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It could only have been three or four ko more before Obi-Wan returned to rational thought -- but this time, he had banished the fears he'd let obsess him. He would concentrate on the practicalities of handling the Council and trying to improve Qui-Gon's chances of surviving Malabar; for sometimes it was better to focus on the present than belabour the future. At least he had learnt that lesson from his master.

He looked up to find Qui-Gon smiling at him.

"Such serious thoughts, Padawan." Qui-Gon touched a finger to the fine-drawn line between Obi-Wan's brows, then stood in one sure movement. "Some breakfast, perhaps? You could get out the things while I go and wash."

Obi-Wan's stomach gurgled its own response, but when he tried to get to his feet, he collapsed back down. "How can you possibly meditate for hours kneeling like this?" he moaned, rubbing his calves.

Qui-Gon laughed and stretched out a hand to help him up. "Stop being such an old man, Obi-Wan. Anyone would think I abuse you regularly, instead of just every other morning over that desk. Would you like eggs, or would you prefer honeycakes?"

In the kitchen, Obi-Wan planned his campaign while he watched Qui-Gon cook. The big man's apparent cheerfulness was somewhat off-putting: he even hummed under his breath as he cracked the eggs into a bowl and added mysterious bits of leaf from a jar to the mix. Whatever the fruits of his meditation, he had obviously found comfort in them. With Qui-Gon's resolve not to force the Ritual, the anxieties which had plagued him earlier that morning appeared to have vanished; indeed, he seemed relaxed, even happy, in the simple task of preparing their food.

He also showed no particular desire to discuss the situation with Obi-Wan; so over the meal they chatted inconsequentially about Temple gossip and petty details of Republic politics. It was only as they cleared the remains of their food away that Obi-Wan decided to broach the next point of difficulty: bettering Qui-Gon's chances of surviving the next year. "So, you'll be off to Malabar within the week. Will you follow the Council's advice and take another knight with you?"

"On consideration, I think having some backup would be best."

Gods, this was going to be harder than he'd thought. Someone else would be by Qui-Gon's side, supporting him in battle, pretending to be his lover. A nasty, spiteful spurt of jealousy gripped Obi-Wan, even as he thanked his stars that Qui-Gon was going to be sensible about this. No-one else should be by his master's side other than him -- no-one! But it was better than the alternative: Qui-Gon going on his own. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and applied himself sternly to consideration of the potential candidates.

There weren't many free knights on Coruscant at the moment. If it were Knight Chelek, Obi-Wan could at least corner him for a briefing before they left. He'd tell him that Qui-Gon should not walk long distances, since the older man was still prone to limping on that bad knee if he strained it too much. And Knight Chelek was not to let Qui-Gon persuade him into small rescue missions on the side, as was his master's wont; and he should beware, when they fought together, of Qui-Gon's tendency to carry the fight ahead instead of holding back to regroup.

Chelek wasn't too proud to take advice - Obi-Wan knew that from the time they had worked together to break the Vengoan logging cartel. If it were that arrogant, posturing Arrabas, though...

"Who will you take?"

Qui-Gon sat on the side of the counter with slow deliberation and gave him a long, considering look.

"You."

Then, perhaps because of the obvious confusion on Obi-Wan's face, he added, "I won't go on my own, and I won't accept anyone else but you, regardless of whether we complete this damned Ritual or not."

A wave of relief coursed through Obi-Wan, so strong it rocked him back on his heels. Force, that felt so right! He let it sweep him up for one heady moment before reality dragged him back under again. "But the Council refused the petition!"

Qui-Gon said lightly, "Then they will have to consider it again."

Obi-Wan gaped at the idea of such blatant defiance. Even for Qui-Gon Jinn, renown maverick, disobedience on such a level would be a new career high.

"They'll order you to go, Master. You won't have a choice."

"There are always choices, Obi-Wan. We are free men." Qui-Gon spoke quietly and clearly. "I will make my position plain to the Council in the meeting this afternoon. If they choose to send someone else, well and good: that will give us time to concentrate on the Ritual in the peace of the Temple. If they decide to send us on the mission anyway, we'll deal with the Ritual in due course."

"If we can," Obi-Wan muttered. "It's proved traumatic enough attempting it here. I don't care for the thought of trying it on a mission."

"At worst, we postpone the wretched thing till the mission is over. By that point, the Council might be willing to accept the experience you'll undoubtably have gained on Malabar as a substitute for undertaking it. Or it might even be that the problem will have gone away. Let's concentrate on our meeting with the Council in a few hours, not some dim and distant future we might not survive to enjoy, Obi-Wan."

The thought of the upcoming Council meeting, with Qui-Gon in this mood of sunny determination, made Obi-Wan want to shudder almost as much as the idea of having the Ritual hanging over his head for another year.

"Have you considered that the Council might have a totally different reaction, Qui-Gon? They might, for instance, choose to demote you, hand me over to another master and give the mission to someone less competent. What then?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "The consequences of a failure on Malabar would be far-reaching, and the Council are well aware that I'm the best bet they have to avoid it. I'm willing to gamble they won't send anyone else."

"Master," and Obi-Wan could hear the pleading in his own voice, "don't defy the Council. Not on my behalf. My training isn't worth risking your status. If they were to strip you of your rank--"

"They wouldn't dare do it before Malabar. The mission must come first." Qui-Gon smiled, a smile Obi-Wan had seen before. It could best be described as ruthless. "Remember the first rule of negotiation, Padawan. If you have an ace, there's no point in keeping it up your sleeve when the last hand has been dealt. I think we are at that last hand now. Let's place our bets and play."

"But -- but when we talked about this yesterday morning, you decided you would only take me if the Council agreed," Obi-Wan said in bewilderment. "Now you're proposing to risk your status as a master -- or even worse, risk chaos on Malabar, with the Force knows what implications for the rest of the sector."

Qui-Gon shook his head reprovingly. "I was a fool, and a coward too, letting my concerns about the Ritual blind me to the truth. You said to me yesterday, I'm your padawan. If I couldn't trust in my own judgement, I should have trusted in yours. You've been as loyal to me as a man can be, even when you were no more than a boy. I could never doubt you. And this morning you've demonstrated a trust in me which honours me deeply, misguided as our actions were."

He stretched out a hand and caught the sleeve of Obi-Wan's tunic, tugging gently to bring Obi-Wan closer. "You said you'd accept only me as your master. Any of the others would fight for the opportunity to have you as their padawan learner, Obi-Wan." He looked up, his blue eyes fierce in his face. "But I'm a selfish man, and I want you as mine. We belong together. Will you stand up for those words when we meet with the Council this afternoon, Padawan? Will you trust in your own feelings?"

Qui-Gon would risk everything to keep him. Warmth flooded Obi-Wan, but with it came a myriad of new fears. It had never been his intention to have Qui-Gon stake his position as Knight and Master on keeping them together. And there would be hell to pay in the Council that afternoon, for once Qui-Gon Jinn had determined his way, wise men scattered in front of him.

But Obi-Wan knew where his loyalties lay. He took a deep breath and grasped the fingers playing with his sleeve. "I'll trust in us, Master" he said, his voice steady.

Qui-Gon returned the clasp, his hand warm on Obi-Wan's as he said confidently, "That will do us well enough."

Obi-Wan leaned into the touch, clinging to his master's new-found certainty. They stood there for awhile in silence, until Obi-Wan spoke again.

"Master, can't we find a way out of this confrontation?" he said slowly, thinking aloud.

"Any ideas are welcome, Padawan." Qui-Gon sighed. "I would rather negotiate our way out of this than fight with the Council over it."

"Well, you remember when you first told me about the Ritual?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "You were so young, then. Your eyes were as round as saucers at the idea."

"More at the thought of you talking about sex rather than what you were saying! I wasn't that young!"

"Maybe not." Qui-Gon's hand mussed his hair.

"You remember all those semiotics texts you set me?" Obi-Wan asked, quellingly. "Surely there's some way in which we have actually completed the Ritual, on a symbolic level at least? Even if you didn't ejaculate, you've done more than most female masters do with their padawans. If you could persuade Master Mundi of that..."

"We'd unleash an argument about substance over form amongst the Council," Qui-Gon finished, seeing where Obi-Wan's argument was going. "And we might be able to creep off to Malabar while they were at it. Hmmm. I wonder if there's anything in the Dahometh canon..."

Obi-Wan dodged to avoid having his hair ruffled again as Qui-Gon got to his feet. "Well thought, Obi-Wan. Nothing in the canon illuminated our personal problems with the Ritual, but perhaps I'll find enough ammunition to feed a small civil war between Mundi and Mace over the exact Dahometh definition of penetration." He was at the doorway when he paused to add, "But not the definition of ejaculation, I think. Even my infamous strength of will couldn't cope with that conversation."

Before following Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan put on the kettle, and took the opportunity for a private comm to Master Ibbith, the healer who normally had the daunting task of dealing with his master.

"Kenobi," the man acknowledged. It was not a good sign when the healers knew a padawan by sight. "Nothing bleeding at this precise moment, I trust?"

"No, Master Ibbith. I was wondering if you could schedule in my master to see you tomorrow. He needs to have his sight adjusted again."

The healer frowned, but forbore from further comment as he checked various listings. "Two of our droids are off for maintenance, but the workload is quite light at the moment, so I see no difficulties fitting him in."

"Would a general body checkup be possible at the same time?"

Ibbith shot a him a sharp look, but after another scan he nodded. "Quite feasible, Apprentice. I'll see him any time in the morning. You'll bring him?"

"Yes, Master." Assuming he was still Qui-Gon's padawan by then. For all Qui-Gon's vaunted strength of mind, Obi-Wan still wasn't convinced of the outcome of the Council meeting.

"And he will be expecting this checkup?"

"A Jedi is trained to deal with the unexpected, Master Ibbith," Obi-Wan replied, wooden-faced.

"On your head be it, Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded.

"And since you're taking the responsibility for this one, I'll just schedule in a brain scan and two psych tests while I'm at it. Well done, Kenobi: it's not often I get my hands on Master Jinn." Ibbith cleared the connection as if he feared Obi-Wan would reconsider the idea, given any further chance to discuss it. Nor could Obi-Wan blame him, for Qui-Gon's opinions on medical technology were as infamous amongst the healers as was his padawan's frequent need of it. But Obi-Wan was determined this time: Qui-Gon was not going off on another mission without a clean bill of health.

He poured the hot water onto a spoonful of pungent leaves in the old clay teapot, then fiddled with his datapad while he waited for the tea to brew. Qui-Gon's story the night before had piqued his curiosity; he was sure he had come across some reference to a planet in the Lirring sector before, in a context which eluded him but which he just knew bore some relationship to the tale Qui-Gon had told.

Specifying an isolated system with a single satellite was sufficient: the database could only bring up one match. Loading the detailed droid scans, at first Obi-Wan thought it was not the right one. This was indeed a very small planetoid, almost too tiny to maintain an atmosphere. But it was covered in lush vegetation, concealed beneath a heavy cloud layer. There looked to be no bodies of water collected on the surface, just a mass of living, breathing tree-forms exuding vapour into the air. Very unusual, but hardly the place Qui-Gon had described.

Yet it must have been. For Obi-Wan suddenly recognised one of the scans: a larger version of it, painted from the model of this small image, filled one wall in Yoda's rooms. He remembered he had asked Yoda about it one day, but the old master had been unusually abstruse when questioned as to why he had it on display, saying only,

"Made by one strong in the Force, this was."

Obi-Wan had assumed he meant the image of the planet, but now... Eagerly, he pulled up the scanty data available from previous fly-bys. And there, indeed, in a scan dated twenty years before the one on Yoda's wall, was a desolate ball of rock floating through space, bare of all life.

There was no mention of the anomaly in the database. Both scans had been taken by explorer droidships, and the new data had simply been added to the old file without analysis. After all, smugglers and smallholders were constantly terraforming mudballs all over the galaxy; who cared to keep track of settlements which would vanish within a decade?

The same thing had probably happened here, a settlement on a barren rock failing and the colonists heading off once more, taking their livestock with them, leaving the place abandoned. There was no human life there for the second droidship to record; no animal life, either. There were only the trees the settlers must have planted on arrival: that was probably how the plantlife had spread over the entire planet in so short a time, barely decades. In the years to come, the vapour they exuded would form shallow ponds, then lakes...

Obi-Wan thought about a biobubble, left unattended; a handful of Jedi sperm on a rock shattered to fine fragments; the signatures of two powerful Force users; a painting on a wall.

Putting away the datapad, he set about straining the tea into two cups, trying to connect these images with the other things he had learnt the night before.

Qui-Gon had been wrong to worry that Obi-Wan's view of Yoda might be altered by his quiet recitation of an old story. There were a few idiots in the Temple, more outside in the Senate, who saw Yoda as a figure of fun. His size, his ugliness, his speech -- even the primitive stick he used rather than a roboprop -- were all sources of amusement to minds which could not encompass the power of the Force.

But, for all that the idea of a gnome like Yoda fucking a man as physically impressive as Qui-Gon might seem ridiculous, Obi-Wan had always known there was something in Yoda to be feared: something to be hidden from as one hides from the magnificence of a sun going nova. Wondrous, glorious -- but too ruthlessly powerful to be encompassed in human experience.

