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It was much, much later when the Master finally surfaced from his meditation, his soul lighter than it had been in a long time. With a little smile on his lips he opened his eyes, to look directly into his Padawan's anxious gaze.

"Master? I was beginning to worry. You were so deep I could barely sense you at all. Is there something wrong?" Obi-Wan was perched on the edge of the bed, dressed just in his sleep pants. As he spoke he reached hesitantly to the older man, only to withdraw his hand before he could touch his Master's shoulder.

"It's very late, Master. I expected you to be asleep, but I'll make some spiceberry tea if you like."

Qui-Gon rose to his feet a little awkwardly. His limbs had stiffened from the prolonged inactivity, a certain sign he was beginning to feel his advancing years. He shook his head and attempted a smile.

"No, thank you, Obi-Wan. I've been neglecting my evening meditations lately; tonight was a good opportunity to reflect on a few things that have been troubling me." He smiled again to lighten the mood, and Obi-Wan hesitantly returned the expression. "All I want to do now is use the 'fresher and drag my weary bones into bed."

Qui-Gon escaped to the 'fresher, spending long minutes in finding reasons to delay. Finally, after braiding his hair and tying it off, he had no more excuses to loiter in the 'fresher. Wiping the sweat from his hands on his tunic, he returned to his bedroom.

He paused in the doorway and breathed a silent sigh of relief. The faint light entering through the darkened window revealed his Padawan curled in the centre of his big bed. He had feared that Obi-Wan would have chosen to sleep in his own bed tonight. Gathering up that fear, he thrust it gratefully into the Force. Quickly he removed his clothing; picking up and then rejecting a pair of soft sleep pants. He slipped naked under the covers and rejoiced in the warmth spilling from the lean body of his apprentice.

"Mmmm, Master." Obi-Wan turned to face him, his eyes half closed and a look of pure lazy wantonness on his handsome features. With his heartbeat accelerating, Qui-Gon watched his apprentice slowly draw the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as his mouth curled in a sensual smile. Without taking his eyes from his Master Obi-Wan moved close; as Qui-Gon reached to take him in his arms he ducked his head and pressed those wet lips against his Master's chest.

Qui-Gon moaned, unable to hold back the sound. When Obi-Wan slid his tongue across his chest and settled his mouth around a nipple, the Master was lost. He wrapped his arms about his apprentice, whimpering in fiery need as his Padawan settled in to happily suckle at the hardening teat. Gentle nibbles alternating with teasing licks sent waves of heat to Qui-Gon's groin, and he pushed his stiffening sex against his Padawan's hip. Each thrust brought Obi-Wan's erection tapping against his belly, and he realized his apprentice was as aroused as he was. Desperately he clutched at Obi-Wan's braid, tugging his apprentice away. Obi-Wan growled softly in his throat until Qui-Gon pulled him fiercely against himself again, and his Padawan nuzzled in to contentedly suckle his Master's other nipple.

Qui-Gon lost track of time, drifting on a haze of mindless sensation. Vaguely he was aware of stroking his Padawan's soft, sweet-smelling hair over and over. He knew that Obi-Wan had showered while he had been deep in meditation, but a functioning part of his mind assured him that his Padawan had not been with any other that evening. He would know. Rejoicing in the knowledge, he ground his aching erection against his Padawan's hip and shivered in delight as Obi-Wan thrust hard against him in return.

Then his Padawan was pulling away, and Qui-Gon couldn't stifle a little cry at the feeling of loss. But he knew what was to come, and at Obi-Wan's light touch on his hip he turned, raising himself to his knees. Only this time Obi-Wan touched his shoulder, gently pulling and then pushing him until he was lying on his back. He swallowed in anticipation. It would be the first time for this position; he would get to watch Obi-Wan's expression as his Padawan took him. With shivering expectation he bent his knees and drew his feet up, allowing his legs to spread wide to give his Padawan access. It was a very defenseless position, and Qui-Gon felt his face flush with heat in his vulnerability.

Obi-Wan knelt beside him, one hand resting lightly on his knee. Qui-Gon could not his read his Padawan's features in the dim light, but he thought he detected a hitch in the younger man's breathing. Then his apprentice turned and reached for the ever-present vial of sweet-smelling oil on the bedside table. As he heard the distinctive sound of his Padawan warming the oil by rubbing his hands together, Qui-Gon closed his eyes in anticipation of Obi-Wan touch.

His eyes flickered open in surprise when he felt Obi-Wan oil-slick fingers, not probing the entrance to his body, but instead surrounding his quivering erection. It was an extraordinary feeling.

"Obi--?" He was confused, not understanding.

"Hush, Master." Obi-Wan bent down without releasing his hold on his Master's hardened flesh and placed a gentle kiss against Qui-Gon's inner thigh, just a few inches past the knee. "Please, trust me. I want to make you feel so good."

A few more strokes of his Padawan's skillful hands and Qui-Gon was powerless to question anything. His eyes closed once more and he gave himself over to Obi-Wan ministrations, content to let the younger man have control. Obi-Wan's proficiency in the physical side of their relationship never ceased to astonish him, and he sensed tonight his Padawan's was going to guide him to new heights of passion.

So, when Obi-Wan's caressing hands left him he couldn't stop the gasped, "No!" of protest that escaped. Instantly the hands were back, stroking his belly in slow, soothing circles. Then he felt warm skin brush his inner thighs. His eyes snapped open to see his Padawan looming over him, his handsome features tightened in concentration. One hand circled his erection again, holding it firmly in place as he felt a steady pressure against the tip. Now he understood.

"Oh. Oh--, Obi-Wan," he breathed, hardly daring to speak above a whisper in fear of disturbing his Padawan. The young man appeared lost, his chest rising and falling in the steady, even rhythm he embraced when trying to centre himself in meditation. Then his flesh opened to his Master's unyielding hardness, and for the first time Qui-Gon felt the silky heat of his Padawan's body surrounding him, taking him in. He groaned with pleasure at the sensation.

Slowly Obi-Wan claimed him, inch by inch, his flesh slick and accepting. So very slick that Qui-Gon realized his Padawan must have prepared himself before. Had planned this. The thought added to Qui-Gon's spiraling pleasure. Then Obi-Wan paused, taking deep breaths, and Qui-Gon reached out to gently hold the slender hips with his big hands, offering support. The Master was aware his erection was impressive, and no matter his Padawan's experience, he would not find it easy to accommodate Qui-Gon's girth.

Panting softly, Obi-Wan covered the older man's hands with his own, easing himself away from his Master's penetration. Qui-Gon moved one hand and grasped his Padawan's flagging erection in gentle fingers, coaxing Obi-Wan's sex back to sleek hardness. Obi-Wan gasped softly, and with a firm grip on his Master's thighs he resumed his descent, not stopping until Qui-Gon felt the smooth warmth of his Padawan's buttocks firmly pressed against him.

They rested for a long moment, Qui-Gon content to just feel Obi-Wan's heat surrounding him. He thought he could be content to lie like this forever, lovingly encased in his Padawan's body. Then Obi-Wan rose, sliding forward off Qui-Gon's erection slightly before pushing back, taking the Master deep within once more and sending that thought tumbling away into the Force.

Instinctively Qui-Gon thrust his hips up to meet his Padawan and they slowly began their rhythm, a sexual dance where they stayed in sync effortlessly. Keeping still was an impossibility, and as passion mounted Qui-Gon thrust faster and harder upwards, finally penetrating his Padawan with great lunges of his hips.

He thought Obi-Wan beautiful to watch; with his head thrown back, his eyes closed and his chest and shoulders covered in a sheen of sweat he seemed a priceless courtesan from one of Coruscant's elite pleasure houses. For a brief moment Qui-Gon thought he saw a trace of tears on his Padawan's cheek, but told himself it must be but a trick of the light.

When the inevitable tightening grew in his loins, Qui-Gon desperately fought the feeling. He didn't want to climax - not yet. Tightening his grip on Obi-Wan's erection, he began to stroke in the same hard, throbbing tempo that matched the thrusting of his lower body, running his calloused thumb over the head with each caress. He was rewarded when his Padawan began to wail softly, digging his fingers into Qui-Gon's thighs with an intensity that would leave bruises in the light of day. Then Obi-Wan was shuddering hard, the hot liquid spilling into his Master's sheltering hand. It was the moment Qui-Gon had been anticipating. Two more upward thrusts and he spurted his own seed deep into his Padawan's body, his heart and soul silently crying, Mine! You're mine!

Obi-Wan slumped forward, becoming a heavy weight in his arms. Tenderly Qui-Gon supported his Padawan as he turned to one side, gently easing the young man down onto the bed. As he laid him down his softening penis finally slipped from his body, and Qui-Gon experienced an empty ache of regret. He reached for the clean soft cloth they always kept by the bed, first wiping Obi-Wan's semen from his hands and then gently and carefully cleaning his Padawan's unresisting body. Obi-Wan lay motionless, sighing softly under his Master's ministrations.

When he had them both cleaned to his satisfaction, Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan just enough to pull the covers down and settled them both in the centre of the bed, tugging the blankets back up over them. Obi-Wan curled into him instantly, resting his warm cheek on his chest and wrapping one arm about his Master tightly, possessively. Qui-Gon chuckled and stroked his Padawan's cheek, but Obi-Wan's breathing had already settled into the steady rhythm of sleep.

It took a while for the Master to follow. For a long time Qui-Gon was content to simply watch his Padawan in sated slumber. His elation was a palpable thing. He hadn't screwed up, his Obi-Wan had returned to him, they had loved long and well, and he would be very, very careful in the future to ensure his Padawan had no cause to find fault with him. He wasn't certain he would be able to go on with living otherwise.

The next morning things were certainly back to normal, the incident in the training salle seemingly forgotten. Obi-Wan was cheerful over breakfast, if a little tired. They spoke of inconsequential things; an upcoming mission, Obi-Wan's next choice of courses, and the poetry recital Qui-Gon was looking forward to attending that evening. They were Master and Padawan, and all things were well.

As the weeks passed into months, Qui-Gon did notice a few very subtle changes in Obi-Wan's behaviour. They had always made a point of sparring together several times a week, but his Padawan now occasionally requested an extra session or two every week. Qui-Gon was secretly delighted, as nothing gave him more pleasure than watching his precious Obi-Wan in the exertions of a fiercely competitive workout, but he kept his serene expression and merely nodded his acquiescence to the request.

Also, it had been Qui-Gon's habit to eat his midday meal in their quarters, the trip to the dining hall being considered an unnecessary waste of time considering the simple fare the Master preferred at that time of day. Obi-Wan had always met his friends for lunch, but now he turned up unexpectedly in their quarters two or three times a week, cheerfully joining his Master in a sandwich or a plate of fruit and cheese.

Most surprising of all were the evenings. Obi-Wan did not spend evenings at home. Although he never missed a curfew he was invariably out with friends sampling the Coruscant nightlife, or simply meeting them to study or exchange stories about past and future missions.

So the first night he returned to their quarters after the evening meal and came out of his room dressed in a worn set of training pants and tunic, picked up a chemistry text and curled on the sofa, Qui-Gon was speechless with astonishment. He turned from his desk where he was studying their latest mission objectives to gaze at the young man who remained absorbed in his chemistry datapad. It was a few moments before he recovered his ability to speak.

"Obi-Wan, is there something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, Master." Obi-Wan raised his head from the datapad to look at his Master, his brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Why do you ask?"

"Umm, well--, you don't look like you're going out this evening."

"No, Master. I thought I would stay home tonight." As though that answered all the questions that were tumbling and colliding in Qui-Gon's mind, Obi-Wan went back to studying the datapad.

Qui-Gon, however, simply couldn't leave it alone. "But, you never stay home, Obi-Wan. Have you had an argument with one of your friends?"

"No, Master. I believe all my friends are still my friends." His Padawan graced him with a brief smile before returning once more to his chemistry.

"Are you lacking spending money, Padawan? If that's the problem I could spot you a small loan."

Obi-Wan laid the datapad beside him and looked directly at his Master. Qui-Gon shifted uneasily under the steady gaze. "Master, is there a problem with my staying in tonight? Are you expecting Master Windu and Master Gallia for a game of sabbacc? Or are you having an assignation you don't want me to know about?"

"Of course not, Padawan!" Qui-Gon greeted the last suggestion with an explosive denial, then realized by the twitch of his Padawan's lips that Obi-Wan was teasing him. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he attempted to gather his serenity once more. "It's just that it's so rare for you not to go out. I just wondered--that's all."

Obi-Wan smiled, a warm gentle smile that made Qui-Gon's heart flutter in his chest. "Most of my friends are going dancing at the Dessian Delight. I don't know, it just seemed--" Obi-Wan paused, rolling one shoulder in an eloquent shrug, "--well, a very boring thing to do tonight. So I thought I would stay home." He sighed softly. "But if you would rather be alone--"

"No, no, of course not, Obi-Wan. I would be glad of your company. Not that I will be a very exciting companion tonight, with all these mission parameters I have to get through before tomorrow."

