Warning: the following story contains explicit m/m contents.
Run as fast as you can if you CAN NOT tolerate homosexuality OR
you are UNDER AGE.
Disclaimer: all hail the mighty Lucasworld !
Category: AU, angst , sex
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan (of sorts)
Rating: R
Summary: well, this is the answer for the historical AU
suggestion!
To: Ruth (thank you for sending the Renaissance bunny over) and
Mre (for the historical AU suggestions).
Also to my beta Cleo: hehehe J
London, 1560, March 1st
The tall man walked silently down the Thames, wrapped in his
own thoughts. He was powerfully-built, this tall man. He wore a
simple rust-colored robe, marking him as an artisan. His long
hair was greyish-brown, glistening silver under the English
sun. Like a magnificent griffin straight out from the bestiary,
he strode on confidently, ignoring the powdered fops gazing at
him speculatively or the wharf-side doxies trying to invite him
into their fleshy arms.
Some people avoided this tall man because he radiated a special
kind of aura. One look at his piercing blue eyes and the
on-looker would look away, ashamed. It was whispered among the
groups of lads that those blue eyes could pick out your darkest
secrets.
Or worse, those blue eyes would seek you out, consume you
whole.
There were clearly some who considered this longhaired man a
'witch' but they dared not do. He was afterall an artist.
Now, those beguiling eyes stared resolutely into the distance.
The tall man folded his arms across his broad chest and watched
the flow of the mighty Thames, seeing bits and pieces of filth
floating in it. There was a distinct stench but the Londoners
had gotten used to the smell.
He smiled, the half-smile that had charmed the wives of many
merchants and stirred lust in the loins of the young men who
worked for him.
Early in the day, the Earl of Sussex had appeared unannounced
to his workshop. In his pompous voice, he had curtly informed
that he wanted to commission a statue. He wanted the statue to
be done in two weeks' time. The Earl had magnificent gall
indeed. Like a bristling porcupine, ready to attack.
The smile faded. He had to find a model for the statue. He
would do a nude in the Grecian style. He grinned once more.
Amongst the intelligentsia, humanism was taking hold and there
was a frenzy of creativity gripping the artists and the poets.
A beautiful nude in the form of a Greek warrior.
He rubbed his slightly-crooked nose ruefully.
"Master Jinn," a respectful boyish voice startled him and he
turned with a reprimand on his lips. The voice belonged to
young Galen who stood politely. His cheeks were stained a light
pink. The lad's eyes shone though in obvious hero worship.
Master Jinn. The strange artist with an Oriental name. Master
Jinn. The tall blue-eyed man who was clearly not from the land
of the Middle Kingdom.
"Yes, Galen? " Master Jinn's voice was deep, rumbling.
Galen stood to attention. "The models have arrived, sir. They
are waiting for you."
Master Jinn smiled. Galen was one of his most gifted
apprentices. The youth had a bright future. Already, he had
learned how to sculpt various parts of the anatomy. "My thanks,
lad. Now go and tell them I won't be long ... "
London, 1560, March 2nd
It was frustrating!
Master Jinn stood in his workshop, tossing down the rag in
disgust. All the models had failed to meet his requirements.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
For a moment, he stood, anger seething in his belly like a hive
of hornets. Slowly, he let the Zen training flow through him.
The blessed calmness returned.
Looking at the assorted items in his tiny workshop, Master Jinn
settled down onto the floor, crossing his legs. There were
half-formed statues of torsos and human figures. Paintings
cluttered near the door, covered with white cloth. The
fragrance of color paints filled his nose. Art was his
mainstay. Art was his life.
He sighed. The models were all beautiful young men. Lovely
bodies. All in the prime of their youth. But they lacked
something.
Life. Energy. The very essence of Art.
His head throbbed dismally.
Master Jinn stood up, brushing his hands on his thighs. He
needed to take a walk.
The afternoon sun had dipped lower in the horizon, turning the
sky a light orange. Pigeons flew in huge flocks. The Thames was
still covered with boats and water-taxis. There were still
crowds of people walking about.