Obi-Wan loved Yoda deeply. He had no doubt that, both in his own right and as Qui-Gon's padawan, Yoda returned that love to him. And there was no question of Yoda's affection for Qui-Gon. But what was the love of a creature who himself had spanned eight hundred years of time, whose own existence was a living symbol of the power of the Unifying Force? Yoda empathised with them in their sorrows, grieved for them when they died. But he continued beyond them, and for him there would always be another.

No, on reflection it did not surprise Obi-Wan that Yoda could have subjected Qui-Gon to such an extreme ordeal, any more than he would have been surprised by a river cutting a groove through resisting rock, or a baby forcing its way out of its mother's womb. What did surprise him was that Qui-Gon had come so close to the raw essence of Yoda's power, and survived.

The more he considered Qui-Gon's Ritual, the more he saw how clearly it had marked his master. He'd always thought Qui-Gon's constant admonitions to him about his inattention to the Living Force were overblown, or at least stemming from a bias towards the facet of the Force from which much of Qui-Gon's own power originated. But now he realised how careful his master had been to steer him towards balance, even if that meant away from Obi-Wan's own natural reliance on the Unifying Force.

Obi-Wan still hadn't conquered his tendency not to live in the moment; he came nowhere near to rivalling his master's ability to concentrate on the now and the here, tugged as he was toward the then, the next, and the elsewhere. But he would never need so extreme a correction to his equilibrium between the two as Qui-Gon had. Now he understood better why Qui-Gon valued that balance so much, given that it had been achieved with such pain. The line between his brows standing out clearly, Obi-Wan frowned at the thought of what pain his own Ritual might bring when he finally achieved it. Certainly nothing as straightforward as the physical pain he had offered himself up to this morning.

He thought again of a boy, chained to a rock in the middle of nowhere, desperately seeking for the Living Force. He considered how strong that desire must have been. Obi-Wan had once seen his master as too collected and calm to know true passion. Yet now he was forced to consider that Qui-Gon's passion for the Living Force might have been enough to bring about at least one miracle: keeping him alive through Yoda's taking. And perhaps a second, if Yoda's elliptical words had referred to the subject of the painting, rather than the painting itself.

Had all that passion been leached from Qui-Gon by the passing of the years? Suddenly, the glimpses Obi-Wan had had of it last night were not enough. He wanted more.

Still in the robe, two steaming cups in his hands, he went back into the study and placed one on a corner of the desk.

"Tea, Master."

"Hmmm? Thank you..." Qui-Gon made no move to pick it up, immersed in whatever he had found. Glancing over his shoulder, Obi-Wan could see the datapad screen covered in tiny squiggles forming large and small triangles, nesting one within another.

"Old Dahometh?"

"The inscription Master Tobian found carved in barrow tombs on the planet's southern pole. It's older and probably less adulterated than the two paper Folios describing the Ritual; but its meaning is more contentious, since the interpretation can change depending on whether you start at the centre of each trigonal grouping and work outward, or vice versa. The Folios are more linear in form, although they contradict each other."

Obi-Wan squinted at the obscure patterns. "I thought the point was that we all made our own meaning when we undertook the Ritual."

"It's a shame commentators like Horatius have not shown your wisdom, my Padawan." Qui-Gon's tone was dry.

There were notes down half the screen, rough jottings in Qui-Gon's incomprehensible script, even more obscure than the Dahometh. "Do you really understand all that?"

"The Dahometh codices include many interesting philosophical ideas, and some utterly lunatic ones. Yoda had me studying them trying to tell the difference when I was fifteen. Be grateful I have not done the same to you, my Padawan." Qui-Gon tugged on the end of his braid which was trailing over the screen. "Now be quiet so I can work."

'My Padawan' -- it was the second time in as many minutes that Qui-Gon had named him so. Qui-Gon was giving him the words for comfort, but they were more than empty promises. They expressed a truth greater than any to be found in dead scratchings on crumbling rock. He was Qui-Gon's padawan, and that would not, could not change. Obi-Wan allowed the certainty to sink slowly through him, the weighty truth crushing all remaining doubts to leave a clear emptiness behind.

He slipped to the floor beside his master's chair, crossing his feet under his thighs. The mug was a warm weight in his hands, the desk a solid support behind his back as he sat still, letting his thoughts come to rest.

Swept away by those simple words, the fretful worries of the last few days were gone.

In the quietude of their absence, Obi-Wan savoured a clarity of sense and mind he had rarely known. The springy fibres beneath his ankles, the swirling grain of the wood on the arm of Qui-Gon's chair, the faint rustle of cotton as his master shifted, the smoky tannin of the dark liquid between his hands: every sensation was expanded and imbued with the Force, till he could almost reach out to touch the living things these materials all had once been.

With the same lucidity, he knew it made no matter what Qui-Gon found in the documents he was pouring over. Obi-Wan would stay with him: facing the Council, facing the dangers on Malabar, in exile if it came to that. He'd been a fool to even contemplate training with another master. This was where he belonged.

The tea cooled.

He was jolted out of his reverie by Qui-Gon reaching blindly for the cup on the desk.

"No, Master," he said quietly, reaching up to catch at Qui-Gon's sleeve. "It's too cold to drink now. Shall I get you another?"

Qui-Gon muttered something incomprehensible, but his hand slipped to Obi-Wan's shoulder and held him in place when he would have risen, then shifted to ruffle his hair. This time, Obi-Wan stretched into the touch, enjoying the pressure of Qui-Gon's fingertips against his scalp before the hand was withdrawn once more.

Regretfully he felt them go. It would be nice to have those fingers in his hair again -- and on his body too, playing with him as they had last night.

He let his thoughts drift, idly wondering whether Qui-Gon would be willing to bring him to orgasm again. He wouldn't even have to put his mouth on Obi-Wan: those long, enfolding fingers would be enough. Perhaps his master would never have considered the idea if it hadn't been for the circumstances last night. Gods, Obi-Wan had never considered it before last night, either! But now that he'd discovered his master's touch, he found to his surprise that he wasn't willing to give it up.

It seemed ludicrous that they should not give each other pleasure when they couldn't find it elsewhere, as would be the case on Malabar; so Obi-Wan reasoned with himself. Maybe even on the long spaceflight there: what was the point in them each masturbating in their separate bunks when there could be so much more joy to be had, using their hands and mouths on each other?

But Qui-Gon would have to consent to it -- and although Obi-Wan had been so confident demanding a second pleasuring last night, his nerve had deserted him now. He stole a look at his master, sitting with head bowed over the datapad, hair almost brushing the screen. For all that Qui-Gon was so close, the cloth of his leggings rustling against Obi-Wan's arm, his master's distraction with the Dahometh records was not the only thing that stopped Obi-Wan reaching out to him.

Qui-Gon had needed to come last night, but he hadn't woken Obi-Wan up to ask for it.

He winced. Had Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan would be less generous than his master? Or had he not cared to ask, no matter what answer he expected?

In the end, he'd seemed eager enough, his cock weeping into Obi-Wan's cupped palm as they lay together in the darkness. But any man would have been eager, caught so close to the throes of orgasm and stayed before he could complete the final stroke. Any man, even a Jedi Master, would have moaned for completion then, no matter who had touched him.

Yet it could not be disinterest, for earlier on in the evening Qui-Gon had licked at Obi-Wan's body with relish and a hungry curiosity. Obi-Wan shifted uneasily, putting his own cold tea to one side. That curiosity was not Qui-Gon's alone. For whatever reason the Force had denied Qui-Gon the easing of his need, Obi-Wan was coming to regret the lost opportunity. With the tang of the tea still on his tongue, he admitted to himself that he wanted to know how that big cock tasted.

He'd seen it occasionally, not erect but impressive all the same, when they'd shared bathing facilities or swum together. He'd touched it in the dark, and he'd been reamed by it. But to taste it, to slip the soft foreskin down and tickle the slit with his tongue... And how deeply could he make his master moan the next time? For he had no doubts that Qui-Gon would moan for him, that big body arching up into his mouth...

Obi-Wan almost blushed when he realised he was growing hard. Strange that the image should affect him so strongly, when he hadn't become erect at any point earlier in the morning. Surreptitiously he stretched the robe over his knees to hide the revealing bulge.

How silly; why had he and Qui-Gon never thought of doing this before? He'd been so blind to the concept of Qui-Gon as a lover --

"That's it!"

Obi-Wan jumped in surprise, confused by the sudden interruption to his train of thought. "What's it?"

"The answer. Or at least a better question to set the Council by their heels. You're a wonder, Obi-Wan!"

"You mean..." But Qui-Gon couldn't have possibly followed what he'd been thinking...

"There it is!" Qui-Gon thrust the datapad into Obi-Wan's hands and pointed to a trigonal group on the right of the screen. "If Old Dahometh was anything like Nu Meth Dahometh in grammatical structure, then subject and object were defined by their order in the sentence, rather than by any qualifying suffixes or prefixes."

"Yeesss..." Obi-Wan said dubiously, struggling to interpret the first of the twenty or so symbols grouped in three neat triangles of descending size. His mind had hardly been on alien syntax during the past few minutes.

Qui-Gon was out of his chair now, shoving it back against the wall. "There's been some academic argument that those," he stabbed a finger at a scatter of tiny dots in one corner, "might be the qualifiers, saying who is doing what to whom. It's just as likely that they're purely decorative, since they don't appear in the paper Folios and Nu Meth has nothing like them."

"But hasn't Nu Meth Dahometh had a couple of thousand years to evolve from Old Dahometh? Qualifiers could easily get lost, especially once they started having contact with other cultures," Obi-Wan said, trying to recall what little he had learnt of Dahometh linguistics.

"Exactly the crux of the scholarly debate." Qui-Gon unknotted his sash with impatient fingers and flung it on the chair. "And a better starting point for a contest of pedantry in the Council I have yet to find."

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan said in bewilderment, watching Qui-Gon haul off his tunic and send it the way of the sash. "You've lost me. Which point do you mean?"

"Why, who penetrates whom, of course."

Obi-Wan's eyes went wide, and wider still as Qui-Gon began to unlace his leggings. "Don't you see, it all depends on the order in which you choose to read the trigons. If you start at the large one and work down, following strict word order the text reads that the Master penetrates the Apprentice."

Qui-Gon's leggings were pooled on the floor now, and, stark naked in the bright sunlight, he was rooting around on the desk. "Where did the wretched thing -- ah!" He seized on the tube of gel Obi-Wan had brought in that morning and twisted off the lid. "But one of the major ambiguities of the stone inscriptions is that they can equally well be read from the inside out. Which would reverse the parsing: the subject would become the object..."

"...and the Apprentice would penetrate the Master?" Obi-Wan hazarded, ogling from his vantage point on the floor as Qui-Gon hefted one foot up on to the top of the desk just beside his head.

"Exactly."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath as he saw Qui-Gon smear gel onto his hand and push one finger unceremoniously inside himself. "You want me to penetrate you?"

"Haven't I just said so?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing -- nor what he was seeing. No more than a foot away from his face, his master was perched on one leg, bending forward to ply himself open with his one of his own slicked fingers.

Open-mouthed, Obi-Wan let himself gape at the sight, paying no attention as the datapad slid off his lap. He knew the powerful musculature of those thighs and calves almost as well as he knew his own, but he was less well acquainted with the object of his recent ponderings: the long, thin penis resting on the bulge of heavy testicles pushed up to one side by Qui-Gon's hand between his legs.

Pale against the hair-dusted scrotum, it swelled towards the tip, thickening where the foreskin shielded the tender flesh of the head to give a truer indication of the girth Obi-Wan remembered breaching him. The delicate skin was redder there, still slightly sore from the attempt. Liberally sprinkled amongst the darker, coarser thatch on Qui-Gon's groin were fine grey hairs, turning almost to white on the pendulous sac. The pale strands, the muscles developed by decades of effort, the slight thickening around the waist: this was not a young man's body.

It was his master's body, and it was his master's crack just visible as Qui-Gon tilted his pelvis forward to touch deeper inside himself; it was his master's thick knuckle he could see pressing into the tiny opening...

Obi-Wan came fully erect at startling speed.

"You should be able to enter me easily enough -- though your cock isn't that much smaller than mine," Qui-Gon added appraisingly as he worked himself, nodding his chin at the tell-tale swelling between Obi-Wan's crossed legs. "Once we can truthfully say penetration has occurred," he continued, interrupting himself with a grunt of discomfort as he pushed in a second finger, "we mix issues of grammatical pedantry into the argument on substance and form. The Council could debate that for months; meanwhile, we'll be off to Malabar."

Only Qui-Gon could carry on a rational conversation so unconcernedly, while preparing himself to be fucked.

Obi-Wan was still trying to recover from his shock at watching his master do such an intimate thing -- he was a Jedi; surely he could handle the unexpected -- when Qui-Gon finished anointing himself. Qui-Gon pulled out his fingers with another soft grunt and lowered his leg to the ground, then crouched down beside Obi-Wan, thrusting forward the tube.

"Here, use this--"

His voice broke off as he took in Obi-Wan's disconcerted expression.

Obi-Wan watched him visibly catch his breath and reach for calm. Slowly he sat back on his heels, the proffered tube halfway between them.

"Well, Padawan? Will you prepare yourself for me?"

There was a gentleness to the question Obi-Wan had not expected, and a vulnerability that belied Qui-Gon's previous pragmatism.

