Master Apprentice Archive Directive Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Archive: M_A or Master Jacynthe's: http://jdemorae.slashcity.tv/lightsaberissues/index.html

Series: none

Categories: Q/O, PWP, humor/parody, AU, first-time

Feedback: Dying for it, please. padawanhilary@gonwan.com

Summary: Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. The Council issues an unorthodox directive.

Spoilers/Warnings: chan is longed-for here, but not carried out. Nothing happens till the boy is well past the age of consent.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

/..../ thoughts and bond speak, *..* emphasis

Credits: Another one conceived of by my padawan, Ghostie. For her, Obi-Wan's embarrassed blush. For Tem-ve of the green thumb, one exploding seedpod. Thank you ;) This was a fun piece to write.

I know someone else has done something similar to this before. I have not seen it; neither, I am sure, has Ghostie. Any similarities are coincidental. Tell us which fic that is so we can read it ;)

"We're being sent to Ordius Prime for an inaugural ball in the forest," Qui-Gon informed his apprentice after he read the missive, briefly looking over the dataslate where he'd transferred the information and then passing it to Obi-Wan.

Critical green eyes flicked over the mission template before he handed it back. "Master, why can't we be sent to Malastare for the pomp and circumstance like everyone else?" He really wanted a nice, civilized planet with showers and real food this time.

Qui-Gon tapped a button and marked the data as read. "It's not ours to question, Padawan," he said patiently, leveling a stare at Obi-Wan. "We serve the Order, not our desires. We will go where we're needed." His eyes went distant a moment. "Though I do hope they're sending us somewhere with real food this time."

The padawan snorted a laugh and warmth spread through him as he met the amused gaze of his master. He wasn't sure he could remember a time when he hadn't loved Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan loved him right through the man's staunch coolness and determination to get them in trouble over Council directives, right through his sometimes-infuriating unflappability, right through the intimidating, solid shields of his past to the soft, warm heart underneath. At first it had been the contented love of a boy for the first real father figure he'd ever had. Slowly, Obi-Wan had realized it was different from that. Much different.

Now he was seventeen: almost a man as he saw it, though not nearly there by Order standards. He hung on by dint of will, knowing he wouldn't be taken seriously until he was older, knowing this would get chalked up as a padawan crush if he didn't act carefully and patiently. He had a lot to prove and he wasn't going to blow it all on a hastily confessed throb of heart and sex. It took all his training and hard-bought reserve to manage it, but manage it he did.

But sometimes he was caught staring just a little too long, or daydreaming a little too hard. He wondered things like how his master kissed, what he tasted like, how the large, skilled hands would feel on places they'd never been. Those were hard thoughts to quell: several dozen padawans and a goodly handful of knights could attest to that. Obi-Wan was far from alone in his quiet lust.

Smugly, he recognized how lucky he was to be the one closest to the object of desire. He got to be the recipient of the rare smiles and the dry wit. He got to be the one soaking up all that wisdom. Not to mention the one in the room when Qui-Gon emerged from the 'fresher, steamed and tangled and in nothing more than a towel. It didn't matter that it was all by default. He was there, that was the important thing.

"Now then," Qui-Gon's deep rumble broke through his rather dangerous reverie. "We just have time for a cup of tea before the Council meets to confirm the fate of our beleaguered palates." And he smiled again, leaving Obi-Wan to wonder what it was that had his master in such good spirits.

Qui-Gon watched his padawan move toward the small kitchen in their quarters, squelching his desire to gaze lower on that lithe body than was seemly. He'd never had an untoward thought about his padawan until recently, when the boy's thoughts started leaking through the training bond. He wanted to pull Obi-Wan aside to work on his shielding. He should explain that it was perfectly normal and healthy for padawans to develop sexual feelings for their authority figures. He felt a need to deliver the "Your feelings are valid and reasonable and someday you'll find someone" speech. He was beholden to Obi-Wan not only as a friend but under the laws of the Order.

However, what he should do and what he had suddenly come to *want* to do were two entirely irreconcilable things. To be honest, as a being with breath in his lungs and a sex drive, he *wanted* to pull Obi-Wan to him fervently, unquestioningly, and sod the Order. It was, of course, a fervently, unquestioningly bad idea.

