Summary: Qui-Gon struggles to accept the changes that lie ahead
for himself and his grown apprentice. Takes place roughly ten
years after "Conquest," and roughly twelve hours before the
start of TPM.
Disclaimers: George Lucas created them, and for that we will
always be grateful. I owe him a favor, but until he calls it
in, I'm stealing his men.
Permission Granted: to archive and otherwise circulate with all
notes and credits intact. If you want to link to it, "SoLD"
will be housed at my Surrender to the Light page,
http://members.tripod.com/HthW/tpm.html
Feed Me: Hth needs you! Write her at hth29@hotmail.com
The boy was lying face-down on the reclining chair in their
quarters, as though he were being ministered to by an invisible
masseur. He didn't respond to the sound of the door, nor to the
sound of Qui-Gon's boots hitting the floor, though normally he
would have protested, in that sly, too-polite way that Obi-Wan
had, at his Master's untidiness.
It was the Master's prerogative to ignore his padawan, and
thank the Light for that, because Obi-Wan would nag him to
death, given a thread of a chance.
//never pick your things up//
//this dependancy on routine could be dangerous for you one
day, my young apprentice --you cannot, and neither should you,
control your environment at all times//
//steal the covers//
//I am larger than you are; a fifty-fifty division of the
bedclothes would hardly be consistent with the spirit of
justice//
//flirt terribly//
//jealousy is beneath you, my Only One//
//do it all on purpose!//
//beautiful in all your moods....//
//change the subject//
//I will break you of this stubbornness someday//
//You never will//
//No. I never will.//
And so their dance went, one mission, one year, one priceless
kiss following the last. The Force held the stars and planets
and moons in their unfathomably complicated, interlaced orbits,
and so Obi-Wan Kenobi orbited his Master, and so the Force held
Qui-Gon Jinn to his apprentice.
Oh, but they were blessed. Oh, but luck was on their side --for
all that Obi-Wan would snort at that idea.
The Light Side was demanding. It was satisfied with nothing
less than complete submission, and its methods of recompense
were not always quite to Qui-Gon's liking. But there was some
power in the universe, Force or Fortune, Qui-Gon did not care,
that had given him, in one lovely body, son and partner,
brother and lover, Master and apprentice.
Cautiously, moving with Jedi-trained subtlety, Qui-Gon ran the
thin braid in Obi-Wan's hair through his fingers. "I hate the
Trade Federation," came Obi-Wan's voice, muffled against his
sleeve.
"An unbecoming sentiment."
"I do."
"Cranky pup. Go back to sleep."
"Don't patronize me."
"Well, you sound foolish. And unprepared for this negotiation."
He turned his head, and the rough warmth of his hair scrubbed
against Qui-Gon's palm as he resettled his hand, cupping it
more closely to the shape of his padawan's skull. "It hardly
matters, does it, Master? You're the finest negotiator in the
Republic; what do they care if I say anything or care to?"
Qui-Gon frowned, as much at the lack of irritation in Obi-Wan's
voice as at the thoughts he expressed. Shouldn't he be more
ambitious at this age, more interested in making his own
reputation? Were they too closely bound for Obi-Wan to reach
his potential as a Jedi? "You won't learn the art of diplomacy
by ignoring your lessons."
A thin, sweet smile touched his mouth, and his voice dropped
silkily. "I'm the fighter, Master, and you the clever one.
That's why we pair so well."
With effort, Qui-Gon kept himself from wincing. "And when you
are a Jedi Knight, who will be clever on your behalf?"
*You, love.* The voice of his apprentice was barely a
voice at all in his head, just meaning, just knowledge. *You
will never leave me. You never could.*
And as much as Qui-Gon knew that the sentiment was all wrong,
that he had somehow done Obi-Wan a disservice by his very
devotion, something in him prevented Qui-Gon from arguing.
Could he, almost two decades after Obi-Wan had come into his
life, set him free to wander his own way as a Jedi Knight
should?
Damn. The boy was right; even the idea was beyond him. Qui-Gon
turned away, disgusted with himself. Charged with teaching
Obi-Wan to be a fully functional, self-reliant Jedi, he had
only succeeded in teaching them both to need each other much
too desperately to face anything alone. If he could scarcely
imagine his life without Obi-Wan living at his heels, then how
much harder must it be for the boy who had hardly known any
other kind?
"Why do you laugh at me when I'm feeling moody and sulk when I
tell you I love you?"