Obi-Wan took the tube and fiddled with it, averting his eyes from Qui-Gon's flaccid penis. "Master, you don't have to do this."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the one who has to be penetrated: it's my duty in the Ritual, no matter what arguments we decide to make to the Council. You've already suffered this, years ago. You don't have to suffer it again." He swallowed and looked up at Qui-Gon. "I wouldn't ask that of you."

Qui-Gon's face was warmed by a slow smile. "It won't be on sufferance, Padawan," he said, his voice low. "I fear I'm not as altruistic as you believe: I could manage to enjoy it very well." He trailed his fingers down his apprentice's cheek, touch as ephemeral as the passage of a candle flame, and leaving as searing a heat behind.

This time it was Qui-Gon's own skin touching Obi-Wan, not a microgaunt. And this time it was Qui-Gon's heavy scent on those long fingers. His master had not even paused for a moment to ponder whether he would give himself to Obi-Wan, for all the agonising he had done last night just asking Obi-Wan to masturbate in front of him.

Obi-Wan began to tremble. He reached out for the tube, his fingers not quite steady, cold against Qui-Gon's warmth. Even in his clumsiness it was the work of a moment to pull his robe open and smear the cream over his erection, thick and chill against his swollen penis. It twitched at his touch; Qui-Gon's lips parted at the sight.

Hand shaking with the sudden surge of desire Qui-Gon's response sent through him, Obi-Wan reached up to mirror his master's caress along the bearded line of Qui-Gon's jaw. Sharp bristles smoothed under his stroking fingers. He saw Qui-Gon's eyes close, his nostrils flare as he took in a deep breath, and then Qui-Gon's body begin a fine trembling to match his own.

"Lie down for me," Obi-Wan whispered, enthralled by his handiwork.

"Obi-Wan -- " Qui-Gon's eyes opened again and he looked at Obi-Wan, all dazed confusion.

But that was alright. Obi-Wan could cope from here, now that they had finally broken through to this point.

"Lean back. That's it: all the way, now." Qui-Gon went willingly, his great body felled by the gentlest of strokes down his breastbone. He spread his knees and Obi-Wan slipped between them, hand continuing to roam on Qui-Gon's bare chest and stomach. Beneath the smooth skin Obi-Wan's fingertips sensed the firm resistance of heavy pectoral muscles, then the soft yielding of the tender flesh of Qui-Gon's belly.

He heard Qui-Gon moan. It was as deep a sound as Obi-Wan had just been hoping to bring forth from him.

His hand brushed over the head of the soft cock lying nestled below and he bent down, dropping a gentle kiss on the delicate skin. It stirred under his lips, but regretfully he left it, contenting himself with a single dart of his tongue against the patch of red which his own body had marked on Qui-Gon a few hours previously.

Even if the involuntary upward movement of Qui-Gon's hips to follow his retreating mouth could be construed as permission, this wasn't the time to claim the treat he'd not been offered the night before. This was the time to complete the Ritual, and here, at the last, their fate was in Obi-Wan's hands.

Sitting back on his heels he slipped the robe from his shoulders, feeling the sunlight fall warm upon his bared back as he folded it into a neat bundle. Qui-Gon's eyes followed the movement, his head bent forward awkwardly to hold Obi-Wan in view.

"Keep your head up," Obi-Wan said, leaning forward to tuck the bundle of cloth under his master's head. "I don't want to pull your hair."

Their bodies couldn't help but brush against each other as Obi-Wan stretched over his master to place the robe beneath his raised head, nipple sliding against nipple. With a sigh, Qui-Gon relaxed back against the improvised pillow. And, so close to those slightly-opened lips, Obi-Wan could not resist. He pressed his mouth against Qui-Gon's, felt his master start in surprise then yield beneath him. Force, the man was sweet, breath warm against his cheek as Obi-Wan plundered the willing, open mouth.

If Obi-Wan was taking, Qui-Gon was giving, his arms reaching up to wrap themselves round his padawan's body as his legs cradled Obi-Wan between them. Small sounds came from his throat, muffled by Obi-Wan's tongue winding against his; his fingers slid along Obi-Wan's ribs in eager exploration. Between Qui-Gon's thighs, Obi-Wan felt something stirring, protruding. His master was getting hard.

Obi-Wan released his mouth, nuzzling into the short beard despite the sound of protest which followed him. His movement tipped Qui-Gon's head back, arched his chest up. "I'll kiss you again soon," Obi-Wan promised against the swell of Qui-Gon's throat, his mouth trying to capture the vibrations of Qui-Gon's moaned dissent. "But let me in first."

Qui-Gon's breath caught as Obi-Wan slid a little down his body and nudged his thighs further apart. "Yes, Obi-Wan," he urged, his shoulders slumping back to the rug and his pelvis tilting up in an undulation that brought a groan from Obi-Wan's own mouth. "Do it, do it now--" He broke off with a low cry as Obi-Wan pushed into him.

Gazing down at Qui-Gon's face, caught in a rictus of tension, Obi-Wan shuddered at the tightness he had just breached. Qui-Gon's groin was pushing up to meet him, but his anus was still slightly resistant, not yet as generous as the rest of his body despite the gel easing the way.

But Qui-Gon gave himself no leeway. "Oh, more, Obi-Wan." His knees rocked up to Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Bracing himself on his elbows, Obi-Wan pushed deeper, forcing Qui-Gon's head back again. "Like that, my Master?" he whispered, his voice almost lost in the panting breaths from the man underneath him.

"Yes, yes," Qui-Gon answered him eagerly, wrapping his legs around Obi-Wan's waist. "Kiss me too..."

He tangled his fingers in his master's hair till the big body curved up enough for their mouths to meet again, Qui-Gon's hands finding purchase on his shoulders. They rocked together, Obi-Wan mesmerised by the heat of the two orifices he was penetrating. Smooth thrusts, deep into his master's anus and mouth, and oh, this felt so good, so right, and he couldn't believe he'd never entered this close, warm channel until now, never felt Qui-Gon moving so vital and alive beneath him, never rubbed tongue against tongue. It all seemed so natural, so familiar.

And yet there was much in it that was new. The scratch of Qui-Gon's moustache across his upper lip: he hadn't made love to a bearded man before. The sensation of being half-surrounded by such a large body. Qui-Gon's own ardour -- when, before today, had he ever imagined his master inflamed with passion? For there was no mistaking the rigid cock pressing into his stomach, or the desperate sounds Qui-Gon was making in the back of his throat, to be swallowed into Obi-Wan's mouth. His master's excitement was infectious, yet at the same time too fast, too urgent, as if all the pent-up lust from last night had overtaken him at once.

But this was Obi-Wan's Ritual, and their lovemaking was his to lead, not Qui-Gon's. Others might lie beneath their masters in passive submission, but not Qui-Gon's apprentices.

There was duty, too, to be considered.

Unwillingly Obi-Wan pulled back from their kiss, pushing Qui-Gon down when his master rose up on one elbow to follow him. The big man groaned and fell back to the makeshift pillow, moaning even more when Obi-Wan slowed the pace of his thrusts. "Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's face was bright red. "Don't stop! I'm going to come," and his own hand frantically sought his penis to pull on it.

Obi-Wan mercilessly closed his grip around Qui-Gon's wrist and dragged it away in a repetition of the previous night. "No, you're not," he said grimly, hanging on to his own control by just a thread. Pinning Qui-Gon's wrist to the rug, he reached down to close his fingers round the base of Qui-Gon's cock, squeezing hard enough to prevent the older man from climaxing.

"No!"

He ignored Qui-Gon's protest, keeping his grip tight until he was sure his master had come back from the brink and Qui-Gon's body had relaxed a little around his penis. Then he let go to balance himself between his master's thighs once more, catching his breath at the sight of Qui-Gon's cock. It rose purple-headed between them, puissant and inflamed. Obi-Wan spoke to Qui-Gon, but his words were meant as warning to the rod of flesh as much as to the man. "You're not to come yet, you understand me? You're a Jedi Master -- you can manage to control yourself for a while longer."

When Qui-Gon failed to answer, he challenged, "Well? Can't you?"

Qui-Gon hid his face with his hands, but not before Obi-Wan had seen the upset there. He couldn't remember Qui-Gon ever seeming so vulnerable before. His own frustration subsided a little.

"Ah, no, Master," he said, more kindly now. "Don't be ashamed. I didn't mean to taunt you. And I won't do this if it leads to shame between us." He stroked his hand over Qui-Gon's belly. "But you mustn't fear your own desire, Qui-Gon. If you want me, show me. Let me see."

He continued the gentle caress, tantalising and soothing at the same time, feeling muscles twitch beneath his touch until finally Qui-Gon lowered his hands. The desperate need in his face set Obi-Wan quivering. There was no control left in those burning blue eyes, only a hunger so devouring it could consume Obi-Wan if he let it. Yet Obi-Wan was not afraid.

"I didn't know until last night." Qui-Gon's voice was rough, raw. "Please, Obi-Wan, you must believe me." His fingers came to dig themselves into the soft inner flesh of Obi-Wan's arms. "I would never take advantage--"

"You should have," Obi-Wan interrupted. He kissed Qui-Gon softly till his master's hands relaxed again. "It would have been easier for us both." It was a light admonishment, made harsher by the long slow thrust accompanying it, that had his master's body clutching at him once more. "If you'd shown me you wanted me last night, I think I might have been allowed to let you come then. But you couldn't get up the nerve to ask me for it, could you? You had to remain silent, even after I'd come begging to you twice." He dragged in a calming breath, trying to centre himself before he thrust again, seeing the tendons cord on Qui-Gon's neck as he did so.

"I was a coward," Qui-Gon whispered. "I'd failed to consider I could want you, and then to find I did so badly -- it shook me. I couldn't have borne it if you said no." He touched a finger to Obi-Wan's lips. "It hurt enough when you said you weren't allowed to. But if you had said you didn't want to..." He hid his face again, against Obi-Wan's arm, and this time Obi-Wan let him.

"I've been no better," Obi-Wan confessed, stroking Qui-Gon's hair. It was soft beneath his fingers, half-freed from its tie. "If you were a coward, I was an idiot. I didn't even realise what I wanted until just now." Obi-Wan shuddered, remembering the blindness that would have demanded Qui-Gon's complicity in a forced taking. "I think we've paid the price today for our cowardice and stupidity."

Qui-Gon leaned back into his caress. "Fools and cowards both," he agreed, smiling up at his padawan with a new lightheartedness in his eyes. But when Obi-Wan began to push in again, he must have nudged Qui-Gon's prostate, because Qui-Gon gasped and all amusement died from him, his mouth falling open with gaping need. Obi-Wan stared, astounded at the sight: Qui-Gon in lust. This was his own dear master, but to see this face on him... To have Qui-Gon let him see...

He leaned into the thrust to kiss Qui-Gon's mouth once more, this time deep and sweet till they were both shivering. Kiss, and thrust, and trying to hold Qui-Gon's quickly-mounting passion in check while his own body reached readiness -- almost impossible, for every push in took Qui-Gon spiralling beyond him, moaning and wrapping his legs even tighter round Obi-Wan's waist.

After a few moments, Obi-Wan collapsed back down on Qui-Gon's chest. "This isn't going to work, you know." His words were muffled against Qui-Gon's warm, sweaty skin as he lay there, terribly aware of the hard length pressing into his stomach.

"You're right." Qui-Gon gave a ragged sigh. "I don't suppose, since I can't control myself, you'd just fuck me into the carpet, would you?"

Obi-Wan couldn't stifle his laughter. "What a request, and from my own Master. It's going to take something like that to make me come, after you wasted me last night." And how good it was, to lie here joking with his cock buried in this man, even with Qui-Gon's need a thrum of dissatisfaction beneath him and his master muttering under his breath about the inadequate stamina of youth.

"There's an order we have to do this in -- it is a Ritual, after all," Obi-Wan reproved gently. "At this rate you'll be coming long before me."

"I don't see what's wrong with that," Qui-Gon groused.

Obi-Wan smiled into the slick skin beneath him. "This is my Ritual and we're doing it my way." Qui-Gon's grumbling eased as Obi-Wan gave him a sharp prod with his cock before sitting back upright. "Pass me your hair-tie. It might do."

For all the complaints, his master was swift to pull the leather tie out, dropping it into Obi-Wan's outstretched hand. He watched with stoic resignation as Obi-Wan brushed away the curling pubic hairs and fastened the thin strip around the base of Qui-Gon's penis, tightly enough to constrict some of the flow of blood or semen. All the time, Obi-Wan's cock was snug inside him.

Obi-Wan finished the tie with a knot. "You can consider this the revenge of the Force for that sin of cowardice. After all, it has to punish you more, since you're the older and ought to have known better."

"The Force doesn't take revenge," Qui-Gon remonstrated, his hands clenched on Obi-Wan's arms as his padawan drove home into him.

"Oh, no?" Obi-Wan gave a breathless laugh. "Say that after I've fucked you into the carpet, as requested. Now remember, don't come!"

And he began to pick up the tempo, eager now to reach his own climax. Each thrust was faster than the one before, quick and hard, Qui-Gon's body finally open enough to allow him swift passage. Obi-Wan had thought Qui-Gon would lie patiently under him, but instead his master met the furious pace, looping his legs up over Obi-Wan's shoulders to let Obi-Wan drive deeper yet. His short gasps were a counterpoint to Obi-Wan's urgent lunges as he bore his padawan's weight on his doubled thighs, tilting his pelvis up into every stroke, his calves heavy on Obi-Wan's back, his balls rubbing against the swell of Obi-Wan's stomach.

