Master Apprentice
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Mind Your Herriko
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"14-Treya, confederate system in the 3rd Central sector consisting of the planets of Wudvajteq, Zru, Aa-Bekoh, and D'lim as well as ten moons and inhabited asteroids, bringing the gross population to an estimated 148,000 sentients of varying races. With a flourishing network of trade relations between the different habitats, 14-Treya is an economically autonomous system.
Government on 14-Treya shifts regularly between the various planets and races, in a complicated pattern of rotations modelled on the 14-body problem posed by the planets' interaction with each other. There is no fixed capital or seat of government, and administrative tasks are kept to a bare minimum and dealt with exclusively by communication, aided by the diligence and peacefulness the various races of the 14-Treya system take pride in. A common language is not spoken, and interpreter droids take care of translating the various communications into the 14 languages of the 14-Treya system.
Affiliation with the Republic is recent and loose, typically represented by one delegate from the system acting as an observer in the Galactic Senate, without a vote or the right to table motions."
Obi-Wan stifled a yawn, and stretched his back until it popped audibly. So where was the problem? Why did that ostensibly peace-loving, multilingual, and utterly unimportant representative from the 14-Treya system need a Jedi escort to get him, her, or it to Coruscant? Why couldn't he, she, or it just get on board a regular ship and cross the relatively short stretch of hyperspace between their cute little homeworld and the City Planet? Why was anyone pestering the Order's two best field operatives into playing pilot for some meek diplomat from a tiny rock out there in the 3rd sector... correction: in here in the 3rd sector.
The familiar lurch of the ship dropping out of hyperspace. The searing white lines congealing into reluctant shivering drops of light with an awkward grace Obi-Wan never tired of watching. The fact that Obi-Wan was kept from enjoying this rare spectacle by the hulking form in the pilot's seat obscuring his view. And the fact that Obi-Wan didn't even mind that much. If only the pilot's seat weren't obscuring his view of the pilot.
Long, silver-streaked hair trailing messily over the headrest, mussed and curled from long hours of flying, stretching, flying, napping, flying. Qui-Gon would always bear the brunt of the actual piloting on his shoulders and leave Obi-Wan to do the menial tasks like figuring out where the hell they were going and what they were expected to be doing there. Hang on. Shoulders. Just a touch broader than the already fairly generous back of that command seat, accentuated and hidden by rather too many layers of terminally decent Jedi linens. What would I give to be allowed to touch the skin underneath all these tunics, Obi-Wan thought for the thousandth time, and to touch a mental finger to the throbbing soul behind those shields. Hells, I can't even bring myself to lower my own for fear of being rejected, he thought. Or just terminally embarrassed. He couldn't quite make up his mind which would be worse and decided to abandon that train of thought. For the thousandth time.
Obi-Wan sighed and reluctantly let his eyes drift back to his mission briefing. "Master, why do these terminally decent folks need Jedi assistance to get their representative to Coruscant? I mean, with all due respect, they sound like they're perfectly capable of getting one of their sentient life forms to pilot a ship, no?"
Qui-Gon chuckled indulgently. "Questioning the Council already? I fear you'll end up rather too much like me for their liking, Padawan... at any rate, the briefing is not entirely exhaustive on one aspect of their shifting government practices: their representatives are actually literally shifting politicians. As in shape-shifting."
"So?" Obi-Wan still did not see where this was going. If anything, a decent shape-shifter could transform himself, herself, or itself into a transport and get to Coruscant without even needing a pilot. "What do they need Jedi for then? Galactic chaperones?"
"Padawan!" Qui-Gon fought hard to hide a grin. His learner was rather good at slipping into him these days... and he did not want to go there for the time being. "I presume it is our reputation outshining us once more. You know, the Order as the source of seasoned, beings-of-the-world diplomats, open to all sorts of shapes. A proper escort, don't you think?"
Obi-Wan muttered something noncommittal and incomprehensible. Open to all sorts of shapes. Yeah right. He suspected he had more chance of winning his Master's love if he was a different shape too. Like, a broken-winged cfath. Or a small pitiful plant. He snorted. Hey, Master, if I grew moss would you like that? Would you be tempted to stroke my rough bark or tease my petals?