"That's OK, Master." Obi-Wan smiled again, sending Qui-Gon's heart careening about his chest once more. "I'll just catch up on my analytical chemistry techniques, and perhaps later this evening you can review the more important bits of our next mission with me." So saying, Obi-Wan shifted a little more comfortably into the sofa cushions and returned to the study of his datapad.

It turned out to be a most pleasant evening. Qui-Gon discovered after his initial discomfiture that he could concentrate much more easily with his Padawan's silent, yet oddly comforting presence in the room. When Obi-Wan later rose to make them a late evening snack, he returned with a large plate of cheeses and biscuits and fresh fruit slices, sitting on the floor at his Master's feet. As they companionably sipped their spiceberry tea and munched from their communal plate, Qui-Gon outlined the upcoming mission, carefully noting his Padawan's suggestions and good-naturedly arguing the salient points.

Sometime during the evening it occurred to the Jedi Master that he had never in his life felt quite as content as he did at this moment. There was nowhere, but nowhere else he could possibly want to be right now, with no one else for company, and the realization made him blink to clear the gathering moisture from his eyes. He could remember with great clarity the moment Obi-Wan had gone from being his Padawan to being his lover, but he wasn't at all sure of the moment when his cherished companion had become his best friend.

He bent to reach for another slice of manga melon and gently caressed his Padawan's soft, spiky hair in passing. Obi-Wan smiled through a mouthful of cracker, and Qui-Gon felt a sharp stab of pain in his heart. The thought that he could one day loose all this-- it didn't bear thinking about. So he pushed the thought far from him.

'Live in the moment, Jinn', he silently admonished himself. Perhaps the sweet memory of this one perfect moment would be enough.

Now, as he lay between the rapidly chilling sheets, he knew that it would never be enough. Six short months with his precious Padawan as companion and lover, and the rising fear in his chest that he had fucked it up beyond all possibility of reclamation threatened to choke him. He tightened his grip on his Padawan's pillow, breathing deeply of Obi-Wan's scent. Things might not look quite so bleak in the morning, yet Qui-Gon sincerely doubted whether anything could possibly be improved by the cold light of the Thendori sun so high in the mountains. Gently he stroked the pillow over and over, cursing himself for not having the courage to get up and go out to the other room, to confront his Padawan. I'm a coward, he thought to himself, and Obi-Wan is right to have nothing to do with me. He tried once more to settle down, but sleep was a long, long time in coming to the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon was right; morning brought no relief to the tension in the air. The day started badly. He overslept, and was rudely awakened by an incessant buzzing at the outer door. Crawling out of bed in a hazy stupour, he was instantly awakened by the blast of cold air striking his naked flesh. He grasped for his robe and wrapped it about his shivering body, stumbling clumsily into the central room. It was warmer there, a bright blaze crackling merrily in the enormous fireplace. Clutching the robe tightly to his chest, he walked to the door a little more sedately, his Jedi composure returning as he grew more awake.

The buzzer rang once more just as he was opening the door, and he apologized to the liveried servant who stood stiffly in the corridor with an overladen breakfast tray. Qui-Gon stepped to one side and ushered the servant into the room, where the short and stocky Thendori placed the cumbersome tray on the small dining table. The young man bowed deeply and backed out of the room without once uttering a word. Bemused, Qui-Gon lifted the heavy lid from the tray and sniffed appreciatively just as his towel clad apprentice emerged from the 'fresher. The sight of his half-naked Padawan drove all thoughts of food from Qui-Gon's mind.

"Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master?" There was a definite chill in his Padawan's voice.

"Um, breakfast has been delivered," Qui-Gon mumbled lamely.

"So I see. I'm not particularly hungry this morning, Master, so if you would excuse me--?"

Qui-Gon cringed inwardly at the detached tone in his Padawan's voice but stifled the feeling as best he could, quietly nodding his permission for the younger man to withdraw. Without another word Obi-Wan left the room, casually sauntering into his own bedroom instead of the large one they had been sharing. That started an empty ache in the Master's chest that threatened to overwhelm him.

He sat in front of the steaming foods laid out so enticingly on the breakfast tray. His appetite had vanished. Knowing that he needed to keep up his strength and mental acumen for the remaining days of negotiations, he made the effort to sample some of the fare. There was a fluffy omelet, grilled flatcakes, heated scones with butter and several varieties of fresh fruit, but nothing tempted him. In the end he simply toyed with the omelet and sipped the spiced tea. Even then his tense stomach muscles roiled at the intrusion.

He sent a tendril of the force outward, toward his Padawan's room where it tapped tentatively against Obi-Wan's shields. From the earliest days, when he had patiently taught his young Padawan to shield his innermost thoughts and feelings, this was something they simply did not do to each other, except perhaps in the heat of battle when they needed to be more aware of each other as a matter of life and death. Their private thoughts were exactly that - private.

If anything, since they had become lovers Obi-Wan had increased his level of shielding. Oh, Qui-Gon would sometimes get flashes of intense emotions, if his Padawan was very elated or extremely depressed about something, but they were only fleeting glimpses which were quickly hidden as soon as Obi-Wan realized he was projecting. And now Qui-Gon only met shields of durasteel, thick and impenetrable. To add insult, he felt a quick surge of anger, and Obi-Wan thrust his gentle probe away with the equivalent of a sharp mental slap.

Ashamed, Qui-Gon turned back to his breakfast, the food turning to ashes in his mouth. He had a sinking feeling that the next tenday or so was going to feel like the longest, loneliest period of his life.

"Are you feeling poorly, Honourable Jedi?"

Qui-Gon looked down in surprise. The question had not come from C'chak Dir, as he might have expected considering the Bri representative's sharp eye and sympathetic nature, but from the generally abrasive Thendori leader, Apon Dewan. Qui-Gon blinked several times before he realized the squat Thendori was still waiting for an answer.

"I have not been sleeping all that well, Honoured Apon. Your sleep cycles are different from my own. I apologize if I have given offence in any way." Qui-Gon bowed low to the shorter man, an elegant gesture that seemed to please the gruff miner. Years of experience at being the Jedi's most able diplomat and negotiator had given Qui-Gon Jinn the ability to negate a potentially offensive insult such as a severe height imbalance. The Thendori continued to walk down the corridor towards the negotiating chamber, the bells on his elaborate headdress tinkling softly, and Qui-Gon fell into step beside him.

"There can be no offense taken if none is meant, Ser Jedi. It is my concern, however, that the Republic not think we are treating their esteemed representative with the greatest of care. Perhaps you would wish to postpone the negotiations for a few days?"

"I assure you, Honoured Apon, that will not be necessary. I will in no way allow any personal problems to interfere with the negotiations." Qui-Gon shuddered inwardly at the idea of prolonging the time spent on Brithen by even a day more than was necessary.

Apon Dewan frowned slightly, but merely nodded his agreement as the two men stepped into the large negotiating room. Qui-Gon quickly found his seat around the great stone table, but the Thendori chief instead strolled over to the large window that provided a panoramic, if intimidating view of the Brithen mountain range. Other negotiators sat opposite him, but when he looked up Qui-Gon saw Apon Dewan deep in conversation with C'chak Dir in front of the window. The tall, elegant Bri was listening intently to the Thendori, a slight frown marring her usually tranquil features as she nodded frequently to the stocky negotiator. Finally she bowed to the Thendori, and the two walked side by side to the table; Apon Dewan standing in his customary place at Qui-Gon's right, and C'chak Dir seating herself on his left with a sweep of colourful klissan robes and an air of serenity that would have done a Jedi proud. For a moment Apon Dewan shuffled the papers before him, then roughly cleared his throat.

"We have a lot of ground to cover today, so I propose that I simply list the points we need to discuss. If there are any objections, please state them now."

The other two Thendori looked at each other in confusion, then turned to their leader and shrugged, clearly willing to follow his recommendation. The three Bri said nothing; merely waiting in calm silence for Apon Dewan to continue. Qui-Gon was simply too astonished to speak.

"Good. I take your lack of objections to mean that you agree. So, Honourable Jedi, since the amacite is of major concern to your Esteemed Order, we will begin today with a discussion of mining productivity and a pricing scale based on quality of product. If we can have your thoughts on pre-faceted stones as opposed to the raw quartzite--"

To Qui-Gon's amazement, the day continued as it began. Gone was the long-winded, pretentious and tedious representative, to be replaced by a precise and shrewdly intelligent leader of his people. The amount of paperwork they sped through in the morning and afternoon negotiating sessions equaled the amount they had covered since the Jedi had arrived on Brithen. Instead of being talked to death, items everyone agreed upon were quickly discarded, and whenever there was disagreement the negotiations were sharp and to the point. At the end of a day in which he had simply not had enough time to feel tired, Qui-Gon realized that if things continued in this manner, the negotiations could be completed in four more sessions. Only two more days and he and Obi-Wan could be returning to Coruscant!

"The talks today were more to your liking, Ser Jedi?" C'Chak Dir accompanied him as they left the negotiating chamber late in the day and headed down the corridor.

Qui-Gon hesitated before speaking. The last thing he wanted to do with things going so well was to insult either of the representatives of Brithen. Finally he inclined his head in acknowledgement of the Bri's question. "The Honoured Apon did seem to follow his outlined remarks a little more closely today."

Laughter rang in the corridor, a beautiful, silvery musical sound. C'chak Dir paused at a window that marked the juncture of several corridors, gazing out at the splendour of snow-covered mountain peaks. "You mean the ugly dwarf finally stopped posturing and got down to business?" She laughed again, clearly amused at Qui-Gon's expression of dismay.

"I--," Qui-Gon faltered, not quite knowing how to respond. And yet he thought he had detected a definite note of affection in C'chak Dir's words. "You seem to know the Honoured Apon very well."

Once more the tall woman turned from the gazing at the world outside the window. "Indeed, esteemed Jedi. And his father before and his father before him. Apon Dewan can trace his ancestry directly back to the Apon Fendoor. In truth, he has much of Fendoor's intelligence and survival instincts. And although he would never admit it, much of his innate kindness as well."

"Much has been written of the Apon Fendoor then, that you would know his personality so well?"

C'chak Dir laughed once more, shaking her head. "By the Holy Embara, no. Neither the Thendori nor the Bri commit much of our history to permanent record. No, I remember sitting on his knee as a child and being allowed to adorn his long white beard with plaits and ribbons. He was most tolerant of me, as I recall. Took great delight in whispering embarrassing stories about each of his stuffy advisors in my ear. I was very fond of him." There was a note of wistfulness in the tall woman's words.

Qui-Gon stared at the lovely woman in disbelief. "But--Apon Fendoor died almost two hundred years ago!"

"Ah. You believe me to be but a young representative of my species. It is enlightening to know that even the esteemed Jedi are capable of making incorrect assumptions."

Qui-Gon bowed low, trying to control the flush flooding his cheeks. "It would appear that I am more than capable, C'chak Dir. Please forgive me if I have caused offense."

"Non taken, esteemed--may I call you Qui-Gon? Thank you. And, as you may have guessed despite the paucity of information given your Council before you were assigned to these negotiations, C'chak Dir is my title and not my name. You would do me great honour if you would call me Melissanda outside the negotiating chamber." She grinned, an infectious smile that Qui-Gon found himself returning. "The Thendori are much more concerned with protocol than my people."

"And yet for two species of such widely divergent backgrounds and interests, you are amazingly compatible. Many worlds in the Republic would gain greatly in following your example."

"So I am given to understand. It is the major reason why neither the Bri nor the Thendori wish to be overrun with outsiders. In this we are Brithen - united."

"Was it always so? The Thendori are, relatively speaking, newcomers to Brithen. The little history I was given before coming here intimated that their arrival was relatively free of any acrimony, yet they seem a much more aggressive species than the Bri."

Melissanda smiled. "I wasn't born when the Thendori arrived on Bri. There, does that ease your concern about my advanced years?" Her dark violet eyes slanted a little in obvious amusement. "My mother's sister had been C'chak of the Dow for many years, and at the time of the Thendori coming had been elevated to C'crith, the Matriarch of Matriarchs. I knew her only slightly before the Embara took her for her own. She was a tremendously strong-willed woman. The stories my mother tells of the early clashes between her and Apon Fendoor would make your hair stand on end. It was a blessing to us all that she became as fond of him as I am of Dewan."

Qui-Gon leaned against the massive stone pillar that supported the great window, fascinated by the C'chak Dir's tale. He avidly catalogued each snippet of information for permanent recording at a later time.