"Need more," Obi-Wan panted, then he bit his lip between his teeth, drawing back to the entrance to Qui-Gon's body. Now each stroke was short, shallow, jabbing into the tightness of Qui-Gon's anus only to pull back again as fast as he could. His foreskin rubbed against the portal, making his master moan under him.

But Obi-Wan was too far gone to worry about pushing Qui-Gon to climax. "Oh gods, Master, touch me -- please!" he begged, his hips jerking faster against the delicious friction of Qui-Gon's body. He groaned as Qui-Gon responded immediately, snaking a hand between them to send his fingernails raking down the tender protrusion of Obi-Wan's nipples.

"Yes, my Padawan, my Obi-Wan. Come now," his master's voice urged him, with an unaccustomed quaver.

Obi-Wan felt the tightening and rising of his balls at last. He made one final, deep thrust, surprising a cry out of Qui-Gon, and then came, his own cry echoing in the room. Qui-Gon called out again as he received Obi-Wan's hot seed into his body -- or perhaps it was the weight of his padawan collapsing down on him, careless in rapture, that triggered the shout. Obi-Wan couldn't tell; he was utterly caught up in the spasms of pleasure racking him. His cock pulsed weakly, giving up the last of his ejaculate to the sound of his low groans.

He came back to himself as Qui-Gon sighed beneath him. The last lunge had buried him deep in his master, and his stirring mind noted the pressure surrounding his slowly subsiding erection, as well as the damp warmth of Qui-Gon's sac pressed below his stomach, the soft hairs curling to tickle his skin. Scrabbling for coherent thought, he was relieved to find that Qui-Gon's penis was still hard against him. Either Qui-Gon's control or the tie had served them well; he suspected the latter. Slowly he eased himself off his master's thighs, pausing for a tiny kiss to the tender skin just inside Qui-Gon's knee.

Qui-Gon moaned, a sound as soft as the wind soughing through branches, and moaned again as Obi-Wan withdrew from his body, lowering his abused legs to the thick pile of the rug. He lay there, eyes closed but face naked to Obi-Wan, and his hands were clenched by his side. "A moment now, my Master," Obi-Wan whispered, fingernails pulling the knot in the tie free. Qui-Gon acknowledged the promise with a small shifting of his hips, but no more, as if he were absorbed in some other sensation which made him oblivious to Obi-Wan's movements, while his padawan slipped from between his legs to straddle him.

But his eyes shot open when Obi-Wan lowered himself down onto Qui-Gon's penis.

It glided into Obi-Wan's body, even and sure. The gel he'd anointed himself with after his shower that morning eased the way, but even without it Obi-Wan was certain Qui-Gon's prick would have slipped in, a blade finding the sheath which had moulded to its shape over the passage of years. He didn't hesitate, just let himself slide down over Qui-Gon's cock to envelop it.

Qui-Gon gasped, reaching out too late to slow his descending padawan. Obi-Wan laughed and caught his hands, using them to steady himself for the final few inches. There was pressure, yet only enough for him to feel filled, replete. It was the same snugness as Qui-Gon's arms around him, cradling him, but taken deep within. He had adjusted perfectly to match the great length inside.

His master's cock in his body.

Sighing, he settled himself down while his master watched with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"It's alright," he murmured. "It fits, now."

Qui-Gon gave a disbelieving huff, half laugh and half worry. "You're sure?" His fingers squeezed tight, as if the pain he imagined for his padawan were his own.

"I'm sure." Obi-Wan brought one of those tensed hands up to kiss it, savouring the slight stretch the movement caused. He was perfectly balanced: at the very edge of fullness before his body could find discomfort, yet close enough to titillate himself -- or Qui-Gon -- with the smallest effort. Hiding a smile in Qui-Gon's palm, he squeezed, ever so slightly.

"Obi-Wan!" His master's shocked expression made him laugh out loud, and he did it again, stronger this time, relishing Qui-Gon's involuntary thrust into the constriction.

"Good?" he asked breathlessly, his teeth gleaming in a triumphant grin.

"Very good." Qui-Gon smiled back, slow and joyous.

"Shall I ride you, my Master?" He brushed his lips over Qui-Gon's knuckles. "Or would I be too slow for you? You can roll me over, if you like."

"Are you sure you're ready for this? I can wait a moment..." Qui-Gon freed his hand to brush tentatively at the point where their bodies joined, his finger caressing the tie of flesh that now encircled the root of his penis. Obi-Wan quivered at the touch against this most sensitive place, made more tender for being stretched around Qui-Gon's girth.

"No need to wait, Qui-Gon," he said, very earnest. "I'm ready for you now."

"Then ride me," Qui-Gon responded huskily, slipping his hand up to fondle Obi-Wan's balls. "Please. I'm not sure I can last out for you--"

"You don't have to," Obi-Wan interrupted. "It's time I pleasured you for a change. Just lie back and enjoy."

He captured Qui-Gon's hands again, brought them upright till they were braced elbow to floor, and then curled his fingers into his master's. It was just enough to give him the leverage he needed for his first rise and fall. Slow, this one, yet Qui-Gon moaned deep in his throat and his eyelids fluttered shut. Obi-Wan watched his throat work as he swallowed. No, Qui-Gon wouldn't last long.

Obi-Wan did it once more, slow still, savouring the slide of that soft-skinned cock against the secret places within him. Its rub over his prostate sent a wave of warmth through him: not the sharp lust which had consumed him before, but a sweet pleasure at the intimacy of having Qui-Gon touch him so deep.

"Now to it, my Master," he whispered, and began to move faster on Qui-Gon's body. Qui-Gon responded to the command, pulling up his knees to let him push into Obi-Wan's descents. Obi-Wan watched him avidly, charting the flush rising up his chest, the tendons straining in his neck, the deep breaths followed by grunts of release as Obi-Wan bore down to cover him. Sweaty, lined face crimson with his impending climax, he was anything but elegant, anything but beautiful.

And Obi-Wan loved him.

Perhaps at some level he always had, but now it rose up to greet him, a wave as relentless as the orgasm that had finally swept Qui-Gon to its crest. Obi-Wan watched helplessly as his master was tossed to the peak and then thrown under, his mouth wide to gasp for air as his last breath became a cry. Beautiful, even in the ugliness of ecstasy, and Obi-Wan loved him with all his heart.

The heat of Qui-Gon's seed rushing into his body made Obi-Wan blink, dislodging a tear. Trembling, he wiped it away, then lowered himself to lie cradled on Qui-Gon's still heaving chest. Just as Qui-Gon's wilting cock slipped free of Obi-Wan's body, his arms came up to enfold his padawan. But they were no longer the safe beachhead they once had been, for Qui-Gon had been swept away by the same swell as had taken him, and they were both lost.

They lay there, flotsam abandoned by the tide, for some time.

It was Obi-Wan who stirred at last, sitting up when Qui-Gon started to shiver underneath him. The sun had passed beyond the window, leaving the room in shadow.

"Master?" he whispered. "You're getting cold. You should dress."

"I can't move." Qui-Gon gave a slow smile, opening his eyes, as he repeated Obi-Wan's claim from the night before. "Let me stay here, or take me to my bed. I don't mind."

His words came sluggishly, yet there was so much unburdened joy in his regard that Obi-Wan caught his breath and leant down, intending to kiss Qui-Gon once more. But another shiver, visible to the eye this time, stopped him.

"Come on. To bed -- we're not staying here." Obi-Wan got to his knees beside Qui-Gon, his own flesh goosepimpling. "Put your arms around my neck and I'll carry you."

"Always ambitious, my Padawan," Qui-Gon answered. Nevertheless, he put an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders and suffered himself to be lifted, Obi-Wan picking him up with one arm under his knees and another behind his long back. It was an awkward position: even ignoring Qui-Gon's greater weight, his height alone made it an impossible task without the Force to assist. But they were used to managing it. Qui-Gon tucked his head into the curve of Obi-Wan's neck as he was carried through the salon, lying quiet in his padawan's safe hold. His face was hot against Obi-Wan's skin, and his breathing had grown deep and slow, as if he were slipping into sleep.

Manoeuvring his burden with ease through the doorways, Obi-Wan had a sudden memory of learning to do this. It had been after the mission to Flt'hyne, when Qui-Gon had shattered his kneecap with a small army in pursuit of them both, and Obi-Wan, no more than fifteen and not big for his age, had been incapable of lifting him. He had had to drag Qui-Gon on a rough litter for miles, wincing at every smothered gasp of pain. The day they finally returned to Temple, Obi-Wan had requisitioned a scrap droid body roughly Qui-Gon's weight and height, and started to practice levitation.

He must have been a sight, brows knit, struggling to pick up the awkward load a good foot taller than himself. "It will come, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon had remonstrated with amusement from his floatseat, his knee still immobilised under bacta pads. "No need to push yourself so hard. Why not try starting with your boot? Size makes no difference, but you might find a smaller object less mentally daunting."

"I don't want to move a smaller object," Obi-Wan had stubbornly replied. "This is what I need to carry: I don't care about anything else."

And Qui-Gon had smiled, humour laced with sympathy for the ordeal which was fuelling Obi-Wan's determination, and had left him in peace.

Now, laying a drowsing Qui-Gon down on the crumpled sheets, Obi-Wan reflected that the hard-learnt skill had served him well: he'd carried Qui-Gon too many times since. But not to Qui-Gon's own bed, and never naked. Snatching the coverlet from where he had left it tumbled on the floor, Obi-Wan pulled it over the nude, shivering figure, increasingly concerned. It had been cool in the study, but not enough to cause this reaction in his master.

"Qui-Gon?" he asked softly, hitching the cover over one bare shoulder. "Do you want to sleep?"

He took the opportunity to check Qui-Gon's temperature under the pretence of sweeping sweat-sticky hair from his forehead, the tie having been abandoned with all their clothes in the study. The skin, indeed, was unnaturally hot, and Qui-Gon was slow to answer, roused from his inertia. But when he did, he gave Obi-Wan a knowing look from overbright eyes; his padawan had obviously failed to fool him. "It's a fever, but it will be gone soon."

"I'll get Master Ibbith." Where a day ago he would have wasted time coaxing Qui-Gon into the healer's visit, Obi-Wan had no tolerance for such subtleties now. He would have been out the door, but Qui-Gon caught his wrist and pulled him off balance to sit on the bed.

"There's nothing Ibbith can do. A few hours' sleep and it will pass." He captured his padawan's swinging braid and gave it a tug. "Don't fret, Obi-Wan."

"How do you know?" Obi-Wan challenged, laying the back of his hand against Qui-Gon's throat openly this time. The skin there was even hotter, but it was the suddenness of the fever which really concerned him. "This isn't some evil disease you've brought home from visiting the initiates, is it?" he added, the awful suspicion just dawning. Last time it had been ribbipox.

His master laughed, a full-bodied laugh suffused with wickedness and happiness together. "I caught it from you, Padawan mine."

"But I haven't got any--" His words stumbled to a halt as realisation hit.

"Should I react any less to you than I did to Yoda?" Qui-Gon said gently, but with great satisfaction. He reached up to brush his fingers along Obi-Wan's cheekbone, the other hand still tethering him by his braid.

"You mean it's my..." he swallowed, overpowered by the thought. "It's my semen in you."

Qui-Gon nodded, his face solemn.

"Mine." His hand dropped to Qui-Gon's abdomen, the coverlet separating flesh from flesh. His eyes were wide with wonder. "You're feverish for me."

"Incurably," Qui-Gon said, the wickedness returning, and suddenly Obi-Wan was conscious of his own nudity as he perched there, in those familiar surroundings, wearing not a stitch and with Qui-Gon's own semen slowly leaking out of him onto the coverlet. His master's gaze raked over his body again as if he appreciated the sight, but there was more than lust or fever in that look. It was the love which combined with them to leave Obi-Wan shaking inside, overwhelmed by the depth of his response. It was too much to take in, too confusing--

He curbed his own emotions ruthlessly. There were practical matters to be attended to, before he could concentrate on the implications of this bouleversement. In a voice as calm as he could manage, he said, "It took days for you to get better last time. Should I contact the Council to delay the mission?"

"No need." Qui-Gon rested his hand over Obi-Wan's. "My control over the Unifying Force is somewhat better than it was then. Let me sleep in peace for a couple of hours. I'm sure you could use the time well yourself." He tugged on Obi-Wan's braid again.

"I could," Obi-Wan admitted with reluctance. "The Ritual is complete, but there are truths in it still whispering...I can only just glimpse them. A few hours to think on them would be welcome." He gave a shuddering sigh. Those truths were unlikely to be wholly pleasant; otherwise, the Ritual would not have been named one of Acquiescence. "Are you sure you want me to leave you?"

"I'll recover faster without you near."

Qui-Gon must have noted Obi-Wan's quick hurt, as quickly concealed, for he went on, "You don't think Yoda stayed by my bunk to speed me better, do you? He was making sure the infection took; making it worse, if anything. The closer you are to me, the more I'll react, until I have this under control."

"Oh." Obi-Wan had not quite understood that. "So this is only a kind of --" he searched for the idea "-- of vaccine, then."