Rubbing his temples, he knew he could do no more than have a cup of tea and keep his mouth shut. He had just resigned himself to that when the mental equivalent of a lovelorn sigh rippled through to him.

Perhaps a *little* more than just a cup of tea.

"Padawan," he began as Obi-Wan sat down at the common room table with him, setting down his master's mug of tea. "I think we should work on your shielding."

Obi-Wan started, masking his surprise behind the cup he was gripping. "My shielding?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "You are-- ah--" He cast about for words. The master of diplomacy couldn't seem to find a way to be delicate in this area. "Some of your thoughts . . . " he tried again, breaking off once more under that increasingly agitated stare. Finally, he sighed, absolutely at a loss. "Obi-Wan, a homing beacon couldn't be more evident."

Obi-Wan blushed hotly and tipped his head down, looking at his cup, wishing he could crawl into it.

"Now, listen," Qui-Gon said, dropping the teasing note and quieting his voice. He scooted closer on the sofa and put his hand on the curve of Obi-Wan's knee. It was something he'd done ten thousand times, but he withdrew when Obi-Wan jumped slightly. "The infatuation . . . There's nothing wrong with it, Obi-Wan. It happens constantly, it's something masters and teachers come to expect."

"Perfectly natural, harmless, pointless, I'll find someone my own age," Obi-Wan muttered miserably. "Yeah, they went through all that in Physical Ethics." He looked up helplessly. "I didn't want you to know. Not until I was older, when you would know I was serious, that it's not an 'infatuation'." He waited for the look of pity Qui-Gon bestowed on his favorite stray felines and miscellaneous temporary charges.

It never came. Qui-Gon was studying him with something like pleased respect. "And this is why we must work on your shielding," he said quietly. "If this fades, then you won't want me catching stray ideas about some yearmate or another."

Obi-Wan nodded dumbly, staring into his cup again.

"And if this doesn't fade," his master added, pushing hope through the bond and causing Obi-Wan to look up at him in surprise, "then I should like to be spared at least a little of it for now because it taxes my own shielding miserably." There was a glint of humor in those terribly blue eyes, but it was a nervous humor. Qui-Gon wasn't laughing at him-- he was just as uncomfortable as Obi-Wan was.

The padawan stared a moment, then loosened his shaking grip on the hapless mug of tea. "Okay," was all he could think to say, and he tightened his shields.

His eyes stayed locked with his master's as he thought, /I want you. Badly./ A deliberate thought, a test, but a private thought. Not bond speak. His eyes brightened and his face darkened as he registered that the thought had gone through despite his increased shielding.

"Better," his master encouraged, closing his eyes. "It still . . . gets through, but that wasn't so . . . loud." He swallowed, fought the sudden dryness in his mouth, and did a little hiding of his own behind his teacup.

After eight years of receiving curt orders to report before the Council as the desired away team, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan tended to take them in stride. The orders they received were sometimes problematic and usually inconvenient, but the two men were Jedi, and this was a Jedi's life. Personal concerns were set aside for the greater good.

This time, Obi-Wan struggled against the irritable grousing that wanted to bubble out of his throat. It was the anniversary of the day he'd been taken as Qui-Gon's padawan, and this was his twenty-first year. He'd wanted to celebrate it. At last, he thought he was ready to make an official declaration of the feelings he knew they shared. He was tired of couching his phrases and trying to act as if he didn't want to ravage his master at the nearest opportunity. But of course, just as he'd lit the candles and set the cheese and fruit on the common room table, just as he'd poured the wine and opened his mouth to speak, the Council beckoned.

Gritting his teeth tightly, he had swallowed the painful lump of disappointment in his throat and drew his best cloak of reservation around him. He'd wanted his master for years now. What difference would a few more days make?

Qui-Gon transferred the comm data to a slate and handed it to him. "You finally got your mission to Malastare," he teased, hoping to help ease his padawan's suddenly dark mood.

Obi-Wan stared at the dataslate without taking it and forced airy cheer into his voice. "Great. A bed, indoor plumbing and thou-- when do we leave?"

Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh. He wasn't blind; he knew perfectly well what had been planned for this night. Obi-Wan had grown adept at hiding his thoughts behind well-layered shields and cool expressions. Regardless, they both knew what hovered there, just outside their range of vision. Sometimes it even escaped in light implication, testing the air between them. One would toss out flirtation to find the other startled but receptive. Sometimes whole conversations passed between them in oblique metaphors and couched sexual innuendo, leaving them both aroused but far too nervous to act.

Legally, Obi-Wan was an adult, if young. As much as Qui-Gon desired him-- and he had come to, almost openly-- he couldn't help but feel that Obi-Wan had a lot to experience before he got wrapped up in his traditional old master. They'd seen the worst before: in at least three cases Qui-Gon could name readily, the padawan had ended up reassigned to another master. Above all else, his duty, his caring, and his friendship to his padawan were worth far more than any well-intentioned romantic chance might be.

The problem was that now *he* was having trouble keeping his thoughts in check.

It started with small hitches in the bond. Once, Obi-Wan had padded out of the 'fresher after washing his face and brushing his teeth, still bleary with sleep. It had been far too early to be conscious, let alone coherent. Qui-Gon had felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Some nights, there just wasn't enough rest to be had. They had just completed a difficult mission and had returned but five hours prior. Obi-Wan had dropped his bags, grunted a goodnight and fallen straight into bed, only to be awakened at the usual time for meditations.

/Now imagine how much worse it would be,/ Qui-Gon had thought to himself, /if you'd had him in your bed the way you'd wanted to./

Obi-Wan had frozen mid-stride and looked at him, eyes suddenly sharp. "Did you say something, Master?"

Qui-Gon had blanched. "No, Padawan, I--" He'd shaken his head and begun fussing with the sash on his tunic.

He'd barely got away with that one. He had only Obi-Wan's miserable tiredness to thank that it hadn't blown up between them.

Qui-Gon shook off the memory and looked a little sadly at the candles, the wine, the soft, darkened atmosphere he was about to destroy with a palm to the light controls.

"Oh, let me," Obi-Wan said tersely, and used a Force nudge to raise the lighting. Neither paused long enough to consider the fact that Obi-Wan had picked up a private thought. He gathered up the glasses and the bottle, puffed out the candles and headed for the kitchen. For a long while, Qui-Gon listened for the sounds of things being poured back and put away, but there was silence.

Obi-Wan was leaning against the sink, hands bracing him, arms locked, head bowed. Why was this so hard? And why did the Council have to need them *now*?

Qui-Gon hesitated, wondering if he should go in and check on his padawan.

"I'm fine," came Obi-Wan's voice from the other room, surprising Qui-Gon thoroughly.

"Well I knew *that,*" Qui-Gon teased, then clenched his jaw, wincing. Now was not the time for that kind of play. But he felt the shy, pleased smile radiating from the kitchen, and smiled a little himself. Well that, at least, had been worth it. He clamped his shields down, hard.

When the flushed grin faded, Obi-Wan stilled his features and drew his reserve about him. He was trying hard not to think of the confession he'd been about to make. He knew Qui-Gon knew. It wasn't about that. It was about having the words *out.* He wondered how ridiculous he was being, but then he knew also that nothing would happen between them until things were made clear.

/You're not going to have wild, amazing sex with the man till you spit out the desire to have it,/ he thought to himself, and grabbed the thought before it could slither out. He hoped.

As they moved through the halls, the quadrangle, and up to the Council dome, Obi-Wan noticed that the other Jedi they passed were looking at them oddly, sometimes staring. One of them cast him a particularly strange look. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the female, curious. He saw that she had stopped where she was, gazing at him as he went by, her fingertips touching her mouth reflectively, almost reverently.

He'd been speculating about kissing Qui-Gon, and in his fantasy the kiss had started with a light brush of fingertips over those firm, perfect lips.

"Master, I think I might need some more advanced help with my shielding," Obi-Wan muttered tightly. Qui-Gon agreed. Wholeheartedly. His hand went unbidden to his mouth.

"It's a simple ceremony. You'll be back within the week," Mace assured them, his words easy and relaxed but his eyes sharp as he studied them. "Their fleet is retiring an admiral. It's a formality."