"When you are a Jedi Master, you may develop your own personal
habits." He didn't have to feign the hardness in his voice,
although in truth it was directed squarely inward. That time
was sooner than Obi-Wan had any inkling of; Qui-Gon would have
known that simply out of common sense, even if he hadn't been
able to see it coming by more esoteric means.
Obi-Wan was so long past ready for the tests in some ways, and
so far from ready in others. Damn this difficult boy; why
couldn't he be like every other padawan apprentice in the
universe?
Because he was Qui-Gon's gift, of course, Qui-Gon's dream and
his reward, and as the Jedi Council would be quick to agree,
anything for which Qui-Gon Jinn was responsible was by
necessity irregular in one way or another.
He considered meditating in order to gather his thoughts and
perhaps even decide how to approach this issue with his
apprentice, but....
But too soon, he would have to be the Jedi Master again, the
ambassador, the sage. In order to convince all parties involved
in the trade dispute that he was simultaneously completely
impartial and working in their best interests, he would have to
believe it himself. Serene, balanced, benevolent, patient --the
mask of years, as much the Jedi's tools as his lightsaber.
Only Obi-Wan would know that he flung clothing haphazardly on
the floor, that he accepted the Code only grudgingly, that his
sense of humor inevitably erupted at the worst possible
moments, that the wise old Jedi Knight fucked and fell in love
with as much passionate abandon as any other man. Sometimes
Qui-Gon wondered if that wasn't the whole secret behind their
relationship --that Obi-Wan was not fooled by his Master's
clever misdirections and ability to mimic others' expectations.
Whether or not that had motivated Qui-Gon to love him, it
certainly made his apprentice's company pleasurable. He ran his
hand over the thick pelt of hair that Obi-Wan was wearing
shorter now than he ever had before, then let his thumb trail
down the back of the younger man's neck. "Are you asleep, my
young apprentice?"
"Yes." His voice was not petulant, though. In fact, he sounded
a little as though he were coaxing Qui-Gon along into some
game.
"I see. Are you dreaming?"
"I never dream."
"Of course you do. Even the Dillkhu dream at least once in
their lives, although certain rather obtuse linguists insists
that they have no words in their language for 'sleep' or
'dream.'"
He turned his head to look at his Master with one green eye.
"So they do, then?"
"Sleep? Or dream?"
"Have those words."
"No."
The single green eye rolled upward dramatically. "I take back
what I said."
"About sleeping?"
"About you being the clever one."
Qui-Gon couldn't help but laugh richly. His pup was a wolf cub,
and he played with claws and teeth. Fortunately Qui-Gon, like a
wolf, had a thick hide. "They do not normally sleep; although
their brain waves do mimic human brain waves in various
sleeping states, they remain more or less aware of their
surroundings at all times. Except for the time of the Ht'htesoo
Hse, when they veil themselves heavily to block sensory input
and induce a kind of trance state, through various drugs and
meditations, that triggers rapid eye movement --and dreams. A
Dillkhu must undergo the Ht'htesoo Hse before being allowed to
retire from his career and take his place among the elders."
Obi-Wan rolled onto his back, shifting his foot to bend one
knee and placing a hand lazily behind his head. "'Ht'htesoo
Hse' means 'dream'?"
"No, no. It means 'recalling the tale.' But the ritual's
culmination is a celebration in honor of the person's life and
contributions to that point, and at its end he tells those
gathering with him about his tsfai-deru, which has no
exact translation. But when forced to translate it, the Dillku
say that it means 'long, dreaming sleep.' It is believed that a
person's tsfai-deru will remind them of the thing they were
born knowing but have forgotten over the years. The poet Hallo
Ranart once wrote an epic about the Dillkhu that is most
famously known, thanks to another poor translation, as 'The
Sleep of Long Dreams.' As poetry it's quite good, but his
understanding of Dillkhu culture was horribly contaminated by
his tendency to project his own--"
"I think I have the gist," Obi-Wan interrupted drily.
Qui-Gon wrapped his hands lightly around his apprentice's leg,
just past the upward jut of his knee. "Extracurricular
knowledge only. No examination." The white fabric of his
breeches was rough against Qui-Gon's palms as he eased his
hands down slowly, but it was much easier to be attuned to the
hard muscle of the leg underneath.
"Thank the Light."
"Nothing to do with Light. You should be thanking my
undisciplined carnal nature."