Qui-Gon stopped toying with his braid, and curled it tightly round his fist instead. "Obi-Wan," he said, and all the teasing lightheartedness had gone, though the fever burned brighter in him yet. "You must know how much more it is than that to me. I want you. I crave you."

Obi-Wan sat speechless, stunned by such an open declaration, but Qui-Gon did not wait for his response. "If I were free from duties and missions, I'd ask you to take me again, now, even if I were to burst into flame from the heat of your seed inside me." He caught his breath for a moment, and rocked his hips on the bed, as if the semen still there were burning him deep. His voice was shaking when he spoke again. "I love you, my Padawan, in more ways than I ever thought. There is no time for me to show you how much -- never any time!" and he tossed his head fretfully on the pillow. "But I love you in this moment, beyond all moments. You must know..."

"Hush, Qui-Gon. Calm yourself." Obi-Wan wiped the sweat from his master's brow again, only to have the older man shudder under his touch. "I should go. I'm making you worse, aren't I?"

"It won't last." Qui-Gon sank back into the pillows, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. He let Obi-Wan's braid fall from his grasp. "Be over soon."

"The sooner if you sleep." Obi-Wan tucked the coverlet over his master's shoulders once more. "I'll leave you now. Call if you need anything -- anything at all."

"One thing. Kiss me."

It was a hoarse, sleep-rasped command, and Qui-Gon was already dropping into slumber, but Obi-Wan bent to him anyway, brushing his mouth against Qui-Gon's hot, dry lips. They opened beneath him and he deepened the kiss, even knowing he should not, pressing his tongue into Qui-Gon's mouth and hearing his master moan.

When they finally parted, Qui-Gon was shuddering helplessly beneath him. "Go," he said, his voice barely audible.

"I'll be in the sunroom if you need me. Just call -- I'll hear." Reluctantly Obi-Wan stood and backed to the door, then stopped. It was with relief that he heard Qui-Gon's breathing easing already, slowing and deepening as he drifted off.

"Sleep well, my love," Obi-Wan whispered, and closed the door behind him.

Obi-Wan didn't measure time by the beating of living hearts: he measured it by the slow compression of matter into planets, counting out the seconds as micron-thin layers of dust adhering to rock. It was three hours -- twelve ko -- before Qui-Gon slipped open the door to the balcony and came to settle down opposite him, stirring him from his meditation.

Wrapped in a cloak despite the heat of the sun, he had been kneeling on a cushion, facing out to the bustle of life which was Coruscant at mid-day. Qui-Gon chose to sit on the ground, crossing his long legs as he leant back against the railing to face his padawan, his leggings a thin protection against the rough surface beneath him. He'd tidied his hair and slipped on his tunics, but he wore nothing warmer. Obi-Wan saw that the shivering appeared to have gone as quickly as it had come, although Qui-Gon was a little paler than usual.

"You're feeling better now?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "And you, my Padawan? Have you found the truths you were seeking?" He reached out and traced the track of a tear down Obi-Wan's cheek with tender fingertips. "It looks to have been a hard search."

"Harder than I'd thought." He hadn't realised he'd wept, but the skin underneath his eyes was stiff with salt.

Qui-Gon sighed and let his hand drop. "For some Jedi -- strong Jedi, good people -- this Ritual means nothing. They drop their leggings, open their arses, and in half an hour it is all over. Or so I've heard them say. I wish it had been the same for you, Obi-Wan."

"With you for a Master and Yoda for a Grand-Master, I suppose I was doomed."

"You make your own fate," Qui-Gon replied, a bit sharply.

He studied Obi-Wan's face when Obi-Wan flinched at the words. "Will you tell me? You don't have to, but perhaps I can help ease your pain."

"It doesn't hurt anymore." Obi-Wan sniffed and wiped his face on the corner of his robe. "Oh, that's not altogether true, and I suppose it will hurt from time to time, but I have made my choice, Master. The hardest part was understanding that there was a choice at all."

"Between being a Jedi," Qui-Gon probed cautiously, "or being something else?"

Obi-Wan smiled, a feeble effort. "No, that was Xan's question, not mine. If they denied me my knighthood and exiled me for years on a desert rock, I'd still be a Jedi. The question is, what kind of a Jedi? The one I wanted to be -- or the one the Force needs me to be?"

"Tell me what you wanted." Qui-Gon folded his hands into the sleeves of his outer tunic.

Obi-Wan brushed away a fallen thread from the band tying his braid. "A child's dream."

"A man's desire. Tell me."

This time Obi-Wan's smile was more genuine. "Do you know how famous you are, Qui-Gon Jinn?"

Surprise flitted across Qui-Gon's face. "Infamous, more like. A master who's lost two padawans, a renegade to the Council and a troublemaker for the Senate. At least, that's how the story went, last time I listened."

Obi-Wan had heard a different version. "The greatest warrior of our age, most notable of all Yoda's many apprentices, hero of a thousand adventures, Master by the time you were thirty. Every padawan in this building knows your name -- yes," when Qui-Gon would have interrupted, "and every Temple in the Order would be honoured to have you visit. They might be scared stiff of what you'd get up to while you were there, but that's another matter."

Qui-Gon shook his head in disavowal, but Obi-Wan knew he was not so naive as to be unaware of his own reputation. He'd used it often enough in missions to pave the way or cower the opposition. "Are you treating my notoriety, then, as a standard you feel you have to live up to? I've never told you to strive for fame, Obi-Wan."

"No. But I want it." He didn't quite look at Qui-Gon as he made this confession. He was ashamed of what he was going to say; but, more than that, he knew it to be only part of the truth, and not the greater part, either. He could only hope that his notoriously perceptive master would accept it as the whole, and not look any further.

"I've always dreamed of fame," he said, "since I was an initiate, from the creche even. It was one of the reasons that I first longed to be your padawan, rather than Master Mace's, or Master Gallia's. Even Master Yoda wouldn't have done: there's not much glory in being small and green, after all."

Qui-Gon dutifully laughed at that, but his eyes were serious as he watched Obi-Wan. "So there's glory in fighting? In being a warrior?"

Obi-Wan shook his head dismissively. "I thought so when I was seven, yes. I have grown up a bit since then. Anyway, glory is wonderful for the day you earn it, and the week you enjoy it, but it doesn't live on. I wanted fame." He couldn't hide the hunger in his voice, the old longing that hadn't yet been fully tamped down.

"The opinions of others has always mattered so much to you, Obi-Wan. Too much, perhaps."

"Oh, I don't want to be famous to them," Obi-Wan gestured at the aircars whizzing silently past through the traffic lanes, and the tall buildings thronged with life forms from all over the galaxy. "I want to be sure of my place in the Temple, but I don't care whether or not other knights whisper and point me out in the hallways the way they do you. It's not the now that I care about."

"What, then?"

"It's the future. I dreamed of doing something -- some one thing -- that would let my name be remembered for the next five hundred years. Something that initiates would learn about, or that scholars would study. I don't want to be a stranger to our descendents, Master."

He sighed and looked up at the satellites overhead, bright enough to wink down on the planet even through the noonday sunshine. "The universe is so huge. Don't you feel it when you touch the Unifying Force? Such expanses of time and space, yet all ordered, all held in structures. It's the void beyond which frightens me, Master. I don't want to be condemned to the void. I want my existence to be marked, clear to see, even when I've died."

"So joining the Force at the last isn't enough for you?" Qui-Gon leant over to pluck another errant thread from Obi-Wan's braid tie, holding it up to the light to see it more clearly. "You want to conquer time. No mean feat, my Padawan, even for a great Jedi."

Obi-Wan hung his head. "That's part of the submission the Force is asking me to give: that I never become great in my own right. If I follow where it leads, I will always be the other one, the footnote padawan to a famous master, maybe even one day the footnote master to a great padawan -- but never marked as important in my own right. Just as you're the one they talk about now, Qui-Gon, they'll be telling the stories about someone else when they bother to mention me. And the worst of it is that it is a choice. I could have the undying name I was seeking, if I wanted."

"So sure are you?" Qui-Gon asked Yoda's favoured question, quietly, gently, peering at the thread he held between his fingers.

"I think so." Obi-Wan gave a shuddering sigh. "Always in motion the future is, and I've had very few sureties in my life, very few things I would swear were bound to happen, or had happened just so. Perhaps that's why I look outside for the black and white, as you call them, rather than trying to determine them for myself. But I always knew I was meant to be a Jedi. And I know I could be one of the most famous of all the Jedi, if I chose."

His voice dropped. "Or I could choose to go with you."

Qui-Gon grew very still. "So I'm the one who precludes you from greatness, then?"

"I fear so, my Master."

"Why do you think this?" Qui-Gon's voice was sharply accusatory as he let the thread fall from his fingers unregarded, swivelling to face his padawan. "Just because I am famous now, I see no reason for you to live in my shadow all your days. Have you had a vision? Or is this just another one of those feelings of yours?" His eyes blazed down on Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan drew up his knees and wrapped his arms round them, staring unseeing at his feet. "I didn't need a vision. It's there in the structures of the Ritual, if you care to look. Can't you see it, Qui-Gon?"

"No, I cannot." Qui-Gon's anger tainted the air between them. "Explain what you mean."

Obi-Wan chose his words slowly, aware of how much Qui-Gon loathed theoretical arguments. "The Ritual -- all rituals -- are a focus of the Unifying Force, for they span time and space, transcending both just as the Unifying Force does. They link ancestors to their descendents: endless mirrors in one long sequence. When Yoda cut off your braid, you knew he had performed that same action for nineteen padawans before you. You knew his master had performed it for him. You were all connected for that one moment in time, that shared experience."

"We are individuals," Qui-Gon retorted. "We come to a ritual with our own presuppositions, our own beliefs and personalities. We might share the surface actions, but we warp each ritual to fit our interior selves."

"Yes, each mirror distorts a little," Obi-Wan argued back. "The ritual might even be changed in small degrees, until finally it means something completely different, or nothing at all. But nevertheless, if you trace it through the people who've performed it, you can see the links joining them."

Obi-Wan glanced up at Qui-Gon's stern face. "I think the Jedi took this ritual from Dahometh because it's so powerfully linked to the Unifying Force that it can mirror the future, as well as the past. And perhaps it comes to you and me more purely, because it was Yoda himself who handed it on to us. You, me, Xanatos: for all of us it was more than just baring our arses."

"Master to apprentice." Qui-Gon sighed, the fierce gaze attenuating. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, fingering the place where it had been broken.

"You can see how your life has echoed what happened in your Ritual, can't you?" Obi-Wan asked, palm up in an imploring gesture. "You gave your submission to the Unifying Force, and it marked you apart from the others. Rituals should bind the participants into a community; but with you, it was the opposite. You should have done it in Temple, but you went to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. Instead of returning to your yearmates afterwards, you went into isolation on Dagobah for months. And when you came back..."

"I didn't really fit in any more. They didn't know what to do with a padawan who wasn't twenty yet, but wouldn't defer to his masters in his interpretation of the Force." Qui-Gon said it without bitterness, but Yoda had told Obi-Wan about the battles which had raged on the Council, as to whether a wild card like Padawan Jinn ought to be allowed to attempt the Trials at all.

"Isn't it true to say you didn't care whether you fitted in or not?"

"Fitting in doesn't matter," Qui-Gon said, his hand slashing dismissively through the air.

"It does to me," Obi-Wan replied quietly, his chin set. "I want my place in the structures of the Temple. I'm happy in them. But I know you don't understand that."

Qui-Gon looked about to argue, then sighed and settled back against the railings of the balcony. "You're right, Obi-Wan. I have an intellectual knowledge of it -- I could recite your sermon about obeying the Council by rote, if you wanted -- but I don't understand it here," he touched his chest lightly, "in my heart. Perhaps a man can only have so many masters, after all. The Force in all its aspects took whatever submission I had to give, the day Yoda took me, and left me nothing else."

"I know." Obi-Wan felt the prick of tears beginning again and shut his lids tight, determined not to let them fall. "I couldn't ask you to change that, not for a mere padawan's comfort."

Beside him, he heard Qui-Gon shift on the hard stone. "I have tried to moderate my behaviour for your sake, Padawan, if not always successfully. Ever since that mission to Delos, in fact; you would probably have been horrified if you'd known me before." Obi-Wan had been all of fourteen then, still smarting from his long period on trial after the debacle on Melidaan, and not ready to face a drawn-out battle with the Council over field tactics. "When I saw how upset it made you, I decided it was time to mend my ways in the small things, even though the large ones were beyond me."

"You tried to change -- for me?" Obi-Wan opened one eye to squint in the bright sunlight at Qui-Gon. He'd never imagined himself as having that much impact on his wilful master.

"Yes." The answer was gruff, yet it made Obi-Wan's breath catch, even though Qui-Gon qualified it immediately: "But I don't know if I was able to change enough for what you needed." He gave a dry laugh. "I can see why you might think the Ritual reflects our past, Padawan, given that it has nearly brought us to yet another almighty argument with the Council."

Obi-Wan smiled wanly. "I was just grateful you'd be willing to risk a row to keep me with you." He rested his chin on his knees, contemplating the railings in front of him. "But it mirrors our lives in other ways, too. Most of the Jedi I know divide their loyalties between their masters and their friends, or between the Temple and the family they've left behind. But for me, it's always the two of us, against everyone else. And after the Ritual, what are we doing but dashing off again, for a year in much greater isolation?" He noticed that Qui-Gon remained silent, saying nothing in disagreement this time. "It does seem that my life remains in rotation about yours, Qui-Gon. It's as if the Ritual were saying I'll spend my whole life working towards your goals, rather than my own."

