their coming journey, standing before the door to their quarters. So much had changed... and so very little.

"I thought I would feel different," he murmured, staring into the well of his master's eyes.

"Why?"

Obi-Wan grinned; he couldn't help it. "If you start quizzing me I'll--" he didn't know what he'd do. Answer, probably. He sighed. "I don't, you know. I don't feel different at all. I do love you so," Obi-Wan whispered, looking up at Qui-Gon.

"As I love you." Qui-Gon reached out a hand and Obi-Wan sighed when two fingers brushed his cheek in one last acknowledgement of their new intimacy.

Obi-Wan looked around their quarters, where nothing at all could tell of the story that had been written here last night. Everything was pristine. Everything was in its place. And yet their passion was here too, somehow; it would have to be. It would need a home to welcome it while they could not, on this journey. But when they returned, they would find it again here, waiting for them.

When the hand finally fell he nodded once, feeling his calling and his destiny settling like a second cloak over his shoulders, isolating him somewhat in quiet professionalism. Qui-Gon nodded in reply and Obi-Wan tilted his head, observing dispassionately as a familiar look of serene focus settled over the big man's face. He smiled briefly, then turned to palm the lock.

And, master and apprentice, Jedi together, they strode out the door toward everything the future held.

THE END