He stirred as Qui-Gon's hand found the warm center between his
legs and curled around it, his eyes half-closing and his spine
half-arching. "Oh, I am. But that doesn't--"
Swinging one leg across his apprentice so that Qui-Gon stood
straddling the chair, he braced his hands on its back and
leaned down to kiss Obi-Wan's warm lips. Even if kissing
Obi-Wan were not one of the great pleasures of Qui-Gon's life,
he might have taken up the habit just because of the welcome
respite it provided from Obi-Wan's unsolicited commentary.
When he had his apprentice drugged and placid with nascent
arousal, Qui-Gon eased back and tucked Obi-Wan's leg under his
arm, the better to work the boot off his foot. He straightened
up and, looking directly into Obi-Wan's eyes, tossed the boot
behind him. It thumped noisily on the wall, and then again on
the floor. "Break me of stubbornness?" Obi-Wan managed,
visibly torn between bewilderment and laughter, but all of that
cleared away like clouds before the wind when Qui-Gon pressed
his mouth gently to the ball of his apprentice's foot.
The negotiations were twelve hours away, and there was not one
thing to do and not one place to go in the meantime. Obi-Wan's
breathing was steady and deep, and he held perfectly still,
with a Jedi Knight's supernatural control, while his Master
covered the inner curve of his bare foot with the wet
calligraphy of his kisses. He dragged his teeth slowly around
the heel and nipped at the tendons at the back of Obi-Wan's
ankle, feeling the muscles shift all up the back of the boy's
leg as he curled his toes and extended them again. Obi-Wan set
the heel of his other boot behind Qui-Gon's shoulder, but he
continued to make no sound as Qui-Gon let his tongue flicker
back and forth, in a pattern like bolts of lightning, up the
center of his foot.
But he stopped before sucking Obi-Wan's toes inside his mouth,
which he well knew would have driven his apprentice into a fit
of pleasure, writhing and flexing under his Master's big, light
hands. Instead, he traced his hand from Obi-Wan's chest down to
his pelvis, a gesture both affectionate and proprietary. "Come
to bed, my Heart."
"The young need less sleep than those of advanced age." He was
propped up now, with his elbows behind him, changeable eyes
glittering with lust and mischief.
Qui-Gon backed away, unslinging his outer wrap as he did so.
"Do a doddering old man's nerves a little good, young padawan:
come to the bargaining table well-rested and refreshed
tomorrow. However would I defend myself if you were not in peak
condition, slow and clumsy in body as I am? You are my legs, my
eyes, my hands, and I your head and eloquent tongue."
"Eyes, legs, hands --and your heart, as well?" One agile move
brought Obi-Wan from his back to his feet on the floor, the
heedless spring a thousand times the more telling because it
was so unconscious. The power in him --body, mind, and spirit
--could still make Qui-Gon's mouth go dry with want. "What a
valuable package I am."
"Useful...." There was a joke in there somewhere, but Qui-Gon
was in no shape to verbalize it, with his young lover prowling
inexorably closer to him.
He was just quick enough on the uptake to disappear when
Obi-Wan leaned in with eyes all but closed, falling back so
that Obi-Wan had to chase onto the bed after him to claim his
kiss. Ten years, and he could still make Obi-Wan jump to his
command, as long as he didn't voice the command in so many
words.
The curve of each muscle and joint was familiar to Qui-Gon as
he snuck his fingers between skin and cloth, nudging Obi-Wan
this way and that in order to rid him of his robes. He had
composure enough to do that much, but once his apprentice was
kneeling over him, deliciously naked, there was no more
seduction left in Qui-Gon --only love and need and confident
surety, the thundering of their hearts in tandem and the feel
of Obi-Wan's hot skin under his kneading hands, the welcome
intrusion of his tongue inside Qui-Gon's mouth and the way
Obi-Wan rocked above him, anticipating the rhythm of their
fucking. In the name of the Light, he never would be ready to
surrender this. The Council had learned to tolerate Qui-Gon's
eccentricities before, and they would have to do it again;
whether Knight or padawan, he would have this man as his
companion.
Obi-Wan's hand cradled his Master's cheek and chin, while the
fingers of his other hand fluttered tantalizingly over the fine
skin of Qui-Gon's eyelids, lips, and ear. He tipped his head
back, letting Obi-Wan's starving-tender kisses roam his throat
as those strong, compact fingers dug painfully into his beard.
"Gently, little one," he breathed, caressing Obi-Wan's hair.
"Sorry." His voice was pulled as taut as the muscles in his
arms, held firmly in check as he waited for his Master's word.
