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Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - continued

(continued from part 1)

Qui-Gon returned to the bunk to look for the packet he had obtained from Cragin. As soon as he had it, Qui-Gon went back to the ship's mess. He sat across from Kenobi and began to read the contract.

The young prostitute feigned disinterest until Qui-Gon began making noises expressing surprise or interest. Qui-Gon had a Jedi's reserve at his disposal--could have masked his reactions to anything he read--but he chose not to do so.

Kenobi tensed whenever Qui-Gon made a noise, and sneaked looks at him when he thought the Jedi would not notice.

"It can't be that interesting," he said finally. "It's just legal talk, after all."

"It says your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"It is." Kenobi shrugged. "So?"

Qui-Gon shrugged back. "Sounds like a name you'd find in the Republic."

"Iptura is in the Republic," Kenobi pointed out, sounding exasperated. "Isn't that where you found me? Or have we slipped into some crazy Jedi alternate universe?" When Qui-Gon did not respond immediately, Kenobi pressed the issue. "Why are you asking me these things? I cannot imagine why you should care."

"Fair enough." Qui-Gon wondered how to respond, reluctantly deciding on the truth. "You're Force sensitive."

Kenobi's russet brows fluttered upwards in an _expression of puzzlement.

Qui-Gon continued. "Like a Jedi."

Kenobi blinked at him.

"I sensed your presence strongly in the Force. I was led to you. The Force is strong with you."

The young man grinned knowingly. "I've never heard that one before." He took another bite, chewing thoroughly. He shrugged. "Are all Jedi pick-up lines that strange?"

Qui-Gon snorted. "If I wanted you, I could have had you a dozen times by now, and you know it."

"A dozen times." Kenobi gave a low whistle, looking smug. He squinted at Qui-Gon. "How old are you?"

Qui-Gon ignored the clumsy attack. "That's why this is so difficult for you--you don't know how to deal with someone who doesn't want to fuck you."

Kenobi's anger radiated into the Force, and was suddenly gone. He fixed Qui-Gon with his clear gray gaze and spoke with certainty. "But you do want to fuck me."

"You are Force-sensitive to the point that I would have expected you to have been taken to the Temple for training when you were an infant, had you been born in the Republic." Qui-Gon's calm, and his refusal to be baited, seemed to unsettle the young prostitute even more. A fact which Qui-Gon found grimly satisfying. "How old were you when you entered into this contract?"

"How old does it say?"

"I'm asking you."

"I don't remember."

Qui-Gon believed him. He knew that some families apprenticed their children to learn a trade, if they did not have the means to educate them; he had seen contracts similar to the one in his hands many times. Pilots, artisans, skilled workers of all sorts took apprentices. Even Jedi, Qui-Gon mused. "I've never seen an apprentice contract in this particular field."

Kenobi shrugged.

"Were you there of your own free will?"

"I wasn't a slave, if that's what you mean."

The young man was leaning back in his chair now, arms crossed, feet planted, knees wiggling back and forth nervously. He could not have looked more defensive if he had tried.

"I'm only wondering how common such contracts are."

"Most of us were with Cragin because he held our contracts, but I don't know if other places were like that." The boy shrugged again, and wouldn't meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

"How long has he had your contract?"

"Since I was a child."

Qui-Gon must not have hidden his reaction to this news very well, or perhaps his shields had slipped. This boy was sensitive enough to feel the currents in the Force around him, he was sure of that. "Look, when I was younger, I cleaned and stuff. Learned the business as I was ready." Kenobi paused, inspecting his fingernails. "Cragin is a cheap bastard, but he mostly followed the rules."

Qui-Gon noted the qualifier in the statement, but made no comment. The young man did not want to discuss it and the Jedi didn't really need to know, despite his curiosity. He read over another point of interest in the contract.

"So he got sixty percent of your earnings until the price of your contract was repaid with nominal interest for the years he provided for you."

"Plus room and board. He skimmed, too," Kenobi added, sullenly.

"He was cheating you."

"Doesn't matter now, does it?"

Qui-Gon could see that this line of questions was not getting anywhere, but he needed to know why Orima had chosen this fellow. "Why did Cragin make you wear the collar?" Qui-Gon asked, though he already knew, more or less. Kenobi refused to answer, or even look at the Jedi Master. "Was it because of the mind trick--the one you tried on me earlier?"

The younger man drummed his fingers on the table, considering. "I was getting some extra tips on the side, mostly from the ladies. That was just sweet talk. The ladies always like me." Kenobi flashed a broad smile before continuing. "I wanted to save up enough to buy my contract outright." The gray eyes clouded, and Qui-Gon did not have to guess why Kenobi might want to be free of Cragin. "I was doing well, but I got impatient. Started hinting, then... suggesting. I slipped up. Someone realized what I was doing and told Cragin."

"So he collared you. But how did you learn to ... make suggestions... in that manner?"

Kenobi shrugged, and that was all the answer he would give to the Jedi on the matter. "Damn collar. Frightened some of my regulars away, and certain other types seemed to find it... appealing."

Qui-Gon caught a hint of what 'types' Kenobi meant. The establishments on Iptura that catered to sadists were strictly regulated, and kept to the red district.

Cragin's establishment was in the blue district. Just to be sure, he looked through the other data files in Kenobi's contract packet. "Cragin isn't licensed for specialty services. Your contract mentions that, specifically."

"There is evidently some question about the exact definition of 'specialty services.' It was Cragin's call."

"Were you coerced, then?" Qui-Gon did his best to sound neutral, wondering vaguely why it had suddenly become difficult to remain dispassionate.

