Originally Written: April 17, 1999 (32 days before the movie
came out, 34 days before I got to see it, 16 days before I read
the graphic novel and knew the plot. :)
Series: Second story in the "Twin Destinies" series;
se(pre)quel to "Careful"
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Studios/1126 (Slash home
page)
Rating: R.
Warnings: Explicit slash (m/m) content.
Archive: Yes to m_a, please.
Notes: I don't use betas. :( Any mistakes are solely my fault
and the fault of my *#^&@ spellcheck. ** is used for
emphasis, // for thought.
Any weird characters should be hunted down and killed.
Spoilers: If it were out yet, it would be for "The Phantom
Menace". As it isn't, well - [As it now is, I can change that
to 'no'. :)]
Summary: A Jedi lesson, from the point of view of the
apprentice.
{This is completely speculative, and not based on anything but
- well, an over-proliferation of photos.
Liam, Ewan, thanks for the dreams I've had. ;) So, that said, I
reserve the right to completely disavow any and everything I
say herein as of May 20, 1999 - assuming that I'm able to get
into a theatre that's allowed to show the movie. . . I do tend
to be on the late end for things, though. I didn't even see the
trailer for two months. . .
Nah. I probably wouldn't disavow it, anyway. I'm happy with my
fantasies. :)}
"The Final Lesson"
by MonaR.
monaram@yahoo.com
From a distance, and at first glance, they appeared to be
evenly matched. It was only after a moment that their
differences could be easily discerned: for one, the taller man
was obviously older than his opponent, and he fought with
patience and discipline, whereas the sandy-haired youth
attacked with a brashness and almost cheeky self-possession.
The older man appeared to concentrate more deeply, to think
carefully about the moves of his glowing saber as he thrust
forward, first deflecting the attack and then putting the youth
on the defensive, pushing him back, back, and finally tumbling
him easily to the floor, stopping short of actually inflicting
a fatal punishment with the glowing blade.
The younger man lay there for a moment - his saber having
disarmed itself when it hit the floor - resting back on his
elbows, a frown marring his handsome face.
He accepted the hand that was offered to him, and asked, as he
was pulled up to his feet again, "So, when I learn the final
lesson, I will beat you?"
His teacher smiled at him - more with his eyes than his mouth.
"When you've learned the final lesson, you'll understand that
winning and losing are relative terms."
"That's easy for you to say," the young man grumbled,
good-naturedly. "*You* always win."
Deep, rich laughter echoed through the practice- chamber, and
the young man had to laugh, as well. It wasn't often that he
cut his master - with saber or tongue - to the point that he
was afforded the obvious result of such a hit. He felt
ridiculously pleased to have earned such a laugh, and the
training match he had just lost was almost forgotten.
Almost. "I still don't know what I'm doing wrong," he said,
giving an experimental thrust with his weapon's handle,
imagining where the blade would be if it were activated.
"That's obvious." Cruel words, but not said unkindly,
just with frank honesty. "You seek to disarm rather than
disable. You need to *win*, rather than trying to have *me*
lose."
"And there's a difference?"
The older man shook his head, smiling slightly. "That, my boy,
is the *first* lesson. When you learn that, then you will be
ready to move on to the last."
"And when I learn the last?" The youth looked at his master.
"What happens then?"
"You know what happens: you will no longer be my apprentice, I
will no longer be your master." The older man smiled. "You will
be a Jedi Knight, and you will fulfill your destiny."
"I didn't think you believed in that."
"In destiny?" The master shook his head. "There is no way to
escape from one's destiny. There is only a choice of path to
reach it." A slight frown crossed his face, and the youth once
again inwardly cursed himself for questioning his master to the
point that he lost his earlier jubilance. "You either walk
towards it or you are pushed. Either way, it is yours."
He knew he was treading dangerous ground, but he couldn't stop
himself. "And were you pushed towards yours, master, or did you
walk towards it?"
The older man looked at him, seemed on the verge of speaking,
but stopped himself. "We need to clean up," he said, finally.
"Come."
**********
He stripped and left his loose clothing in a heap on the floor,
stepping directly into the shower and turning up the water as
hot and as hard as he could stand it. He stood under the
warming shower spray, hands resting against the smooth tile,
face tilted upwards, enjoying the feeling of water hitting him,
pounding down on his skin. It was so much better than the
artificial refresher systems on board most of the ships they'd
been travelling on, for the past year. Nothing compared to the
actual feeling of *clean* that soap and hot water gave.
He closed his eyes, waiting. His master took longer, folding
each layer of his clothing with care, stripping slowly, but it
didn't take too long before strong arms came around his back,
and he felt a forehead resting against his hair, lips caressing
him. This was the best time, when they were alone, not running,
when a thousand worlds weren't against them, when there weren't
favours to grant and when the paths of two destinies could be
forgotten - at least for a while.
The hands that rested against his stomach stayed, and he had to
reach with his own to push them down, where he needed them, and
then brace once again against the wall. His cock had come to
life at the first touch of his master's sure hands against his
bare skin; it grew and filled to almost painful dimension as it
was stroked and handled with the same care that his master did
everything.