He would wait forever if he had to, Qui-Gon knew; for all that
he had never learned the subservience of a proper padawan
learner, Obi-Wan lived under the shield of his Master's
limitless love, and he repaid Qui-Gon's loyalty with a devotion
that was as all-consuming as it was unspoken. In bed as in
life, they met one another halfway and held fast until both
were ready to move forward.
As they were now. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, calling on his Jedi
training to distract him from the feel of his lover shifting
over him, readying himself; knowing too lucidly what it
signified was not in anyone's best interests. He let the world
become a distraction, a backdrop for the flame behind his
eyelids that was Obi-Wan's Force, his shimmering, alluring
presence. Only when he felt Obi-Wan enveloping him in tightness
and fire did he shock back into reality --the spartan passenger
quarters of a Republican transport, where Qui-Gon's
unforgivably handsome apprentice was slowly rising off and
descending onto his cock, his hands braced against Qui-Gon's
chest and his head lowered in concentration until the tip of
his braid brushed tantalizingly over Qui-Gon's stomach. Between
the crushing weight on his breastbone and the way his throat
closed up when he thought of all the years, all the days and
nights and fights and orgasms and missions and confessions and
gifts and things forgotten and remembered, and all of the same
yet to come for them, Qui-Gon could barely draw in enough
breath to sustain himself. He would die unless Obi-Wan met him,
mouth-to-mouth, and kissed him back to life.
Which he did, of course, because they had never failed one
another and never could. He gripped Obi-Wan's penis, lightly
enough that Obi-Wan could slide easily in and out of his hand;
his rhythm became shorter, sharper, and more efficient, forcing
himself back down on Qui-Gon, then up sharply into the curl of
his fingers. Fascinated, Qui-Gon watched the flutter of his
apprentice's eyelashes, felt his thrusts become smoother as
Qui-Gon's fingers streaked pre-come along the length of
Obi-Wan's slender shaft, groaned in false protest as Obi-Wan's
fingers climbed his chest, snagged on his shoulders, slipped
back to press into the back of Qui-Gon's neck. Flushed and
sparkling with a light film of sweat, Obi-Wan's body was all
desire while his features were shadowed with a frown that
Qui-Gon knew not to take seriously, except as a sign of his
intense concentration.
"So beautiful." The words gusted up from his parched throat, so
skeletal that he wasn't sure Obi-Wan could hear him. With his
free hand, he touched Obi-Wan's lips, his jaw, his dimpled
chin, and when Obi-Wan threw his head back at the pinnacle of
his arousal, Qui-Gon's hand was there to support his neck. He
kept his hold on his lover, strength and Force flowing from
body to body as Qui-Gon's pleasure fed on Obi-Wan's and found
its hunger sated in return.
He eased Obi-Wan down to the bed, careful to hold him in the
crook of one arm, while the other hand toyed gently with his
padawan's braid and his lips tickled lightly along Obi-Wan's
jawline. The younger man sighed deeply and rolled to wrap his
own arms around his Master, one hand soothing Qui-Gon's broad
back as the other vanished into his greying hair. "Love you,"
he murmured against his Master's chest, as though they were
ordinary men, not Jedi who could feel emotions like solid,
colorful things as they formed inside strong-willed minds.
"I know," Qui-Gon said simply, knowing that Obi-Wan knew as
well, and knew how he knew, and what was there between them if
not knowledge, confidence, recognition. True, tangible things,
as physical and as ineffable as the Force. Love --which was, of
course, the Light Side, nothing more and certainly nothing
less. "Obi-Wan."
"Hm?"
"In the arts of war, I have never seen your match. Don't let
your genius in one arena blind you to your skill in all others.
You are easily the match of any new-made Knight I have ever
known."
*The trials?*
*Soon.*
*After that?*
*You would know what I see?*
*Yes.*
Qui-Gon took a deep breath and let his eyes unfocus. The soft
radiance that always ringed Obi-Wan when he looked out of the
corner of his eye pulsed gently, absorbed Obi-Wan into its
field, until Qui-Gon could see him only indistinctly, and yet
at the same time more vividly than natural eyes ever could.
*Trouble. Guilt. Obi-Wan, disappearing into himself,
lost....*
*Master?*
Softly, he kissed his apprentice's forehead. "You know I have
never liked to foretell. I never did learn to trust what I
see."
"I felt--"
"All I saw was some great labor, some heavy responsibility. It
will weigh on you."
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