Qui-Gon reached out to touch the sleeve of Obi-Wan's robe, fingering the soft material. "Even if the Ritual mirrors the past, does that mean it mirrors the future too? Look at Xani. If you were to judge from his Ritual, he found the submission hard but in the end he managed it. He gave himself over to the Force totally. Yet six years later he was a renegade and a murderer." He tugged at the sleeve, begging attention. "Surely he disproves your theory?"

Obi-Wan didn't want to say it. He didn't want to watch the hurt bloom in Qui-Gon's eyes.

But it had to be said. He covered Qui-Gon's hand with his own, stroking the long fingers tenderly. "Had you considered, my Master, that perhaps what Xanatos gave you at the end of the Ritual was only a rote submission, and nothing more?"

"No!" Qui-Gon's face contorted in vehement denial. "He did it with me! He let me in to his body, he accepted my seed!"

Quietly but implacably, Obi-Wan put the question. "So sure are you? Did he submit in his heart, as well as with his body? Or did he offer you nothing more than a lie?"

"I--" Qui-Gon broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice was a thread of sound. "I don't know." He turned his head away, but his fingers clutched at Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan returned their tight clasp, but considerately he averted his eyes, looking up at the air taxis hurtling past their balcony instead. The ships moved silently, the noise of their passing deadened by the transparisteel separating them from the two Jedi crouched below. In the quiet, Obi-Wan couldn't prevent himself hearing the short, harsh sounds that were suspiciously like a grown man choking down tears.

Each one tore at him, but, horrifyingly, each one angered him too. Xanatos had never been worthy of the pains Qui-Gon had taken with him, much less those he had suffered at Xanatos' hands.

The sounds stopped, but it was minutes more before the tight grip on his hand slackened. Obi-Wan turned back to find Qui-Gon resting against the railings, eyes dry and bright though there was a telltale dampness on one sleeve of his tunic.

Carefully, deliberately, Qui-Gon hid the small patch of moisture, resting his hands on his thighs flat against the thin cotton. He held them as still as if they had been clasped in his robe, and his voice was equally steady when he spoke.

"You may be right. He is dead and only the Force knows now. But even if it happened like that, I won't lay the blame at his door alone. Perhaps I fooled myself, or let him fool me. I wanted to believe."

"But it was his choice, in the end," Obi-Wan could not help protesting, although he knew it would do no good. "We are free men: we all make our own choices, or so you told me this morning."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Would you defend me even from myself, Obi-Wan? Still, the mysteries of the past are hard to fathom. Let us lay them aside, and discuss your choices instead. Perhaps," Qui-Gon paused for a moment, straightening his back against the rigid bars, "perhaps you should reconsider coming to Malabar with me."

"What?" That was the very last thing Obi-Wan expected to hear him say. He shook his head in bemusement. "Why?"

"Whether or not you're right about the Ritual mirroring the future, there will always be conflict between us on this question of obedience to the Council. I don't want to taint you in their eyes, or interfere with your advancement. For I think you could go very far, my Padawan." Qui-Gon leant forward to capture Obi-Wan's chin in one hand, searching his face with earnest intent. "I think you will find the fame you seek, with or without me by your side -- and perhaps easier without my shadow hanging over you. You could leave me, take on a new master whose views more closely match your own. Mace would be willing; he's often expressed his interest in your progress -- and his belief that he could do better with you than I."

Obi-Wan snorted.

"He may well be right, Padawan." Qui-Gon released him and leant back, shutting his eyes against the sun. "You've already absorbed most of what I have to teach you about being a warrior. If you trained with him, you'd have time in the Temple to build yourself the place here that you seek. And you would learn a great deal about working with the Council; it would not be untoward for Mace to sponsor you into a seat there yourself, in due course. He could take you far, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, sitting there quietly discussing a future without him. His master's face was smoothed, sunshine flattening the contours of harsh lines and sharp projections which normally gave it such definition. It was cleansed of all emotion by the light.

He'd been staring at Qui-Gon for a third of his life. Yet in three short days he had reversed his whole way of seeing. Or perhaps it had been in that one moment, when he watched passion recast those well-known features from master into lover. Either way, he knew that the face now presented to him was nothing but a mask, controlled as carefully as were the hands lying still on Qui-Gon's knees.

But Obi-Wan had seen Qui-Gon in the shadowed light of the room last night, tasting and touching with a greed for knowledge which could not be slaked with just one touch. What Qui-Gon had wanted to know was him, Obi-Wan Kenobi. And he had seen this man lying beneath him this morning, awe upon his face as Obi-Wan moved upon his body. Qui-Gon might have deceived himself about his own wants up until that moment, just as Obi-Wan had. But any further deception would be deliberate, and Obi-Wan would not tolerate it.

"So you don't want me guarding your back on this mission?" he asked. He didn't think Qui-Gon would lie to him over such a simple question.

"I do -- but I will live without."

An honest, if optimistic answer. "Ah. So then, you don't want me to be your padawan?" Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon's face closely as he asked his next question.

"I do. Yet a Master, to be worthy of the name, must look to his padawan's training over his own desires." One central truth, said calmly, dispassionately, and Qui-Gon sought to obscure it by wrapping it in other irrelevant ones, his face very still as he waited for Obi-Wan's next question.

"So you don't love me?" Obi-Wan whispered, confident in the answer despite his hushed tone.

"I do love you," Qui-Gon answered, equally quiet. "Enough that I am happy to let you go, if that's what you need."

If Qui-Gon had dared to look at Obi-Wan then, perhaps Obi-Wan might have believed him. But in the gaze Qui-Gon fixed on his motionless hands, Obi-Wan read the lie.

"I won't ask if you want me."

Qui-Gon's pale cheeks flushed at that. Perhaps he was remembering the way he had wrapped his legs up over his padawan's shoulders, to be speared the more deeply. "Isn't it customary for questions to come in threes?" he rejoined, bereft of an adequate defence. "That makes your fourth."

"But it wasn't a question," Obi-Wan pointed out. He would not be deflected by such last-ditch manoeuvres. "You showed me the truth about that already, and I'm finding that your actions speak more clearly than your words. Besides, the Ritual is over: let's not invoke any more customs, if you please. But I do have a fourth question for you, Master Jinn," he continued inexorably, "and it is this. You may want me, and you may love me, but are you in love with me? Am I more than just your student, or your friend, or a bedmate?"

For rash words said in fever or lust were not enough; Obi-Wan needed sureties. He waited, breath indrawn, for the answer.

Under his anxious gaze, the stillness finally passed from his master's face. Qui-Gon relaxed at last, the unnatural tension leaving his long body as he smiled ruefully in acceptance of defeat. The flush on his cheeks was more pronounced, but this time he turned to look his padawan full in the face as he said, "I am in love with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Simple, honest words, filled with an earnest yearning; and they were no less quietly expressed than the carefully chosen answers which had preceded them, but they were said with a total conviction. "You have been my beloved student," Qui-Gon went on, his eyes fixed warmly on Obi-Wan, "and then my dearest friend, and I loved you all the while. But this...it's utterly beyond all of those."

"Then tell me again you'd be happy to let me go," Obi-Wan said, testing boundaries in a measured challenge. "Tell me again to choose Mace as my master."

"Ah, I can't, young Padawan, much as I should," Qui-Gon said, shaking his head at his own inconsistency. He raised one finger to stroke down Obi-Wan's cheek in a delicate tickle of the tiny hairs there. "I'll have done with lies: I want you, and I love you, and I need you by my side. And worst of all, I am madly in love with you." Qui-Gon's words were almost whimsical, but behind them, reflected in his blue eyes, there was an upwelling of amazement and joy at the discovery.

Obi-Wan let his breath out in a long, relieved sigh. "Yes. That sounds better," he said with satisfaction. In that declaration, he could find at least one certainty to counterweigh the doubts and fears of the last few hours. He turned to brush his lips against Qui-Gon's finger as it traced the corner of his mouth.

"But none of that means you should give up your dreams for my desires, Obi-Wan," his master cautioned, sobriety masking the joy Obi-Wan had just seen; yet he let his touch linger on the curve of Obi-Wan's lips.

"Even if the Force wills me to?" Obi-Wan said softly, turning his words into caresses against Qui-Gon's skin with the movement of his lips in forming them.

"We are free men: we all make our own choices," Qui-Gon replied with a trace of regret, as if reminded of Obi-Wan's use of that very dictum to damn Xanatos.

And Obi-Wan didn't want him thinking about Xanatos just then. So he gave a sudden nip with sharp white teeth against Qui-Gon's palm, and almost laughed at the surprised yelp his master gave in response, at the startled laughter he could read in Qui-Gon's eyes. "I never thought I'd live to hear you, of all people, tell me to disregard the Will of the Force," he chided.

Qui-Gon flushed deeper red than he had before. "I should advise you to obey it -- but I couldn't be sure my motives weren't selfish. So instead all I ask is that you be sure of what the Force does will for you, my Padawan, before you acquiesce too readily. After all," and his voice grew drier, more strained, "I doubt that those daydreams of yours included taking a battered old Jedi master as a lover." But Obi-Wan noticed that he hadn't moved his hand away, and that his abused palm was nuzzling against the curve of Obi-Wan's chin, as if the scrape of stubble would ease the sting there.

"I don't care what the Force wills," Obi-Wan replied. Again laughter came close at the scandalised expression Qui-Gon turned on him. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter what the Force might have had planned, or what I'd planned for myself." He flicked his tongue against the tiny mark he had left on Qui-Gon's skin. "How could those things make any difference to me, after this morning? Do you honestly think I could ever leave you now?"

"This isn't a decision about your entire future, Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon said urgently. "The Ritual doesn't have the power to doom you to anything. We're only discussing this one mission -- n-nothing more." His voice stumbled on the last words as Obi-Wan licked his skin again, slowly this time.

"Do you think I could leave you, once I've known what it's like to love you?" Obi-Wan continued, ignoring Qui-Gon's statement utterly. "To make love to you?" His voice dropped. "To be in love with you?"

"Obi-Wan, you don't need to tell me-- "

"Hush. You know it's true." He placed a kiss in Qui-Gon's palm, his lips tender, then looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes again. So many emotions chasing in those blue depths, and his so decisive master for once succumbing to uncertainty. "You might have had the strength of mind to let me leave," Obi-Wan said, his jaw thrust out, "but I'm not made of such stern stuff. I've taken you now, my Master, and I'm not letting go. Ever."

Qui-Gon groaned, a sound torn between doubt and acceptance, but Obi-Wan leaned forward to stopper his mouth with a soft kiss. Their lips clung, and suddenly it was a soft kiss no more, mouths opening hungrily to devour as their arms twined round each other, Obi-Wan snarling his fingers into Qui-Gon's hair as his master clutched him tight.

Finally they broke apart, panting, leaning away from each other in unspoken accord to catch their breaths. Qui-Gon was hard again, Obi-Wan realised headily -- and even more astounding was the knowledge that he had caused it, that he had the right to... He trailed his fingers down the line of Qui-Gon's tunics while Qui-Gon watched him with wondering eyes, finally bringing his hand to rest cupped over the warm mound lurking beneath Qui-Gon's thin leggings. His master gulped a deep breath as he stroked his thumb gently over the protrusion beneath the cloth.

"How could you have hidden this from yourself?" Obi-Wan marvelled, delicately tracing the growing bulge. "A Jedi Master, living so strongly in the present -- and yet you ignored this?" 'This' being the lust so blatantly written across his master's face, so brazenly swelling his cock.

Qui-Gon squirmed beneath his gentle fingers, hands twisting into Obi-Wan's cloak, but he didn't seek to still his padawan's explorations. "It wasn't part of the present, back then," he said breathlessly. "And I'm not noted for my prescience, unlike you. Besides, I wasn't thinking about it."

"Didn't you even consider it, on the few occasions when you remembered we still had to do the Ritual?" Obi-Wan wanted to understand how Qui-Gon could have closed his mind so ruthlessly against a desire as strong as the one moving him now. "Didn't you look forward to fucking me just a little bit?"

His fingers stilled at the guilty expression that flashed across Qui-Gon's face. "Master?"

"I'm sorry, Padawan." Qui-Gon untwined his fingers from Obi-Wan's cloak to reach for the hand at his groin, bringing it to his lips and placing a kiss on the now bunched fingers. "If I thought of the Ritual at all, it was to wish it over and done with, so we could get on with our lives together. Oh, I was fully aware that you had your charms. The queue lining up for your bedroom was a broad enough hint," and there was enough self-mockery in his tone to make Obi-Wan wince inside. "But that part of your life seemed to have nothing to do with me."

Qui-Gon sighed and brought Obi-Wan's closed fist higher between his cupped hands, so he could press his forehead against it, his hair swinging forward to hide his face. "The stupidest thing of all," he admitted in a quiet voice, "was that once upon a time I had looked forward to having a sexual experience in the Ritual -- with Xani."

Obi-Wan instinctively tried to withdraw his hand, but Qui-Gon's grip tightened, not letting him go. "I didn't mean that to be hurtful, Padawan. Please, let me explain," he said, and the soft plea was enough to have Obi-Wan biting back his own angry words.

