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Azure Dawn

by Sheila Snow

Title: Azure Dawn
Author: Sheila Snow (sushiow2709@earthlink.net)
Archive: master_apprentice
Category: CHAN, Qui/Obi, Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: CHAN!
Summary: Qui-Gon is teaching Obi-Wan to see beneath the surface . . . and succeeds better than he'd planned.
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome, on or off-list.
Author's Note: This story is a direct sequel to "Crystal Rain," although it'll probably still make sense even if you haven't read that one. Again, this is an old, old fic -- and it's still unbeta'ed! My undying gratitude goes out to Destina, whose wonderful writing inspired this story. Her kind words and encouragement to this novice writer were very much appreciated!

"Obi-Wan."

"I'm sorry, Master."

"Your apology might sound more sincere if you weren't still laughing, Padawan." Qui-Gon Jinn allowed a slight degree of sternness to edge itself into his voice and stared at his apprentice until the boy subsided somewhat. At least Obi-Wan had waited until they had reached their quarters before he had totally broken down.

Obi-Wan looked at him with the slight quirk to his lips that meant he was still fighting his amusement. "You have to admit, Master, it was rather funny," he said guilelessly.

"If you consider that I nearly caused the cancellation of a ceremony underway for two full cycles 'funny,' then I would be inclined to agree with you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan bowed his head immediately at the implied rebuke and stood silently -- all trace of humor abruptly vanished from his posture and visage.

Qui-Gon sighed. To be honest, he really shouldn't blame the boy too much. He forgot sometimes that with all his apprentice's poise and polish, he was still a boy . . . and still inclined to an adolescent's reactions in certain situations.

And even worse, Qui-Gon was letting his own embarrassment and discomfiture color his interactions with his apprentice --something he had thought he was beyond at his age. But then, when one was hopelessly enamored with said apprentice, it became somehow much more important to appear perfect in that one's eyes.

Qui-Gon sighed again.

His apprentice's spine straightened further at the sigh -- a sound that Obi-Wan no doubt interpreted as further disapproval. Cursing silently to himself, Qui-Gon said softly, "Obi-Wan?"

When there was no immediate reply, Qui-Gon stepped closer and tipped his apprentice's chin up with one calloused finger. Obi-Wan did not fight against the motion, but neither would he meet his Master's eyes, merely catching his bottom lip sharply between his teeth.

"Obi-Wan, look at me."

Unable to refuse an outright command, Obi-Wan raised his eyes slowly until they finally locked with those of his Master.

There were no windows in the dark, almost womb-like room they had been given by the officiators of these proceedings, but Qui-Gon still noted the faint sheen in over-bright eyes . . . and cursed himself silently.

Will I never learn?

"Obi-Wan," he said very distinctly, "I am not angry with you."

There was no reply from his apprentice, merely a tightening of those full lips as Obi-Wan apparently struggled to regain control of his emotions.

Oh yes, Master Jinn, that went over well.

Deciding that looming over his much smaller apprentice was not going to aid in breaking down the barrier he'd managed to erect, Qui-Gon moved a hand to Obi-Wan's shoulder and guided him to the finely woven carpet in the center of the room that they used for meditation. With the gentlest of pressure, he pushed down on his Padawan's shoulder, and Obi-Wan obediently folded himself into a cross-legged position on the carpet.

Qui-Gon found himself absentmindedly admiring the grace of his young Padawan in even that simple motion . . . then made a sharp sideways motion of his head to clear it. He feared this infatuation with his apprentice was going to cause more problems in the future, but he was at a loss of what to do about it. He wasn't sure he wanted to do anything about it, but the simple truth remained that the boy didn't need his old Master clamoring after him . . . especially not when it resulted indirectly in situations like this one.

Obi-Wan desperately needed his Master's approval -- that much was obvious and depressingly clear. Qui-Gon suspected that the problem evolved from the bungling manner in which he had taken on Obi-Wan's apprenticeship in the first place . . . and the boy's resulting insecurity. Obi-Wan strived very hard to please his Master, and he needed reassurance from his Master that Qui-Gon knew he did not always receive.

Qui-Gon also suspected that he was a little harder on the boy than necessary, given his need not to let his own unrequited desires adversely affect the training of an exemplary Padawan.

Regardless of Qui-Gon's own shortcomings, however, there were lessons that Obi-Wan obviously still needed to learn --such as perfecting the fine art of self-control in public situations.

Qui-Gon folded his long frame down to sit in front of his apprentice and waited quietly for Obi-Wan to raise his eyes again.

Obi-Wan, however, still refused to cooperate, keeping his eyes downcast. He said, very quietly, "I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Qui-Gon chuckled softly, and this caused his apprentice to look up quickly. "Padawan, you did not embarrass me." Qui-Gon rested one elbow on his knee and cupped his chin in his hand. He continued wryly, "Actually, I managed that momentous degree of embarrassment all by myself. I am a Jedi Master, after all -- we're supposed to be exceptional in everything we do."

Qui-Gon found he was rather enjoying his Padawan's look of open-mouthed surprise. The boy had obviously been expecting a reprimand, and finding his Master instead relaxed and joking had put him somewhat off-balance -- something that was becoming rarer and rarer as his Padawan matured into an overly solemn young man.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon continued more seriously, "I know you have found this mission to be somewhat of a trial, but I had hoped you would find at least some positive aspects to it."

Obi-Wan reached out one fine-boned hand to stroke the silken strands of the plush carpet next to him. "I know, Master," he replied. "I apologize for losing control like that, but it's just that these people are so . . . stodgy."