Kenobi's arms crossed over his chest. He kept his head lowered, moving only his eyes to meet the Jedi's. "I chose to do whatever it took to pay off my contract. Doesn't mean I liked it. Doesn't mean I didn't. Doesn't mean anything."

The young man must have read Qui-Gon's _expression accurately, because he continued. "Don't tell me Jedi never endure unpleasantness if it will further their aims."

Qui-Gon considered this, and nodded. "I do not judge you by your vocation, though it troubles me that you were not given the freedom to choose a different one."

"And you were?"

Qui-Gon didn't answer immediately. He had always thought of his service to the galaxy, and to the Jedi Order, as his calling. Had he really had as little choice of his path as the young prostitute had had of his? "It is an honor to be trained as a Jedi."

"An honor chosen for you, or at least consented to, by your parents before you could use the 'fresher by yourself," Kenobi added, pointedly.

"I could leave, if I wished to."

"To do what? Be a farmer? A pilot? What means would you have had to buy the land, or the ship?"

How could Qui-Gon expect the boy to understand? "I am a Jedi by choice. Not a single choice, but hundred small choices each day. Only by dedication to the training, constant mental and physical discipline, have I become what I am--a Jedi Master."

"You think what I do doesn't require training? Or discipline, for that matter? A whore just has to know how to spread his legs, is that it?"

The Jedi flushed. That had been, more or less, what he was thinking, and it shamed him. To see so much potential in the young man, to know what he might have been capable of under different circumstances... How could he not be saddened by the lost potential--even if Kenobi had no real concept of what might have been his destiny?

Kenobi leaned forward, a fire in his eyes, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare pity me, Master Jedi."

The young man stood, crammed his food wrappers in the cycler and headed for the cabin. Qui-Gon rested his head in his hands, feeling oddly shaken.

He had never questioned his destiny, his calling; he supposed most beings lived their lives in much the same way. But he had always wanted to be a Jedi, hadn't he?

He ate the rest of his quara mechanically, and sat in silence for a great while, considering his place in the universe.

Kenobi had retreated to the ship's single berth, so Qui-Gon attempted to make himself comfortable in the common room where he could keep an eye on the cabin door, just in case his passenger decided to make another surreptitious trip to the cockpit.

The Jedi Master meditated briefly, but he did not want to risk a deep meditation under the circumstances. He could sense Kenobi's presence in the Force, still bright with light and promise, still young enough to believe he had a future that would somehow be better than the present. Had not Yoda always claimed that one's focus determined one's reality? Qui-Gon's focus had always been the Moment; he naturally gravitated to the Living Force, had always been rooted in the moment.

The young Kenobi was not like that, though. Hope for the future burned in him. Qui-Gon never thought about the future, not since his Knighting, in any case. One mission after another, occupying all his thought. Then he chose a Padawan, trained him--all of it a series of Moments in his memory, strung together like pearls.

Only now did he begin to wonder if he had missed something by consistently focusing on the Moment. He sighed.

Best to just get some sleep. The ship's chronos were set for Coruscant time, and Qui-Gon realized that the Temple would be quiet and dark by now. He should tell Kenobi, so that the young man would have less difficulty with space lag later.

Qui-Gon could tell from Kenobi's force aura that he was not sleeping, or even physically relaxed. He seemed to be exerting himself with a fair amount of concentration devoted to the task. What could Kenobi be up to? Qui-Gon sympathized with the young man, even pitied him, but he didn't trust him.

He couldn't be trying to pull loose a panel in the cabin to access the ship's systems, because Qui-Gon knew from the schematics that no critical circuits or cables were routed through the walls of that location. Still, the young man hadn't been completely forthcoming with Qui-Gon about what he had been doing in the cockpit earlier.

He paused at the cabin door, debating whether to knock. It was the Jedi's bunk, after all, and Qui-Gon decided it was best to catch the young man off guard, if he could. He palmed the door controls, unprepared for the shock that awaited him.

Kenobi was on the bunk, mostly. Shoulders resting on the edge, his nude body curled over so that his knees hung past his head. Qui-Gon wasn't sure what he was seeing, at first, but then his stunned brain made sense of it. He made a small choking noise before he realized it, shutting the door as quickly as he could.

Qui-Gon, if he had thought about it (which he had not until a moment ago) would not have believed such a thing was possible. He was a Jedi, after all-the pinnacle of centuries of physical discipline and conditioning-but he had never seen a human that... flexible.

Gods, it was getting warm.

Qui-Gon took off his robe and found some cool water to drink. He had just begun to relax when the cabin door opened. He closed his eyes.

"I know you're awake, Jedi."

"We should both be getting some sleep, unless you want to deal with serious space lag when we arrive at Coruscant."

"Is that why you came in on me--to tuck me in?" Qui-Gon heard Kenobi sit down across from his makeshift sleeping couch. "How sweet."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Kenobi had put on his borrowed leggings--for which Qui-Gon was grateful--but nothing else. Red-gold hair lay against the pale skin of his neck.

"I'm sorry I... interrupted you."

"I have to practice, or my skills will suffer." Kenobi smirked, looking at Qui-Gon pointedly. "Can't have that, especially since I'm to be working for myself, soon."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of Kenobi sucking his own cock, hands cupping his firm little ass. It did not work, so he opened his eyes again. "I'm sorry I offended you. I'm sure it takes discipline and dedication to perfect the skills of your profession. That was the point of your little display, wasn't it?"