Qui-Gon nodded, glad at least that there would be no danger. Perhaps he and his padawan could sit down and discuss this ever-problematic sexual tension between them. If only he could shelve the thought of Obi-Wan pressed tightly against him, holding him closely--

"Mindful you must be," Master Yaddle said quietly, "of the protocols. Tightly, more closely held are their traditions." She blinked her large eyes slowly and shook her head.

Qui-Gon nodded uneasily, noting the odd twitch to the venerable Councilor's ears, and certainly noting the wording she'd used. Her gaze had wandered toward Master Yoda, who was returning it. With heat.

Qui-Gon paled.

As they were leaving the dome, Obi-Wan thinking firmly about astronav equations and Qui-Gon mentally chanting the Code, Mace stopped them. He pulled Qui-Gon aside.

"You're projecting," the Councilor warned. He glanced over at Obi-Wan, who was studying an imported hanging tapestry with intent interest. "Does he know?"

"Know?" Qui-Gon asked, keeping his expression bland.

Mace rolled his eyes impatiently and glared. "*Know.* That you're so strung out about him sexually you can't keep a thought in your head."

Qui-Gon's mental litany of the Code went on as background noise in his head as he said, "I think he's. . . marginally aware."

Mace looked at him hard, his eyes piercing. "Be careful," he said sternly, looking his friend over. "And thicken your shields, for Force's sake." He turned on his heel and left.

They had just enough time to get something to eat before they were shipped out. Obi-Wan was starving, their erstwhile romantic snack having been knocked off track. The last thing Qui-Gon wanted was to be in public with this erratic projection happening, but he couldn't truck his padawan off on a daylong hyperspace trip without eating reasonably first, and they wouldn't have time to cook.

He definitely had a bad feeling about this.

He stopped in the dim hallway before the dining hall and took his padawan's shoulders in his hands, meeting his eyes. The master smiled a little, trying to be reassuring, and said, "I want you to center yourself. Relax, be calm." They both knew he was trying to ease his own frantic thoughts as much as his padawan's.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, found his center.

"Good," Qui-Gon complimented. He paused, but he didn't let go of Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, waiting.

Qui-Gon steadied himself and said quietly, "We both know why this is happening."

Obi-Wan nodded.

"And we both know we shouldn't-- that is, there isn't-- no matter how much we--"

Sparing him the floundering, Obi-Wan waved his hand and nodded again, a little more slowly. Of course they couldn't. What had he been thinking?

Qui-Gon just nodded in reply and said, "As long as that's out." He let go of Obi-Wan's shoulders and straightened. Obi-Wan looked at him a moment.

"But . . .. " he began, then shook his head. He had never seen so much trouble over so few words. Maybe that was the problem: nothing was "out." Nevertheless, time was short, and this wasn't an appropriate setting to discuss possible-- or impossible-- futures.

Drawing their shields tightly around them, they stepped through the wide double doors leading into the cafeteria.

No one turned to look at them. No one seemed to notice them at all. Obi-Wan sighed heavily, looking up at his master, who was also visibly relieved. They moved to the queue to get their food. Perhaps the incidents in the Council chamber and the hallway had been isolated events.

Obi-Wan tested it as he dished his favorite pudding onto his plate, looking at his master's back as the man ladled soup into a bowl. /I'm in love with you./

Qui-Gon didn't so much as twitch, so Obi-Wan tried once more: /What I wouldn't give to have you laid out in front of me, waiting for me to--/ he broke the thought off before it became a visualization. /Let's not get carried away,/ he chastised himself, shifting his legs around his sudden half-erection. Still, Qui-Gon didn't notice. He was sprinkling bread cubes over his soup and taking a slice of cake to add to his tray.

"Ready?" Qui-Gon turned to him, cool and collected.

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied. He didn't notice the ripples in the Force that moved out from him, fluttering through the dining hall and encompassing most of that quadrant of the Temple.

A Calamarian three rows back from where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sat suddenly flushed brightly and stared at her pudding. She began unconsciously tracing a lewd pattern in it with her spoon. Her best friend, a male humanoid with a slightly blue cast, looked at her longingly and squirmed on his bench.