"My mother was a much younger sister, and had married into the Dir clan many years before. I was born not long before my aunt died, and although I have four brothers, it was my birth that entitled my mother to the position of C'chak Dir. Upon her sister's death she was elevated to C'crith Dir, and she still leads us as our Matriarch of Matriarchs." She wrinkled her nose slightly and laughed.

"My mother, however, has little patience with Thendori ideas of ostentation and rigid government. The idea of being in a room for more than a few hours with a negotiating team appalled her, so as C'chak Dir I was coerced into leading the Bri delegation instead."

Qui-Gon smiled. "It was truly a stroke of luck then that your aunt and Apon Fendoor were of like minds. The Thendori history prior to their arrival on Brithen reflects a militaristic race. They could have easily chosen to view your presence on Bri as a threat and simply wiped you out, and the galaxy would have been none the wiser."

"Again Qui-Gon, you make assumptions. Would it surprise you to know that as C'crith, my aunt could have called on the combined power of the C'chaks and destroyed the Thendori with but a thought?"

Qui-Gon stood still in the lengthening silence. The only change in Melissanda's calm expression was a faint lifting of one eyebrow, a question inviting an answer. He felt a faint tickle in his mind, and finally found words. "You're force sensitive, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. Clearly my shielding is better than I thought, if you did not detect it before now." At his brief affirmative nod she continued with a smile. "Although only a rare male had the ability, almost all female Bri are force sensitive to some degree, some very powerfully so. Even on this remote world we have heard legendary tales of the Jedi, so when we knew you were being sent as the Republic representative the Bri made a collective decision that it was time we learned to use our abilities for more than controlling recalcitrant herd animals or encouraging plants to grow."

"Is this why you agreed so pleasantly in this afternoon's session to my suggestion to allow a Jedi Temple to be built on Brithen?"

"Oh, dear. Was I so very obvious?" Melissanda only laughed at the dryness of Qui-Gon's remark.

"Not at the time. Especially as the Thendori seemed to greatly favour the idea as well."

"Ah, well. I apologize for any obfuscation. Yes, it is certainly selfish for us to want the benefits of Jedi training without having to leave the security of our planet. But I had already spoken with the Thendori, and they could certainly see the benefits a Temple would bring to Brithen. With a strong Jedi presence here we are much less likely to be invaded by a criminal element."

Qui-Gon chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement at being so skillfully manipulated. He had thought the hesitant agreement to his suggestion a great coup for the Jedi, and himself in particular; it was a little disconcerting to realize he had been simply proposing what the Brithen wanted all along.

"It was a wonderful suggestion, Qui-Gon." The C'chak Dir's voice was soothing, although the impish gleam did not diminish in her lovely eyes. "This way we are all satisfied. Brithen joins the Republic, we get our training, the Thendori get protection, and the Jedi get their rocks."

Qui-Gon couldn't help it, he burst out laughing at the casual manner in which the Bri dismissed the invaluable amacite crystals. Melissanda joined him in his amusement, though he did note the quick flash of relief in her eyes.

"Something pleases you both?"

Qui-Gon turned at the sound of Apon Dewan's gravel voice. For such a clumsy looking man the powerfully built Thendori moved silently when he wished. Qui-Gon noted the absence of the familiar headpiece with its telltale silvery bells.

"We were discussing the success of today's negotiations, Honoured Apon." Qui-Gon bowed in deference to the much shorter man.

"Humph. Not near enough argument for my liking, but one has to make do." Clearly following Qui-Gon's line of thought, the Thendori gestured to his unadorned head dismissively. "Hate the wretched thing. Only wear it because my ministers insist Melissanda not tower over me so. You, too. Damned thing is just a pain in the neck." The Thendori leaned his head and rubbed the exposed muscles. "Literally."

Melissanda laughed once more and gripped the shorter man's shoulder affectionately. "Come then, Dewan. Let us have a drink and I will message you into a much more cheerful mood." She smiled at Qui-Gon. "You would be welcome to join us, Honourable Jedi."

Qui-Gon acknowledged her invitation with a smile, but shook his head. "Please pardon me if I do not. I have much sleep to catch up if I wish to be alert at tomorrow's negotiations. If I may?" He bowed once more.

With a few more pleasantries the three separated, Qui-Gon striding down the long corridor that led to his own suite of rooms. As he neared his destination his good mood dissipated like the warmth in the mountains after the sun set. The door opened at his touch and he entered the darkened room. A quick check of his large bedroom confirmed the thing he feared the most - Obi-Wan had chosen not to share his bed this night. It was the first night in the six months they had been lovers, and Qui-Gon experienced a sense of loss that was overwhelming. He hurt.

Somehow he stumbled through his ablutions in the 'fresher, not even bothering to braid his long hair for the night. For a few reckless moments he contemplated invading his Padawan's room, then dismissed that thought as quickly as it arose. Cowardly it might be, but he did not think he could bear it if Obi-Wan chose to reject him to his face.

Instead, he made his way to his solitary bed. The sheets were cold and uninviting as he crawled between them. He ached for his Padawan's comforting presence, but his only consolation at this moment was the hope that they could work things out when they returned to Coruscant. Eventually exhaustion claimed the Master, and he fell into a sound, if not restful, slumber.

C'chak Dir leaned against the great pillar that supported the open doors of the negotiating chamber and watched the handsome young man who walked down the corridor towards her. There was a singular grace in his step that both fascinated and pleased her. As he drew level with her and nodded politely to acknowledge her presence, she raised her hand to halt him.

"Honourable Jedi Kenobi? I regret that we have not had the opportunity to speak. I am C'chak Dir, known to friends as Melissanda. I hope your stay on Brithen was not overly confining?"

If the young man was surprised at her knowing his name, he did not show it. He bowed low, his fine features impassive. "I am honoured, C'chak Dir."

Melissanda waited for the young Jedi to speak further, and when it was obvious he would not she stifled an inward sigh. "You are on your way to your transport?" she asked, moving a few steps closer to one of the large windows. For the sake of politeness he had to follow her.

"Yes, C'chak Dir. My Master awaits me there. He-- he is quite pleased, I believe, in the course of the negotiations."

"As are we all, Jedi Kenobi. Your Master Jinn has been most gracious and patient under what must have been trying circumstances. You must feel very privileged to have him as your teacher."

The young man flushed slightly, she noticed, before regaining his composure. "Yes, C'chak Dir. I could not hope to have a better teacher."

"I hope you will accompany him when he returns." She smiled to herself at the look of surprise on the young man's face. "Ah, he must not have told you. Both the Bri and Thendori have requested his presence as the Jedi representative at the celebration when our Temple becomes a reality."

"Um, my Master and I have not spoken very much at all, lately. The hours of negotiation haven't exactly been conducive--"

"I understand, Jedi Kenobi. You will be pleased then, to be returning to your world. When you are with us once more, you will stay with the Bri and see a much different side to our world. I regret the terms of the negotiations have led to your being a virtual prisoner within these walls. The plains and forests of my home would, I think, have been much more to your liking."

"You must be a little nervous of the changes Republic membership will bring to your world." There was a genuine curiosity in the young man's question, and Melissanda found herself warming to him despite his cool demeanour.

"I don't think there will be much change, young Jedi. Except for the Jedi presence among us, things will continue for us much as before."

"But, surely the increased trade will lead to improvements in your life?"

"Improvements?"

The young man blushed again. "Well-- Qui-Gon did say you were mainly, um, farmers and herders. Surely the influx of new commodities will do much to make your life easier? Kliss is prized everywhere, you could make your fortunes by increasing production even slightly."

Melissanda tried not to laugh at the young man's intensity. "That may be, Jedi Kenobi, if we wanted to change our lives." This time she did smile at his obvious look of puzzlement. "Look at it this way. More Republic credits won't make our crops grow any faster, and I doubt if they would impress our impalax herds in the slightest. When we already have enough, why would we wish for more?"

It was clear by the furrow lining the young man's brow that he was seriously mulling over her words. Reaching out, she caressed his left cheek in the traditional Bri blessing for safe travel, then bowed low and went to join her fellow Brithen. In her heart she felt the young Jedi an admirable and comely creature, surely a companion worthy of the noble and Honoured Qui-Gon Jinn. She would include a prayer tonight for their happiness in her meditations. Perhaps, when they returned to Brithen, they would be pleased to have the Mother Embara bless their commitment to each other.

Qui-Gon looked about the common room with a mixture of relief and trepidation. He was rarely so glad to see the familiar comforts of home after a mission, yet the strained atmosphere between himself and his Padawan soured what should have been a happy homecoming. They had hardly spoken at all on the trip back to Coruscant, and the swift little star cruiser sent by the Senate for their use had returned them home so quickly they had not the usual leisure time for conversation on the trip.

The walk through the Temple to their quarters had been most uncomfortable, and as soon as Obi-Wan had entered the suite he had politely asked if he might use the 'fresher first. At Qui-Gon's quiet nod he had shed his robe and disappeared into the unit for a short time, then escaped dressed only in a large towel into his own room.

Qui-Gon sighed. He knew he ought to confront Obi-Wan about this continuing cold shoulder treatment, yet the fear of rejection held him back. As a Master, he would have set his Padawan straight in no uncertain terms for such behaviour, but this problem was not between Master and Padawan; it was between him and Obi-Wan as friends and lovers. There was no room in this relationship for the Jedi Master.

As Qui-Gon wandered into the small kitchen in search of something edible in the cooling unit, he realized that he would simply have to wait for Obi-Wan to come to him. The natural inequality of the Master-Padawan relationship would allow no other solution. Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove with another sigh at his helplessness in the situation, Qui-Gon returned to the common room and seated himself before his desk. It didn't matter one whit how he felt, endless reports still had to be written and filed concerning their mission.

He was completely immersed in his report to the Jedi Council almost an hour later when he heard the door open to his Padawan's room. Looking up hopefully, his heart sank at the sight of Obi-Wan, dressed impeccably in attire that signaled a night on the town.

"Master, if you have no objection, I plan to go out for supper tonight. I don't suppose you need my input into the reports, but if you wish me to stay home--"

"No, no, Obi-Wan. I understand how confining the last few weeks have been for you." Damn! He didn't want to say that at all, but confronted with his Padawan obviously looking forward to a night out with friends, what else could he say? "Please, enjoy yourself. Perhaps we can talk in the morning?" He hadn't meant the last bit to sound quite so pathetically needy, but it was a true reflection of how he was feeling at the moment.

If he heard the entreaty in his Master's voice, Obi-Wan gave no sign. He simply nodded his thanks as he gathered up his robe. "I might visit a club or two after supper. I feel like dancing this evening. Don't wait up for me." The last was said as he was already out of the door of their quarters, effectively negating any reply Qui-Gon might have given.

Alone once more in the common room, Qui-Gon stared at the computer screen. If he expected to find an answer there, it was not forthcoming. Perhaps in the morning, he thought. Maybe after a night out with friends his Padawan's natural good humour would be restored. He was certain Obi-Wan still had deep feelings for him. If they could only talk about it, he was certain they could overcome this ever-widening chasm in their relationship. Yes. They would talk in the morning, he decided. With his mind made up, Qui-Gon returned to his reports with a slightly lighter heart.

It wasn't until many hours later, as he sipped his spiceberry tea before retiring for the night, that Qui-Gon allowed himself to dwell on his relationship with Obi-Wan once more. If he thought about it dispassionately, he could reason that he was the one at fault. All his Padawan had wanted was a lover who could satisfy him, keep him happy. Was it Obi-Wan's fault that his Master was an old man who had obviously reached the point where he could no longer perform like someone half his age? Obi-Wan deserved better, he rationalized. If he was no longer capable of sexually satisfying his Padawan, then he could hardly blame Obi-Wan for looking elsewhere. But, if it was certain that he could gratify his young lover whenever Obi-Wan desired, then perhaps his Padawan would return to his bed?

That made sense to Qui-Gon, and he realized it was about time he stopped wallowing in self-pity, got off his butt, and did something about it. Decision made, he put his tea aside and reached for his robe. As he went out the door he noticed the chronometer on the wall said it was now past Obi-Wan's curfew. That sparked a flicker of disquiet in the Master, but he reasoned it would simply be one more thing they would discuss in the morning. Closing the door behind him, he set off down the corridor with long, determined strides.

"You would like what?" Healer Jo'cranti's eyebrows crawled nearly up to his hairline; no mean feat considering the Delvian had been practically bald for twenty years. "You never mentioned during your last check-up that you were having a problem getting it up!"

Qui-Gon squirmed under the Healer's accusing glare. Jo'cranti had always possessed the ability to make him feel that even injuries acquired in combat were his own fault. This accusation, however, irritated him to no end. Squaring his shoulders, he glared back at the Master Healer.

"I do not have a problem getting it up! It's just--well-- sometimes I can't--" Gods, this was worse than he ever imagined it would be!