"Partly." Kenobi, unperturbed, smiled more broadly, displaying deep dimples. "I was also hoping for a little help."

"You didn't appear to need any assistance," Qui-Gon said wryly.

"It helps to have someone to practice with, since most of my specialties require that someone else be there."

"I imagine so." Qui-Gon closed his eyes again. The implications of the pleasure worker's statement were easier to ignore if he could not see the way his bare chest glistened with a fine sheen of drying sweat. Sweat resulting from the contorted act of self-pleasuring that the boy had obviously meant Qui-Gon to see.

No, eyes open was definitely better. "Kind of you to offer, Kenobi, but I'm not interested."

Kenobi raised an eyebrow at that, glancing over Qui-Gon's recumbent form. "Part of you is interested, Master Jinn." There was no sense in denying it, but Qui-Gon was about to when he saw Kenobi lift a finger to his mouth and suck it thoroughly. An impish smile on his face, Kenobi ran the moistened finger down his chest, circling a dusky nipple and groaning. "Please?"

"You are very attractive," Qui-Gon sighed. "But I--you don't understand."

"I thought maybe you didn't like males, but I was wrong, yes?"

Qui-Gon nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Then why not have some fun with me? I'm much warmer than a Saurid." The boy leaned over him, bringing his mouth very near Qui-Gon's ear. "You'll find I smell better, too."

He did smell good, and he was so warm Qui-Gon could feel the heat of the young man's body across the distance between them. It would be so easy to touch that heat, to kiss that seductive smile until he couldn't remember why he had ever resisted in the first place. But his mind skipped back to Xan and the loneliness that had throbbed inside him despite the pleasure and the passion they had shared.

Kenobi was not a just a willing friend. He was a whore, and one whose life he had saved. That beautiful smile did not necessarily mean that the boy wasn't merely paying off a debt. He could probably smile like that while servicing a Hutt.

Qui-Gon saw the boy's smile falter, whether at his hesitation or at some bit of his thoughts that slipped out through his shields he couldn't say. "You don't owe me anything, Kenobi."

The young man moved away from him, turning his back. "I should have known better," he said weakly. Kenobi sighed, his fists clenched, and he spun around to face Qui-Gon again. "This is mine again." Kenobi gestured, and Qui-Gon realized with a start that the boy was referring to his own body. "I can do as I please with whomever I please, and I'm stuck in hyperspace with a high and mighty squid-fucking Jedi."

Kenobi snatched up the datapad with his contract on it and flung it in Qui-Gon's general direction. The Jedi Master did not even flinch as it clattered to the floor beside him. He stood, quickly stepping to block Kenobi's path as he stalked toward the door.

"So that's it, is it?" Qui-Gon growled, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I don't know which I find more objectionable--that you might bed me out of a sense of obligation, or because I happen to be the only option."

"You don't understand, I-"

"I understand, well enough," Qui-Gon grunted. "You've been trained from childhood to value yourself in sexual terms."

"Spare me your righteous dissection of my mental state." Kenobi's voice broke a little at the last. Qui-Gon sensed the young man's distress, though he was uncertain of the cause.

Then Kenobi lunged at him. A jolt from the Force was his only warning, but it was just enough to catch those slim wrists before the hands could strike.

Qui-Gon let Kenobi's momentum lead, spinning the young man past him and pinning him against the door.

"I need your help, but I do not require your services. So for the time being, try to act like more than a mindless piece of ass, because I know there's more to you than that."

Amazing, how clearly the emotions stole across the young whore's face. If Qui-Gon had been Force blind, he still could have read him. A swirl of confusion, fear and anger, quickly replaced by a haughty mask that almost succeeded in hiding the young man's vulnerability.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to starve you or sell you, and I'm certainly not going to use you sexually." Qui-Gon had meant it to be reassuring, but Kenobi looked offended. "Not that you aren't attractive..."

"But you prefer invertebrates?" Kenobi asked, helpfully.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Visiting the Saurid tank was a mistake. The experience only strengthened my resolve to be celibate."

Kenobi laughed. Not a snide giggle, but a full-on belly laugh. He laughed until tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. It hardly seemed appropriate to the situation, at least to Qui-Gon's way of thinking.

The younger man eventually subsided, glancing at the Jedi as he wiped his eyes. He stilled. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"But Jedi don't have to be celibate, do they?"

"No."

"You just decided to give up sex." Kenobi sounded disbelieving, as if he had said Ewoks controlled the Senate.

"Jedi are not allowed to form attachments--close, possessive relationships. They cloud the judgment. Our duty is to the Force, in service to the galaxy." Qui-Gon spoke earnestly, and he could see that the young man was beginning to understand. "Frankly, if one must be lonely, then one might as well be alone."

Kenobi absorbed Qui-Gon's words, frowning. "But... you're so tall."

Qui-Gon laughed at the young man's confused _expression. He was satisfied that Kenobi would not take offense at the rejection--that was the important thing. No sense in hurting the boy's feelings. He palmed open the door and gently shoved Kenobi through.

"Goodnight, Kenobi."

espite his exhaustion, Qui-Gon found it difficult to sleep. Everything that had happened in the last fifteen hours played over in his mind. Why had the Force brought Kenobi into his path? The whore had no respect for its power that Qui-Gon could see, even when he used it to do things an untrained Force sensitive should not be capable of doing. The young man was a paradox, and his effect on Qui-Gon was unmistakable.