In another area, two tightly bonded padawans exchanged a sudden thought, looked at each other knowingly, took up their dishes of pudding and retreated quickly from the hall.

In the Initiate corner, several children abruptly began to cry, utterly confused and distinctly horrified.

Obi-Wan glanced up at the crying children. He'd been eating as fast as he could, trying not to think and shoveling food into his mouth in the interest of getting full before they had to leave. Now he stared around the cafeteria in something akin to wonder, elbowing his master to look as well.

Bright, turbulent fluctuations in the Force were happening all over the hall. Obi-Wan could sense them distinctly; to Qui-Gon they were painfully evident. Well-established couples were suddenly rising and leaving, many of them with bowls of pudding, but some of them with soup and bread cubes. Obi-Wan saw several females with glazed-over expressions, breathing fast and gripping their utensils or the tables in amazed, flushed distraction. Qui-Gon was absolutely astonished to hear a bitten-off moan from one end of the hall. Then he glanced over to another section of the dining area to see a master/padawan pair kissing furiously-- a couple he knew wasn't a *couple* at all.

He looked worriedly at Obi-Wan, who was staring at him, aghast. "What--?"

Qui-Gon didn't speak, he simply set his mouth in a grim line and took his tray to the washers.

They left the cafeteria and headed toward their quarters to throw their bags together. Qui-Gon grasped his padawan's elbow in his large hand and bent his head as they walked, whispering harshly, "Shielding intensification refresher the *minute* we get on board."

Obi-Wan couldn't have dreamed of a better suggestion.

The pair wordlessly agreed that deadly peril notwithstanding, they had never been happier to reach a transport. At least they were safeguarded here as Qui-Gon used a remote dataslate to access information on dense shielding techniques.

As they ran through the exercises repeatedly, Qui-Gon began to feel comfortable, to relax a little. Yes, this would be sufficient. They would get through this: no sticky confession, no awkward promise, no intergalactic military faux pas. Dense shielding. That was the key. Good, hard shielding. Nice, tight, full -- Qui-Gon stopped himself, wiping his brow with a shaking hand.

Obi-Wan looked alarmed. "Master, what is it?" He took Qui-Gon's face in his hands and peered at him. "You look awful."

/Well,/ Qui-Gon sighed internally. /It might be a strain, but at least he didn't hear me./

He was, of course, unaware that their pilot, in the middle of bringing them out of hyperspace, was abruptly beset by a raging erection.

The changing of the command and the subsequent banquet went, thankfully, without incident, either by Jedi hand or in spite of it. During the relaxed mingling after the dinner, Qui-Gon had sent Obi-Wan off on his own devices, under the direct stipulation he was to keep his shields erected. Obi-Wan had quirked an eyebrow slyly, and Qui-Gon had grinned in spite of himself. At least they could still smile about it. That was worth more than anything else was.

Qui-Gon watched the remainder of the event with a careful eye, relieved that there was nothing out of the ordinary to note. There were no overt sexual currents, no oddly explained pairings suddenly disappearing into the garden or the peripheral rooms adjacent to the ballroom. No one was looking at him either strangely or lustfully. When he made brief, occasional contact with his padawan he found their observations matched. He breathed a sigh of relief. That appeared to be that.

Their return to Coruscant went without much incident. Obi-Wan, frankly, was glad. Things had been tense; he'd worried about emotions and thoughts leaking through the bond, and then to wonder whether he was projecting his desire to entire courtyards of people! That had been too much. Plus, the pilot had been positively irascible. Obi-Wan couldn't remember having met such a foul-tempered man before. He found himself feeling as though they'd been on a grueling, high-security undercover mission rather than a simple ceremonial one.

"Master," he sighed, dumping his bag, cloak and utility belt in a heap by the door to his room, "this-- shielding. I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. I really think we should talk--"

The comm chirped.

Obi-Wan slumped in his doorway. Qui-Gon looked at him sympathetically and answered the call.

"Jinn."

"Debriefing in ten minutes," Master Windu fairly barked, and cut the transmission.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back against the doorjamb and stared at the ceiling.