Master Jinn strode along, thinking about dire things concerning
a furious patron named Earl John of Sussex.
His eyes caught something ---
In a flash, his large hand crushed down on a grimy arm. He
stared into a defiant face, slightly disconcerted with the
clear blue eyes. The smell of an unwashed body hit him but he
held on grimly.
"Lemme go!" The voice belonged to a young man; there was a
distinct Scottish burr.
"Not thinking about stealing ?" Master Jinn growled and the
face turned ashen at the cold tone. It was the tone the
apprentices at the workshop feared.
"Of course not!" More defiance. Master Jinn thought he was
holding one of those lean hunting dogs used by the aristocrats.
"Lemme go!"
Master Jinn did and the pickpocket backed off, unnerved by the
man's full height. The artist gazed intently at the young man.
Dressed in tattered clothes, dirty hose and looking grimy.
Totally disreputable. A cur from the more seedy parts of
London. Yet something caught Master Jinn's eyes. The young
thief glared back ferociously, his stance one of 'flight or
fight'.
"A proposition," Master Jinn said in his cool voice. "I am a
sculptor and I am wondering if you would like to be my model."
"This musta a pox-ridden jest!" The anwering snarl was swift,
the suspicion guttural.
"No, I am not jesting. You will be my model and in return, I
will give you food."
The pickpocket turned away, staring at his shoes. The blue-eyed
man standing in front of him radiated power of sorts. A
sculptor? Bah? Probably a pox-covered whore-pimp! He glanced at
the tall man looking solemnly back at him.
He made up his mind.
"I will follow ya," the young pickpocket said. "If you dare to
lie to me, I will kill ya."
Master Jinn smiled at the bravado.
Galen saw the two men approach the workshop. The apprentice
lifted an eyebrow. That man walking next to Master Jinn was
...was a thief.
"Galen," Master Jinn nodded. "Good, you are here. Bring this
gentleman a basin of water and a rag." The pickpocket slunk in,
looking at his new environment with a mixture of avarice and
suspicion in his blue eyes.
"But sir ...?" Galen let his voice trail off uncertainly. The
smell from the man standing next to him was unbearable. Good
God, what had he been sleeping in? Someone's midden? The shores
of the Thames? Mud with shit in it?
"Go and fetch the basin now," Master Jinn's tone was stubborn.
Galen sighed. Master Jinn could be hard like some rock at
times.
Soon, the apprentice brought back a basin of water and a piece
of rag. He handed the items to the pickpocket who stared at
them as if they were weapons.
"Go on," Master Jinn encouraged the pickpocket gently. "Wash
your face. I want to see it."
Galen swallowed nervously.
The pickpocket took the rag, dipped into the water. Then,
slowly, he began to wipe the grime off his face. Master Jinn
stared. The feeling in his belly was akin to the joy he once
felt during a beautiful sunrise. A delicate yet bold face fast
replaced the grime. It was a face that could be sweet at times.
It was a face that had frowned too much. He tried not to stare
at the cleft in the young man's chin.
He tried not to stroke it.
London, 1560, March 3rd
Galen had managed to convince the pickpocket to wash his hair.
There was a brief moment the apprentice thought that the thief
would bolt out of the door in sheer panic. But, bless God,
there was more common sense in the pickpocket's brains and he
quietly assented, subjecting himself to a bath.
Now the thief sat drying his hair on the floor. Sunlight was
streaming in, catching the copper strands and turning them to
fire. The young thief had sandy-brown hair, Master Jinn mused
sitting on his chair.
"What ya starin' at?" The Scottish burr was charming. The blue
eyes pinned the sculptor down like a falcon staring at a field
mouse. Master Jinn found himself speechless. Oh God, he was
beautiful.
"Nothing," Master Jinn lied.
"Don't lie to me."
The tone coming from such a youth shocked Master Jinn. The lad
before him might well be around his early twenties. But he
sounded much older ...much much older. Something inside Master
Jinn cried. Lost youth. Lost innocence. It was like watching
someone else pull off the wings of a butterfly.
"I will be frank," Master Jinn said then. "You are beautiful."