The sexual element was understandable, considering the man's profession and Qui-Gon's recent activities, but there was more to the Jedi's discomfort than mere desire -- or whatever it was that sometimes made men his age act like rutting Banthas. In a few minutes of conversation, Kenobi had called Qui-Gon's whole life into question. Was it nothing more than his parent's decision to send him to the temple that had determined his life? What if Qui-Gon had been apprenticed in brothel, and Kenobi had been sent to the crèche? Was there nothing more to his life than was determined by chance, or was it the will of the Force?

Why would it serve the will of the Force for such a quick-witted and Force-bright young man to be a pleasure worker, when gifts such as his were rare enough, even among Jedi? There would be no answering these questions without meditation.

Qui-Gon sank to his knees, drawing the Force to him. Even the familiar touch of the Force seemed to have changed, somehow. He cleared his mind, and gradually realized the difference- -- he felt the Unifying Force more strongly than before. The Living Force was still by far the strongest part of Qui-Gon's Force sense, even encased in metal, hurtling through the star-streaked black. But something new swirled and whispered in the Force around him, something that had always been there, though perhaps he had been blind to it.

Whatever the reason for its presence, it warmed and comforted him. He had no sense of time during his meditation, usual for him when isolated from the rhythms of life by the profound emptiness of space. When finally he roused -- -slowly, like waking gently from the sweetest of dreams- -- he had no more understanding than before of the currents of the Force that had led him to Kenobi. Currents in which he was still firmly enmeshed.

Yet he was comforted, calmed. Serene in a way he had not been for a very long time. The calm Jedi appearance was no longer a façade- -- Qui-Gon could feel it down to his bones. He smiled. It made no sense at all.

Qui-Gon usually found his rest easily after meditation, but this time his sleep was deep, dreamless and undisturbed. When he woke it was as if a light had been turned on in his mind. One moment he was sleeping; the next, he was fully awake and alert. Not tensed, as if something had disturbed him, but completely aware of himself and his immediate surroundings.

He noted the slight discomfort of a very full bladder, and realized that the 'fresher was accessible only through the ship's single berth. There was nothing to be done for it, though. He had to relieve himself, and he was fairly certain he could do it without disturbing Kenobi.

The lights were out in the cabin, and Qui-Gon maneuvered towards the 'fresher using only his Force-sense, once the door to the common area slid shut behind him. He easily avoided stumbling on the mass of cloth piled in front of the 'fresher door, thinking it odd that Kenobi would be the sort of sleeper to kick the bed coverings that far in his sleep. But then, his Force-sense told him, Kenobi wasn't in the bunk. He was in the 'fresher. More precisely, the 'fresher floor. Qui-Gon moved to the doorway.

"Lights."

Kenobi flinched as the lights came on full, Qui-Gon noted as he knelt beside the partially conscious Kenobi. The young man lay sprawled toward the waste disposal unit with one ankle sticking out of the 'fresher door, still tangled in the knotted sheets.

"Didn't quite make it." Kenobi muttered, his cheek resting in a pool of thin, viscous vomit. His skin was dry, and very hot to the touch. The poor lad was obviously ill, yet Qui-Gon sensed no infection. Then again, he was no healer.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Qui-Gon said, gently helping Kenobi sit against the 'fresher wall. He then wetted a cloth and wiped away the mucoid gunk from the young man's face and chest. Luckily there wasn't any on the leggings he was wearing; in fact, the waste disposal unit seemed to have caught the worst of it. On the outside, unfortunately. One mess at a time, Qui-Gon thought.

"S-sorry." Kenobi looked miserable -- face flushed and breathing shallow. His face contorted with childlike shame at something he couldn't control.

Qui-Gon reached out to comfort him, softly stroking the hair at Kenobi's temple. "Shhh, now. You're unwell."

Kenobi responded to the soft touch, resting his cheek in Qui-Gon's large palm. The Jedi Master used the opportunity to send some healing energy into the boy; he had no idea what ailed him, but he knew that vomiting tended to make one's head hurt. He'd give this unfortunate child of the Force whatever comfort he could, sensing that the young man had had precious little comfort in his life. Certainly it could do no harm.

"Thank you." Kenobi's eyes opened to fever-glazed slits. "It'll pass."

Was Kenobi delirious, or was he merely familiar with his condition? Qui-Gon decided that those questions could wait.

"Let me help you back to the bunk," Qui-Gon said, rather unnecessarily, since Kenobi was in no shape to make it on his own. The young body was like a brand in his arms, heated and dry. He lay Kenobi down, and righted the bed linen, which Kenobi immediately pushed off. He looked pale and drawn as he curled up, arms wrapped protectively around his belly.

Qui-Gon turned to clean up the 'fresher, but then, reconsidering, he leaned over the young man, sending another burst of healing energy to his troubled stomach. Better to be safe; the Furlan didn't have many changes of linen.

The Jedi Master made short work of the clean-up and then relieved himself for nearly a minute, thanking the Force for a healthy prostate.

He dimmed the 'fresher lights before opening the door, so as not to disturb Kenobi, but the young man's eyes were open, staring at him blearily. A shiver passed through the taut body, ever molecule of the young man's presence seeming to transmit misery.

"So cold," Kenobi whispered numbly. "Empty."

Qui-Gon moved to cover him with the recently refused linen, wondering if Kenobi referred to himself or the void surrounding the Furlan. He knew it was not unusual for a fever to make one philosophical. Best do something about that before Kenobi went and made himself any more appealing.

He sat on the edge of the bed.

"If you could tell me what ails you, perhaps I could be of more help." Qui-Gon waited for a reply. Watching Kenobi's mouth work as he tried to form an answer, Qui-Gon realized he had been thoughtless. "I'll bring you some water."