Healer Jo'cranti sighed. His austere features softened and he laced his fingers over his ample belly. "Your present relationship is with your Padawan, is it not?" At Qui-Gon's abrupt gesture of assent he nodded sagely. "Fine looking boy. You're a very lucky man, Jinn. So-- your problem I would guess is not getting it up, but keeping it in fighting trim during prolonged period of combat? Oh, for Sith's sakes, Jinn, don't look so self-conscious. You're not the first Jedi to sit there and tell me the same story. Now, just let me think."

Qui-Gon shifted uneasily as Jo'cranti sat silently, occasionally rubbing the back of his rough hand against the stubble on his chin, making an annoying scratching sound. Finally he nodded sagely. "Sit tight, Jinn. I'll be back in a moment with just the thing for you."

Five minutes later the Master Healer returned and thrust a small bottle across his desk at Qui-Gon. "Here," he demanded. "Give these a try."

Qui-Gon looked dubiously at the tiny pills that rolled about in the bottle as he held it up to the light. They were pink. He wrinkled his nose. His dislike of taking any medication was well known among the healers. "What are they?"

Jo'cranti looked down his nose as though at a recalcitrant child. "Have no fear, Jinn. They're not addictive in any way, nor will they result in constipation." The healer wiped the smirk from his face at the Jedi Master's angry glare. "They just stimulate the brain to produce tiny amounts of a natural chemical. Once you get it up, they can persuade the body to keep it up. Or to rise again, so to speak. The directions are on-- what the hell is that?"

The Healer broke off and swiveled his chair to face the door to the outer office. Qui-Gon turned his head as he realized there was a muffled commotion taking place outside the door. Jo'cranti rose to his feet in a fluid, rapid motion surprising for a man of his bulk and waved Qui-Gon back to his seat.

"Stay where you are, Jinn. I haven't finished with you. Whatever is going on out there I will settle in a few moments." With those words the Healer swept out of the office, leaving Qui-Gon alone at the large, messy desk contemplating the bottle of little pink pills. He hadn't been alone more than a couple of minutes before Healer Jo'cranti returned, his face pale and his eyes a little wide.

"Jo, is there something wrong?" One look at the man caused Qui-Gon's long-standing friendship with Jo'cranti to override their normal healer-patient acrimony.

"Qui-Gon, please come with me."

"What is it?" An icy finger of fear poked at Qui-Gon's stomach and his heart began to beat faster. "Tell me it's not--"

"Don't panic, Jinn!" Jo'cranti scowled at his old friend, but the concern stayed in his eyes. "Coruscant security brought Obi-Wan it. He's going to be fine, Qui-Gon, but he's been--attacked."

The roaring in his ears drowned out anything else the Healer might have said. Qui-Gon was on his feet in an instant and out of the door on Jo'cranti's heels as the plump healer waddled swiftly down the corridor. He stopped abruptly at a door on the right, and the two men entered the infirmary room together.

Qui-Gon halted at the sight of his Padawan lying silent and naked on the single bed in the small room. Two junior healers were bent over the young man, one gently applying bacta to a large, angry bruise on Obi-Wan's hip, the other carefully washing blood from a dozen small cuts on his Padawan's face. His expression reflecting his horror, Qui-Gon stepped towards the group, only to be restrained by Jo'cranti's powerful grip.

"Let my healers do their job, Qui-Gon." When the Master would have shaken off the hand in frantic anger, Jo'cranti only tightened his grip. "There's nothing you can do right now. They will be finished shortly, and it won't be much longer before he wakes up. When he does, and if he chooses, you may take him home. Now settle down."

Qui-Gon slumped with his back against the wall, all the adrenaline draining from him in a rush. He barely recognized his own voice in the whisper that asked the Master Healer, "What happened?"

"Security found him in one of the upstairs rooms at a club in the sublevels. Seems the 'tender got a little worried and called them. He told them Obi-Wan was drinking heavily most of the evening, alone. Two big guys come in and share his table for a while; then they're taking him away, telling the 'tender their friend had too much to drink and they would sort him. Guess he got suspicious when another customer complained about the noise upstairs."

"Has be been--" Qui-Gon couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Sorry, Qui-Gon, but I'm afraid so. It's not so bad." Jo'cranti paused at his friend's pain-filled stare. "You know it could have been a lot worse, Jinn. He's young and he's tough. And you'll be there for him. Just give him a little time. It's the realization that in spite of his training, he could do nothing to stop them that will likely affect him the most. He'll need you there to bolster his self-esteem for a while."

"Why couldn't I hear him?" Qui-Gon's realized he was almost wailing, yet was powerless to stop.

"Doubtless they put something in his drink that interfered with his ability to access the force as well as making him pliable and helpless to physically fight them. So don't go blaming yourself."

Qui-Gon looked past the Healer to the still body on the bed. One of the junior healers was drawing the covers up to his Padawan's chin. His Obi-Wan looked so fragile lying there, almost like he was a child once more. Pushing past Jo'cranti, Qui-Gon approached his apprentice, sitting in a chair one of the juniors had set beside the bed. He picked up Obi-Wan's left hand in his two large ones and gently kissed the back of his fingers. They felt cold against his lips. With his other hand he stroked his Padawan's short, damp hair.

A moment later Obi-Wan opened his eyes and blinked painfully in the muted light of the infirmary room. His eyes were glassy. For a few seconds he appeared disoriented, until his gaze settled on his master. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered through badly swollen lips.

"Oh, Obi-Wan. Don't. You have done nothing to be sorry for." The young man's misery tore at the Master' s heart.

"Tried to reach you. Failed. So sorry."

Qui-Gon's grip on Obi-Wan's fingers tightened. "No, my Padawan. You could never fail, my light. No one could have done better. I am so proud of you." He did not trust his voice to say anymore, and Obi-Wan seemed to relax a little.

"Where am I?" He licked his lips gingerly.

"You're in the infirmary, Obi-Wan." He almost smiled as, in spite of the obvious pain, his Padawan screwed up his face in a grimace of distaste.

There was a soft rustle of robes, and Qui-Gon was aware of the Master Healer standing beside him. When he spoke, his normally gruff voice was mild and soothing. "Do you feel up to going to your own rooms, Padawan Kenobi? There is no physical reason for me to keep you here. It is entirely your decision to make."

Obi-Wan licked his lips once more and looked at Qui-Gon tentatively. "Yes, please. May I, Master?"

"Anything you wish, my Padawan. Do you think you can walk, or shall I get an anti-grav chair?"

"Walk, please," replied Obi-Wan, looking thoroughly horrified at the thought of being seen by anyone he knew in an anti-grav chair.

Jo'crantri snorted softly and walked to the door. "I'll find him a hospital tunic, Qui-Gon, and you can see him home. I'll also get you any medication he might need for the next couple of days."

A half-hour later Qui-Gon helped his Padawan the last few feet down the corridor to their door. Obi-Wan had managed quite well for the first half of their journey; his sheer stubbornness carrying him long after he should have stopped to rest. When they reached the elevator to their floor and found it empty, he slumped in exhaustion against Qui-Gon. In the long corridor that stretched towards their suite he clearly had no choice but allow his Master to support the brunt of his weight. Now Qui-Gon's firm grip kept him from collapsing completely as he palmed the identiplate to their rooms.

Once they were in the common room and the door had closed on the corridor, Qui-Gon ignored his Padawan's quick cry of protest and simply swept the young man off his feet into his strong arms. He walked through the room and pushed the door to his Padawan's bedchamber open with his shoulder, stepped into the small room and gently placed his charge back on his feet.

"There you go, Obi-Wan. If you want to get into bed, I'll get you something to eat. Or drink. Perhaps you would like something to read? Anything you want, you only have to ask."

For a brief moment Qui-Gon saw a look of intense hurt in his Padawan's green eyes, then the expression was gone as though Obi-Wan has pulled a shutter down, leaving his lovely eyes simply hollow and tired.

"Yes, Master," he whispered softly.

Qui-Gon hesitated, not quite willing to let go the supportive hold of his Padawan. "Obi--I--if you would rather, Obi-Wan, you could come and sleep in my bed. It--it might be more comfortable, there would be plenty of room for you--"

Obi- Wan flashed him a warm look of gratitude before dropping his eyes to stare at the floor. Qui-Gon thought he detected a faint blush through the fading bruising on his Padawan's face. "Yes please, Master. I'd like that."

Obi-Wan went to turn around, but before he could take a step Qui-Gon had swept him up in his arms once more. Tucking his head under his chin, he crossed the common room and entered his own bedchamber. He held his burden gently against his chest with one arm as he leaned down and pulled back the cover with his other hand. Then he laid his Padawan carefully in the big bed, pulling the covers up about Obi-Wan's neck and tenderly stroking his short hair. When his Padawan didn't protest the touch Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

"I'm sorry to be such a bother..." Obi-Wan was silenced as Qui-Gon placed his forefinger against his lips.

"Not a bother, Obi-Wan. Never a bother. And don't you ever forget that. Promise?" Obi-Wan managed a wan smile and a nod. Qui-Gon sat back and tried to look business-like. "Now, my Padawan. What can I get for you? Something to eat? Some tea? Perhaps some--choccoa?"

Obi-Wan's expression lit up suddenly with one of those special smiles that made Qui-Gon's heart clench in his chest; he patted his Padawan's shoulder and began to rise. "I thought that might perk your interest. I've been saving some for a special occa--I mean, I've just been saving it for you."

Obi-Wan's hand slipped from under the covers and clasped Qui-Gon's wrist. "Please, Master. Don't take very long."

"I'll be as fast as I can, my Padawan." Qui-Gon rose and went swiftly to the kitchen. While waiting for the milk to heat he rummaged in the cupboard for a package of Obi-Wan's favourite sweet biscuits, then cut a jubba melon into slices. His hands shook a little, and he cursed softly as he nicked his thumb with the sharp knife. Sucking the welling drop of blood away, he suddenly found himself shaking, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. That someone could hurt his Padawan like that, it shook him to the core of his being.

Get a hold of yourself, Jinn, he admonished himself. You're no use to the boy like this. Wiping his face quickly on the back of his hand, he poured the milk into two mugs containing powdered choccoa. He quickly stirred the mixture, put it all on a tray, and returned to his bedroom.

Obi-Wan lay still, the covers clutched to his throat and an anxious expression in his eyes. It relaxed a little when he saw his Master. Qui-Gon placed the tray on the bed and bent to unfasten his boots. He kicked them carelessly into a corner, followed quickly by his socks and his outer tunic. Obi-Wan sat up and balanced the tray as his Master sat carefully cross-legged on the bed. In companionable silence they drank their choccoa, and after a little encouragement Obi-Wan ate a piece of melon and nibbled on a biscuit or two.

Qui-Gon was relieved to see that the bacta was working well. Already the swelling was receding a little in his Padawan's lips and the livid purple bruising on his cheekbones was fading. Would it be that the emotional bruising was as easy to heal, Qui-Gon thought to himself.

"Had enough, Obi-Wan?"

"Mmm, yes Master. Thank you for the choccoa. It was a lovely treat." Obi-Wan put his cup back on the tray and snuggled back under the covers once more, signaling that he was finished with the snack. Qui-Gon slid from the bed and picked up the tray.

"Would you like me to sit with you Obi-Wan? Until you fall asleep?"

For a moment Obi-Wan looked confused, then a look of fear mixed with sorrow crossed his battered features. "I thought--I thought you would sleep here. With me." His voice dropped to a faint whisper. "I'll understand it you don't want to."

"Oh, no, Obi-Wan. Please don't be upset. I just thought you might prefer being alone. I thought--you might sleep better. But I'll join you if you like."

Obi-Wan nodded almost shyly, and Qui-Gon had to still his rapidly beating heart and his untimely arousal. He cleared a space on his dresser and put the tray down. A flick of the Force dimmed the lights in the room. It took only a moment to remove his inner tunic and breeches and slip into his favourite sleep pants, then he was sliding carefully between the sheets. Lying on his back, he turned his head and smiled at his Padawan. Obi-Wan needed no more encouragement than that to roll over and lay his head against his Master's broad chest, slipping his arm about his waist. Qui-Gon sighed, smoothing his Padawan's hair.

They lay silently for a long time as Qui-Gon waited for Obi-Wan to fall asleep. After almost half an hour, however, he realized his Padawan's was still wide awake.

"Obi-Wan? If you're having trouble I can put you to sleep. I remember I used to resort to that when you were younger and restless at night."

"No, Master. I just--" Obi-Wan broke off and began to sit up. "I'd like to take this off. It's not very comfortable."

"Here. Let me help." Qui-Gon sat up beside the younger man and carefully helped him slip out of the hospital tunic. "Better?"