A flicker of surprise. A quick turn of the head. "I am not
beautiful," snarled the lad. He was actually blushing.
"You are," Master Jinn smiled. "I think I have found the right
person. You will be my model."
Blue turning darker. " I see." The body language told Master
Jinn that the lad was afraid. The shoulders were shaking.
"Don't be afraid," Master Jinn said gently. "I won't hurt you."
He decided to test the fragile ... trust. "I am Master Jinn.
But close friends call me Qui-Gon."
The sandy-brown head looked up quickly. "You have a strange
name."
"Long story," Master Jinn said watching the lad squirm
uncomfortably under his gaze. "How about yours?"
There was a brief silence. Then: "Ben. Ben Kenobi. Fools call
me Obi-Wan."
To Master Jinn's ear, the name was foreign. Oriental. Like his.
He recalled the Zen monk telling him about the island called
Nippon. Master Jinn looked closer at the features. There were
slight --- very slight ---, hints of Oriental blood in the
face. But what could explain the Scottish burr?
"I will call you Ben," Master Jinn said softly. "Ben, do you
mind removing your doublet?"
The glare was back.
"No, I won't hurt you. I need to see your body so that I can
sculpt." Gently, kindly, not wanting to scare the young lad
away.
Ben gave him a growl but he obeyed, pulling off the doublet.
Master Jinn looked at the bare torso with admiration. It was
lean, muscled. Lightly-furred. The taut lean body was clearly
the result of hard labor. The sinews in the arms fascinated
him. As the young man moved, the muscles rippled.
"Beautiful ... "
"You keep sayin' that!"
"Because you are, Ben."
"Then do you want me to remove all now?" The words were biting.
Challenging. Good God, he must have thought me a pimp of some
sorts! Master Jinn was anxious. Without warning, Ben stripped
off his hose and he stood as bare as the day he was born.
Master Jinn gulped down a hard lump in his throat. He found his
own manhood stiffening.
"Satisfied, my lord?" The voice was half-teasing, half-cruel.
The longer he scrutinized the nude body in front of him, the
more Master Jinn realized how attractive Ben was. Handsome.
Very much so.
Master Jinn had long ago known that he was attracted to men. He
had a few secretive flings with men he met during his wandering
years. But sodomy was universally frowned upon. Didn't they
kill Pier Gaverston horribly in England's bloody past?
His large hands held the chisel and the hammer as he diligently
carved the outline of the nude. He belatedly realized that his
hands were ...trembling. He confessed to himself that he was
affected, strongly so, by Ben who posed with a slightly bored
expression on his face. The young man was holding a wooden
sword with his hand; he was supposed to look heroic, like
Achilles or Hector.
The sculptor's gaze was transfixed to certain areas of Ben's
body. The light dusting of hair around the groin area. The
manhood nestled between the legs. He wondered idly how it would
feel like for Ben when he cupped the balls in his hands.
And those lips. Nicely-formed. They would look more appealing
if Ben'd pouted.
Those cheeks. Master Jinn's hands itched to stroke them.
He knew that Ben could sense his attraction. The lad did
nothing to hide his amusement. The blue eyes flashed wickedly
at him, daring him.
Master Jinn seriously doubted the Zen training would help him
ease the persistent ache in his own loins now.
There was a knock and Galen peered in. "Sir, food has been
prepared."
The tall blue-eyed man was almost glad for the interruption.
The air in the workshop was getting a little too tense for his
own liking.
London, 1560, March 3rd
(night)
Ben chewed the bread glumly, glaring at the quiet longhaired
man who sat opposite him. He hated this place. It felt so
enclosed, so different. Even the pale-skinned Galen looked so
sickly.
He could feel the intense gaze of the older man gliding down
his skin like a sheet of fire. He tried not to stare back. The
longhaired man was strange. Bizarre. Powerfully built, yes.
Master Jinn was a man of power but he controlled it somewhat
like a man controlling a mastiff with a chain-leash.
No, he wasn't a pimp alright.
Maybe, he should steal some of the stuff in the workshop. Get
some decent shillings with the loot.