Trying to avoid transmitting his feelings to his Master, who was right now calmly concentrating on the landing manoeuvre, Obi-Wan raised his shields and settled into a vegetable state. How appropriate, was his last thought before he shut himself down for landing.
The figure that greeted them on the landing platform was rather an anticlimax, Obi-Wan thought. For a start, the venerable diplomat had come without an escort. Not even a protocol droid. But he (Obi-Wan assumed it was a he) was wearing the sober regalia depicted in the mission briefing -- a short fuzzy green cloak over a floor-length tunic of something so black it actually ate light and defied any attempt at describing its surface. He was rather taller than Obi-Wan himself and almost surpassed Qui-Gon in height, but made up for this by being exceedingly thin. His pale face was long, agreeable and humanoid, with large quicksilvery eyes and a long aristocratic nose. Oh. And no mouth. That's odd for such a communication-mad race, Obi-Wan thought, before a polite and slightly tinny voice cut him short.
"Welcome to 14-Treya, revered Jedi Knights. You must be Master Qui-Gon Jinn, yes? And you're Obi-Wan Kenobi? My pleasure." The thin diplomat extended a slender hand, and as the cloak slipped over his shoulder, Obi-Wan saw the implanted droid unit hugging the creature's upper arm. That was where the voice came from. "Let me introduce myself... I am the Most Recent Herriko, honoured to take up the Galactic Senate representation of 14-Treya on Coruscant. This is all I'm bringing," he pointed gingerly to a small herd of suitcases crowding behind him, "so we can set off as soon as you are ready, gentlemen, yes?"
Qui-Gon motioned to Obi-Wan to help the Most Recent Herriko load his baggage, and within a few minutes, they had stowed the diplomat's belongings safely away. "Let me show you your quarters... your Excellence." The Herriko smiled, well aware of Obi-Wan's hesitation at the address. "Just Herriko will do, Jedi Kenobi. It doubles as my name too for the time I'm in office. I am a Herriko, the Herriko, or the Most Recent Herriko to my compatriots, and I'll try my best to remain One Herriko for the duration of this voyage... er, you've heard about my little... problem, haven't you?"
Obi-Wan could have sworn there was a hint of a blush around the area where a humanoid would have had his mouth. Rather endearing really. "You are referring to your... shapeshifting abilities, Herriko?"
The being smiled, with its eyes only, and gave an amused little sound that the interpreter droid struggled hard to reciprocate. "My shapeshifting inabilities rather. I'm afraid hyperspace travel does not do much for me, and as a result I tend to be rather unstable morphically. I therefore urge you, Jedi Kenobi, to keep me confined to my quarters for the duration of the voyage -- that would be the safest option for all involved. I don't want to cause you any... discomfort."
"Oh, I'm sure we can deal with that sort of thing, Herriko. We are used to all sorts, and as long as we can be sure it's you in there I don't see a problem. I mean, we've seen the universe," Obi-Wan was rather getting into bragging-Padawan mode now, "and I don't think any of your incarnations could scare us into throwing you off the ship." He smiled his most diplomatic smile, partially because he had realised just how flippant he'd got, and partially because he wanted to avoid having to check on a locked-up passenger every few hours.
"That is not quite the core of the problem," the Herriko replied mildly, "if it was only that I would agree with you. However, in the heightened morphic state brought about by hyperspace travel, or hyperspace sickness, I tend to interact rather too much with the emotional and morphic fields of those around me, which might result in unpleasant surprises or unnecessary misunderstandings. I shall therefore sedate myself for the length of this trip to avoid causing any disturbances in your fields. Don't worry, I am used to this, and I'll be fresh as a daisy when I wake."
With this, the Herriko retreated into the small room he'd been given as his quarters, picked a small device from his smallest travel bag and inhaled a deep breath of something oozy and blue before settling down on the bunk with a slightly glazed eye-smile. "Have a pleasant journey, Jedi Kenobi. Oh, and please do lock the door."
Shaking his head, Obi-Wan complied, checking one last time through the small round window in the door that the Herriko was comfortable and in one piece. At least he would be easy to spot in that room, whatever shape he would accidentally take, Obi-Wan thought. There was hardly anything in there, save for the bunk, a small table currently occupied by two of the Herriko's bags, a chair, and a comm unit. And the Herriko himself, curled up comfortably on the hard bunk, drifting off into a drugged sleep.