He looked up to see if his Master had any objection to this characterization, and when Qui-Gon gestured silently to continue, Obi-Wan continued in a rush, "They never smile, they never laugh, they take everything so seriously. It's like. . . facing the Council after you've just accidentally blown up a planet or something -- only worse."

Qui-Gon fought back a smile and raised one eyebrow, saying merely, "Hmmm. That bad, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan nodded vigorously. "They don't joke, every word that comes out of their mouths has to be precisely correct, and they only say exactly what they mean. Force forbid if you should ever accidentally say the wrong thing. . . ." His apprentice stopped his diatribe abruptly and looked up guiltily into Qui-Gon's face.

"Yes, Obi-Wan, I think I know all about that part," Qui-Gon said drily. He steepled his fingers under his chin while he thought out his reply. "Self-control and decorum are ways of life for these people, and errors in speech and manners are more than mere social gaffes -- they actually detract from their status and standing amongst their peers. Actually, Padawan, this culture is a fascinating one to study."

"I would rather study it from a textbook," came the slightly sullen-sounding reply.

Qui-Gon fought back another smile. That was the first time he'd ever heard his apprentice actually admit to preferring a textbook. While Obi-Wan was always diligent in his studies, his restless apprentice had always favored the "hands-on" aspect of their missions before. "Yes, you could do that. . . ."

When Obi-Wan looked up quickly in hopeful entreaty, Qui-Gon held up a finger and added, ". . . But to know the beauty of a gyrfalcon's hunting cry, one must hear it with one's own ears; to know the beauty of a sunrise, one must see it with one's own eyes; to know the beauty of a culture. . . ."

". . . One must become a part of it." His apprentice sighed deeply. "I know that, Master."

"And. . . ." Qui-Gon quirked his head to one side in an encouraging gesture.

". . . And we have been on this planet for eons, and I have yet to see anything beautiful about it!" Obi-Wan's voice rose slightly in his agitation and briefly lost some of its normally smooth, cultured tones.

Qui-Gon found the loss of his apprentice's habitual tight control acutely endearing. He did so love to hear the fire and animation brighten Obi-Wan's voice . . . and reflected on the fact that he had heard it all too rarely of late.

Oblivious to his Master's musings, Obi-Wan continued, "You've told me before that there is beauty in chaos, but these people are about as far from chaotic as they can get. Maybe if you were a droid and liked utter precision and control. . . ." His voice trailed off in apparent disgust.

"Padawan, sometimes one must look deeper or search harder to find the true splendor of a thing -- it is not always obvious to those who merely examine the surface." Qui-Gon leaned back and continued with a smile, "Then again, maybe we simply haven't been here long enough."

There was a barely audible groan from his apprentice.

Qui-Gon smiled. He knew of course the real reason for his young apprentice's restlessness. Qui-Gon remembered vividly when he had been a young man . . . and had found himself perched precariously over the abyss of sexual awakening.

Although that had been quite some time ago, he admitted to himself wryly.

Still, it had been a long, difficult mission for both of them --having to constantly monitor every gesture and word with little break in the monotony and very little privacy. He was feeling slightly strained himself, as his verbal faux pas this evening had proved.

Obi-Wan, however, seemed to be faring a little worse. This was not surprising considering they had been sent directly here after their brief sojourn on Dalorn, and Obi-Wan had had no opportunity to . . . practice . . . the lessons in self-gratification he had learned there.

Qui-Gon had been reluctant to continue those lessons here --partly out of decorum, partly out of fear that he would press his Padawan too far, too fast. It was a fine line he trod, attempting to instruct his overly innocent apprentice in the joys of the body without pressuring him into a relationship that Obi-Wan neither needed at this stage in his young life . . . nor desired.

Still, Obi-Wan would benefit both from the release as well as the lesson in self-control. Now if he could only manage to maintain that thread of self-control himself. . . .

"Padawan."

Obi-Wan looked up from the pattern of carpet he had been studying and said, "Yes, Master?"

"Some time has passed since your lessons on masturbation. Have you given any thought yet as to whether you wish to continue them?"

Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he blushed deeply, averting his eyes quickly back to the floor. He absently wound two fingers in the edge of the lustrous carpet as he considered his reply, wrapping and unwrapping the soft fabric around his digits.

Qui-Gon waited calmly with his hands on his knees -- patently unwilling to either rush or influence his Padawan in this delicate topic. He felt a quiet twinge of pride in the young man -- as in all things, Obi-Wan would gravely consider a subject completely and thoroughly before giving his answer.

Qui-Gon merely hoped that the thought of receiving such instruction from his aging Master was not too off-putting for the boy.

"Master?" Shy and feather soft, Obi-Wan's voice broke the velvet silence at long last.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"I think. . . ." Obi-Wan raised his eyes and continued with more surety, "I would very much like to continue the lessons, Master."

"Are you certain, Obi-Wan? It is rather late and we could. . . ."

"No!" Apparently abashed at his own forcefulness, Obi-Wan leaned back slightly and then said more quietly, "I would like to continue tonight, if it would please you, Master."

More than you know, little one, Qui-Gon thought to himself as he stroked his beard thoughtfully, trying to decide how best to begin. Eyeing a decorative full length mirror that gracefully followed the curved contours of a small alcove on the far wall, he nodded shortly to himself in satisfaction. That will do.

He rose to his feet abruptly, anxious to begin now that he had made his decision . . . and before he managed to convince himself otherwise.