He glanced at Master Jinn and he realized that he couldn't
bring himself to do it. Growling, he swallowed the bread and
finished the soup. He felt never so good with his belly filled.
"Leave us, Galen." Master Jinn's deep voice startled Ben and he
darted a quick look at the tall man.
Galen shifted unhappily. "But sir ... "
"Stop your complaints," Master Jinn snapped and Galen visibly
cringed. Then, the apprentice left, his shoulders slumped down
with an air of resignation.
Once Galen had disappeared, the room filled instantly with
something palpable. Ben became stock-still. The pickpocket in
him cried out warnings. He could smell danger from a mile away.
He could sense it now. It was crackling, like a live creature.
Master Jinn was looking at him.
Ben got to his feet. Oh Gawd, Master Jinn was big. Tall. He
easily dwarfed Ben who only came up to his chin.
"Come to the workshop," Master Jinn said calmly. "We can talk
there."
Ben shuddered at the tone of the man's voice. It was silky.
Master Jinn wanted him.
In the Biblical sense.
He squeezed his eyes shut. No! Distorted memories flashed
through his youthful mind. Shadowy men, smelling of stale beer
and vomit. His arse hurting like hell. The pain of humiliation.
The hot tears pouring down the cheeks. The shame.
Good God, no! He swore to whatever god out there that he would
soon stick a dagger into Master Jinn's belly if the man ...
"What's wrong?" The tone was kind. Gentle.
"Nuthin'!" Ben snarled.
The workshop was tinged faintly with white as the moonlight
spilled through the window. The plaster-of-Paris statues glowed
with a ghostly light. Shadows pooled here and there. Ben's
senses prickled.
A hiss and Master Jinn lit the candle. The room was immediately
illuminated.
Ben was ready to run. He would jump down the window if the need
arose.
"Tell me about yourself," Master Jinn said softly.
"I am a thief, a cur and a whore-begotten son," Ben rattled off
rebelliously. He tossed a glance at Master Jinn and he cursed a
particularly abusive oath. The man wasn't even smiling! No,
Master Jinn's face was earnest.
Ben found himself talking.
"My mother was raped by one of those pirates. Then, she gave
birth to me and died. I was left to die but someone saved me. I
lived in Glasgow for a while and then, I ran away to London."
Hot tears started to fall. Ben shook his head furiously.
"Someone gave me the name Ben ...But because of my ... father,
I was ...given Kenobi as my last name ...as if people really
cared ...Children teased me about ...my name ...called me
...cruel names ...They make me the source of their pox-ridden
fun ... "
A warm hand rested on his shoulder, squeezed it gently. It was
Master Jinn, nodding quietly.
"I share your pain," the deep voice was sympathetic. "I never
knew my own parents myself."
Ben stared miserably at the master artist.
"I was abandoned, apparently at the doorstep of a Buddhist
temple at Chang'an." Master Jinn continued on. "The monks there
brought me in and fed me until I became older. I was the
strange white-skinned child they found. The child with the
color of the sky for his eyes. They gave me a name. Jinn. It
means 'gold' because old T'sing-He told me that I was like
precious gold to him."
All the names sounded strange to Ben. But he listened silently,
captivated by the voice and the glistening grey hairs falling
abundantly on Master Jinn's shoulders.
"I basically led a wandering life. I spent two years, learning
Zen from the chief abbot at Fujiyama."
More strange names.
"That's why I can understand how you feel," the voice said,
became quiet. Silence.
"You understand how I feel?" Ben felt the red-hot anger rise up
like a striking serpent. "You understand how I feel ?!" He drew
himself to his full height, trying to appear taller and braver.
He wanted to strike ----
But his hand was caught in the same eerie fashion like the
first time (was that only two days ago?) he met the strange
tall man.
Then warm lips crushed his own and he fought. Oh Gad, he
fought. He kicked out with his legs, flailed his arms wildly.
But the lips persisted, held on and parted his own. He could
feel a hot moist tongue sliding in, caressing the insides of
his own mouth.