The ship went into hyperspace without any problems. So Qui-Gon is finally getting the hang of flying this old monster, Obi-Wan thought absent-mindedly as he peered through the porthole window into their guest's cabin. Still asleep, from what he could tell, a peacefully breathing form huddled under swathes of black and green fabric, the pale hairless back of his head the only indication that the Herriko had no intention of shifting shape quite yet. Fine, Obi-Wan thought, maybe the drugs will do it for him. At any rate, I can afford to take that shower now and check up on him later. Unlike the Herriko, the Padawan most definitely had hair, and it felt greasy and staticky from the long almost uninterrupted flight.
Hair, Obi-Wan thought as he stood under the thick and irregular spray of hot water in the 'fresher cubicle. All kinds of everything. But especially hair. And he was always threatening to cut it off, every time they were stuck on some sandstorm-swept desert world or in a mud-encrusted swampland, and Obi-Wan was seriously running out of plausible reasons to give Qui-Gon for not cutting his hair off. Well, he could hardly tell him he adored the messy greying waterfall and entertained fantasies of what it would feel like brushing against his nipples or wrapped around his erect cock, rough silk imbued with all the unpretentious strength, all the carefully restrained wildness, the essence of his Master. Obi-Wan sighed as he ran his hands through his own hair, too short and sober to allow his imagination to run wild... he held his hands in place, burrowed into the short wet strands, feeling them smooth and slippery and warm under his fingertips and wishing for more, wishing for that heavy thick mane that could only be tamed by using water and lots of patience, a task his Master refused to have him do too often because he assumed it would be a burden to his Padawan. How wrong can you be, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan thought desperately. Look at me now.
With a sigh, he extricated his hands from his hair and set them working on more pressing matters...
Filled with the warm leaden feeling of physical satiation, Obi-Wan padded along the short corridor back towards his cabin, deciding on a whim to check up on their guest right now. Not that he felt in any state fit to see a diplomat, what with his dripping hair, unbraided braid, and the towel round his hips -- it was just that curiosity got the better of him. And... everything looked fine anyway. There was that by now familiar form of the Herriko asleep on the bunk, lying on his back now, the fuzzy green cloak spread out under him in soft organic folds. But wait -- wasn't the Herriko... that was definitely hair streaming from his head, wispy and totally inconspicuous pale blond hair. If Obi-Wan hadn't been absolutely certain the Herriko had been bald when they were introduced, he would never have noticed. As it was, he didn't mind. If that was the extent of the creature's shapeshifting that was fine by him, and he could go rebraid his Padawan braid. That took more than five minutes every time these days, and some days Obi-Wan thought the tradition must surely have been invented by a sadistic Jedi Master as a test to a Padawan's patience...
Whereas other, totally non-sadistic Jedi Masters preferred to test their Padawans' patience by completely failing to live up to their wildly erotic attractiveness and just grab the Padawan in question, throw him over his shoulder, dump him on the bed and fuck him senseless. Or kiss. Kissing me senseless would be a nice start, Obi-Wan thought, we can get to the rest later, can't we. And Qui-Gon was ever such a romantic anyway, lavishing his love on all sorts of pathetic life forms to such an extent that a severely wounded Rihfish or a near-starved Buca flower simply could not resist the tangible aura of pulsing Living Force Qui-Gon exuded. Why not me, Obi-Wan thought, rhythmically as he twisted the three long strands of his coppery hair into the traditional thin braid, why -- not -- me, why -- not -- me?
It's true, I'd have more luck being a plant, he thought miserably. No need to talk either, no need to filter every utterance for fear of the desire filtering through, the desire that was so unseemly simply because it lacked a counterpart. Qui-Gon's reserved friendliness was almost an insult. Then again, Obi-Wan reasoned with himself while tying the end of his braid off, how could it be meant as an insult when I do my best to keep this misplaced adoration from him? He can't know, and he mustn't know. I wish I was a plant. Just receiving, rich cool water, a passing brush of those warm blunt fingers, sweet nothings and stray thoughts mumbled in that soft low voice, an unconditional confidant. Just being, and being the focus of Qui-Gon's attention and emotion for a few fleeting moments every day.