Obi-Wan flinched minutely at the sudden motion, and Qui-Gon reminded himself that he must move slowly or risk losing even this small island of enchantment in his sea of loneliness.

He held out a hand, and after some hesitation, Obi-Wan placed his hand in Qui-Gon's larger one and allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. He took a quick half-step back when he found himself nearly touching Qui-Gon's broad body and stared intently at his feet -- giving Qui-Gon an unobstructed view of silky red-gold hair and fluttering, shamefully long lashes.

Qui-Gon smiled tenderly at his obliviously seductive Padawan and wondered who would be the lucky person to know that sensuality when it became completely aware . . . assured and certain of itself and its desirability.

He hoped it would be a stranger, for Qui-Gon would certainly regret hating somebody he actually knew.

He sighed and Obi-Wan looked up at him, his face reflecting what seemed to be equal parts anticipation and dread.

Qui-Gon smiled encouragingly and said, "I believe you know how to begin this, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan nodded briefly and turned his back, reaching for the closure on his belt. When Qui-Gon tapped him on the shoulder, he stopped abruptly, turning his head around in surprise.

"Obi-Wan," he chided gently. "An important part of pleasuring yourself is being comfortable with your own body."

When Obi-Wan looked ready to protest, Qui-Gon gripped his elbow gently and walked him to the mirror. "Here," he said, turning Obi-Wan to face the mirror, "remove your clothes and watch yourself in this as you do so."

"But, Master. . . ."

"Shush, little one. You must trust me in this."

Obi-Wan stared up at him for a few moments longer and finally exhaled softly, squaring his narrow shoulders as he reached again for the fastening.

Qui-Gon successfully managed to keep the incipient smile from reaching his face, both charmed and amazed that Obi-Wan thought so little of his body . . . yet was determined to make a brave show for his Master's benefit. He stayed close behind Obi-Wan, locking eyes with him in the mirror and encouraging him with a nod.

Obi-Wan dropped the belt and sash, then removed the outer tunic. However, after he had removed the inner tunic and bent over to remove his boots, Obi-Wan's gaze remained on the floor after he had straightened.

When Qui-Gon placed a hand on one warm, bare shoulder, Obi-Wan shuddered briefly but raised his eyes nonetheless, his hands moving to the waistband of his leggings. Taking another deep breath and exhaling, he quickly pushed the leggings down to his feet and carefully stepped out of them.

"Now look," Qui-Gon said softly, placing both hands on his Padawan's shoulders.

The subdued, evanescent lighting was kind to his apprentice's body -- inducing smoky gray shadows that blurred lines and softened details. It added definition to the evolving musculature, yet obscured the thinness and smallness of his developing frame. Compact, yet well proportioned, his apprentice resembled a not-quite-finished bronze from a master sculptor -- the perfect form and grace merely awaiting the sculptor's final touches before revealing its ultimate perfection.

He was . . . inexpressibly lovely.

"What do you see?" prompted Qui-Gon somewhat hoarsely, sternly resisting the temptation to slide his hands down Obi-Wan's arms to feel if the skin was as soft as it looked.

"Oafy-Wan."

The reply was so soft that Qui-Gon almost didn't hear it, but as attuned as he was to his Padawan at this moment, it was impossible not to hear the childhood taunt. Impossible not to respond. "Padawan," Qui-Gon chided gently. He moved his hands up to his apprentice's cheeks, stroking soothingly as he forced Obi-Wan's head back up. "Shall I tell you what I see?"

Obi-Wan's eyes were very wide and soft as he nodded the fraction allowed by his Master's bracketing hands.

So much self-doubt, so much trepidation in one small, trembling package. Where was the self-assurance that caused a young man to abandon his training and his Master on Melida/Daan? Where was the defiance needed to confront pirates and draigons? Did Obi-Wan fear his sexuality so? Or was there some nuance he was missing . . . something his Padawan was not telling him?

He grasped Obi-Wan's right hand in his and brought it up so that his apprentice's fingertips lightly caressed his own temple. "I see a young man with the intelligence to absorb his training and the wisdom to follow it." Qui-Gon directed Obi-Wan's hand to stroke just inside the hairline, allowing the gentle pressure to sensitize the nerve endings there.

He met Obi-Wan's eyes in the mirror and drank in the sight of his Padawan's wide-eyed gaze . . . just as he absorbed the passing tremor of the slight body through his.

Qui-Gon moved both their hands to Obi-Wan's right ear, stroking lightly over the earlobe and the fine, soft hairs that surrounded it. He removed his guiding hand and allowed Obi-Wan to continue his tentative explorations, lowering his head and speaking quietly into that same ear, "I see a young man who hears the pleas of others and is willing to do what is necessary to answer them."

Grasping the hand lightly again, Qui-Gon guided it slowly down the corded satin that was his apprentice's throat. "I see a young man who is unafraid to speak his mind when he feels his cause is just." With subtle pressure, he instructed his Padawan in the intricacies of alternating light caressing strokes with inflaming firmer ones over the vulnerable skin of neck and throat.

With a slight nudge of his chin on his apprentice's head, Qui-Gon again prompted Obi-Wan to watch his reflection in the mirror. Obi-Wan's eyes still seemed to dart here and there in his shyness and insecurity, but Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan's breathing quicken through their closeness . . . felt the pulse beat harder through their intertwined fingers.

His apprentice's hand felt so small and fragile engulfed in his overlarge one, and it was all he could do not to caress the fine skin so invitingly laid out beneath his own roughened fingers. He forced himself to settle for merely memorizing the sensuous glide of Obi-Wan's tendons and muscles as they moved the boy's fingers across his body under Qui-Gon's tutelage.