Qui-Gon must have taken his padawan's silence for consent, for he sat back, his hold relaxing when he saw that Obi-Wan was not pulling away. "You must understand that teaching Xani was constantly stimulating, my Obi-Wan," he began, voice low and earnest. "He was greedy for knowledge: techniques, information, languages -- anything at all. He soaked it up with a sheer lust for the very act of learning itself. Not like you."

He smiled fondly at his apprentice to take the sting out of his words, teasing Obi-Wan's fingers out of the fist they had made. "You take everything so seriously, so critically, trying to make each scrap of knowledge fit into your structure of how the universe works. But Xani -- he just wanted to know. His hunger for everything I could show him was a reminder to me of how exciting the world could still be." Qui-Gon rubbed his thumb slowly over the veins standing up on the back of Obi-Wan's hand, and his next words were hesitant, as if he were feeling his way to express himself.

"I knew Xani was relatively inexperienced in sex: he'd only had a few lovers, none of them any older or more sophisticated than himself, and all women. But I thought he'd approach the Ritual as he did his other lessons: eager to learn more, eager to enjoy it. And I was ready to enjoy it, too." An airship flew overhead, touching down on the Temple behind them, and the shadows of its passing darkened Qui-Gon's face for a moment.

"You desired him?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice raw. He didn't even know if he wanted to hear the answer. Surely Xanatos couldn't have had Qui-Gon's passion first, as well as everything else?

"I desired his enthusiasm," Qui-Gon corrected quietly. "I wanted to teach him more about what his body was capable of; and, while some masters choose to emphasise the element of submission in the Ritual, I didn't think it had to centre around that. We were neither of us ever inclined to stick to traditional interpretations of such things. Nor was there any reason to consider that his Ritual might turn out as -- dramatically, shall we say -- as my own." He sighed. "At the very least, I hoped he would find the experience novel; and Xani was always fascinated by the new. But I hoped he'd find it pleasurable, too."

His mouth twisted wryly. "It didn't happen that way, of course. As soon as we discussed undertaking the Ritual, it became clear to me how much he disliked the idea. He didn't want to make the emotional submission he believed it demanded of him. He wasn't taken with the concept of me touching him, either."

And how his gentle master would have been hurt by that. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispered helplessly.

"Ah, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon turned to rub his cheek against Obi-Wan's hand, the bristles lightly scratching. "It was a disappointment, but I could hardly blame him. He had nothing like your sexual experience to rely on, and worse, he rebelled against the whole concept of the Ritual. He thought it was an outdated barbarism borrowed from a dead people -- for the express purpose of humiliating padawans, I think he said."

Obi-Wan was sure those had been Xanatos' exact words.

Qui-Gon sighed again. "I would have delayed it, given him time to experiment with other male lovers. But it was the only thing stopping him from becoming a senior padawan, and he had worked so hard to reach that point. It seemed petty to hold him back for an exercise most of the Temple viewed with as little respect as he did. I agreed that we would go ahead, on the basis that we took as long over it as he needed. Three days, in the end. And afterwards," his voice stumbled, "I thought we had succeeded. I honestly did, even though there'd been scant enough pleasure in it for either of us."

Obi-Wan ducked his head, ashamed. That was a comfort Qui-Gon had clung to, until Obi-Wan had stripped it away from him.

Qui-Gon squeezed his hand and let it go. "Well, you can see why, after that, lust wasn't the first thing that came to mind when I thought of the Ritual. Which I didn't do very often; it was not an experience I liked to dwell on, I admit. And it didn't seem that I had to."

He chucked Obi-Wan under the chin with his thumb, until Obi-Wan looked up at him again.

"You're so different from Xani," he said, smiling down almost wistfully at Obi-Wan. "You had conquered all his problems -- his sexual ignorance, his unwillingness to submit to the Force -- years before. I certainly wasn't arrogant enough to think I had much left to teach you in bed, at any rate. So I fear I let myself be deceived into thinking it would be easy this time."

Obi-Wan sighed. "It must have been a shock when I turned out to be as much trouble."

"It took me aback, yes." Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at the understatement, and Qui-Gon tapped it with a reproving finger. "In some ways you were worse, because at least with Xani his objections were clear. But there we were, with this thrice-damned deadline hanging over us; and you couldn't tell me what was upsetting you, and I could only fumble about, trying not to hurt you too much -- "

"Oh, Master, you didn't!" And Obi-Wan had to wind his arms around Qui-Gon now, this instant -- anything to banish the pained regret in his master's eyes. "You were kinder to me than I deserved, my love," he whispered, holding the heavy body tight against him, feeling Qui-Gon's hands coming to cling to his shoulders. Obi-Wan slipped his thigh over Qui-Gon's to straddle the bigger man, rocking their bodies together, while Qui-Gon buried his face in the curve of Obi-Wan's neck.

Obi-Wan stroked the soft fall of Qui-Gon's hair, cradling the skull beneath. "I was the one egging you on to complete the Ritual," he said, and oh, how terrible that he had tried to do that. "I should have faced my own feelings -- listened to the Force, or to my subconscious, or whatever it was that wouldn't accept you as anything less than a lover." Qui-Gon shuddered under his hands, and Obi-Wan held him tighter yet. "My lover," he repeated fiercely.

"Yes, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said meekly into the folds of his cloak, and, suspicious of such easy compliance, Obi-Wan tugged at the hair he had been fondling, pulling Qui-Gon's head back until he could see his master's face.

Qui-Gon was laughing up at him, eyes brilliant in the sunshine, his face alight with the uncomplicated joy Obi-Wan remembered from watching him in meditation. "My lover," Qui-Gon growled, and then Obi-Wan was plundering his lips to steal the words from them, while Qui-Gon's hands were pulling at his cloak to get to the hot skin beneath. Roughly, he tipped Qui-Gon's head back against the railings, thrusting his tongue as deep into his master's -- no, his lover's -- mouth as he could. Qui-Gon was tearing at Obi-Wan's tunics, and Obi-Wan moaned into the moist warmth of Qui-Gon's mouth when calloused palms grazed his nipples. He had no idea how they had reached a flashpoint like this so fast, but he didn't care.

Panting against Qui-Gon's open mouth, his legs spread wide over Qui-Gon's hips, he gripped the railings for the leverage to push down and began to grind his pelvis against his master's groin. Qui-Gon's cock must have been leaking a little, because the cloth between them was soon damp, the extra friction tortuously exciting against the tender flesh of his perineum. In moments his own erection was prodding urgently against the swell of Qui-Gon's stomach.

And Qui-Gon was inciting him to further action, his tongue tangling with Obi-Wan's, his hands digging in to Obi-Wan's hips in an effort to press them even closer together. He was moaning faintly, his eyes tight shut, his face flushed --

Oh no. Obi-Wan groaned aloud and sat back, making Qui-Gon gasp at the sudden weight on his thighs. His eyelids fluttered open and he stared, dazed, at Obi-Wan. "What?"

"You're feverish again," Obi-Wan replied flatly.

Qui-Gon began to swear.

"Is this going to happen every time?" Obi-Wan interrupted the stream of curses. "Because it is intensely frustrating, my Master. Not to mention somewhat dangerous if it happens in the middle of a mission," there being no doubt that he intended to fuck Qui-Gon during the next year; in fact, during the next twentyfour hours. "Perhaps we need to talk to Master Yoda--"

They stared at each other.

"The Council meeting!" they chorused.

"Gods, Obi-Wan, get off me. I'm due there in two ko, and I'll have to change these leggings now." Flustered, Qui-Gon plucked at the damp stain.

Obi-Wan slid from his perch on his master's thighs. "Your hair needs combing again, too," he said critically, ignoring the fact that it was his hands which had done the damage. "And I need a shower..."

"No." Qui-Gon suddenly stilled. "You stay here, Obi-Wan. There's no need for you to come, now that we've completed the Ritual to the Council's satisfaction. And you could do with the extra time for meditation: there'll be little enough in the weeks ahead, Force knows. I'll be back by the evening."

He was about to launch into protest, but his master's slightly guilty air stopped him.

Oh. Of course. Qui-Gon was going to tell the Council that his padawan -- his senior padawan -- was coming on the mission. And then he was going to face down any and all of their objections, wheedle, cajole and bully them until they agreed; and if that didn't work, he would flat out refuse the mission until they did. And he didn't want Obi-Wan there to watch.

Whether he preferred not to implicate Obi-Wan in his disobedience, or he thought he could act more outrageously without his padawan present to restrain him, or he simply wanted to spare Obi-Wan the discomfort of another fractious meeting with the Council, Obi-Wan didn't know. But, he admitted to himself, for once he was grateful to take the escape route Qui-Gon had offered him, and abandon his master to cope alone. So he sat silent while Qui-Gon hauled himself to his feet, gripping the railing in an uncommon show of weakness.

"Will you be alright?"

"The fever should drop more quickly this time, once I'm out of your company." Qui-Gon steadied himself and crossed the tiny balcony to the open door in two long strides. "I'll talk to Yoda afterwards, if you like. He should be able to say how soon I'll stop having these reactions to you, and what we can do about them in the meanwhile."

That was another meeting he was happy to be shot of: Qui-Gon and Yoda discussing sex. "Tell him abstinence is not a feasible alternative," Obi-Wan instructed drily.

Qui-Gon paused, bracing himself against the doorframe. "You're sure, Obi-Wan?" he asked, and his voice was suddenly less certain.

Obi-Wan knew the question had nothing to do with any advice Yoda might give; but he did not have to consider his answer. "I'm a free man, Qui-Gon," he stated quietly, "and I've made my choice."

Qui-Gon dipped his head in acknowledgement, his eyes closing briefly, the lines by his mouth easing. Then he was gone, the door whisking shut behind him.

Obi-Wan watched the trajectories of the aircars streaking past overhead.

He had managed no more than a light meditative trance before he'd been roused again by the sounds of his master leaving their rooms. Qui-Gon had not come to say anything more to him, and Obi-Wan had not called out to stop him leaving. So now there was little to do but sit, and watch the ships.

Occasionally, one would cut away from the rigid lines of the traffic grid, describing a elegant curve as it swooped down to a landing platform in the maze of buildings below. There was beauty in the structure of the long lanes, endlessly replicating cohorts of ships all moving in symphony. But there was beauty, too, in the independent flight of the mavericks, as they plunged to a destination only they sought.

He wondered if Qui-Gon had believed him.

Not that he had lied. Nothing so simple would have done in an effort to mislead a Jedi master. The elision of aspects of the truth, though: that was a more subtle art.

It was no pretense that he had wanted an undying fame. What young child staring up at the stars did not dream of having his name counted amongst them? What adolescent beginning to grasp the true nature of infinity did not shy away from it, seeking a shield against its enormity? What young man seeing death did not look to cheat its immolation? Every word he had told Qui-Gon was true. He desperately wanted one great deed to mark his own passing. He wanted to have mattered.

Yet, by his understanding of the Ritual, in some complex, convoluted fashion his own goals would become subservient to his master's desires. Qui-Gon's choices would overshadow his.

Obi-Wan sighed, shifting on his shins. How Qui-Gon found this position comfortable, he could not comprehend. Even with the cushion beneath him, it hurt after a time. Grimacing at the pins and needles, he sat back in his old, accustomed stance, ankles on thighs.

He supposed he would have to talk with Yoda alone, some day when Qui-Gon was not present, to get a better perspective of what had just happened. He was fairly sure he was correct: the Ritual did predict the future. There was a symmetry in the idea, and he had found such balance time and time again whenever he came closer to the core of the Unifying Force, unfolding its layers to admire the patterns within. He did not fool himself that he had reached a full understanding of the Ritual, for every layer revealed was just the doorway into another, each simpler in structure than the one before, yet each more difficult to penetrate. Until he was at one with the Force, he would never reach total comprehension of the nature of his body's resistance to Qui-Gon's touch during the Ritual, much less his intuitions of the future.

But he had guessed that the first thing Qui-Gon would do, as soon as he recovered from his fever, would be to question Obi-Wan's understanding of the lessons the Ritual had taught him. Qui-Gon was ever the Master, no matter what other roles he cared to play in Obi-Wan's life.

Obi-Wan would not have Qui-Gon know the truth of this lesson, bitter as it had been. Obi-Wan would not have Qui-Gon know the extent of the submission the Ritual had demanded of him. So he had prepared one truth for Qui-Gon, told him about one desire yielded up - and used that to shield the other, deeper desires he knew now he would never fulfill.

Contrarily, his own success at the duplicity twisted in him like a snake, biting him deep. Renown? Reputation? A Jedi craved not these. For what sort of Jedi would rank fame above the love Qui-Gon had offered him that morning? And even if Obi-Wan gained eternal fame, it would shrink to mere ephemerality and pass in a second, compared to the permanence of that one shared moment together. He would have been the greatest fool, to regret choosing love over fame.

Did Qui-Gon really think him so shallow?

The idea hurt, even though he hoped his master would remain unsuspecting of his deception. But -- it was not easy to deceive a Jedi Master. How Xan had managed it, if indeed he had, Obi-Wan could not fathom. Obi-Wan had unscrupulously taken advantage of Qui-Gon's every weakness to turn his master's attention from his unJedi-like behaviour. After all, Qui-Gon had been recovering from a fever, his mind occupied with the Ritual and the mission ahead of them, his body urging him into Obi-Wan's arms with no room for thought of any kind. That, it seemed, had been enough to let Obi-Wan's version of events stand.