"Uh huh." He paused, then said in a rush, "Can you take those off, too? I--I'd just like to feel you next to me." His expression was a pleading for understanding, and Qui-Gon raised his hand to lightly caress the swollen lips with his fingertips.

"I'd like that, too, Obi-Wan." Raising his buttocks, Qui-Gon slipped out of his sleep pants, tossing them to join the rest of his cloths in a heap on the floor.

This time when he lay down and Obi-Wan cuddled close to him, soft skin warm and sleek, it felt so very right. Emboldened by his Padawan's acceptance he pressed a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead and was rewarded with little snuffling sounds of contentment.

They lay together quietly for a long time, Qui-Gon at peace from the simple pleasure of just being able to hold his Padawan so close. Eventually he realized he was drifting into sleep, and he tightened his arms about Obi-Wan instinctively.

"Master?" A very sad, soft voice, bringing him gently awake once more. "Master--have you ever had--such a thing happen to you?"

Qui-Gon was fully alert in an instant. Hurtful memories came crowding back, filling his mind, each one more painful than the other, and all vying for his attention. And yet, lying here with Obi-Wan sweetly warm in his arms, the ache was diminished somehow. He caressed his Padawan's cheek with his fingertips and pressed his lips to the young man's temple, then took a deep breath.

"Yes, Obi-Wan, I did. A long time ago." His Padawan moved a little in his grasp, and he was aware that Obi-Wan was listening to him with fierce concentration. He didn't speak, however, and his silent encouragement finally gave Qui-Gon the courage to continue.

"Yoda and I were on a mission to Balthantar, a miserably hot, humid little planet populated by millions of species of flying bugs with sticky, clinging feet. You'd hate it there, my Padawan." Obi-Wan shuddered in his arms and instinctively cuddled closer, making Qui-Gon smile in spite of his memories. "It was a simple mission in theory; we were to oversee the first democratic elections on the planet. Unfortunately, one of the parties thought they might be able to sway the election by kidnapping the apprentice of the Republic's representative."

Qui-Gon sighed and stroked Obi-Wan's hair as the vivid recollections surfaced. "It wasn't all that bad at first. Oh, I despised the Force collar they snapped on me. It was the first time I had ever been truly cut off from the Force, and it was a little terrifying not to have my Master's comforting presence in my mind. But the leader of the group was a kind man who genuinely believed in what they were trying to accomplish, and I don't believe he meant me any harm."

"Master?" Obi-Wan's hesitant query made Qui-Gon realize that he had lost himself in the memories. Hugging his Padawan quickly, he had to take a deep breath before he could continue.

"As so often happens in many political fringe groups, there was dissention among the members. On the third night of my imprisonment two of my captors had a violent argument. It turned physical, and after a brief fight the leader of the group was dead. His killer assumed the leadership role, and she had vastly different ideas about how things would be done. She quickly made it known to me that they had no intention of my being able to recognize and report them to the authorities, so I was never going to be freed. Several of her supporters had been eyeing me since I had been taken captive; she reasoned that since I was going to die anyway, her friends might as well have their enjoyment first."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard, grateful to his Padawan for his patience as he tried to regain his serenity. "I--I was fifteen at the time. I didn't know what sex was. Well, I knew, but I-- I think you know what I mean. It wasn't the best initiation I could have had."

His voice trailed away. For a few moments there was silence, then Obi-Wan's arms slipped about his waist and held him tightly. The comfort they gave each other was mutual, and no words were necessary. Finally, Obi-Wan whispered, "How long?"

"Two days. Then it all began to come apart. They fell out and quarreled with each other, and eventually one of them betrayed the others to the authorities. Once they knew where I was, Yoda found me before another hour had passed."

Obi-Wan stroked his Master's back with his fingertips, and Qui-Gon found the touch a soothing balm for the reawakened memories. "Master, you never forget, do you?"

"No, my Padawan, you don't. But I can speak from my experience, and though you may find it hard to accept now, I tell you that it does get easier with time. Especially when there are people who care very much about you. Just sharing my pain with you eases the ache so very much."

"I'm glad, Master. I wish I could take all your hurt away."

"And I yours, my Padawan." Qui-Gon had to blink several times; Obi-Wan's concern filled him with an ache of an entirely different kind. "Now, it's time you were asleep, young man."

"Mmm. Yes, Master." Obi-Wan moved slightly and Qui-Gon felt soft lips touch his throat. Then his Padawan snuggled close again, and it was only a short time before they were both in healing slumber.

Qui-Gon woke in the morning feeling better than he had in a very long time. Having his Padawan wrapped about him like a Dressian trellis vine no doubt accounted for the greater part of that outlook. Carefully he disentangled himself from Obi-Wan's tenacious limbs, smiling when his Padawan's muttered querulously and burrowed further under the blanket. He quickly dressed and went to make breakfast.

With the fruit cut, the water boiled and nerris bread sliced ready for toasting, Qui-Gon was about to try and wake his Padawan when he looked up and saw the young man standing naked in his bedroom door. He was scowling.

"You left me," he accused with a touch of petulance.

"I did. One of us had to make sure we don't starve. Now get cleaned up. Breakfast will be ready by the time you've finished in the shower."

Grumbling softly to himself, Obi-Wan moved towards the 'fresher, still blinking sleepily. When he emerged ten minutes later with a large towel wrapped about his waist, he looked much more alert, although Qui-Gon had to stifle the spike of anger he felt at the sight of the fading bruises that covered his Padawan's slender body.

They ate slowly and talked of everyday things; the kata Qui-Gon planned to teach him next, Garen's latest romantic attachment, and the solution to a problem in Obi-Wan's analytical chemistry he was uncertain about. When the last of their second cup of tea was finished, Qui-Gon gestured to the sofa on the far side of the room.

"Go lie down, Obi-Wan. Healer Jo'cranti gave me the medication you needed so you wouldn't have to return to the infirmary. Just give me a moment to find it and I'll treat your injuries."

Obi-Wan grimaced in distaste, but obeyed without complaint. Clearly he preferred his Master's touch far above another trip to the healers, thought Qui-Gon wryly as he went in search of his robe. Deep in the right pocket he found the various medications he had been given when he and Obi-Wan had left the infirmary the night before. Putting his hand back into the pocket, he drew out another small container, and started when he realized it was the bottle of little pink pills Jo'cranti had given to him. Flushing hotly, he thrust the bottle back into his pocket and stole a furtive glance about the room. He felt a quick wave of relief when he realized Obi-Wan was not watching him.

"Found everything, Obi-Wan." He went to the couch and knelt in front of his Padawan, taking the top from a jar of bacta salve. "One more application of this and you should be feeling much better."

He began with Obi-Wan's face, gently spreading the soothing cream over the bruises and swellings. The tiny cuts were almost healed, and Qui-Gon puzzled over them as he applied the bacta with his thumb.

"One of them wore a ring with a sharp stone," said his Padawan, as though reading his thoughts. "He slapped me several times."

Qui-Gon pursed his lips but said nothing. He worked his way down the slender, muscular body, and Obi-Wan obliged by removing the towel to allow his Master access to his hips and thighs. Finally, Qui-Gon put the cover back on the jar and picked up another package from the floor. Breaking it open he revealed a long, slender syringe.

"Turn over, Obi-Wan."

His Padawan stared at him in confusion, then as comprehension dawned the colour flared in his cheeks.

"I'll be gentle, Obi-Wan, but it is necessary. Jo'cranti told me you had some tearing inside."

Without another word Obi-Wan turned and lay on his belly, his arm under his head and facing the back of the sofa. Qui-Gon stroked his buttocks lightly, but with as much clinical detachment as he could muster. He parted the cheeks carefully, deftly slipping the pre-lubricated syringe into his Padawan's anus. Obi-Wan quivered slightly under his touch, but did not make a sound. A quick pressure on the plunger and he injected the healing bacta deep into his Padawan's body.

"Are you all right, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon discarded the used syringe with its packaging and touched the younger man lightly on his shoulder. Obi-Wan slowly turned his head to look at him, his expression solemn. Then his irrepressible humour surfaced, and he wriggled his backside suggestively while giving Qui-Gon an impudent grin.

"Do you think it will become the new rage in lubes, Master?"

For a moment Qui-Gon could only stare at his smirking Padawan, but before Obi-Wan registered the change in his Master's expression, he gave the younger man a resounding, open-handed slap on one buttock. Not hard enough to do more than sting, but certainly with enough force to make Obi-Wan yelp. "Cheeky brat," he admonished affectionately.

Rubbing his offended ass cheek gingerly, Obi-Wan looked up at his Master. "Are there plans for today, Master?"

"Certainly, my Padawan. The plan is for you to lie there and be cosseted, coddled, and in all other ways waited on with whatever your heart desires. My plan is to finish up the report on Brithen, and any other dry and dusty projects I have been putting aside for too long. I can't go out and have a good time as I must be at your beck and call."

"That sounds like a wonderful plan to me, Master."

"I thought it might."

"Can I lie here naked and watch holovids?"

"If that is what you wish, you certainly may. However, I do insist on covering you with a quilt. My good nature does not lean so far as to allow you to frighten any guests who might drop by."

Obi-Wan pouted a little, but was soon restored to good humour with another cup of steaming choccoa. After a little judicious searching about their quarters, Qui-Gon soon had a sizeable stack of holovids, datapads, junk food and puzzles on a small table within his Padawan's reach.

"There. Now before I get back to my reports, is there anything else you would like?"

"Umm, my model?"

"Your mo--? All right, Obi-Wan, I'll get it." Shaking his head in puzzlement, Qui-Gon went to his Padawan's room and retrieved the crystal model from its usual resting place atop Obi-Wan's shelving unit. As he held it in his large hands the model changed slowly from slate grey to a deep rich green with flowing streaks of gold. Tears threatened his eyes as he suddenly realized why his apprentice had asked for the toy. His Padawan desperately wanted the familiar and the comforting close right now, and that Obi-Wan viewed this gift from his Master in such a light touched Qui-Gon deeply. Taking a deep breath and pushing his own sadness and pain into the Force, Qui-Gon brought the model to his Padawan, then settled at his desk and called up the first report.

It was a very good day. For perhaps the first time since Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan as his Padawan, his apprentice allowed his Master to fuss over and pamper him without objection. He prepared his Padawan's favourite dishes for noon and late meals, then had the pleasure of sitting on the floor beside the sofa as they shared the food from plates set on the little table.

Qui-Gon divided his work time between completing his reports and answering the numerous queries concerning Obi-Wan's health that were arriving on his emails. If he occasionally found the volume from his Padawan's holovids distracting, he ignored the noise as best he could. At one point in the early evening he actually found himself on the sofa behind Obi-Wan, his apprentice tucked securely against his broad chest, as they both watched an old holovid Qui-Gon remembered as a favourite from his youth.

When the holovid ended with the hero triumphant over the forces of evil once more, Obi-Wan turned off the screen with a negligent flick of the remote. Qui-Gon should have taken it as a signal to get up, but somehow the feeling of his Padawan snuggled safely against him, covered only in a thin quilt, made him want to stay where he was as long as he could. Neither of them spoke for many minutes. Obi-Wan's left hand stretched to the model sitting on the table beside them. The star ship glowed a deep midnight blue; shot through with points of bright golden light, it looked like the star-kissed skies on a clear night. Beautiful, thought the Master as he caressed his Padawan's braid.

"Shall we have sex tonight, Master?"

Qui-Gon's hand paused in its stroking. "It--that's your choice, my Padawan."

"Then I choose--yes." He voice was a whisper as he covered his Master's hand with his own fingers. "I want you to take the wrong feelings away."

Qui-Gon kissed his Padawan behind his ear, just at the point where the long braid began. "I will do all I can, Obi-Wan. Now, if you want to use the 'fresher first, I will tidy up our mess."

Obi-Wan rose and slowly made his way to the 'fresher, clearly a little stiff from his day of idleness. Qui-Gon was putting the dishes away when he heard his Padawan emerge, and he watched as the naked, slender young man retreated into his bedroom. When he was certain Obi-Wan was not going to emerge once more, he crossed the common room to where his robe hung beside the door, retrieved the little bottle of pills from the pocket, and went to the 'fresher himself.

Qui-Gon performed his nightly cleansing regimen while eyeing with trepidation the bottle of pills he had placed on the narrow shelf above the sink. Finally he could postpone the decision no longer. He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap, shaking one of the pills into his hand. It looked so damned--pink. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he opened his mouth and tossed the pill down his throat. It was so tiny he barely felt it. He put the cap back on the bottle and hid it in his side of the medicine cabinet behind a package of migraine tablets he hadn't used in years. Squaring his shoulders, he emerged from the 'fresher and strode towards his bedchamber.