When he returned with a small cup of water, Kenobi sat up weakly to sip it. His body shook, and Qui-Gon steadied him with an arm. "Not too much at first. Take it slowly."

The Kenobi nodded, licking the water from his lips as he settled back onto the bunk. The young man took hold of Qui-Gon's hand as he drew away, stroking light fingers over the lines and calluses. "I knew you were a good man, Jedi. That's why I wanted you. This ... happens when I run away. Cragin put something in the food, or the water- -- I'm not sure. I never could figure it out, how he drugged us, or with what, exactly."

"Hush now," Qui-Gon said gently. "I'll give you something for the fever and then you should rest."

"Fever's just a side effect of the drug." Kenobi reached for the water again. "Used to tell customers he liked to run his whores hot."

Qui-Gon watched the young man sip the water gingerly, as if willing his stomach to stillness. "How long does this generally last?"

"Once I stayed hidden for almost a month. The symptoms were getting better when they found me." Kenobi shuddered, and Qui-Gon took the cup from his hand as he lay back against the cushion. "I didn't mean to insult you." Kenobi paused, looking a little sad. "It's just ... sometimes fucking makes it better for a while."

A pale, soft hand brushed against Qui-Gon's face, blunt fingers trailing through his beard. "You have kind eyes, Master Jinn, and really strong men are often gentle. Or so it seems to me."

The hand fell back onto the coverlet, and Kenobi closed his eyes.

"I can help you." Qui-Gon heard himself speak, watching those changeable eyes open again, the dim light making them somber. "The Jedi have long known ways to rid our bodies of toxins. I could show you how, if you wish to learn."

Kenobi nodded.

Qui-Gon took the too-warm hands in his, and began to speak, softly guiding the young man into a meditative state. He hadn't taught someone this way since Xanatos. It should have seemed strange to do so now, with a prostitute, no less. It did not.

"Close your eyes. Relax. Clear your mind of thought." Qui-Gon could feel the other man drift slowly into a tranquil state, as he continued to soothe and guide him. "Good. Now do you feel the energy around us, between us? That is what we call the Force. It will guide you, if you let it. Allow it to show you what it is that causes your body this difficulty -- -easy now. I'm here to guide you."

"I feel it," Kenobi whispered in wonder, eyes closed. "I-I've felt it before."

"Of course you have," Qui-Gon answered. "Now let it guide you. You won't need to direct it -- it will show you what you need to see if you let it. Don't try to force it to your will. That's it, very good." Qui-Gon was impressed. He sensed the boy's first, tentative touches of the Force, smiling slightly at the awe he sensed from the young man.

"It's ... so beautiful ... " Kenobi's words trailed off, sounding almost as if he was falling asleep, but Qui-Gon could sense the alertness of his mind, as the boy's Force-awareness grew.

"Follow my lead." Qui-Gon began using the Force to search Kenobi's body for signs of what caused this illness. It seemed clear that the symptoms could only be some form of withdrawal, but from what? Qui-Gon knew it could be several varieties of aphrodisiac or mild narcotic, many of which had remarkably violent and dangerous side-effects when used over prolonged periods. He was sure their use was regulated, though misuse by Cragin and his ilk was probably common enough.

It took some time, but he was able to help Kenobi metabolize much of the addictive substance stored in his tissues, and send healing energy to ease him over the worst of the pain as his young body adapted to being clean. The young man still shivered when the meditation was over, and Qui-Gon had barely enough strength to slip onto the bunk with him, offering his body heat as comfort to the young man. Kenobi settled into the embrace and calmed his shaking, and Qui-Gon wondered how often the young whore had been held for comfort only, without sexual intent.

Kenobi was a most remarkable young man, certainly. He took to meditation easily if somewhat clumsily, and he had already shown considerable skill at broad Force manipulation. Qui-Gon was certain he'd take to Force instruction just as easily. There was no room for real physical training aboard the Furlan, but once they reached Coruscant ...

Qui-Gon barely registered the ludicrousness of that line of thinking before a moist, questing mouth began to kiss and nibble at his throat. Kenobi moved gently against him, insinuating warm, bare toes between Qui-Gon's ankles and a slim arm around his waist. The mouth moved lower, branding his skin with Kenobi's fevered breath.

"Wait." Qui-Gon's large hand closed over the smaller one now working its way under the waistband of his leggings. "You know I can't do this ... "

"I know you won't do this." Pale eyes flashed up at Qui-Gon as Kenobi abandoned his ministrations. His breath still smelled faintly of bile. "I just don't understand why."

"I won't take advantage of you this way." Qui-Gon's voice sounded hoarse and false in his ears. A silence followed his words; neither of them moved, frozen on the brink of decision, afraid to go forward, unwilling to go back.

Kenobi rested his cheek against Qui-Gon's chest, moving his hands up to knot in the Jedi's cream tunic.

"But I want it," Kenobi whispered. "I want to feel ... real again."

"You have never ceased to be real, Kenobi," Qui-Gon answered, calmly shoring up his resistance to the raw neediness pouring off the man in his arms. He wondered if the proud young whore would feel ashamed of showing this weakness once he was fully himself again. Qui-Gon thought it unlikely that Kenobi, so recently enraged by the merest hint that Qui-Gon felt sorry for him, would be happy with a pity fuck. "Sleep now."

The warm body relaxed against him, then shook perceptibly. The hands knotted in Qui-Gon's tunic tightened, then pushed.

"Don't do that!"