Qui-Gon's voice unconsciously deepened as he continued, "I see a young man with the bravery and compassion needed to follow his own heart." He guided Obi-Wan's hand down to his chest, maneuvering the now sweat-damp hand to brush lightly over one hardened nipple.

Obi-Wan gasped and arched back suddenly, and Qui-Gon moved barely in time to prevent Obi-Wan from feeling his own gathering arousal.

Qui-Gon allowed himself to give into temptation long enough to roll one pert nipple between his own thumb and forefinger, and then brushed ever so lightly over the sensitized nub. He closed his eyes at the soul-deep moan that issued from his Padawan's throat -- the sound seeming to strike a chord somewhere deep within his own body. He wanted nothing more than to continue those motions, to bring his apprentice to helpless, writhing arousal by his own hand . . . to crush the slight form against his own body and revel in the gasping contortions of a shattering climax that he himself had brought about.

Yours, the treacherous inner voice urged, make him yours.

But to do so would be to abuse the trust he and his Padawan had so painstakingly built over their turbulent association. It would tear away the safety net of a Master's protection to one who looked to him only for guidance and instruction. He could not do that. He would not do it.

His eyes hooded but his expression soft, Qui-Gon removed his treacherous hand. He instead rested both hands again on Obi-Wan's silky shoulders, silently encouraging his apprentice's explorations.

Obi-Wan shyly continued his movements, alternating the lightest of pressure with sharp pinches as he had been taught, his eyes glazed and lips slightly parted.

"Look at yourself now, my Obi-Wan. See what I see."

His apprentice looked up then, his eyes slowly refocusing to meet those of his Master and teacher in the mirror. Then, mutely obeying the gentle squeeze on his shoulders from his Master's hands, those eyes hazily studied the figure displayed so wantonly in that mirror. Obi-Wan lifted his chin slightly in either determined decision or defiance, and his movements became surer, his touches firmer.

Qui-Gon smiled reassuringly and took the opportunity for his own appraisal, relishing the opportunity to at least watch his Padawan abandoned in pleasure, even if he dare not participate actively himself. Obi-Wan's skin was flushed, his breathing rapid and his sex had firmed and lengthened to extend across the unblemished skin of his belly.

The boy was trembling harder now as his hand slowly reached down toward his erection and Qui-Gon swallowed, wondering how in all the Sith hells he was going to hide his own erection from his apprentice should the boy's quivering knees give out and he collapse against him. A tiny dark place inside him almost wished Obi-Wan would do so -- regardless of the consequences -- wanting and needing to feel his lissome apprentice pressed against his own hardness.

Impossible to resist, that thought, and his body unconsciously moved closer to that of his naked, sweat-damp apprentice, feeling the young man's heat even through the remaining space and his own layers of tunics and leggings.

Obi-Wan's hand reached its goal and glided lightly up the underside in a teasing stroke. His apprentice exhaled his pleasure, his hips moving forward slightly in an instinctive motion older than time.

Qui-Gon bit his lip and fought the temptation to duplicate that motion -- to feel his own erection trapped against the firmness of his apprentice's well muscled back. Surely it would not hurt for him to be just a little closer?

Obi-Wan's hand settled firmly around his erection.

Qui-Gon tightened his grip on his apprentice's shoulders, inhaling deeply the scent of musk and aroused Padawan --moving closer still to the glorious, seductive creature that was his Obi-Wan.

The chime on their door chose that moment to ring imperiously.

Releasing his Padawan's shoulders as if electrocuted, Qui-Gon cursed fluently and efficiently in several of the lesser known Galactic fringe languages and grabbed his cloak from a nearby chair. Draping it around his wide-eyed apprentice's shoulders, Qui-Gon took a deep breath and went to the doorway. There was no escaping this summons -- at this time of night, it could mean only one thing.

And thanks to his preoccupation, they were not in the least bit prepared for it.

The Elder who awaited him at the door was calm, immaculately groomed, and his clothing didn't look as if it were two hours before the local dawn and the man had been awake all night. Qui-Gon knew without a doubt, however, that he had been. He knew as soon as he spied the carefully folded array of blue silken material carried reverently in withered hands. The Elder had no doubt been supervising the final preparations for the ceremony of Ta'ra'nu -- a ceremony that started at sunset the evening before and ended at dawn the next day. A ceremony these people held only once every ten standard years . . . and their most sacred celebration of life and the continuity of their culture.

When the Elder finally spoke, his raspy voice betrayed its recent overuse, but it was nonetheless very clear, the diction slow and distinct. "Master Jinn, we would be pleased if you and your apprentice would join us tonight in heralding the dawn."

Qui-Gon paused significantly before replying, determined not to make another mistake in this of all things. "You honor us, Elder. If you desire our presence, the Jedi exist but to serve."

Bowing his head, Qui-Gon waited patiently for the reply. He had learned from his first assignment to this world that patience was a necessity. The Koln never spoke until they had carefully examined what they would say and all the ramifications of its various interpretations. It could be frustrating, but it helped sometimes to imagine you were holding a conversation over an old sublight communication link -- one that required waiting the required time for the transmission to reach the other party before they could respond.

"Have you instructed the boy in the movements required?"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in barely muted surprise and glanced over at Obi-Wan while he framed his reply, noting the deep flush that still accented his apprentice's features. "Yes, Elder. He has been trained in the movements."