The lights of Coruscant from behind the activated privacy shields were muted, but Qui-Gon could see that Obi-Wan was already under the covers in the centre of his large bed. He undressed quickly, shivering with the sudden desire to feel his Padawan's nakedness against his own skin. Slipping between the sheets, he touched Obi-Wan tentatively on the shoulder with his fingertips, and was relieved when his apprentice turned and slowly shifted into his waiting arms. He held the young man carefully, not wanting Obi-Wan to feel trapped or pressured in any way. With one hand he rubbed gently between Obi-Wan's shoulder blades, hoping his Padawan would find the contact soothing and relaxing.

"Kiss me, Master." The request was hesitant, uncertain. Then Obi-Wan's voice dropped to a faint, pleading whisper. "Please."

Qui-Gon ached to feel the insecurity leaking through his Padawan's shields. For a moment a surge of bright anger filled his heart, directed at the foul creatures who could so brutalize the light that was Obi-Wan, until he realized his apprentice was reading his silence as censure, and beginning to withdraw from his encircling arms.

He tightened his grip with one arm just a little and placed his other hand under his Padawan's chin, tipping his head back until he could cover the soft lips with his own. Not so demanding as to frighten the young man, but firmly enough to let him know that he was treasured and needed. Wanted.

At first there was no reaction, so Qui-Gon continued to cover his Padawan's face with tender, little kisses. When Obi-Wan began to relax a little into his touch, he started to slowly lick the young man's upper lip, drawing his tongue lightly back and forth several times before continuing on to give the full, lower lip his thorough attention. That got a desired response as Obi-Wan moaned low in his throat and opened his lips to admit Qui-Gon's probing tongue, sliding his arms tightly about his Master.

Qui-Gon remained content with that for a while, enjoying as his Padawan gently suckled his tongue, sharing kisses and nibbles and licks. As Obi-Wan's passion rose, he began to push the hardening flesh between his legs against Qui-Gon's thigh, little thrusts of which the Master was certain his Padawan was completely unaware. Smiling to himself, he ceased his kisses, earning a whimper of protest from Obi-Wan, and ran his lips up his Padawan's jaw to suckle his earlobe instead.

"Padawan, I have a much better suggestion for this," he whispered in Obi-Wan ear, his large, blunt fingers gently stroking the heavy shaft. "I'd like to feel it inside me."

His Padawan hissed, shuddering in the protective shelter of Qui-Gon's arms.

"I'll take that as an affirmative, shall I?"

Obi-Wan trembled but did not gainsay him, so Qui-Gon gently disentangled himself from the younger man's arms. He reached for the jar of lubricant on his bedside table, smiling at his Padawan as the young man's eyes followed his every move in the faint light. Qui-Gon was more than a little disconcerted to find his own fingers shaking as he unscrewed the lid of the jar, but the expression of want and desire in his Padawan's eyes was enough to lend him courage. He took a handful of the lubricant and lay on his back among the pillows, spreading his legs wide. With eyes never leaving his Padawan's face, he reached down and slowly and thoroughly prepared himself. Obi-Wan moaned softly.

"I think I'm ready for you, Obi-Wan." He leaned forward slightly and caressed his Padawan's cheek. "And you certainly look ready for me."

His words seemed to break the spell over his Padawan. Obi-Wan was on his knees between Qui-Gon's legs in an instant, his erection jutting proudly towards his Master. Chucking at Obi-Wan's sudden haste, Qui-Gon filled his fingers once more with the cool lubricant and reached eagerly for Obi-Wan's firm column of flesh. He gripped it tightly, running his fingers firmly up and down, slathering it with lubricant and shaking with anticipation as the erection throbbed hotly in his hand.

Obi-Wan moaned and thrust into his Master's fingers. Impulsively Qui-Gon tugged him sharply forward, and Obi-Wan had to reach out with both hands to steady himself on the bigger man's chest. With his Padawan off-balance, Qui-Gon positioned the slickened erection against the entrance to his body and quickly wrapped his long legs about his Padawan's waist, then began to slowly pull the younger man inside himself. It was a delight to watch Obi-Wan's green eyes grow dark and smoky with astonished desire and hunger as he sank inexorably inch by inch inside his Master. Qui-Gon did not stop until he felt the soft, wiry curls at his Padawan's groin entangle with his own.

"Feels good, Obi-Wan. So good inside."

"Master. My Master." Obi-Wan's normally cultured voice was a fierce growl. Qui-Gon grinned as his Padawan's hesitant touch changed to a grip of firm possessiveness. He held the younger man immobile for long moments, his powerful thighs embracing the slender body. Obi-Wan began to writhe in their grasp, desperately trying to escape the confinement. Finally Qui-Gon took pity on his Padawan, loosening the clasp of his legs, enabling Obi-Wan to move. A groan escaped his own lips as the younger man withdrew slightly from his body, then thrust forcefully back in.

With only a handful of strokes his Padawan had established a rhythm that suited them both, a driving rhythm that brought them both to the peak of their passion swiftly. When Qui-Gon began to buck under his Padawan's weight, striving upward to meet the savage lunges, Obi-Wan let go his grip on his Master's hips and clutched the throbbing erection that quivered between them instead. As soon as he felt Obi-Wan's fingers surround him, Qui-Gon arched upwards once more, thrusting into the firm grip as he buried his Padawan deeply in his welcoming body. He cried out as he came. Instead of containing the semen in his hands Obi-Wan directed his Master's pulsing erection to spurt the warm spray on his chest. Qui-Gon gasped as his seed splashed on his overheated skin, then reached to support his Padawan as the younger man groaned and shuddered in his own climax. A few seconds later a thoroughly sated and exhausted Obi-Wan collapsed on the bed beside him.

When Qui-Gon felt his brain begin to function once more, he turned his head to gaze at his Padawan lying quietly next to him, the rise and fall of his chest slowly steadying in rhythm.

"You've made one sticky mess over me, Padawan."

"Uh huh. All part of my master plan, Master."

When Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow in question the younger man rose on one elbow to face him, a decided smirk spreading across his lovely features. "This way Master, I get to lick you clean." And Obi-Wan slowly drew his tongue over his lower lip in a thoroughly licentious gesture. Qui-Gon heart clenched tightly at his Padawan's words, and he felt his sex quiver in response. Obi-Wan just chuckled.

Much later, when they had slowly and completely aroused each other once more, Qui-Gon finally gave in to his Padawan's quiet entreaties and allowed Obi-Wan to prepare him once more. Only this time he eased himself as gently and carefully as he could inside his apprentice, mindful of Obi-Wan's traumatic experience and determined he would do nothing to hurt his precious Padawan. No frantic joining was this, as their earlier coupling had been. Once Qui-Gon had slid home, he settled Obi-Wan carefully in his lap. He held his Padawan close to his chest as he rocked him quietly; a long and languid loving that brought them to their peak slowly, with much kissing and gentle touching.

Afterwards, Obi-Wan clung to him, the tears slowly tricking down his cheeks to fall unchecked against Qui-Gon chest.

"No one," whispered Obi-Wan sadly. "Never wanted anyone else."

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon was puzzled as he stroked the young man's forehead, not understanding his Padawan's words.

"Only you, Master. Only you inside. Wanted only you inside." Obi-Wan's voice trailed away as drowsiness overcame him. Qui-Gon's chest hurt, and he had to remind himself to breathe once again. Inside, the wild surge of elation he felt at his Padawan's words warred with painful regret for his Obi-Wan's loss. He petted and stroked and soothed his apprentice, kissing his tears away until finally Obi-Wan eased into blessed slumber.

Sometime before dawn Qui-Gon woke, Obi-Wan's nimble fingers stroking gently between his legs.

"Want you again, Master. Please."

His Padawan's quiet entreaty, combined with the response Obi-Wan's caressing fingers were coaxing from his sex, overcame any objections Qui-Gon might have made. When he was once more sheathed deep in Obi-Wan's body, and his Padawan was quivering again in quiet passion on his lap, it occurred to the Master that he would have to thank Healer Jo'cranti the next time they met. Then his big hands were cradling his Padawan's erection, and Obi-Wan was crying softly against his chest as he achieved his climax once more. This time he was fast asleep in Qui-Gon's embrace before his seed had cooled in his Master's hands.

The next three weeks were perhaps the most wonderful of Qui-Gon's life. His relationship with his Padawan once more underwent a subtle shift. It was apparent almost immediately the next morning.

They overslept; not surprising considering the energy they had both expended during the night. Not wanting Obi-Wan to be late for his alien biological studies class, Qui-Gon prepared their breakfast while Obi-Wan used the 'fresher and dressed. As they ate in easy silence, Qui-Gon studied his Padawan across the table, relieved to see that the cuts had completely healed on the young man's face, the swelling had disappeared and the bruising faded to the palest of yellow.

Looking up at his Master and obviously reading his thoughts, Obi-Wan smirked and drew one side of his tunic away from his neck, revealing the livid passion mark Qui-Gon had inflicted during their last bout of love-making in the night.

"I think I'll keep this one," Obi-Wan remarked with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

Qui-Gon felt the flush rise in his cheeks, and Obi-Wan laughed in delight at his Master's obvious discomfiture.

"Gotta run, Master." Obi-Wan rose from the table, a smile still on his face that made Qui-Gon's heart ache. Then, as Obi-Wan gathered his datapads, he hesitated. Slowly he turned back to his Master and bent, kissing Qui-Gon's cheek.

"See you at noonmeal," he said softly, and before Qui-Gon could respond his Padawan was out the door. For a long time Qui-Gon sat there, gently touching his cheek where his Padawan's lips had caressed his face. Obi-Wan had never kissed him before, not outside of their bed at night. It was a small gesture, but one that gave rise to a singing hope in Qui-Gon's heart.

The morning good-bye kisses continued, and sometimes Obi-Wan stole one at noonmeal as well. Qui-Gon accepted them all gladly, trying to keep his longing under control. He well remembered what had happened the last time he went too far, too fast. He was, after all, the Master, and he took the promise that nothing would interfere with his Padawan's training seriously.

One day Qui-Gon suggested they take an afternoon to indulge in something frivolous. Obi-Wan shyly mentioned a holovid he would really like to see, and Qui-Gon found himself agreeing to accompany his Padawan. He found it hard to believe that he was actually sitting in one of the back rows of a grubby, darkened theatre with his apprentice. Then Obi-Wan had hesitantly entwined his fingers with his own, and time stopped for Qui-Gon for little while. Neither of them took their eyes from the screen, but had anyone asked Qui-Gon later what the holovid had been about, he could not have told them. For those couple of hours all that mattered was sitting quietly in the dark holding his Padawan's hand in his own, like any couple who were courting and in love.

Then there was the day Qui-Gon asked his Padawan to please set the table while he prepared the morning meal. Humming quietly to himself, Qui-Gon entered the common room with a plate of toasted nerris bread in one hand and a bowl of fresh miliberries in the other, only to find his Padawan outspread naked over the dining table. Obi-Wan's arms were extended wide, his hands grasping the edges of the table, his legs stretched wide in invitation. The crease between his buttocks glistened in the early morning light, and one rivulet of oil trickled slowly down his inner thigh. Obi-Wan later groused that he was retrieving spilled miliberries from under the furniture for a week afterwards.

"Master, what are you doing?" Obi-Wan hung up his robe, tossed his datapad on the sofa and padded quietly across the floor to lean in the doorway of the 'fresher.

"Packing, my Padawan. We have a mission. The Council has requested we travel to Alderaan to witness the marriage of a minor dignitary, and at the same time oversee a couple of treaties. Something to do with consolidating the fortunes of several of the more prominent families on the planet. I'm sure we can read the briefing on the journey there. I don't think it's a particularly trying mission; more like a holiday, if you can imagine that."

Obi-Wan snorted softly, his disbelief plain. "Can I help you pack, Master?"

"No, thank you, Obi Wan." Qui-Gon turned to smile gently at his apprentice, his heart warming at the smile he received in return. "I've already packed the clothing we need while you were in classes. Our transport leaves before supper. If you want to change, I just have to get our toiletries packed and we can be on our way."

Obi-Wan smiled in assent and started to turn away, then stopped, a puzzled look on his face. "What's that, Master?"

Qui-Gon halted in mid-movement. A flush rose in his neck and blossomed in his cheeks. He held the little bottle of pills in his hand. Frantically his mind sought for a quick response.

"This? Ah--um-- when we were on Brithen my blood count went down. Jo'cranti was concerned I was a little anemic, so he prescribed iron pills. That's all."

Hoping his voice had been steady enough to convince his Padawan, Qui-Gon casually tossed the little bottle into the half-full bag of toiletries, and continued to rummage through the medicine cabinet. He breathed a great sigh of relief when Obi-Wan shrugged and went to change into his travelling tunics.