Qui-Gon tensed at the vehemence in Kenobi's voice. "What?"

"You tried to make me sleep." Kenobi sounded resentful, perhaps a little frightened. "You want me to trust you, but you try to turn me off like a light. I'm a person, not some fucking droid."

Without thinking, Qui-Gon moved a hand to stroke Kenobi's hair, to soothe him. "You're right. I apologize. I won't use Force suggestion on you again. I only wanted to help you rest."

"I know a better way you could help me ... "

The foot between Qui-Gon's ankles inched up slowly until Kenobi had wriggled his knee between Qui-Gon's thighs. Qui-Gon groaned and turned his face away as Kenobi moved to kiss him. He leaned back to extricate himself from the embrace and fell off the bunk. Even with the Force-sense of a Jedi Master, it was not a graceful landing; his feet remained tangled in the linen.

"Listen, Kenobi," he said as he pulled his legs free and gathered together what dignity was left to him. "You need to rest. I'll leave you to it."

Kenobi reached out to him, eyes glistening in the dimness. "Please stay?" The younger man's breath hitched, a painful sound for Qui-Gon to hear because he knew Kenobi would regret the weakness it showed, once he was rested and whole.

"I-I can't." Qui-Gon stood in silence for a moment, as Kenobi curled up on the bunk, hugging his knees. He turned to go.

"You'd stay if I wasn't a whore."

The barely-whispered words burned Qui-Gon like acid. Kenobi was right, but the reasons were not those the young prostitute assumed. It wasn't because he thought himself superior to Kenobi- -- not at all. But he wasn't about to become the next in a long line of beings who had made use of the boy for their own selfish reasons. Kenobi might not see the difference between sex as currency and the free exchange of pleasure, but Qui-Gon did.

He wanted Kenobi to see that he was worth more than what someone would pay for his body, but all Kenobi could see was the rejection -- -that Qui-Gon saw him as tainted, unworthy. He couldn't leave it like that. He just couldn't.

"It's not that." Qui-Gon returned to sit on the edge of the bunk and placed a hand on Kenobi's shoulder. The younger man jerked away from the touch.

"It's all right," Kenobi said weakly. "Just go away, okay?"

"No."

"What?" Kenobi laughed, a broken, dissonant sound.

"You are by far the most attractive being that has shown sexual interest in me in a very long time."

Kenobi snorted, probably thinking of where Qui-Gon had been on Iptura.

"I have chosen celibacy because sexual pleasure leaves me craving the attachments that are forbidden to me as a Jedi."

"You can't fuck me without falling in love with me, hm?" Kenobi's dry laugh only deepened. "Funny, but I've never had that problem with clients before."

"I'm not a client." Qui-Go sighed, knowing this was the crux of his dilemma. Perhaps there was a way to show this young man the difference between a lover and a trick, without falling into what he thought of as 'the pleasure trap' himself.

"It's not like I was going to make you pay," Kenobi scoffed.

"I know." Qui-Gon swallowed hard, hoping his next words would have the casualness he had hoped for. "But you've just been sick -- your breath still reeks of vomit -- -and you are, frankly, a little repulsive at the moment."

Kenobi laughed -- -not the choking, bitter chuckle Qui-Gon had heard so recently, but a clean, honest laugh of amusement.

"That said," Qui-Gon continued, "I would be more than pleased to give you what comfort I can. I can see you shiver; I would be glad to share my body heat with you until the worst of your symptoms have passed."

Kenobi looked up at him for a moment, his large eyes unreadable in the near darkness; then he nodded, lifting up the edge of the linen. Qui-Gon slipped under the covers, and Kenobi wordlessly drew close to him. He slipped a hand around Qui-Gon's shoulder, and looked up into his face for a moment before putting a hand to his own mouth and sniffing.

"Sorry about ... the puke and all."

"Not a problem."

Kenobi turned over, fitting the curve of his backside against the longer body of the Jedi Master, and relaxed with a long sigh. Qui-Gon felt the young man's shivering stop altogether as he relaxed in his embrace. That small moment of surrender seemed a tremendous relief to Qui-Gon; Kenobi had let him in. He was not performing in exchange for comfort, merely receiving it; the trust Kenobi showed humbled Qui-Gon, and stirred something deep and protective in his fierce nature.

The younger man was soon in a fitful, healing sleep, but Qui-Gon was already well-rested, if somewhat Force drained from his attempts at healing. The chrono glowed dimly from the wall, telling him he had just over a day to prepare for planetfall at Coruscant. He'd have to trust in the Force to defend his decision to bring this young man to the temple. If half of what he suspected about the uses of black market Kleranom venom were true, then surely it was a matter for the Senate.

The impact on innocent beings could be far-reaching; the Senate needed to know of it, even if there was little to be done to stop it. Perhaps if that fellow Orima was only beginning the traffic in such things, it wouldn't be too late.

Qui-Gon gave up his musings to the Force, letting himself drift in meditation while the young man in his arms rested. He still felt the difference in the Force around him -- and the unreasonable assurance that all would be well. He hoped that meant there was still time to stop the black market Kleranom trade, for he was also certain that had been Orima's objective.

A fleeting vision came to him of Orima, bisected by the sweep of a lightsaber, life seeping from him as he fell to a black, polished floor. A very un-Jedi-like expression flitted across his features at that image; certainly, if the Force brought about that future Master Jinn would not mourn, but the satisfaction he felt at the image disturbed him.