The Elder unabashedly stared at his apprentice -- examining him for what, Qui-Gon didn't know.

Obi-Wan shivered and wrapped the robe tighter around his body.

After another long moment, the Elder nodded firmly. He held out the bundle of material to Qui-Gon and bowed deeply, intoning simply, "You would honor us with your participation, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon accepted the bundle in both outstretched hands and the Elder bowed again, closing the door behind him as he left.

Qui-Gon swore again after the door was safely closed. Of all the possible outcomes of his fumbling interview the previous evening, he had never dreamed the Koln would actually ask for the Jedi's participation!

Grasping the cloth bundle with one hand, he moved swiftly to stand in front of his wide-eyed apprentice, and without further ceremony, stripped the boy of the robe wrapped securely around his shoulders.

He eyed his naked, shivering, confused apprentice, berating himself for not taking the time to explain the whole ceremony to Obi-Wan before now. But then, he hadn't expected the culmination for quite some time -- not to mention the fact that no offworlder had ever been invited to actively participate in this particular aspect of the rite.

Shaking his head regretfully, Qui-Gon handed the silky blue material to Obi-Wan, saying, "Put this on please, Obi-Wan."

Not waiting to see if his orders were obeyed, Qui-Gon quickly set his own clothing to rights, donning the robe but leaving the hood down. With his own internal time sense telling him they must hurry, he strode toward the door and turned to speak to his apprentice.

The words somehow lodged themselves in his throat as he stared at the boy. He had known intellectually of course what the attire of the dancers consisted of, but he had been completely unprepared for its effect when worn by his Padawan. Consisting only of a pair of ankle-length leggings with simple, elegant lines and no other adornment, it nonetheless clung to Obi-Wan's body like a second skin and rippled in iridescent shades of blue as he moved.

Obi-Wan looked up, and Qui-Gon dazedly mused on how the swirling color brought out the latent blue in his Padawan's changeable eyes.

"Master?" Obi-Wan questioned softly at Qui-Gon's continued stunned silence.

Qui-Gon turned, breaking the spell, and said merely, "Come, Padawan. I will explain when we arrive at our destination."

Not trusting his own control, Qui-Gon stepped through the doorway without awaiting a reply and strode down the corridor, relying on his Padawan as always to keep pace with him.

They left the main building and exited the grounds through the primary gardens. The narrow path before them meandered through a grove of fruit trees and reflected the slowly setting moon through meticulously trimmed overhanging branches.

Qui-Gon heard the measured exhalations of his Padawan's breathing as he struggled to keep the rapid pace his Master set. However, even more distinctly, Qui-Gon heard the whisper of silky fabric over near equally silky skin . . . unmistakable in the pre-dawn silence.

He almost wished for the cacophony of boisterous animal and insect life that occupied these otherwise perfectly structured grounds during the day. Then at least he would not have to hear those utterly bewitching sounds emanating from the direction of his apprentice.

Qui-Gon clenched his fists inside his robe, his mind nevertheless going back to the feel of Obi-Wan's skin as he had gripped the trembling shoulders -- and how much better it would feel to stroke the skin of his legs and buttocks through the soft, clingy fabric that adorned his apprentice now.

And you have the audacity to lecture your apprentice on the merits of self-control! Qui-Gon berated himself. He unconsciously lengthened his stride, closing his eyes to mere slits as he mentally recited the Tenants of Control in an attempt to exorcize his inappropriate thoughts.

He was so successful that he didn't even hear when his apprentice was no longer the requisite number of steps behind him.

"Master?" drifted at last into his conscious mind -- a subdued, plaintive request in a forlorn tone that broke through Qui-Gon's meditations and brought him to an abrupt halt. He whirled, his hand unconsciously settling on his lightsaber as his eyes searched almost frantically for his apprentice.

The moonlight found him instead as it appeared from behind a passing cloud. It settled on his apprentice like a fine mist through the interlocking leaves above -- outlining him in ivory-speckled motes as the boy leaned wretchedly against a shimmering alabaster post.

Panicked now, Qui-Gon strode back down the path to his Padawan, gripping one bare shoulder and searching for overt signs of injury or illness.

Obi-Wan refused to look at him, his breath coming in harsh pants as one hand gripped the smooth white post. His body was turned slightly away from Qui-Gon and was visibly trembling.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, his voice deepened and roughened with concern, "What is it, little one, what is wrong?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and didn't answer, instead turning his body to face Qui-Gon directly . . . and moaning softly as he did so.

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon repeated, his hand unconsciously reaching to cup Obi-Wan's down-turned face. He looked again for the cause of his apprentice's distress . . . and froze in shock when he finally found it.

Qui-Gon supposed it could have been amusing under certain circumstances, but his Padawan's obvious distress and their absolute necessity to be elsewhere at this particular moment made it very much a serious matter.

Damn it all, but he should have anticipated this given the nature of the rite they were participating in -- and it was just one more example of his recent distraction. He cursed under his breath and Obi-Wan tensed, shifting slightly to move away in his embarrassment.

Obi-Wan moaned out loud again, his back arching this time in reflexive need.

Qui-Gon watched, helplessly entranced, as the blue silken material caressed his Padawan with each and every movement he made -- gliding sinuously over his obviously erect shaft with even the slightest of provocations -- triggered merely by Obi-Wan's labored breaths.

His Padawan looked up at him then, his eyes widened to mere black pupils in his arousal, his lips parted as he panted shallowly in an effort to control the movement of the treacherously shifting fabric across his lower body.