With another deep sigh, Obi-Wan slipped into some clean pants, picked up the towel and brush and made for the 'fresher to return them. He would check up on the Herriko on his way back, and then settle down to something mindless to keep himself occupied, and to keep himself from moping over Qui-Gon. All that shielding was extremely tiresome, and not quite unsuspicious either, he figured.
Porthole. Bunk, pile of clothing on bunk. No Herriko. For a moment, Obi-Wan did not know whether to scream in terror or to laugh -- there by the bedside, right next to the uninhabited bundle of robes, sat a very conspicuous-looking little fern. Rather ratty-looking too, Obi-Wan thought, a proper pathetic life form to Qui-Gon's liking. Better not let him know. You keep it up, Herriko, he thought, just stay where you are and don't break things. And don't imitate my thoughts, you're giving me a headache. Feeling more than a little queasy, Obi-Wan decided to spend the two hours until he was next due to check up on their guest in deep meditation, to relax the cramp of worry coiling behind his temples. Just enough time for Clearance Wave, he thought, and settled down on the floor of his cabin to rid his mind of all conscious thought and let the Force wash myriads of tiny pictures over him...
- spores flying twisting canyons hardly any weather worth piloting through mud enclosed existence under smoke signs spikes of tiny pearls pelting the regular fortress piercing the fired enamel crack overflowing oozing unhelpful ratios meant for theatre freelance flavour fully embarrassed likely bound hunters overcome with the flood heavy warm tight and inevitable inexplicable someone attempt enveloping secret words falling grounded inside indispensable centre grow heavy, heavy yes. Yes.
Obi-Wan woke from his meditation light-headed and warm, stretched his back and massaged life back into his legs before getting up and glancing at the chrono. Yes. Time to check up on the Herriko once again. Still slightly addled from the sheer empty depth of his excursion into the Unifying Force, Obi-Wan automatically padded along the corridor towards the Herriko's door, and had been standing there for a good few seconds before he reminded himself that he was supposed to be checking on the Herriko. Which was a sorely needed reminder.
The Herriko was gone.
Calming himself by Force, Obi-Wan scanned the room through the window. Bunk, table, waste-basket, comm unit, two bags, one tunic, one cloak. No plants, no animals, no droids or objects. The room was as virtually empty as it had been! Quickly, for fear of letting any tiny or airborne life form escape, Obi-Wan unlocked the door and slipped through, shutting it firmly behind him. Think, Padawan. He is a shapeshifter, not a ghost. He cannot simply have tunnelled through the walls, besides he had not expressed any desire to leave this room at all. He must still be in here, in whatever guise.
Obi-Wan methodically searched the bed, the bundle of abandoned clothes, even the Herriko's bags. Nothing. The comm unit had not had any mysterious spare parts added to it either, and he could not hear nor smell any sign of life in this blasted cabin.
Sithspit. Increasingly frantic, Obi-Wan went through his search routine again and again. He had to be in here. Oh Sith damn it, what would the 14-Treyans say when they discovered he'd managed to lose their representative just like that? More to the point, what would... what would Qui-Gon say? Obi-Wan bit his lip in anger and frustration. He shouldn't have opened the Sithbegotten door. Rashness, that's what it was. Once more. As if his Master wasn't lecturing him enough on that already, and now he'd lost not only a life form, but an important diplomat through that flaw of his that he worked so hard on mending... to no fucking avail. Damn. Master Jinn might actually sever him now and he would be right about it too. Who knew whether the old man's respect was not a facade anyway. It was hard to peek out behind heavy shields at the man who was the love and desire of one's life but must by no means find out. And now, Obi-Wan guessed he wouldn't. He wouldn't even be burdened with Obi-Wan's presence any more.
His face itched, and Obi-Wan scratched furiously, raking his nails across flaming cheeks, sweaty forehead, prickly ears, leaving harsh trails of primal sensation. Not quite pain. Reassurance. The noise of scratching one's own ears. I am still here. And the tangible burn of nails on skin. I am still here. And the soft rub of smooth warmth against the nape of the neck. I am... still here. Who the...