He could feel hands, large callused hands, moving down the
belly and gently clasping his balls. Sensations of pleasure
shot through his body like lightning. Ben arched back, crying
out . He wanted this man!
They began to peel off each other's clothing in a lust-driven
frenzy. Then, Ben staggered back and gazed at Master Jinn's
nude body.
It was magnificent. Wiry. Lean.
"Ben, you have captured my heart," the deep voice was now husky
with desire. "The moment I saw you ... "
With his tongue, the sculptor began to trail a warm path down
the younger man's belly. He began to tease him mercifully,
causing the youth to whimper helplessly. Ben yelped as he felt
a mouth envelop his manhood, sheathing with heat. Tears seeped
through his closed eyelids as the sensations of both pain and
pleasure jolted him on and on. He could feel himself hardening,
feel as if he was going to burst. His head swarm, he bucked up
and down.
Then, he came in a glorious sunburst of sensations.
Ben awoke in someone's arms. He stirred, feeling slightly sore.
Moonlight caressed the arms around his waist. It was Master
Jinn who was holding him.
He looked at the sleeping man next to him. It was a strong
face. Noble. Majestic. But oddly sad. Ben felt something stir
in his chest. It felt so sweet that it became painful, very
painful.
The young man tried to recall what had exactly happened. He
could still remember the orgasms that had gripped his entire
body like wildfire. He could still see the heaving chest and
the shining perspiration as the sculptor flipped him onto his
front. The pain was there, the brief shocking pain. Then
pleasure. No,wait. Master Jinn used something. Aromatic oil.
Something fragrant. It eased the pain in his arse. Master Jinn
was definitely more gentle than the toughs in the pubs. Gentle
but very skillful indeed. The waves of intense pleasure that
came with every single stroke, every single thrust, almost
overwhelmed Ben.
"Let me love you," the older man had whispered to him.
The youth rested his head on the broad chest of the man he had
only met for two days. There were tears in his eyes.
London, 1560, March 4th-12th
They spent the next eight days in a heady combination of
lovemaking and art. In the mornings, Master Jinn would continue
to sculpt the statue and admire the beautifully nude body of
Ben with a lover's gaze. He would enjoy the way the morning sun
coated the youthful skin with a special radiance, caress down
the skin like a lover's hands, kiss the sandy-brown gold. He
paid special attention to the torso and the lovely manhood,
sculpting every detail into the marble.
As for Ben, the eight days had never been so enriching, so
pleasurable. He would stand on the pedestal, allowing Master
Jinn to look at his body. He would tease the older man,
wriggling his arse like a brazen tart, and Master Jinn would
laugh, mirth lighting up his blue eyes. He would sometimes grab
a fruit and eat it in the presence of Master Jinn, knowing that
the older man would watch him avidly, like a man thirsty for
water.
At night, the two would fall into the bed, writhing together
like a pair of mating porpoises, their skins glistening in the
candlelight. Hands touched, stroked, tickled. Mouths would
taste each other, savor flushed skin and cum. The lovemaking
would carry on and on until the two men collapsed in sheer
exhaustion. They would rest, cuddling each other, legs
entwined. They would talk about London, Scotland and the
mysterious Oriental bond they seemed to share. All the way, the
normal sounds of London at night would create an almost magical
background, weaving a tapestry of various noises.
London, 1560, March 14th
It was done.
The statue of the Greek warrior was finished. Master Jinn
observed the complete work with a glow of artist's pride. The
nude was all Ben. From the face right down to the feet. He
reached out a hand and touched the cleft in the marble chin. He
smiled.
A rustle alerted him and Ben stood there in the sunlight.
Master Jinn marveled how quickly Ben had changed. Only a few
days ago he was the scruffy dirty pickpocket, smudged face and
all angry defiance. Now, he was wearing relatively clean
garments. Dark blue doublet and light-brown hose. His face was
now bereft of the grime; it was radiant, healthy and happy.
Master Jinn liked the way he stood: a slight tilt of his hips.
There were running steps and Galen burst into the workshop. The
young apprentice was practically jumping up and down with
excitement. "The Earl of Sussex is here!"