Sith! It was a wonder the boy had managed to keep up with him this far. How he had managed to walk so far in this condition, without speaking or even making Qui-Gon aware of the situation. . . .

Qui-Gon shook his head in disbelief. At least now he knew why the denizens of this planet treated this material so reverently -- it would be worth a fortune in the bored, pleasure-driven circles of the galaxy's elitist rich.

A soft chime broke through the calm night air, and Qui-Gon jerked his head toward the sound. There was no helping it --they must complete this rite or risk the disapproval of the Elder's Council . . . and once again lose the chance to admit this pivotal planet into the Republic's membership.

He brought an arm under his apprentice's legs and lifted him.

Obi-Wan grunted in surprise but didn't struggle, closing his eyes tightly and remaining as motionless as he could in his Master's arms.

Qui-Gon strode down the pathway, straining to maintain his grip as the impossibly thin material slid and rippled with the hurried movements of his long legs. It was like attempting to restrain a river and he feared to exert too much pressure or harm his Padawan. As it was, the incessant, unhampered slide of his hand across the smooth skin of Obi-Wan's legs was doing odd things to his own breathing -- much less to that of his decidedly distressed Padawan.

Qui-Gon walked out the formal gardens and down a sharp rise to where a groundcar waited patiently for them. He climbed into the vehicle, still precariously gripping his Padawan, and the driver silently headed across the open field toward a stand of seemingly impenetrable trees. The driver wove an intricate path through the entangled trees, never slowing down, never speeding up, maintaining as even a pace as if he were on the main thoroughfare of the city.

Finally, they broke through the trees into the valley of Ta'ra'nu. The majority of the participants were already in their assigned positions, but Qui-Gon relaxed somewhat when he discovered they were not the last to arrive. He gravely thanked the driver and stepped out of the vehicle, taking the time to appreciate anew the wonder of this place.

Qui-Gon swung his apprentice down in the springy grass and steadied him as he swayed alarmingly at the sudden motion. He felt Obi-Wan's hardness against his thigh and closed his own eyes briefly for strength as the boy clung to him.

He gently, albeit reluctantly, turned his apprentice around and whispered softly, "Look, Padawan, and see what I see."

He could feel his apprentice start in surprise, and Qui-Gon had no doubt that Obi-Wan's eyes were as wide as his own had been when he had first set foot in this secluded valley.

So close to the capital, yet worlds away, it was strictly off limits to all but the participants and observers of this rite. There were no roads to this valley, no paths . . . and the airspace was restricted for miles in every direction. It was both a natural wonder, yet the holiest of shrines -- a design started by nature, yet transformed by the planet's inhabitants.

It was untouched and pristine except for the artisans who cared for it and molded it -- visited by no others except one night every ten standard years. This night.

They stood on a slight rise overlooking a valley open only on one side -- due east. The valley floor was divided into a series of "islands," in the center of each stood a single towering anthus tree. Its nearly transparent silver fronds waved slightly in the gentle breeze, reflecting back the white-gold of the setting moon. It was surrounded by a stream that curved precisely into a hexagonal pattern around the tree -- a distinct and exact distance away -- the outer branches of the tree extending just to the boundaries of the stream.

A type of brittle "grass" completely covered the ground around the tree, extending outward to the limits of the stream. The tiny spikes of the glass-like fronds caught the moonlight seeping around the tree as well, but instead of merely reflecting the light, they scattered it in a prism of riotous color.

The effect was beautiful when viewed in microcosm --spectacular as one absorbed the fact that each tiny island was duplicated a hundred times over in a patchwork of identical trees and plots.

Obi-Wan seemed to be stunned speechless -- apparently momentarily forgetting his discomfort -- but he finally murmured, "Why?" almost to himself. Turning his head to look up at his Master, he repeated, "Why take a thing as beautiful as those trees and force them to exist as merely part of a sanitized whole?"

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow upward in surprise and replied, "You do not consider the effect beautiful in and of itself?"

"Yes, of course, but wouldn't it be even more attractive if the trees were allowed to grow as they wished, the streams allowed to meander -- wouldn't the differences in heights and form be even more pleasing individually than grouped so predictably?" Obi-Wan turned slightly to look further down the valley and groaned as the movement again incited the blue material to shift across his groin.

"Possibly." There was another soft chime from the center of the grove, and Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan again as he headed down the hill. "And maybe you are once again merely seeing the surface, Padawan."

An Elder holding an intricately carved staff gestured them to an island near the outskirts of the pattern, and Qui-Gon carefully stepped onto an extremely narrow stepping stone path leading to and encircling an anthus tree.

"Do you remember the movements of the dance I taught you when we first arrived here, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked as he settled Obi-Wan once more onto his feet.

Obi-Wan paled visibly and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, of course, but I can't possibly. . . ."

Qui-Gon grasped his apprentice and pulled him close, resting his chin on Obi-Wan's short-cropped hair. "You must, Obi-Wan. I am sorry I did not explain this to you in more detail, but I was certain we would not be asked to participate in this rite . . . and I thought it unnecessary to brief you any further than learning the steps." He pulled back and smiled, "So much for the infallibility of Jedi Masters."

When Obi-Wan said nothing, merely staring up at him with round, night-dark eyes, Qui-Gon continued quietly, "It is an unheard-of honor to be here, my Padawan. Even more so as an active participant . . . and of the utmost importance to the Republic."

Obi-Wan grimaced and whirled abruptly, hissing in a sharp breath as he did so. He crossed his arms and shivered from more than the damp night air, visibly making an effort to center himself. "I will . . . try not to fail you, Master."