They stood in the middle of the Council rotunda, facing Master Yoda. They were tired, hungry and shielded like battleships. They gave their mission debriefing and received the platitudes. When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Qui-Gon bowed and turned to go.

"One more thing there is," Yoda muttered. Qui-Gon turned back, expectantly. "Strange fluctuations there have been around you and your apprentice, Qui-Gon," he observed, and closed his eyes, feeling both Qui-Gon's and Obi-Wan's chagrined flushes. "Learned to shield them, you have, to a point." He opened his eyes again and fixed first the master, then the padawan with an intent stare.

"But not soon enough," Mace broke in waspishly. Qui-Gon turned in surprise and mild embarrassment toward his friend, who seemed to have lost his calm altogether.

"There have been some-- incidents since you left for Malastare," Depa Bilaba broke in softly, and at Qui-Gon's questioning look, amazingly, she blushed. Brightly.

/*What* is going on, Master?/ Obi-Wan asked frantically, dropping his shielding just enough to slip the question through.

Immediately the two Jedi felt the change in the room. If the Living Force had a temperature, it shot straight up. The females were all shifting in their seats, the males were sitting stiffly, wide-eyed, trying not to move lest they make evident (or hurt) suddenly erect organs.

Obi-Wan slammed his shields up, drawing in a shocked breath and staring at his master, who looked rather nonplussed himself.

Yoda had narrowed his eyes to slits, and his breathing was heavy. Obi-Wan stared in a kind of terrified fascination. Something was very, very wrong here, and he felt embarrassed and amazed to see Master Yoda-- *Master Yoda,* who supplemented the Code, who assigned all their missions, who worked in the crèche-- *turned on.*

To the best of Qui-Gon's knowledge, no one in the current Order's collective lifetime could remember seeing Master Yaddle flush to a dark shade of forest. Yet there she was, looking longingly at Yoda and tapping her stick impatiently on the side of her chair, waiting for the Council to adjourn.

Yoda cast a glance that was half-chastisement, half-promise at her and turned to Qui-Gon, whose expression was now one of great trepidation: he was about to learn far, far more than he should about his former master.

"Do something about this, we must," he stated flatly. "Too old am I to deal with this. When eight hundred years old you reach, survive sex three times a day you will not. Killing me, you are." He laughed, and both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were faintly horrified.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, embarrassed, frustrated, exhausted of all of this, and he couldn't even begin to fathom how the old master felt. Then again, he'd just had a taste of a little more of the old master's feelings than he cared for. "What can we do, Master? We've used some of the most advanced shielding techniques known to the Order."

Yoda swiped his stick in a cutting motion. "Useless, that is. Seen you have, the result of lowering your shields. Go about like this, you cannot."

Mace interrupted curtly, "We've had reports of three separate couples-- two pairs of padawans and a master and padawan-- caught having sex openly in the gardens." He pinned Qui-Gon with his stare. "And have you any idea *where* this might have occurred?" Mace shook his head and pressed on, not waiting for an answer. "These three incidents occurred in the West Garden, under a particular l'ersa tree."

Qui-Gon winced. Obi-Wan looked at him, astonished. It was the place where Qui-Gon meditated. Obi-Wan swiped a hand over his forehead and his stomach tightened.

"Speaking of the Gardens," Adi Gallia spoke quietly, "The plant life is another matter entirely."

As one body, the two Jedi turned to her, finding it difficult to believe that anything could surprise them any further-- until she continued.

"Seed pods are exploding completely out of season. Trees are suddenly bearing and dropping fruit. Plants that should be dormant in the wintered areas of the Garden are in full bloom." She glanced back and forth between the increasingly distressed pair. "Our gardeners cannot keep up with the production. We've had to bring the older Initiates in to help harvest-- not only to lighten the load, but to give them something to do, to distract them from the thoughts they have been having." She looked away. "You've put the entire Temple in a communal breeding impulse."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, though they were shielded tightly against each other, both thought without thinking that now would be a good time for the universe to implode.

"Enough," Yoda banged his stick. "No good explanation is there for this, but fix it you will, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. Right now, today." He paused, took a breath and cast a glance at Yaddle, who looked at him steadily and with a trace of regret at what he was about to say.