Alderaan. Mission aside, the planet was one of the most beautiful in the Republic. Qui-Gon looked forward to showing his Padawan some of those beauties. Perhaps there he would finally gather his courage and confess to Obi-Wan the true feelings he harboured for him.

Alderaan was all Qui-Gon had hoped it would be. The mission was uncomplicated, allowing Obi-Wan to spend time getting to know the prospective groom and his family while Qui-Gon dealt with the more mundane task of hammering out the intricate details of economic treaties. Thankfully, all sides seemed amenable to his suggestions, especially as all concerned were as equally convinced they would benefit the most from the agreements.

With the business aspect of their mission successfully completed, Qui-Gon was free to travel to the site of the wedding, a beautiful estate in the sea city of Tartrick. Obi-Wan greeted him at the landing port, and Qui-Gon thought he had never seen a lovelier sight than his Padawan standing waiting for him, outlined with robes billowing against a sun that set in gold and purple over the Sardan Sea. There was little time for him to speculate on Obi-Wan's silhouette, however, as his boots had barely cleared the landing ramp when he found his arms full of anxious and decidedly amorous Padawan.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon managed to gasp, as his apprentice surfaced for air after a most enthusiastic and erotic kiss. Qui-Gon sent heartfelt silent thanks to the Force for his large and very concealing robe, as his Padawan's greeting had roused him beyond any stretch of decorum, especially with two official representatives of the groom's family waiting patiently to escort them to the estate. Even more unlikely, Qui-Gon discovered he didn't really give a Sithly damn about the smirks exchanged between the two senior attendants. His Padawan had just acknowledged their relationship was much more than that of student and teacher in front of witnesses, and the realization made Qui-Gon feel almost giddy.

"Master, I'm so glad you're here." Obi-Wan linked his arm through his Master's, picked up Qui-Gon's luggage, and tugged the bigger man in the wake of the two still smiling attendants as they approached a luxurious speeder. Qui-Gon allowed himself to be bundled into the back of the vehicle, and sat contently close to his apprentice while Obi-Wan excitedly directed his attention to the various points of interest in their journey over the water to the nearby estate.

Once they disembarked, Obi-Wan regained his Padawan's sense of propriety as he led his Master into the main house and introduced him to the groom, Jikail, and his parents, Arnan and Merlee Strondor. The Strondors, thankfully, appeared to be a relaxed couple who didn't stand on ceremony of any kind. The hour was late, so they waved away any attempt at formality on Qui-Gon's part; instead wishing him a good evening and informing the two Jedi they would have a late meal sent to their rooms. Any discussion of the wedding procedures would wait until the morning.

Obi-Wan showed him into the vast and opulent bedchamber with a flourish, then proceeded to spoil the solemnity of the gesture by bouncing on the enormous four-poster bed.

"What do you think Master? Makes quite a change from the usual freezing ice storms or steaming jungles, wouldn't you say? Makes me almost shudder to think where the Council will send us next, after they realize the dreadful mistake they must have made in sending us here." Obi-Wan pouted slightly. "Sometimes I think Master Windu has discovered a clause in the Jedi Code that states we aren't permitted a mission on a world that has hot, running water."

Qui-Gon laughed softly as he unpacked his spare tunics. The sight of Obi-Wan sprawled over the huge bed lifted the fatigue of the journey, and his thoughts turned predatory as he imagined just what the two of them might do in that bed after they retired for the night.

"Here, Master. Let me take that. You change into something more casual and I'll unpack the rest of your things. The 'fresher is just over here; it separates our rooms."

"So we aren't meant to share this room?"

"Uh uh." Obi-Wan poked his head back around the 'fresher door as Qui-Gon removed his travel clothes and slipped into his older, softer tunic and breeches. "I've been assigned a slightly smaller room through here. I've been sleeping there, too. I wanted you here with me before I slept in this bed."

He came out of the 'fresher and sauntered up to Qui-Gon, his hips swaying provocatively and his tongue licking his lower lip in lewd speculation. "I thought the first time in this bed should be a special occasion."

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice approach, too stunned by Obi-Wan's hungry, feral stare to do more than remember to breathe. As his Padawan drew nearer Qui-Gon tried to move backwards, but two short steps brought his thighs hard up against the edge of the bed. He stumbled slightly, and Obi-Wan pressed his advantage by giving him a gentle Force shove with an invisible hand to the centre of his chest. He lost his balance, falling onto the soft mattress with a startled, "Oomph." Immediately his Padawan was atop him, hard body pressing firmly into the angles and planes of his own.

"Mmmm, Master." Obi-Wan nuzzled his cheek, then nibbled a path to his ear, where he proceeded to suckle the sensitive lobe very gently. The sensation sent shivers of desire rippling down the older man's spine.

"Obi, please--don't--I can't--" His Padawan ignored the half-articulated pleadings, choosing instead to scatter tiny kisses over his face, then finally silencing the protests completely by covering his Master's mouth with his own. Qui-Gon ceased to struggle; instead he returned the kiss, hot and seeking. He hardened quickly. His hands began to pursue the warm flesh under Obi-Wan's tunic, sliding under the waistband of his leggings, when a soft knock came to the door.

"Ignore it Master, please. They will go away." Obi-Wan rubbed his groin against the bigger man, his voice a seductive whisper.

"I think, Obi-Wan, that is our lastmeal." He was already gently pushing his Padawan to one side. "You may not be hungry, but if you wish me to perform adequately, I need sustenance."

The Master stood, hastily rearranging his rumpled tunic and smoothing back the long strands of his hair that were in disarray. Pointedly ignoring Obi-Wan, who lay on the bed sulking, he crossed the room and opened the solid wooden door.

The liveried servant who entered the roomed pushed a small cart, the top covered with a large, lidded serving platter. The young man bowed respectfully to the Jedi Master, and if he took note of Obi-Wan sullenly reclining on the large bed, he gave no sign. When Qui-Gon returned his bow and murmured his thanks the servant withdrew, quietly closing the door behind him.

Qui-Gon removed the lid and inhaled with pleasure. The food was both wholesome and temptingly presented; serril fish poached in wine, fresh grain rolls, and even creamed ice with choccoa sauce.

"It looks wonderful, Padawan. Come, eat with me," Qui-Gon coaxed his apprentice.

Obi-Wan rolled gracelessly off the bed, a pronounced pout marring his handsome features. "I am not hungry--oh, serril fish. And choccoa sauce!" Obi-Wan hauled a vanity stool over beside the cart and picked up a plate from the undershelf. His petulance vanished as he spooned out a sampling of each dish.

Qui-Gon smiled indulgently at his Padawan's sudden exuberance. He drew up a chair and filled his own plate, inhaling the delicate scent of an unfamiliar but tempting steamed tuber. They ate mostly in silence, occasionally commenting on a fine flavour, or the obvious talents of the Strondor's cook.

Finally Obi-Wan put down his plate and stretched. "I think I've had enough, Master."

Qui-Gon arched one eyebrow in amusement. He wondered briefly where his Padawan had found room for the second helping of creamed ice and choccoa sauce, but instead of remarking he simply stood and placed the cover over the remains of their meal.

"Obi-Wan, if you want to retire, I'll be with you shortly. I won't be long in the 'fresher."

The smouldering glance his Padawan bestowed almost consumed him then and there. He swallowed with difficulty, and fled to the 'fresher. There he stood silently for a few moments, his cheek pressed against the soothing coolness of the tiled wall.

Quickly he cleaned himself, then carefully removed any tangles from his hair. He divided it for rebraiding, thought better of it, and left it loose to frame his face. His toiletry bag was on the dividing wall of the shower unit, and he experienced a moment of near panic when he found it empty. Only after he thought to open the medicine cabinet and discovered the little bottle of pills on the bottom shelf did he remember that Obi-Wan had unpacked for him.

He picked up the bottle and removed the cap, shaking a pill into his hand. For a long moment he looked at it, ruefully admitting to himself that he was as dependent as any spice addict. Addicted to his Obi-Wan. Shrugging, he tossed back the pill and swallowed it, returning the bottle to the cabinet. He squared his shoulders and re-entered the bedchamber.

The room was darkened; the muted light just enough to enable him to make his way to the bed without stumbling over the furniture. Obi-Wan had released the curtain ties on three sides of the bed; Qui-Gon could just discern his reclining form through the open side. Slowly Qui-Gon removed his tunic and leggings, methodically folding the comfortable old clothes and carefully laying them on the chair. His body was responding with eagerness to the thought of his Padawan, naked and waiting for him, but the emotion warred with his old doubts and fears.

He put one knee on the bed and Obi-Wan leaned forward in impatient welcome. As he did so his features were captured in the dim light, and for a moment Qui-Gon saw an expression of inestimable sadness on his Padawan's face. Then Obi-Wan was pulling him forward with one hand, while his other loosened the last curtain tie. The dark completely surrounded them as he surrendered to the promise of Obi-Wan's gentle touch, and the welcoming warmth of his Padawan's body was the hope of nights to come.

The remainder of the tenday spent on Alderaan was as delightful as any vacation. For the first time in years Qui-Gon relaxed and simply enjoyed himself. The Strondors were affluent without being ostentatiously wealthy, and they were gratified to have the Jedi representation at their son's wedding. Qui-Gon secretly believed that Merlee Strondor's distant relation to the powerful Organa family had prompted the Council to send them to Alderaan.

The prospective groom, Jikail, or one of his three younger brothers was happy to escort the two Jedi on sightseeing trips; though as often as not they preferred just to keep their own company. Leisurely days were spent in sailing, or mountain climbing, or merely watching the sun set.

As wonderful as the days were, it was the nights that Qui-Gon lived for. Very quickly their lovemaking began to follow a pattern, one that suited them both. They would kiss, and cuddle and touch; and when their passion demanded release Qui-Gon would climb to his knees, eagerly encouraging Obi-Wan to take him. In his Padawan's embrace, in that large bed, he discovered such interesting things about himself, facets of his character he would never have imagined in his darkest dreams. Enlightening, to admit that he enjoyed his sex hard, and fast, and rough.

Just how rough, Qui-Gon realized on their third night together. With his head pillowed on his arms, his ass elevated and legs spread for easier access, he whimpered in frustration while his Padawan teased him. Obi-Wan laughed and stroked his quivering erection, alternately nipping and licking the cheeks of his ass. Finally the younger man took pity on him. Kneeling behind him, his Padawan ran one forefinger lightly down his crease and found the lubricant Qui-Gon had applied earlier in the 'fresher; an attempt to hasten the penetration he craved.

Qui-Gon felt his Padawan stiffen, and heard a sharp hiss of annoyance. He was not prepared for the blow; a stinging slap to his buttocks that made him lunge forward and yelp with pain.

"How dare you! That is for me to do, and only me!" Obi-Wan snarled at him, a furious growl that made his breath catch and his heart beat faster. The silence lengthened as neither of them moved, and Qui-Gon realized the younger man was tense, clearly waiting for his Master's reaction to his outburst. Taking a deep, centering breath, Qui-Gon lowered his head, letting his hair fall forward in submission.

Obi-Wan grasped his hips immediately, pulling him back into position. Another slap, harder than the first. "Don't--you--ever--do--that--again!" Each word was punctuated with a blow, three to each buttock. Qui-Gon gasped each time his Padawan's hand struck him, but he trembled with anticipation, and his erection jutted before him, hard and aching.

Then Obi-Wan surged forward, and with one thrust he was buried in the older man. Qui-Gon had no time to recover from the brutal penetration, as his Padawan was moving his hips in a fast rhythm, taking him hard. A dozen strokes and Qui-Gon was wailing his completion, scattering his seed over the bed covers. Obi-Wan had to hold him up, and he was barely aware of his Padawan's finishing thrusts only moments later.

They toppled to one side in slow motion, Obi-Wan's arms still tight about him. Rapid breathing gradually slowed, and Qui-Gon smiled at the feeling of his Padawan still buried inside him. He liked that feeling. Tentatively Obi-Wan stroked his shoulder, a questioning touch. Qui-Gon reached back with his free arm and covered his Padawan's fingers with his own in a reassuring caress. He was already plotting how soon he dared to defy Obi-Wan's directive, and wondered if his disobedience would earn him the same punishment. Truly, he would have to meditate long and hard on this intriguing, unsuspected aspect of his character.

Their first bout of lovemaking was invariably followed by a lazy recovery involving much kissing and intimate touches. When they were once more hard and ready, Obi-Wan allowed his Master to control the pace. The coupling this time was gentle and sweet, as Qui-Gon would lift his Padawan into his lap, penetrating slowly and carefully. With Obi-Wan snug in his arms, his legs wrapped tightly about his Master's back and his head tucked under the bearded chin, Qui-Gon would rock them to completion. It was a peaceful, easy loving, and afterwards Qui-Gon would lie back and cradle his Padawan in his protective arms until sleep overtook them both.