Ben's face turned ashen, his happy face crumbling. He wanted to
hide. Master Jinn held his arm reassuringly.
"Lemme go," Ben whispered. "At least let me watch you from a
corner."
Master Jinn brushed the back of his hand on the soft velvety
cheek of the youth. "Ben "
"Just lemme goh " The young man said, the distress making the
Scottish burr more obvious. Master Jinn released his grip on
the lad's arm and Ben scrambled to a shadowed corner where he
shuddered.
Earl John of Sussex walked in, his wife right beside him. The
nobleman was opulently dressed in the fashion of the time,
foppish hat and puffy sleeves. The best of fabrics, probably
from Spain. The lady was similarly garbed, her face pasty with
cosmetics. She smiled a little, showing the brownish teeth.
"Ah, you have finished the statue. Well done." Earl John said
gazing critically at the statue. "A Grecian nude. Ah."
Master Jinn nodded. He could still see Ben in the shadows.
"What magnificent physique. Beautiful face. What strength! Who
is the remarkable youth?" The Earl said, placing a hand on the
cool marble. Master Jinn frowned darkly. He couldn't imagine
the pudgy hands on Ben's real body.
"A lad I found near the Thames," Master Jinn said and he could
hear Ben's gasp. "He's actually in the workshop."
"Oh really?" The eyes of the earl gleamed ferally.
"Ben " Master Jinn called softly and the youth appeared,
walking out slowly. The wary look was back on the youth's face.
Earl John of Sussex widened his mouth in an O of unabashed
admiration. "So this is the charming lad who provided such
inspiration." He reached out a hand to touch the face ---
Snarling like a cornered dog, Ben backed away and ran out.
There was a moment of silence. Then, Earl John laughed. "What a
temper! I appreciate such spunk in lads!" His lady wife laughed
with him. Master Jinn's smile only reached his lips. His heart
was sinking. Ben!
The nobleman ordered the statue to be delivered to his estate
as soon as possible. He gave the payment to Master Jinn and
left, fetching his wife with him. In the quiet, Master Jinn
could hear the clip-clop of the horses moving away.
Master Jinn held the bag of coins in his hand and he stared at
the bag in disgust. He dropped it casually onto the floor and
headed out, searching for Ben. As he ran around his small
workshop, he could see the images of Ben in his mind. Ben
laughing. Ben languid after sex. Shining skin and blue eyes
that sparkled, spoke millions.
He found Ben sitting near the apprentices' room, hugging his
knees close to his chest.
"Ben?" Master Jinn said, worried.
The eyes flashed at him. "I am not your catamite." Ben said
coldly.
"I have to apologize."
"I hat' the way he looked at me!" The youth growled, eyes
closing. "I'm not someone's whore!" He opened his eyes and
fixed Master Jinn with a stern look. "I'm not your whore
either'!"
Master Jinn felt every word embed itself painfully into his
heart. He gathered Ben into his arms.
"No, you are not my whore," Master Jinn said softly, ruffling
the sandy-brown hair with his hand. "No, you are not not at
all." He lowered his head and claimed Ben's lips tenderly. It
took a while but Ben finally relented, melting in his arms and
kissing him back with a wild ferocity Master Jinn found oddly
sweet.
The epilogue:
London, 1560, March 15th (early dawn)
Master Jinn could hear London stir in the early dawn light. The
snorts and neighing of horses. The creaking of wooden carts. He
listened to these reassuring noises, a smile forming on his
face. His body felt immensely relaxed after the hours of
lovemaking.
The bed felt empty.
Cold shock trickled down his back. Ben was gone.
A shadow flitted across the quiet London street. It paused at a
corner, looking into the distance. It had merged perfectly with
the patches of darkness. It held something in its hand.
It was a piece of marble.
As the shadow moved on, the morning light caught the faint line
of tears on the face.
Author's note: Unfortunately due to the London fire of 1666,
the identities of Master Jinn and Ben Kenobi could not traced.
The full story can be accessed at:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Rampart/1470/renaissance.htm
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