Gradually Qui-Gon came back to awareness, realizing that Kenobi had slipped from a deep, healing sleep to a light doze. The pain was awake in the young man again, clawing at his body even if he was not consciously aware of it. Qui-Gon recognized the physical distress through the Force, even as it twisted Kenobi's dreams.

The young man muttered in his sleep, a thin, plaintive sound; the lean body in Qui-Gon's arms twitched with dreaming, then turned towards him. The young man was still too warm, though Qui-Gon guessed he had cooled somewhat, if the face pressed against his chest was any indication -- warm, but not fever-dry and burning. The compact frame of the pleasure worker wriggled closer, insinuating a knee between Qui-Gon's legs, an impressive hardness grinding against his thigh.

Qui-Gon centered himself with a sigh, using the Force to control his body's response to the sensations. Through the dream fog in Kenobi's mind, the Jedi master sensed a deep aching need that was only partly physical. The young man would never intentionally reveal his own peculiar brand of loneliness, but Qui-Gon recognized the desire to be known and cared for that most beings shared.

What a pair we make, Qui-Gon thought. A celibate Jedi and a whore, both desperately lonely in our own way. Perhaps he could give this young man something, a lesson in his own worth.

A gift freely given. He could do that much without breaking his resolution, without endangering his place among the Jedi.

He pulled away from Kenobi a little, raising a hand to brush a wiry hank of ginger hair away from that young face, so angelic in repose. Pale lashes fluttered, but he didn't wake. Qui-Gon slipped down, running his hands over the bare flesh before him before leaning in to taste a hardened nipple. Kenobi moaned, twining a hand in Qui-Gon's hair and arching into the touch, still not quite awake.

Qui-Gon rolled the quiescent body until Kenobi was fully beneath him, though he still held his weight on his arms and his knees. Long, silvered hair fell like a curtain around him, isolating everything from view except the golden body before him. He thought of nothing but the task at hand, fully in the moment, the slight Force-pressure at the base of his penis little more than an afterthought.

Controlling his body's response was simple enough. This wasn't for himself, after all.

Taking his time, the Jedi Master nuzzled at Kenobi's neck, moving down his shoulder, under his arm and across the compact chest before him. Every little mole a discovery, every gasp from the waking man beneath him a gift. The hand in his hair tightened and Kenobi whimpered pleasantly as he came more fully awake. He pressed up against Qui-Gon, exuding a languorous sensuality tinged with smugness.

"Oh, yeah," he murmured as the Jedi licked and nibbled his way down the light trail of stubble leading to his navel. Kenobi writhed under him, responding vocally to the scrape of his beard over tender flesh. Qui-Gon wondered how much of his response was for show, the habit of one who sells his body. "Don't stop, baby."

Qui-Gon snorted at that, trying not to laugh. He had never been one for watching sex holos, but he was suddenly certain that if they had dialogue, it would sound like that.

"C'mon, big guy," Kenobi encouraged huskily. "Give it to me."

This time, Qui-Gon pressed his face gently against Kenobi's belly to stifle his laughter, but only succeeded in making an indelicate noise against the soft skin. He pulled away and laughed without attempting to hide it, giving over to the moment.

"What is so ever-fucking funny?" Kenobi's voice was small and dry in contrast to the boldness of the words.

"Nothing," Qui-Gon said, the humor of the situation quickly doused by Kenobi's unconscious vulnerability. "I -- You don't have to perform for me, Kenobi. Just let me please you."

The pleasure worker laid his head back with a sigh and said nothing. Qui-Gon interpreted that as acquiescence, and continued his ministrations. He licked the warm, dry skin, enjoying the texture of smoothness interrupted by patches of pale stubble where the body hair was beginning to grow back now that it was not subjected to the grooming requirements of Cragin's brothel.

Qui-Gon let his sizeable hands lead the way, slowly peeling the too-large sleep pants down until Kenobi kicked them off. He followed the downward trail of short, bristly hair, nuzzling at the protrusion of a hipbone, savoring the musky scent where Kenobi's legs came together.

The man beneath him let out a whimper of discomfort; Qui-Gon knew there was pain mixed with the lust. As much as he might enjoy prolonging the encounter, perhaps Kenobi would be best served by a swift release. Qui-Gon gently licked the crease at the inner edge of the young man's thigh, and was rewarded with better access as Kenobi spread his legs in tacit supplication.

A warm feeling spread through Qui-Gon's chest and he immediately labeled it 'compassion', for he felt he might weep at Kenobi's need, his surrender, his trust. The Force-bright pleasure worker moaned, his breathing a ragged sound just short of sobbing. Qui-Gon licked the heated flesh before him, tasting only briefly the salty musk of the scrotum before laving the underside of Kenobi's shaft.

"Please." Kenobi's voice was strained, even quieter than his breathing.

Qui-Gon did not hesitate to swallow him whole, acknowledging that his explorations had been largely selfish. He worked the shaft expertly, taking it into his mouth, giving pleasure with his tongue and lips. With one hand he fondled the heavy sack, searching for balance between gentleness and firmness. The other hand moved up the young body to Kenobi's mouth, where Kenobi eagerly sucked his fingers. By unspoken understanding, Qui-Gon let the young man show him how he wanted the Jedi to work him.

The sounds Kenobi made were affecting Qui-Gon; his focus had slipped enough that he had allowed himself to harden. That would not do -- this was for Kenobi. An act of compassion, not selfish sensuality. Qui-Gon paused, trying to regain control of his body's response, but Kenobi continued to move underneath him, pumping his hips. Qui-Gon lost his concentration, and gagged so hard his eyes watered. That seemed to have solved his other problem nicely, though, and he increased the Force-pressure at the base of his flagging cock.