Sometime much later in the night Qui-Gon would wake, usually to the delightful touch of his Padawan's warm tongue as he nibbled and licked at his Master's slowly lengthening shaft. On those nights Qui-Gon would languidly curl his long body into an arc, his mouth seeking Obi-Wan's firming flesh. They never hurried this last loving; instead they were content to tease and pleasure each other endlessly. Invariably it turned into a contest, each trying to outlast the other's efforts. Qui-Gon always lost, but as Obi-Wan's talented mouth triggered his orgasm, he remained smug in the knowledge that his cries of passion always pushed his Padawan over the edge.

Other nights they would simply lie side by side, their inner legs twined at the knee and their hands around the other's erection. As they gently stroked each other to completion, Qui-Gon allowed himself the hope that his Padawan returned the deepest of his feelings. He vowed that when they returned to Coruscant, he would confess those feelings; he would finally tell his Obi-Wan that he needed and loved him.

"Oh, Master. It's so good to be home."

"I thought you thoroughly enjoyed our time on Alderaan, my Padawan." Qui-Gon smiled from his bedroom where he was unpacking, as Obi-Wan threw himself on the sofa in their common room, limbs splayed in an exaggerated display of exhaustion.

"I did, Master. Truly, I did. But there's just something about being home." Obi-Wan yawned widely.

"I think I'll have an early night, tonight. After all, Master, you have to admit we didn't get a great deal of sleep." Obi-Wan's head lolled over the arm of the sofa, a knowing leer on his handsome features as he watched Qui-Gon return to the common room.

"Shall I make some tea, Padawan? There might be a few stale biscuits left in the larder we can snack on before we call it a night."

"Good idea, Master. I'm sure the great Jedi warrior can handle that, so pardon me if I don't rise."

Qui-Gon laughed indulgently, ruffling Obi-Wan's hair as he went to the kitchen. While he searched the cooling unit for anything edible, he heard the couch springs protest as his Padawan bounced to his feet.

"Almost forgot," Obi-Wan called. "I haven't checked my messages yet."

A few minutes later Qui-Gon brought a plate of crackers and cheese to the table, only to see Obi-Wan exiting his room with his tunic pulled over his head and a towel in his hand.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Cancel the tea, Master. I got back just in time!" Obi-Wan's delighted grin came into view as he finally wrestled the tunic off. "There was a message from Garen. Today is Knight Larqa's Nameday, and there's going to be a big celebration for Jert. I've got to meet up with Garen and Bant in half an hour--"

Obi-Wan's voice floated out of the 'fresher, where Qui-Gon could already heard the shower running. He stood there feeling stunned, until the sound of the water boiling in the kitchen caught his attention. Woodenly he made his way to the kitchen, where he muddled through the motions of measuring his spiceberry leaves and filling the pot with hot water. When the tea brewed he poured himself a mug and went to sit at the table. Qui-Gon always found the smell of spiceberries a warm, comforting aroma, but as he stared into the familiar mug he only felt the chill of a terrible loneliness.

"I'll be out of your way in a moment, Master." Obi-Wan smiled as he emerged from the 'fresher, a large fleecy towel draped about his slender hips. He disappeared into his own room, emerging in a very short time completely transformed from a wet, youthful Padawan. He was dressed in a dark green and gold tunic of kliss, a parting gift from the Bri of Brithen. It brought out the highlights in his hair, deepened the green of his eyes, and enhanced the golden glow of the tan he had acquired on Alderaan. Qui-Gon thought he had never looked so beautiful.

"I'm off, Master." His eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Garen said we were really going to party, so it's likely I will be very late." When Qui-Gon didn't reply, some of the light left his eyes.

"Is there a problem, Master? You said that tomorrow we would have some down time, so I didn't think you would mind. But if you do--"

Qui-Gon gave himself a mental shake. "No, Obi-Wan. Of course not. I was just thinking of something else. You go out and have a wonderful time with your friends." And he surprised himself by actually managing an encouraging smile.

"Thank you, Master. Don't wait up for me." And with that Obi-Wan was gone.

Qui-Gon remained sitting at the table, oblivious to the time passing, his big hands wrapped about the mug of tea. It grew cold long before he finally rose. He went to the kitchen, pouring the tea in the sink and putting the untouched biscuits and cheese away. His movements were slow, his expression composed, even though he was screaming inside. Perhaps this was what a breaking heart felt like?

For the first time he could remember after returning from a mission, he did not sit and answer his correspondence. He realized he didn't give a damn who wanted to talk to him, or who might need him. It was clear that his Padawan didn't, and that was all that mattered. Shivering with a cold that chilled him to the bone, he went to the couch and sat heavily.

So this was the way it was going to be. Just when he thought Obi-Wan was beginning to really care for him. They had grown so much closer on Alderaan that he had dared to hope Obi-Wan might even return the love he felt. Surely he was not going to lose him again to the Sith-damned Knight Larqa after all!

But a little voice whispered in his heart. You're too old. You're not handsome enough. Not romantic enough. Not young enough. Not--just not. He picked up a pillow lying next to him and clutched it to his chest, trying to ease the aching hollow that filled him. Despair grew unchecked, and when the slow tears began to fall, they trickled unheeded into his beard.

"Master? Master!"

Qui-Gon woke with a start, and for a brief moment he had no idea where he was. He blinked, shaking his head. The concerned face of his Padawan came into focus, and the feeling of disorientation slowly disappeared.

"Master, are you well?" Obi-Wan's voice was a little shaky. He was kneeling on the floor, and his hand rested tentatively on the older man's knee. Puzzled, Qui-Gon turned to check the chronometer on the wall.

"I'm fine." It came out as a rough croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm fine, Obi-Wan. Must have fallen asleep." He brushed loose hair away from his face. "It's still early, did something go wrong?"

The concern faded from his Padawan's eyes. His mouth twitched in amusement as he shook his head. "No, Master. Nothing's wrong. Everyone was planning to go to Gendo's for more dancing, but after the first three clubs I was getting a little--bored." Obi-Wan raised one shoulder in an elegant shrug.

"Besides, Master, I was having a problem." His voice lowered, taking on a sensual quality as his fingers tightened a little on Qui-Gon's knee.

"Problem, Obi-Wan? Is it something I can help you with?" Qui-Gon barely registered what his Padawan was saying; the singing in his heart was drowning everything else out. His Obi-Wan had come home to him!

"Oh, I'm quite certain you can help me with it." Obi-Wan's smile grew into a seductive leer, and the tip of his tongue slowly wet his lower lip. He sat back on his heels, adjusting his tunic so Qui-Gon has an unobstructed view of the bulge in his Padawan's groin.

Qui-Gon sat transfixed as Obi-Wan slowly drew the tip of his forefinger over his erection, tracing the outline from root to crown. His breath hitched tightly in his chest as he followed the fingertip back down the hard length, then he raised his head to look at his Padawan's face. Obi-Wan's eyes were alive with mischief, and he leaned forward with a quiet laugh.

"Well, look at this, Master. It seems you're having the same problem." Qui-Gon barely suppressed a whimper as his Padawan reached and gently ran the same finger down his own awakening phallus. "Perhaps we had best take a closer look, Master. I'm certain that together we can solve this problem."

Qui-Gon was speechless. He only knew that he wanted to hold his Padawan and kiss him senseless. Obi-Wan's warm laughter began to thaw the coldness that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Finally he managed to whisper, "I'd like that."

"Then it's a plan, Master. If you want to use the 'fresher, I'll get ready for bed. Come on, up you get." Obi-Wan used his Master's knees to push himself to his feet, then grasped the older man's big hands, pulling him up from the couch. Qui-Gon felt a quick kiss to his cheek before Obi-Wan pushed him towards the 'fresher.

Standing before the mirror in the 'fresher, Qui-Gon could not wipe the silly grin from his face. He hummed a lilting melody as he toweled dry, then blushed when he realized it was one of the airs played at the Strondor wedding. His Obi-Wan had left his friends and come home. To him. He began to hum the tune once more.

Quickly he raked a brush through his hair, allowing it to hang loose about his shoulders. With nerves jangling, he opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the bottle of pills. His fingers fumbled momentarily with the cap, then he had it open and he shook it against his palm. Nothing happened. Panicking, he shook the bottle frantically, his fingers beginning to treble. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when a tiny pill rolled into the palm of his hand. The last one. He was safe for one more night.

"You don't need that."

Qui-Gon whipped his head about, staring uneasily at the sight of his Padawan. Obi-Wan leaned carelessly against the doorframe of the 'fresher, dressed only in his sleep pants. That expression of extraordinary sadness was back on his face.

"What?"

"I said, you don't need that, Master." Obi-Wan folded his arms over his chest. "I know what they are. I--I stole one from your bag on the way to Alderaan. While I was at the Strondor's, before you finished with the treaty signings, I took it to a chemist and had her analyze it." Obi-Wan's gaze fell to the floor, and he rubbed his hands against his upper arms. "I had her give me pills that were the same size and colour. When I unpacked for you at the Strondor estate, I exchanged them." Obi-Wan raised his eyes once more and met those of his Master.

"You've been taking glucose pills ever since."

Qui-Gon's gaze went from the little pink pill in his hand to his Padawan's face and back again. He swallowed in disbelief. Glucose. Sugar pills. Then he felt Obi-Wan's warm fingers sliding under his own, supporting his shaking hand.

"You don't need them, Master." The fingers tightened, tuning his hand over, and they both watched as the pill fell into the bowl. Heard the faint plop as it hit the water.

He turned to look at Obi-Wan again. "And what--what if it had been the pills? What then?"

Obi-Wan tightened the grip on his fingers, and raised his other hand to caress Qui-Gon's cheek. "I love you, Master. Whatever you can give me, it will be enough."

So. There it was. Not some flowery declaration, or a grand romantic gesture. Just a simple statement. Qui-Gon's chest tightened painfully.

"And all those lovers?"

Now Obi-Wan blushed, but he met Qui-Gon's gaze steadily, a mixture of chagrin and impudence shining in his eyes. "You looked on me as a child, Master. I thought, perhaps if I show him I am not a child, he might begin to look upon me as an adult."

Qui-Gon remembered those years, and laughed a little shakily. "Oh, Padawan. If that was what you hoped to do, you certainly achieved the desired effect."

Obi-Wan's smile deepened into a smirk. "I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate to think all those thunderous glares and lectures on impropriety from Master Windu were for nought."

Qui-Gon laughed for a moment, then grew serious once more. "And Brithen, Obi-Wan? What happened on Brithen?"

His Padawan's smile faltered, and Qui-Gon had to twine his long fingers about Obi-Wan's in fear the younger man would pull away. He dropped his gaze to the floor once again and traced the pattern in the tile with his bare toes. "I was afraid, Master."

"Afraid, Obi-Wan? I don't understand--"

"I was worried you were growing bored with me. After all, I really am still just a child compared to your friends. I--I just didn't realize how much it hurt you. I'm sorry, Master."

Obi-Wan raised his eyes again, his teeth fiercely worrying his lower lip. Then, for the first time Qui-Gon could remember since helping the younger man build them, his Padawan lowered his shields. A wave of emotions gently flowed through their bond. It carried respect, admiration, affection and loyalty, tempered with dashes of frustration. And there was a love so sure and steadfast it rocked Qui-Gon to the core of his being.

"Obi-Wan, I don't know how--" Qui-Gon could not find the words, so he centered himself, threw his pride and his fear to the Force, and lowered his own shields. He sent everything to his Padawan; his loneliness, his petty jealousies, his desires, his insecurities, and most of all his love and the hope for their future together.

Obi-Wan's gaze softened, his green eyes darkening with a mixture of hunger and compassion. "Oh, Master. So many fears. So very many." Then his lips twitched in a smile, and the irrepressible humour returned to dance in his eyes.

"Well, then. I'll tell you what is going to happen, shall I? We are going to take each of those fears and wrestle it to the ground, then we will send it on its way into the Force. Don't you worry, Master. I will defeat all of them, for I am a Jedi warrior, and I carry a lightsabre."

Qui-Gon couldn't help it, his laughter rang in the 'fresher until the tears flowed down his cheeks. His Padawan loved him.

"But those are deeds for tomorrow, Master." Obi-Wan gently wiped the tears away with his thumb, then slipped both arms about the taller man's neck, nuzzling his throat gently. "Right now I want you to pick me up, carry me to our bedroom, and make love to me all night."

Qui-Gon smiled and pressed his lips to his Padawan's forehead. "As you wish, my Obi-Wan." He bent and easily picked the younger man up, settling him comfortably in his powerful arms. Obi-Wan laid his head on his broad chest and sighed in complete contentment.

Qui-Gon thought it was the loveliest sound he had ever heard.

Finis.