Obi-Wan spun around and... gaped. Now on his cheek, heavily and softly, lay the hand of... his Master. Qui-Gon Jinn. More to the point, a naked Qui-Gon Jinn, already too close to be perceived by anything but touch and scent, and closing in, silently, covering Obi-Wan's shocked body with glorious warm skin, enfolding him in a tight tight embrace, and Obi-Wan's mind gave out at trying to admire the strong muscular arms wrapping around him, the large rough hands gripping his buttocks and the back of his head, pulling him in for a breathtaking kiss. Warm, wet, hungry, open, delicious. Whatever made me deserve this, was his last conscious thought, pray that I keep doing it... Hot silken lips devoured him, teasing his tongue awake and sucking him into a predatory kiss that took his breath away, literally, as he sagged in his Master's arms, held up only by that mouth and those strong hands firmly cupping his ass and pressing his head into the crushing kiss and splaying out on his shoulder blades pressing gently... hold it. Four hands. Panting, Obi-Wan struggled to the surface of that kiss, turned around trying not to give up too much of his Master's deliciously tight hold -- and nearly fainted. The second pair of hands on his back, were... Qui-Gon Jinn's. Obi-Wan was sure the universe had stopped just now, hung up on a terminal error. He was sure he would die any minute now, at the hands of his Master who had caught him in this indecent situation. With his Master. Sandwiched between two silent, throbbing, warm incarnations of Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi was certain he'd just died and most likely gone to what passed for heaven to a Jedi.
Yes, that was it, He was dead. Drawing a tentative breath to see if he still needed it, Obi-Wan moved the tiniest bit, as if to assure himself that he was not yet glowing blue around the edges like the ghosts of folklore. And he was still trapped between two Qui-Gons. Who were right now staring at each other silently, faces impassive, two monoliths in the swirling maelstrom of Force that eddied around them, turbulent with confusion, roiling emotion, and the repercussions of Obi-Wan's recent demise.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the Qui-Gon with his hands on Obi-Wan's back let them roam down his Padawan's back, slowly, deliciously slowly spreading heat over the sensitised skin under the tunic. Obi-Wan wriggled a little, still not quite believing in his continued existence, and Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled in a smile that spread to his lips and cheeks until the Master's face was lit up with the most beatific expression of Light, of serenity, of joy, of... love? Confused beyond redemption and barely hoping to be alive, Obi-Wan turned round at the other... the other Qui-Gon. A smile matching -- matching Qui-Gon's shone from the deep blue eyes, and the hands had begun roaming Obi-Wan's chest so slowly and gently that he had almost not noticed. Now, they were slipping deft fingers under his sash, loosening it, tugging it free, brushing a nipple almost accidentally as they peeled the tunic off him, assisted by the other pair of warm Jinn hands on his back. Obi-Wan felt quite unable to say, do, or even think anything, lest this gorgeous phantasm should disappear...
With a sweet mischievous grin, the Qui-Gon facing him trailed a finger up his belly, rubbing small circles around one nipple before pinching it quite hard, raising it to a tiny pink nub. Obi-Wan moaned, or he thought he moaned -- the sound was quickly and efficiently swallowed by a greedy mouth descending on his once more. Oh to lose yourself in Jinn's ravenous warmth, all of it, to melt into that sweet generous heat... when Obi-Wan came up for air again he realised that the second Qui behind his back had rid him of his pants and slippers and was caressing his buttocks with a rough gentleness that was so essentially Qui-Gon it made him squirm with delight. Immediately, two pairs of strong arms wrapped around him to hold him steady, one mouth covering his once more in a bruising kiss while the other trailed gentle nips along the shell of his ear, teasing the top end of a nerve-line that ended in the pooling heat of his groin, where a weeping erection had brushed trails of moisture on the other Qui's taut stomach and was now being crushed deliciously against it.
"Mmmmmmmmhhphh..." Obi-Wan's passionate moan was muffled by Qui-Gon's greedy lips, and he had to pull away with a considerable effort of will to catch his breath and exhale the name his soul was full of... "Qui-Gon."