Qui-Gon tugged gently on his apprentice's braid, and Obi-Wan slowly and carefully turned to face him. "Maybe it will aid your efforts in self-control if you center on your foolish old Master's mistake last evening?"

Obi-Wan laughed out loud in spite of his condition. However, when even that caused the blue material enclosing him to shift alarmingly, he stilled his laughter with an effort. "I had thought that 'having one's jaw drop in surprise' was merely a figure of speech . . . until I experienced an entire room full of them yesterday." Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side mischievously. "They looked like Master Windu's collection of wooden nutcrackers."

Crossing his arms across his chest, Qui-Gon smiled in agreement. "Well, it was not without some provocation. The Council of Elders had been told that I was the Jedi's most respected and sought after ambassador, so when I told them that I had. . . ."

". . . 'Never said a profound word in my life,'" Obi-Wan quoted with a grin.

". . . They undoubtedly wondered exactly who it was the Jedi had inflicted upon them," Qui-Gon finished ruefully.

"Little do they know."

"Imp. I believe the word I was aiming for was 'profane,' and I do hope that you at least had that figured out," Qui-Gon said.

"Of course, that's what made it so funny. They didn't have a clue . . . absolutely no imagination."

The chime sounded yet again, twice this time, and Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan's arm to position him on the edge of the walkway. "Better, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Yes, Master, thank you." Obi-Wan looked up at him, once more the serious and focused Padawan in spite of the hazy gleam of banked arousal. "I can do this."

Qui-Gon nodded once in satisfaction. "I have no doubts, Padawan. But remember, the pattern must be exact, the placement of your feet unvarying, the timing of the moves in synchronization with the others. This is most important, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master."

Waiting for the signal to begin, Qui-Gon positioned himself behind his Padawan -- ready to assist with any misstep should it occur but not allowed to leave the stone pathway himself. They felt rather than heard the signal -- a sort of vibration through the porous ground, as the staves of the hundred Elders encircling the grove hit the ground as one.

Obi-Wan stepped forward on the second beat, flinching slightly, undoubtedly at the odd texture of the "grass" beneath his bare feet. It made a sound like crusted snow as he stepped, and the sound was amplified a hundred times over as the other young men and women began the same pattern simultaneously. . . each in their individual islands.

Qui-Gon could barely see the Koln boy in the adjacent island through the overhanging branches as he and Obi-Wan met precisely in the center of one of the stream's grassy bridges --then they both pivoted gracefully and returned to their individual circuits.

Qui-Gon watched as his apprentice stepped and glided, slowly, matching his movements to that of the steady thrumming of the staves -- the prism grass dispersing shimmering rainbows of light as it was flattened beneath his feet. One could almost follow his movements through the vantage of the anthus tree alone, as its light-absorbing fronds traced Obi-Wan's path by reflecting both the disturbance of the prism grass and the vivid blue of his attire.

It was almost, but not quite, as mesmerizing as watching Obi-Wan himself.

Qui-Gon's function was merely as a guide, to ensure the dancer kept the exact paths between tree and boundary stream. To ensure perfection.

Watching Obi-Wan dance, Qui-Gon was sure there was nothing he could do to improve his Padawan's movements. His Obi-Wan was perfection.

His torso illuminated in the rapidly fading moonlight through overhanging branches, Obi-Wan stepped, glided, and then crouched to turn in an exactly controlled pivot with one leg outstretched. Obi-Wan appeared to be in complete control of his movements in the sparkling semi-darkness, but with Force-enhanced senses, Qui-Gon could see the slight tremors in his uplifted arms, the sheen of sweat that beaded his face, and the trembling of muscles sheathed in silk-satin fabric.

Obi-Wan completed one circuit of the tree, and the pattern he swept with feet and legs in the prism grass looked correct to Qui-Gon. He spared it very little consideration, however, as his eyes returned almost of their own volition to drink in the sight of his Padawan.

Closer now, Obi-Wan danced the pattern inward to where Qui-Gon stood beneath the tree. It was odd in this almost insulated, protected grove -- no bird song, no incessant chitter of insect life -- merely the muted crush of the brittle grass beneath a hundred pairs of feet, the pulse of the Elders' staves beyond, and the sound of Obi-Wan's gasping breaths as he struggled against the insidious glide of the tactile fabric over the prominent bulge of his groin.

One more circuit completed. The moon had nearly set below the horizon this near to the onslaught of dawn, and it was much darker now in this high-walled valley. The anthus trees did their best with the remaining moonlight -- tiny flickers of white-gold light danced from branch to branch like fireflies, reflecting off the tiny stream and bestowing an ethereal quality to an already otherworldly tableau.

Back arched, shoulders back, Obi-Wan moaned aloud this time as he completed the third pass and began the fourth. Barely a meter away from the stone path upon which Qui-Gon stood, Obi-Wan began this final pattern.

It was nearly totally dark now, but his Padawan danced as if one possessed -- determination fiercely etched in the lines of his face that were becoming ever harder to see. Qui-Gon tracked his passage now by the sound of his feet, the gasps of his breath, the acrid scent of his sweat and arousal, the disturbance of air from his passage as the threadbare breeze died to nothingness with the imminence of dawn.

His feet feeling their way against the raised stone path, Qui-Gon followed his Padawan's progress. As they neared completion of the final passage, Qui-Gon became aware of the faintest of lightening -- a gray upon black -- and he knew the sunrise was almost upon them. This planet, small for a habitable world, spun faster than most on its axis and the sun would rise almost preternaturally fast above the horizon.