He turned, suddenly, wanting a kiss. His eyes were still closed
and the water still rushed over them, tiny rivers of water
sliding over his skin and disappearing down the drain in the
floor. It was scandalously, deliciously decadent to stay and
make love in the shower, and he wanted it, this once.
His master seemed to realize that, and was inclined towards
indulgence - this once. His mouth was captured and his cock
abandoned as his master once again pressed their bodies
together, pushing him flat against the wall and lifting him,
slightly. He climbed his master's body with the ease that came
from practice; wrapping one leg around the waist and the other
around the thigh, he pushed against the wall to help support
himself as his master's blunt fingers found his ass, opening
and spreading him, readying him for a larger invasion.
He didn't open his eyes until the second kiss ended, knowing
what was expected of him - some permission had to be given,
each time, it couldn't just be taken for granted. That was a
lesson in itself that he had learned early in this parallel
relationship that they had. Master and apprentice, both in life
and in love.
He stared into his master's - his lover's - eyes, watching as
the colour shifted incrementally, changing to reflect the
deepening of their lust. When he wanted them to, those eyes
showed *everything* that he was and everything that he felt;
when he didn't, they were unreadable. Now, at this moment, they
were beautiful.
He moved his head forward, seeking another kiss, but was
eluded, a smile pricking his elder's face. He gasped as he felt
it, a single, square-tipped finger sliding into him, eased by
the water and by his own want, and he bit at his lower lip. He
wanted to move, to encourage what was happening to him, but
there was no way that he could do anything without tumbling
them both off-balance. It was a precarious position, they'd
learned - one which required precision and patience. Even in
love, a lesson was learned; a Jedi learned everywhere, from
everything, in every situation. The Force was all around them.
It was exquisite, this tension, this tease; somehow, his master
*knew* just exactly how long he could prolong it, how long
before he was forced - by the needs of his lust or that of his
lover/apprentice, or of his body, or of their bodies - to
complete it. To make them one.
The exchange of cock for fingers was swift, sure; his hands
came up from his master's shoulders to grip against the
slippery wall, seeking purchase. His body had to move, it *had*
to; he had to do something, anything, to prolong his pleasure
and, by doing so, bring it ever-closer to completion.
He was behind the water-spray, leaning against the wall with
most of his weight; the water was now hitting his master almost
full in the face but his elder paid it no mind. His head was
thrown back and his eyes had closed, as he concentrated on
giving pleasure with the same intensity that he concentrated on
the fight. He watched, wanting to touch, wanting to reach out
but his fingers were embedded into the wall and he was being
moved, so slowly, so minutely, a flex of muscle inside him and
a throbbing the only evidence of his possession. It was good,
this lesson; so good. He didn't want it to end. He didn't want
to learn the final lesson, ever, if it meant that this one was
learned, as well - learned and put away, until the time came
for him to teach it anew.
He could feel himself tense, and knew that he was close. It was
always he who ended it; he wondered, if he achieved the
self-control of his master, whether it would go on forever, and
never end. This was not the time that he would learn. He took
one last look at his master, feeling him inside and seeing the
wet-sleek face, the long hair slick down his back and over his
shoulders, and managed to release one spasming hand from the
wall to touch, knowing at the last possible moment that he was
real.
He came, the water carrying away all evidence from between
their bodies, and he felt, inside, his master still and come as
well. It struck him, suddenly, as it always did, how tired he
was - exhausted from the day's lessons, spent from their
lovemaking. He allowed himself to collapse, and they fell,
together, heavily, ungracefully to the wet floor. His master,
beside him, shook his head and said something about a lesson in
balance, but said it fondly, and with a long-cherished smile.
**********
They lay there, washed clean by the water, until it was
uncomfortable, then stood and turned off the shower and dried,
and re-dressed and walked to their chambers to sleep. The
palace was quiet, ghostly, everyone else long asleep. He paused
at his doors and drew his master inside, wanting to sleep and
wanting to be together. He was not refused that night.
He waited until they were naked again and lying on clean
sheets, limbs twined together, before asking, "And who was your
master?"
He'd asked before, over and over, wanting something to compare
this to, wanting to know if these lessons were the same ones
that his master had been taught. Wanting to know who and what
and where and when and why.
His master gave the same answer that he always did. "When you
learn the final lesson, you won't have to ask. You'll know."
So, he'd pieced together, over the time that they'd been
together, that the final lesson had to do with the fight, and
with love, and with jealousy, and was about acceptance, and,
most of all, about himself. And the Force - the Force held it
all together, and made it clear. When it was clear, then he
would know. He would understand the Force and be of it, and be
attuned to it and to all of the others who understood it as
well.
He would know that for sure, for another night, and he would
look at his master, long after the man had fallen asleep, deep
and dreamless, and see the silver in his now-dry hair and in
his beard, and feel the warmth of his skin and his breath, and
he would tell himself what he said every night before he went
to sleep.
Archive 