Two smiling faces turned to him, one the exact echo of the other, two warm possessive growls swirled through his head and into his cock, two pairs of lips were wandering over his heated skin, sucking, kissing, nipping... two large blunt fingers trailed around his own mouth, inviting to be sucked in, and Obi-Wan took them in, deeply, luxuriating in the faint salty flavour of Qui-Gon's skin, licking them with abandon, lost in the pool of warm clinging sensuality these two mouths created as they teased every inch of his skin, and then the fingers were withdrawn from his mouth slowly, gently, and the Qui-Gon behind him clasped one arm around Obi-Wan's upper body, pinning his arms to his sides while the other Qui-Gon slid down Obi-Wan's body, slowly, ever so slowly, leaving tingling trails of sensation with his hair and then grabbing Obi-Wan's buttocks and spreading him open and sucking his whole length into that hot wet mouth while the slick fingers of the other Qui thrust into him without questioning, hitting that perfect spot at first attempt, making Obi-Wan writhe in pleasure. Oh yes, this was what he wanted, and more. More. "More," he yelled, squirming captive in the tight hold of Qui-Gon's mouth, hands, arms.
"More than two of us, Padawan? Show us how much you can take, huh?" The Qui-Gon behind him was clearly amused at the idea, whereas the one in front was simply licking him with abandon, his own cock long and hard and deep red and rubbing against his as he stood up again, then laid his hands on Obi-Wan's hips and winked at the other Qui, and almost tangible sense of 'I am reading you' in the air.
One second later, Obi-Wan was yelling in pleasure, impaled on his master's huge hard cock, feet lifted off the ground by the sheer force of the thrusts, held tight by the other Qui-Gon who was rubbing against him like an animal in heat, setting his aching cock on fire, then turning around abruptly, and one huge hard hand grabbed Obi-Wan's throbbing cock and squeezed it against the tight hot opening, arms searching for Obi-Wan's, pulling him closer, and with a moan that could have shaken moons Obi-Wan buried his face in Qui-Gon's soft sweat-scented hair, and his cock in Qui-Gon's tight welcoming body.
Squeezed between his two Masters, feet off the floor, held tightly and captured in a pounding rhythm that threatened to beat him into a lustful mush, taken and taking, filled and surrounded by the glory that was Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan gave in to the wave rising in him, spilling his melted insides into his Master's tight flesh and out over his own lips in a babbling cry of pleasure, fulfilment, and love. Just as his own ears heard the sound of those long-hidden words reverberating around the bare little room, he felt the jet of eager heat filling him, washing him with the essence of his Master. "Qui-Gon, I love you!!"
Then, sensation receded into velvet darkness.
Obi-Wan awoke on a bunk, covered lightly with a clean crumpled sheet, staring into the silvery eyes of the Herriko sitting at his bedside. There was a hit of dark smudges under the diplomat's eyes, but they were smiling, and the tinny voice from the interpreter droid in his arm assured the Padawan in soft tones that all was well, and Master Qui-Gon was just parking the ship.
"Parking? We're -- Force, I must have been out a while..." -- "All of three and a half standard hours," the Herriko softly assured him, "and I can't say I've ever had a more relaxing and enjoyable passage than this one. The dreams were simply exquisite, and I must blame this on your good selves to an extent, as I tend to pick up my hosts' mental wavelengths when I'm not careful. It's a habit I've been trying to break for years, but I'm afraid I'm just not myself enough under heavy sedation to keep from doing it... I trust you slept well too, yes?"
Obi-Wan blinked. Slept. Well. Dreams. Enjoyable. Not myself. Before he had even pieced all this together, he was dashing towards the cockpit --
Qui-Gon turned lazily in his seat upon hearing his panting Padawan rush into the control room. "Still talking to me? Good. Because I fear you may have missed the last thing I said before you went under..." He stood and took one step towards Obi-Wan. The rest of the distance was somehow covered by magnetic attraction as the two bodies melted against each other, mouth finding mouth blindly, lips mumbling into parted lips, "I love you too, Obi-Wan."
Minutes later, the combined laughter of the ship's three passengers split the collective ears of Coruscant Air Traffic Control, overdriving the microphones in a storm of genuine mirth cut short only by a muffled smacking sound. One of the voices, droid-like and metallic, went on laughing anyway, and it was half a minute before it had caught its breath enough to gasp, "So you say the... sandwiches are on you tonight, Padawan... haaah... Padawan Kenobi?"
--- The End ---