"Go home, you will," he said to the two Jedi firmly, "and consummate your relationship."

Qui-Gon gaped. Obi-Wan sputtered. Yoda slashed his stick through the air again in a gesture that brooked no further discussion.

"The only way, this is. Radiating so much sexual frustration you are that you upset the balance of the Force within the Temple. Feels this, does every Force-sensitive within parsecs. Keep pudding in the dining hall, the cooks cannot," he added, and Obi-Wan flushed and turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Shielding from each other, you are, but not from the Force. Protects your thoughts it does, for a while, but never for long. Release the tension, you must. Disappointed I am in both of you that think of this sooner you did not."

"It's not for lack of thinking of it," Obi-Wan began rather plaintively, and fell silent under a half a dozen very sharp looks.

Qui-Gon finally addressed Yoda. "Master, surely there must be another way--"

Yoda slapped his stick against the side of his seat. "No other viable way is there. Consummate your desire, you must, and be done with it. This, the Council does order you."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, staring, then closed it. Then, unable to help himself, he demanded, "A consular directive to *sleep* together?"

Mace glared. "If you do nothing more than sleep, I'll personally see you both brought up on charges of disruption and incitement. Now get out. You're driving us all crazy."

Obi-Wan recoiled. He glanced around, confounded to a degree he could hardly fathom. It was only when his master prodded him that he remembered to move.

Obi-Wan paced their common room in his extreme agitation, and Qui-Gon sat on the sofa and stared through the coffee table.

"How can they expect us to do this?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised at how quickly he'd changed his mind about the whole thing. "A *directive*! An *order*! How can we possibly? And then the entire *Temple* will know--" he groaned and covered his face, sinking into a chair.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "The Temple already knows, Obi-Wan. Consummation is immaterial to that."

Obi-Wan looked at him, stricken. "It's not *immaterial,* it was supposed to be-- I wanted to wait until after my knighting, when-- oh!" he groaned again and sank to his knees in front of the chair, desperately trying to center himself. If someone had told him he would someday be ordered to have sex with his master, he might have laughed and thought how lucky he was. Faced with the reality, he wasn't sure he could go through with it.

Qui-Gon settled to his knees in front of Obi-Wan and sought his focus, as well. /It isn't as though we haven't both wanted it,/ he sent.

"You didn't," Obi-Wan said quietly, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Qui-Gon dropped his chin to his chest and stared at the floor. "It was never that I didn't. Your training, your friendship are too important to me, no matter how much I--" he fell silent and sighed.

Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's face in his hands and looked at him intently. "Do you want me? I've waited years to hear you say it." He dropped his voice and pleaded, "Say it."

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied quietly. "I do want you. Directive, or no. I've wanted you since you were seventeen."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his master's, expressing contentment, excitement, and mostly relief.

Minutely, silently, and completely undetectably to beings not Force-sensitive, a kind of expectant, collective sigh of relief went up. Yoda felt it and closed his eyes, nodding. Yaddle lay next to him in bed, a little sorry that it was about to end, this glorious little sexual revolution. Mace, gratefully, felt it and was able to relax enough to think he might be able to sleep without a towel. The ripples of potential spread out over the rest of the Temple slowly.

"Do not think," Qui-Gon continued, leaning closer, "because we are acting under a Council missive that I don't want it."

"'We serve the Order, not our desires,'" Obi-Wan reminded him, his eyes fixed on Qui-Gon's mouth moving relentlessly toward his.

"Sod the Order," Qui-Gon breathed, and kissed his padawan.

Obi-Wan's shielding dissolved under the long awaited and much-needed kiss. He could feel the consuming need of years flying up around him like wind, and he shivered. Qui-Gon pulled him close, lips and tongue communing with Obi-Wan's, at last, at last. It was so good, so perfect that they kissed until they were shaking, until the very Force around them was screaming for release in bright, shining waves.

Qui-Gon stood and tugged Obi-Wan to his feet, undressing without a word. Obi-Wan followed suit, shedding clothes as they moved slowly toward Qui-Gon's room. The master guided his new lover over and eased him onto the bed, teased him with his mouth, showed him what he liked, what he wanted. Pleasure and light swirled from them both, radiating outward slowly, steadily, until the split second of joining.