He waited at the exit point of the pattern and allowed Obi-Wan to approach him. His Padawan was almost sobbing now -- his breathing shallow and quick, his heretofore graceful movements becoming almost stilted in his extremis.

As he completed the last sweep and glide of a pointed foot, as the last patch of the prism grass was flattened, Obi-Wan stumbled and Qui-Gon reflexively reached out to catch him. Stretching to his limits, he pulled his Padawan onto the stone path before he could fall and disturb the pattern.

Obi-Wan's momentum caused him to impact upon his Master's body with a solid thump. With an almost inaudible cry, Obi-Wan pressed himself tighter, and Qui-Gon instinctively wrapped his arms around him for support. The contact of Qui-Gon's hard-muscled leg against his groin was more than the overstimulated boy could handle, and Obi-Wan arched his back as he climaxed -- a single thready whimper escaping from between tightly clenched teeth.

Qui-Gon held him until the tense body relaxed, soothing him with a gentle hand against his back as he whispered words of assurance into his ear. Almost forgetting the ceremony in the peace and tranquility of that flawless moment, Qui-Gon stirred himself and picked up his apprentice one last time. Carefully feeling his way along the stone path, he settled them both against the opalescent bark of their anthus tree with a sigh.

Obi-Wan rested his cheek against his Master's chest, exhausted, and Qui-Gon smiled down at him fondly.

"I didn't mar the pattern with my clumsiness, did I, Master?" came a sleepy mumble from the direction of his chest. "I'm sorry I lost control."

"You did fine, Obi-Wan. Much better than if I had been in your place."

Obi-Wan stared up at him intently -- no doubt puzzling over the exact meaning of that statement. Qui-Gon merely returned the stare impassively, letting the boy draw his own conclusions.

The deep thrumming of the Elders' staves increased in its frequency, breaking Obi-Wan's concentration, and he looked around in puzzlement. "But I thought the ceremony was completed."

Qui-Gon smiled again, "Hardly, Padawan. Actually, it has barely begun." He directed Obi-Wan's gaze out toward the pattern beyond the stone walkway and said, "Look, and you will soon see what you have struggled so to create."

The pounding of the staves stopped as the sun broke over the horizon, and the air almost vibrated with expectancy.

Qui-Gon had been merely one of a thousand spectators during his last visit here -- waiting patiently for an event he could see but was not an integral part of. He wondered if it would be different down here, amidst the trees. He knew what to expect, of course, even if his Padawan did not, but the excitement was there nonetheless as the first of the sun's rays made its journey from the fiery primary across the narrow valley.

That first intrepid ray of light struck the compressed prism grass at the entrance to the grove and raced from flattened stalk to flattened stalk -- almost as if were elated to have found a pathway to expend its encapsulated energy. It followed the prepared conduit of a hundred pairs of feet, found itself channeled around the intricate patterns formed in one island, then the next, then the next . . . and it emitted a gleam of the purest blue light as it passed.

This first ray of light was joined by untold countless others, and the air directly above the trampled grass soon glowed a vivid sky blue. Reflected back by the pristine stalks that had not been compressed by the dancers' feet, the blue light had nowhere to go but upward . . . where it was absorbed and amplified by the receptive, transparent fronds of the anthus trees above.

To the spectators on the rise surrounding the grove, Qui-Gon knew a pattern was forming in the flawless silver canopies of the anthus trees. If every single one of a hundred pairs of feet had trod true, it would soon blossom into a perfect hexagonal construct of azure blue -- a kind of glowing, living snowflake derived solely from light and reflection . . . and the perfectly executed efforts of this planet's most gifted and disciplined dancers.

This flickering, interwoven pattern of grace and symmetry was the Koln's tribute to precision -- a monument to perfection that rivaled that of nature. The azure dawn lasted only until the sun rose high enough that its rays no longer struck the prism grass at the appropriate angle, but for that brief period of time, there was little in the known galaxy that could rival its beauty.

But here, amongst the trees, the pattern was not evident, merely the entrancing brilliance of blue on blue -- like being submerged in water of the sharpest clarity . . . only to look up and see an endless expanse of an even more vivid sky.

Qui-Gon looked down to gauge Obi-Wan's reaction and froze, entranced anew by the exquisiteness that was his apprentice, his face glowing softly with the countless reflections of shimmering sapphire color. What a precious thing his Obi-Wan was -- worth more than the ransom of princes -- and he was more than foolish, as old as he was, to desire something so perfect.

Obi-Wan looked up at him suddenly, and Qui-Gon immediately schooled his expression back to that of the impassive Master -- using iron self-control to wipe the inappropriate longing from visage and mind.

Well, he could at least derive some comfort in teaching Obi-Wan, if nothing else. "Do you see now, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked serenely, gesturing to the magnificent panorama around them.

Obi-Wan didn't reply, merely turning himself in Qui-Gon's loose hold so that he could face his Master directly. He knelt there and stared unflinchingly into Qui-Gon's eyes -- a look almost of dawning wonder and joy on his face.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied at long last. "You were quite right. I have been looking merely at the surface."

As the play of iridescent light reached its magnificent zenith around them, an oblivious Qui-Gon Jinn could only watch in stunned disbelief as his treasured apprentice reached up to gently caress his cheek and murmured softly, "but I do see now."

And all the splendor and glory of the azure dawn were nothing compared to the profound love he could see emanating from his apprentice's eyes.

End