Perhaps, with Xan, all it had taken was Qui-Gon's willingness to believe. Obi-Wan's mouth twisted.

But then, perhaps he was the one easily gulled, to accept his master's acquiescence so readily. Even if Qui-Gon did not yet suspect Obi-Wan's deception, he might think harder on his padawan's words, now that the fever and the urgency had left him, and find them wanting. Or perhaps Qui-Gon was well aware that his apprentice had not told him everything, but had decided to let it lie till they were away to Malabar, where Qui-Gon would have months to pick the truth out of him. His master's patience in such matters had unearthed many an adolescent secret; Obi-Wan shuddered to think of the techniques Qui-Gon might feel free to use on him, now they were lovers. No, one could never take a Jedi Master for granted.

And Obi-Wan had been taking this particular Jedi Master for granted for a long, long time. It had been easy, while Qui-Gon was such a fixture in his life. No need to examine his feelings for a Master who was always there for him, no need to acknowledge Qui-Gon's primacy over any other, lover or friend. For fucking his master hadn't really changed anything between them. He felt the same for Qui-Gon as he had for many years: he loved him. And if he now understood the nature of that love a little better, had stepped through another doorway to come closer to understanding its essence, it was a difference of degree rather than kind. It was only his blindness which had previously stopped him seeing the passion nesting in his own devotion.

Two days ago, sitting in the cold lavabo and looking at the mess he had made of his first attempt at the Ritual, he had compared himself to the tribesfolk on Tremansis V. They spent their entire lives oblivious of the pack of carnivorous wyvers preying on their weak and young, ignorant of the beast which threatened their very existence. He'd thought them fools, and himself equally as stupid for ignoring the impending Ritual.

But it was not foolishness at all. It was cowardice. He hung his head, ashamed.

His had been a wilful ignorance, a deliberate refusal to face the implications of what loving Qui-Gon meant. Flirting with his friends, imagining himself entranced by this pair of brown eyes, that sombre smile, he had thrilled with the danger of playing at love, had sighed with disappointment when he'd thought himself heart-whole once more. Only the risk of separation from Qui-Gon had finally brought Obi-Wan to honesty. How ironic, that all the while he'd believed himself safe, he had been living in the maw of the beast.

He tucked his face into the pillow of his arms.

He had had hopes, of course. He had hoped for love, and comradeship, and a home to return to at the end of each mission, a permanent refuge if he were lucky enough to grow old. All unassuming wants, mature and sensible if somewhat ambitious for a Jedi uncertain of what the next day would bring him. Those were the hopes of the padawan, one day to be knight, who was a capable, dedicated Jedi before anything else.

Then there was the idealist, who had dreamt of something more: more than fame now or for the future, more than friendship and fondness, more than the oneness with the Force which he eagerly anticipated as his final reward for the trials life brought. He could almost blush for it: a child's self-centred dream, even if it were grounded in the desires of an adult man.

He wanted someone to burn for him.

He wanted to hold his lover's heart in the palm of his hand. He wanted to be able to drive his lover to distraction, with just a touch of his finger against expectant lips. He wanted a lover who would give up anything for him: deny all prior claims of friendship, love or duty; put aside all ambition, all hope, all honour, all conscience. He wanted to be the candle flame to which the moth flew, even as its wings were crisped with fire.

Oh, and he would give his lover the very same! Even unto his knighthood, and his soul, and his self.

But, if he stayed with Qui-Gon, he would be the one to burn, and he would burn alone.

It was not that Qui-Gon would not love him. He quivered, remembering the wild joy in his master's eyes -- and he had put that there! Him, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a capable enough padawan, a good enough man, but nothing he had done in all his nineteen years made him worthy of that one look. He had thought Qui-Gon beautiful when the Living Force was moving through him, but now that he had seen love on his master's face, he began to understand the rapture and serenity Qui-Gon found within the Force. To see that look again: it was worth any sacrifice.

And the sacrifice the Force had asked of him, the submission he was to make, was this: that he would never be first in his lover's eyes.

He supposed he had always known it, and always fled from it. But the Ritual had forced him to face that painful truth, by showing it to him again and again. After all, he thought sourly, how many padawans had to share their Rituals with their predecessor? A rite which should have been between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan alone had been overshadowed too often by Xanatos. It was more than a trick of circumstance, more than an outcome of Qui-Gon's unhappy memories: it was the Unifying Force showing Obi-Wan the extent of what he had to give up.

Not that his sacrifice had anything to do with Xanatos, really. Though Obi-Wan did wonder whether his master had been disingenuous -- or self-deluding -- when he had said he hadn't desired Xan. Perhaps Qui-Gon, too, had had dreams, greater than his hopes of simply teaching Xanatos another exercise, and had quietly put them aside without even acknowledging them; perhaps there had been one genuine submission that day sixteen years ago, even if it wasn't Xan's.

Yet Obi-Wan had no fear that he couldn't banish Xanatos from Qui-Gon's mind whenever he chose. All he had to do was press his lips to Qui-Gon's fingers, and his master would be wholly his once more. No, Xanatos was just a ghostly reminder of a stronger force, one it was beyond Obi-Wan's power to defeat.

Huddling in his cloak, he remembered his master's arms warm around him that morning, though not in lovemaking. Qui-Gon had comforted him, holding him close even while he spoke the words Obi-Wan had grieved and raged to hear: But before all else I must follow the Will of the Force, and then I must follow what I know to be right.

With that affirmation, he had refused to take Obi-Wan through the Ritual, regardless of the consequences for them both. He would have risked his own death, alone on a dangerous mission, or jeapordised Obi-Wan's apprenticeship -- or put his own rank as master under threat. Anything, except go against the Will of the Force.

For Qui-Gon Jinn put his devotion to the Force above all else. He found the one goal he believed it had revealed to him, and cleaved wholly unto it, no matter the cost, no matter if it meant abandoning those he loved and those who loved him. Yoda had seen this fierce independence in him when he was only eighteen, and had left him to face the submission of his Ritual, alone, on a dead planet. He was doomed to go his own way, in the end.

And if Obi-Wan had cherished any false hopes that Qui-Gon might change when they were lovers, all he had to do was remember his master's words: I can't be other than myself, even for you.

Too late, Obi-Wan gave his answer to the absent man. "Oh, my master," he pleaded, "to be second in the stories they will tell is one thing; but to be second in your life? I don't know if I can bear that." Yet he whispered it, very low, as if Qui-Gon might overhear.

He had no doubt about the sincerity of Qui-Gon's words, for his master seldom lied. But it hurt so much to give up those hopes. Would the Force leave Obi-Wan no ideals, no dreams with which to ease the hard life ahead? Did he have to yield them all?

He was only nineteen. It didn't seem fair.

The prickle of tears stung his eyes again, and this time he bowed his head and let them fall, for there was no-one to see.

He didn't weep for very long. He had made his choice, and it was not in him to indulge in histrionics. Besides, if Qui-Gon were successful in the Council chamber, there would be plenty to finish organising this evening: clothes and weapons to chase up from supplies, his master's schedule to clear, a language course in Malabarese to track down in the library. They probably all spoke Basic anyway, but sometimes a secret knowledge of the local languages could give a useful advantage. Knowledge of Old Dahometh had been useful at any rate, he smiled wryly to himself.

He mopped his face with the corner of his cloak and straightened his back. They would leave for Malabar in two days -- for he had no doubt that Qui-Gon would win. In fact, Obi-Wan didn't think there would be much opposition, now that Qui-Gon could legitimately claim him as a senior padawan. The Council had had ample opportunity to note how well he and his master worked together; while they might have misgivings about pushing Obi-Wan beyond his abilities, Obi-Wan was sure they would prefer not to split apart such a strongly bonded pair.

Some of the Councillors might even have assumed they had already taken a further step in their relationship; in retrospect, he realised that Mace would have been unlikely to suggest they pose as lovers on the mission, unless he also thought they would welcome the roles. So the petition for another master to take Qui-Gon's place in the Ritual must have come as rather a shock, then.

It would be up to Qui-Gon to dispell any newly-aroused scepticim about their pairing this afternoon. He could have done it more easily with Obi-Wan at his side to provide living proof of their new closeness -- and wouldn't that have led to a very interesting Council meeting indeed, Obi-Wan thought. He wondered whether they could have kept their hands off each other in the Council chamber, given the way desire had flared so dramatically between them. He'd never had reason to doubt his master's control before, but now.... Thank the Force they had a full year undercover to experience each other as lovers, away from the Temple gossip in the relative peace and quiet of a war-torn planet.

Obi-Wan was more concerned with what Yoda might say, when Qui-Gon spoke with him privately afterwards. He didn't fear for Yoda's opposition - but suppose the ancient Jedi said Qui-Gon's reactions to Obi-Wan simply had to run their course until Qui-Gon could control them? Could they make love tonight, or not?

Now that was a thought. He could just imagine the look on Master Ibbith's face tomorrow, if Qui-Gon turned up for his medical exam with a raging fever. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan grinned. Then he remembered that he hadn't yet warned Qui-Gon about the medical, and grinned some more. And as for the idea of Qui-Gon trying to explain the cause of his symptoms to Master Ibbith....

Obi-Wan laughed out loud. Perhaps he wouldn't mention the appointment to Qui-Gon till tomorrow, after all. That way, Qui-Gon might let Obi-Wan fuck him tonight.

Or Qui-Gon might fuck him. He sobered, excitement clawing laughter out of his stomach. So quick and hot the lust had burned between them, for two men used to seeing each other as friend and partner, Master and Padawan. His eyes opened wide at the wonder of it. There was a small patch of dampness on his leggings still, testimony to Qui-Gon's hunger. Reaching his hand down between his crossed legs, he rubbed a fingertip there, then brought it to his face. The smell of Qui-Gon's semen, rich in his nostrils, brought memories of the night before tumbling through his mind. Remembering the skills Qui-Gon had shown with his mouth alone, Obi-Wan trembled to consider what he could do with his cock, and his hands. He imagined that hunger given free rein upon his body, his knees over Qui-Gon's shoulders this time, his arse being pounded by that splendid cock. There was so much he had yet to discover about his new lover.

Oh, yes, his master might just fuck him, no matter what Yoda's advice. If Obi-Wan were to brush against him as they laid the table together for dinner, just a touch of one body against another, no more. And if he were to lick his lips after drinking, his tongue protruding enough for Qui-Gon to see. Then they might land up on that big bed together, and he could watch his master's face convulse in orgasm once more.

Or perhaps Qui-Gon would walk through the balcony door this evening, and simply fold Obi-Wan into his arms, holding him tight. Then they would sit entwined together, and watch the setting sun glinting off the aircars flowing by.

Obi-Wan watched as two aircars detached themselves from the steady stream of traffic and came swooping down, pirouetting together as they plummeted to the Temple landing pad below him. Their shadows danced over his face.

It would be enough.

~~~~~ The End~~~~~

Notes, Acknowledgements and Thanks:

This story was completed a year ago, but begun a year before that, after I had read Saraid's 'Swansong'; the inspiration it gave, and the debt I owe her, are enormous. Along the way, I stole and begged ideas from many other sources. Blu Heron's 'Prize of Peace' unwittingly donated Hestia's name, as I realised when the character had already grabbed hold and wouldn't let it go. Keelywolfe fed us quallia berries. Judith Proctor chaired a convention panel on sidekicks which kickstarted my brain when I had ground to a halt; Rana Eros wrote me stimulating mails on the roles of alien versus Western names in the Star Wars universe; some listsibs debated who the SW saga was actually about, Obi-Wan, Anakin or Luke; and one anonymous listsib somewhere speculated that, after Anakin's fall, Qui-Gon's name might have fallen into disgrace and could no longer be mentioned, even to Luke. I have relied heavily on the background to 'The Phantom Menace' given by Jude Watson's 'Jedi Apprentice' novels. And, of course, we owe everything to George Lucas, whose vision has informed mine and made my world a richer place for twenty two years.

Ideas are a great starting place, but without the encouragement, cajoling and criticism of others, they would have remained in the aether. Master Ruth took an early version of this story under her wing -- or should that be 'whip'? Russet McMillan corrected some of my astronomy. Mark fluffed my aura and Lorrie lit me candles, a kindness from people I'd never met or mailed, a continent away, which I can't begin to repay. Both Writestuff and the Emu responded to desperate requests for intermediary betas with speed, generosity and wise words: this story is the poorer in every respect for the ways in which I have failed to heed them, through lack of time and talent. I would never have had the resources to write it without my husband's patience; his stringent comments have held me to higher standards than I would ever have reached on my own (even if he still bemoans the fact that they never made it to Malabar!). Emu lifted me up when I was down, gave me perspective, renewed my enthusiasm and nagged me to death: a better friend I cannot think of.

After 'Compay' had been published in Rituals and Meditations, Lori pointed out a fatal flaw - and then encouraged me to fix it. Feedback like that is to be prized above all things.

A zine has the advantage of artwork to accompany the text. RavenD and Gail blew my mind by taking my words and making them into images; Raven, just from a few lines in an email, long before the story had the right to be called such. And finally, above all, Gail kept faith in the story, held back the zine for it, lit innumerable candles and never made me feel the guilt I should have done over its slow progress. This story is a poor reward for her kindness, good cheer and many hugs.

Gloriana, 10th October 2002
Gloriana.Reginata@virgin.net