Hands

by micehell (micehell at rodentinferno dot com)

Archive: any list archive, my own site http://rodentinferno.com/
Category: implied Q/O; drama-ish
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: The noise around them died off, voices fading into sighs, silence, and all Qui-Gon could see was Obi-Wan, his head tilted back on Qui-Gon's shoulder, lips parted, soft, as Qui-Gon kissed them first with breath, then mouth, then tongue, all of it tinged with love.
Feedback: As you will.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is a little effort and a lot of debt. Everything else belongs to not me.

The fire sparkled merrily against the dark sky, the warmth of it spreading out in thin streams and thick pockets of heat through the cool, crisp air. Qui-Gon felt tendrils of it caress his skin as he held Obi-Wan tightly to him.

"It would just be turning midnight on Coruscant, Obi-Wan. Sherrac's Eve. It was my favorite holiday when I was young. Master Dooku always tried to make sure that we were home for that one holiday, though he himself didn't celebrate."

The short hairs on the top of Obi-Wan's head, bristly but still soft, caught in the brush of his beard, and he rubbed his chin into them, liking the faint catch and tickle of sensation. "Master Yoda always celebrated, though, and he'd have me stay with him for the night, telling me old, old stories of Sherrac's Eves past. There'd be snacks and punch - though nothing made by Master Yoda, because I was young, not stupid. And he'd have a fire going, warmth and tradition on a cool night."

As Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan, he tried to imagine that they were alone, but the sound of excited voices, loud and bright in celebration, kept creeping in. His arm wound tighter around Obi-Wan until a faint protest came, and he smiled, placing a kiss on the head fit so snugly against him. "Then we'd go to the Great Hall, where all the other Jedi who celebrated Sherrac would gather. People who barely knew each other would talk and laugh like old friends."

The sound of fireworks interrupted Qui-Gon's reminiscence; the loud pops intermingled with more shouting from the crowd mobbing the street. Obi-Wan looked around with a faint, puzzled, "Whuh?", but Qui-Gon settled him back against his chest, continuing his story. "Then the singing would start. With all the different species there, with all the permutations of biology and voice, I always expected it to sound something like the mating call of a bantha in heat, but it was beautiful. Whether a gift from the Force, or just a trick of the acoustics of the hall, I have no idea."

The crowd on the street swirled around them, like snow flakes in a wind, the buzz of their voices rising, falling, overlapping, excited. Eager hands reached out to Obi-Wan, trying to slip him away from Qui-Gon, but Qui-Gon possessively held Obi-Wan close, until even the most ardent of them gave up.

Laughing voices gave way as the sound of firecrackers grew louder, closer. But then the laughter was back, sharp and boastful, as hands slapped at Qui-Gon in high humor. "Party crashers. But don't worry, we'll be back soon, and the festivities can really begin."

Then it was just the two of them, and Qui-Gon sighed, letting the light of the fire, the dark of the sky, and the silence settle into him. It was peaceful, like meditation, and he pulled Obi-Wan closer, smiling at his faint murmur, at the eyes that were drifting towards sleep. "The best part of Sherrac's Eve, though, was the shared meditation. Hundreds of minds reaching out through the Force, touching, yet discrete. It was beautiful."

The crowd was back, running, breathless, bright colors flying, splashing everywhere; brilliant red, sparks of gold, glowing streams of blue and green. The sound of the firecrackers wove in and out with the shouting voices, close and constant, but Qui-Gon's lips were at Obi-Wan's ear, the hum of his voice carrying even at a whisper. "When did I stop celebrating? And why did I never share that with you? I regret that, my Obi-Wan."

It was only one of many regrets that Qui-Gon had. The regret of never sharing Sherrac's Eve with him was nothing to never telling Obi-Wan exactly what he meant to him. Never kissing him with more than friendly intent.

The noise around them died off, voices fading into sighs, silence, and all Qui-Gon could see was Obi-Wan, his head tilted back on Qui-Gon's shoulder, lips parted, soft, as Qui-Gon kissed them first with breath, then mouth, then tongue, all of it tinged with love.

Then hands were back, pulling, tearing Obi-Wan from him. Qui-Gon grabbed for him, following, trying to hold onto Obi-Wan without aggravating the burns, the broken bones, the marks that too many hands had left behind, but he slipped away. Obi-Wan cried out and Qui-Gon roared, flailing against the hands that reached for him, pulling at the chains holding him to the stake, his own body's hurts flaring as he struggled, determined to keep them from taking his apprentice again.

But the hands were soft, as if trying to soothe him, voices low, murmuring reassurances that finally broke through. Mace's voice, Mace's hands. "Let them have the boy, Qui-Gon. Let them help him."

"Mace?"

The face came into Qui-Gon's view, lit by the flames that were destroying the buildings around them. "It's all right, we're here. You're safe now. Obi-Wan's safe."

"Obi-Wan." He let the name linger on his lips, missing the warmth of his body. He was tired, hurting. Reduced to short, halting words and the still pervasive need to keep Obi-Wan with him.

Mace was silent, and Qui-Gon thought about how he'd never been good at lying, evasion and elision being more Mace's style. But he grasped Qui-Gon's hand, giving a comforting squeeze. "He'll be okay." The word 'eventually' was tacit in his voice.

There was a rasp of metal and Qui-Gon was free. He laid back, letting faceless hands touch him, move him, take him home. Take them home. And for the first time in years, he was on Coruscant on Sherrac's Eve.