When Obi-Wan opened himself physically and spiritually and accepted his master into him, the radiant energy shot out and encompassed everyone it touched. Beings all through the complex were flooded with sudden, hot need. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan moved together, wrapped around each other. Comm units went off all over the Temple as Jedi upon Jedi suddenly felt the urge to contact an old lover or a new love interest. Clothing was shed in piles everywhere at once. Qui-Gon pulled his lover up and turned him until Obi-Wan knelt over his lap, tucking his back against the master's front. Obi-Wan turned his head and arched to kiss the bearded mouth, impaling himself.

Couple after couple-- and sometimes groups of three or more-- moved together in burning lust. Those who had never cast a second glance at each other suddenly felt flares of desire; those who had desired each other were suddenly in love. Qui-Gon buried his face in Obi-Wan's neck and kissed it, licking and biting, his arms firmly about the taut waist. Obi-Wan clutched his master's hands, winding their fingers together, arching into the mouth and body that was the whole of his existence in that Moment.

Slowly, it built. They felt it coming through the Force as though it had originated outside them. Obi-Wan leaned backward against that strong chest, shuddering as he felt it happening, and Qui-Gon's arms tightened around him. With a warm, creeping slowness, the unbearable pleasure of the radiant Living Force grew. Suddenly it gave its nod of approval and crashed into them violently, completely overwhelming the physical orgasm. Qui-Gon thrust, Obi-Wan sank onto him, both cried out, and the entire Order screamed its completion, thousands of Force-attuned spirits shaking in ascendancy and Light. Pleasure ripped through bodies with amazing force and speed. Hundreds of deities were summoned and praised. Hands clasped, mouths worked, lungs gasped for air, and then with a final, accumulated, shivery breath, the energy went spiraling on its way, leaving bodies tangled and brains worthless.

One last seedpod in the Garden blew open, spraying kernels in a meter radius around it. Spent.

Obi-Wan was panting for air and not feeling like he was getting any. Qui-Gon shuddered hard and shifted Obi-Wan just enough to allow them to collapse on the side of the bed that his apprentice hadn't come all over. Obi-Wan tucked himself into his master's side, pillowing his head on a broad shoulder and sighing shakily.

"What," he asked unsteadily, "was *that*?"

Qui-Gon shook his head a little, stroking Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm sure I don't know. I think, however, that we left no doubt in Mace's mind that we did not go to sleep."

Mace was cursing quietly, looking for his towel.

It was a full two weeks before Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could bring themselves to set foot in the dining hall. There was no use putting it off any longer; of course, Obi-Wan was afraid he might die of mortification.

"No one's ever died of that," Qui-Gon teased, and tugged at the padawan braid. He angled his head toward the door. "Come on. I hear they are able to keep your pudding from walking out the doors now."

Obi-Wan went bright crimson.

At first-- that is, inside the first minute and a half-- everything appeared to be normal. The team moved to the queue, got their trays, got their soup and pudding and bread and meat. However, Obi-Wan could feel the hairs on his neck stand up as the ripple of excited whispers whipped through the hall. He was afraid to turn around and face the tables. Things had gone much too quiet. He glanced up at Qui-Gon, who was gazing, rather perplexed, into the dining area.

Everyone was staring. Everyone. For a long, breathless moment, not a sound broke the torturous silence. Then from somewhere in the back came the sound of clapping.

To this day, no one knows-- or will say-- who started to clap. It began in a corner of the hall and spread, slowly, in waves of two or three sets of hands. It increased in tempo until even Qui-Gon had gone as red as his apprentice, and no, in that moment, he couldn't be sure that no one had ever died of it. He rather hoped it were possible.

Before long, the applause had grown thunderously loud, and people were standing. Soon, *everyone* was standing. Half were cheering. Many were crying and laughing at the same time. The swell of Force-enhanced emotion in the room was astonishing as everyone remembered the sweeping, blinding night when the Force reached orgasm.

Qui-Gon's beeping communicator went unheard this time.

End.