Qui-Gon pulled his wet fingers from Kenobi's mouth, and brought them down to gently press his body's opening. One finger entered easily, and Qui-Gon curled it to press the little nub that would give the younger man pleasure.

Kenobi was sobbing now, keening, breathless gasps of frantic need. Qui-Gon sped up his ministrations on the cock in his mouth, taking him deep in his throat and swallowing in rhythm with the thrust of his finger inside.

A broken moan tore at Kenobi's throat as he came. Qui-Gon continued his ministrations as the body beneath him twitched and shuddered with pleasure, not releasing Kenobi until he stilled.

The young man uttered the most imaginative Huttese curse Qui-Gon had ever heard, then laughed breathlessly.

"I think I lost consciousness for a second there."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Qui-Gon said. He allowed himself a moment of smugness unbecoming a Jedi as he moved to lie beside Kenobi. The younger man sighed sleepily and burrowed against Qui-Gon's chest. "Feeling better, then?"

"Much." Kenobi sounded drowsy, but lifted his head to look Qui-Gon in the eyes. The dim light from the 'fresher limned them both in a web of pale silver. "But now it's your turn."

Before Qui-Gon could respond, Kenobi pressed a hand against him.

"The fuck?" Kenobi pulled the linen up to cover himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Did you ... ?"

"No," Qui-Gon replied. "This was for you, not for me."

"You didn't ... you didn't feel anything?" Kenobi pulled away from him, edging back into the bunk until he was pressed against the bulkhead, fear and confusion marking his beautiful face.

"You know I have decided to be celibate," Qui-Gon began. "But I couldn't let you suffer when it was within my power to comfort you. I do not expect anything in return."

Kenobi looked as if he had been slapped -- his jaw hung slack and his eyes glinted cold in the dimness. The hand that had smoothed his hair now knotted in it, fisted against his neck. His voice came quiet and toneless when he spoke.

"Get out."

"Kenobi-"

Qui-Gon was not ready for the explosion when it came. A string of curses in at least three different languages assailed his ears, accompanied by a significant force-assisted push to his chest. He made his way to the door as his parentage was loudly called into question, and closed it behind him as Kenobi suggested that Qui-Gon occupy himself with several anatomically impossible activities.

Kenobi went quiet after the door closed between them, for which Qui-Gon was glad. It would be difficult enough to explain the presence of a pleasure-worker on a Jedi ship, let alone a raving one.

Qui-Gon had to admit the young man's response had puzzled him. Perhaps the drug his body was trying to purge had psycho-emotional side effects; maybe one of the Temple healers could explain this mercurial behavior.

The com chimed from the cockpit, and Qui-Gon moved to answer it. He had turned off the com earlier, but the Council had access to override codes for all Temple vessels. One look at the display and he knew he was right. This wasn't Knight Xanatos impatient for an update on his former master's Iptura adventure. No, the incoming transmission was from Master Yoda.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath to center himself before answering.

"Greetings, Master Yoda," he said with toneless serenity as the diminutive Jedi Master's image appeared before him.

"Fool me, you do not, Qui-Gon Jinn!" Yoda's voice seemed to grate on Qui-Gon's nerves more effectively through the com than in person. Perhaps hyperspace affected the tone. Qui-Gon thought of his dream again, and suppressed a shudder.

"Pardon me, Master, but I do not understand -- "

"A disturbance in the Force I have felt. Troubled, you are. See this, I do."

"Yes, Master."

"Serenity restored, you have not."

Qui-Gon took a moment to parse that statement before answering. The little toad knew how to keep you on your toes. "No, Master. I discovered something very disturbing on Iptura. The Force led me to information surrounding possible traffic in Kleranoms, or their venom."

That bit of information caught the little troll by surprise, if the widening of his eyes and twitching of his ears was any indication. He paused a moment to see if Master Yoda was going to say anything else, and when he did not, Qui-Gon relayed the basic details of his encounter with Orima and the fertile Kleranom. He mentioned Kenobi, but left out the young man's extraordinary Force presence. Master Yoda would see it for himself, soon enough.

"Report to the Council upon arrival, you will." Yoda looked long at Qui-Gon through the holographic image, but Qui-Gon didn't blink. He'd be Force-damned before he'd let anyone on the Council see him sweat.

"Yes, Master."

"A matter for the Senate, this is. Forgotten your recent unrest, I have not, but wait it can. May the Force be with you."

Qui-Gon inclined his head in the intimation of a bow as the image before him winked out. Something serious was brewing for Master Yoda to have overridden the com codes on the Furlan, especially knowing that Qui-Gon was on Council-approved leave and not a mission.

At least he had the better part of a day to prepare his statement for the Council, and he would need very little input from Kenobi for that. His usefulness would be in his testimony before the Senate. Qui-Gon hoped that Kenobi would be more reasonable by the time that testimony was needed. In any case, he welcomed the distraction of preparing his report for the Council.

Back in the small common room, Qui-Gon paused outside the cabin door, listening. He didn't hear anything, though the Force whispered to him of the very confused, lonely being within. Kenobi needed time to adjust, that was all. Qui-Gon would continue to offer him friendship when he had recovered somewhat, but it was obvious that now had not been the time to offer physical comfort, no matter how much Kenobi had seemed to need it.

Just as well, since Qui-Gon knew nothing lasting could ever come of such intimacies. He picked up a datapad, and settled in to begin his report to the Council.

Go to part 3