Thanks: To the beta readers who helped with various comments
and encouragement (Thalia, Master Yo-Gurt). All mistakes are
definitely my own since I can't resist tweaking.
Summary: A few Jedi enjoy a night out.
Warnings: male/male relationship and a very stodgy
Padawan
Note: This is a line challenge from the Evil Emu so it's all
her fault. Really.
Spoilers: None, pre-TPM.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to George Lucas, I'm just playing
with them. No profit is intended or made.
"Master, will you behave yourself!" Obi-Wan hissed.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and put on his most innocent
expression. "Is there a problem, Padawan?" he whispered to the
young man sitting next to him in the crowded booth. The jazz
band playing near them covered the sound of their conversation
from the other dozen assorted Jedi around the table. The place
was a popular hangout for off duty Jedi in civvies.
"You're doing it again!" The apprentice glared at his
Master.
On the other side of Obi-Wan the serene dark skinned Master
gave a small smile. Is there a problem, Qui-Gon?
Just the usual. Obi-Wan's teenage dignity is being
assaulted again.
Mace's smile widened as Qui-Gon replied dryly to his
apprentice, "Which 'it' am I disgracing you with this time,
Padawan?"
Obi-Wan responded through clenched teeth, "You two are playing
footsie under the table again."
Qui-Gon and Mace both leaned back against the padded seating
and struggled not to laugh. Obi-Wan had always had trouble
understanding the two men's on again, off again relationship,
considering both of them as too old to be indulging in 'that
sort of thing', as he called it. Since turning eighteen several
months ago, he had been going through a stage of attempting to
be a dignified adult and found the Masters' antics to be
particularly trying. At the moment the relationship was very
much on as the two old friends were well into a 'kiss and make
up' period after a nasty argument a few weeks earlier.
Swallowing a chuckle, Mace said, "Are you feeling left out?
Did you want us to include you?"
"It's not funny!" The icy glare extended equally to both older
men. "People are going to notice. And I don't appreciate it
when you miss. I'm going to have bruises on my shin
tomorrow."
Qui-Gon leaned forward, hands held up placatingly. "Alright,
Padawan, I promise, no more footsies. Happy?"
"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan. "Thank you." He glanced
suspiciously at the two men before relaxing a bit. Picking up
his mug of Corellian ale, Obi-Wan started to take a long
draught when he was simultaneously goosed on both nether cheeks
by a Force pinch. Choking and spluttering, he stood up to get
away from the solicitous Council member who was trying to be
helpful by pounding on his back, then stumbled over Qui-Gon to
get out of the booth. Wiping his red face with a napkin, he
snarled, "You two are impossible. I refuse to be associated
with this nonsense." Muttering under his breath about 'senile
Jedi Masters', the apprentice walked over to another table of
Jedi, where he was evidently successful in enticing a female
Padawan into dancing with him.
"Ah, the agonies of youth," said Master Klement
sympathetically, a grizzled old Jedi who had survived five
Padawans. "Going through one of those phases, is he, poor
lad?"
"Yes," replied Qui-Gon. "He is convinced that Masters are to
be staid and dignified at all times, especially in public. I
thought he was going to die at Ragpel's Naming Day party last
month when Master Yoda wanted to get up and sing after
supper."
"He probably wasn't the only one. I've heard Yoda sing," said
Knight V'zo with a shudder. A sympathetic round of groans and
hoots went round the table.
Klement leaned across the table. "Does he know that you two
are 'doing it'?" he asked in a low voice.
Qui-Gon looked thoughtfully at the Padawan moving gracefully
around the dance floor. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he is
convinced that anyone over 30 is neither capable nor interested
and only has a penis to piss out of."
"And I'm convinced that he thinks Qui-Gon and I are pretending
to be lovers in order to deliberately embarrass him in public,"
continued Mace with a droll laugh as he put his arm across
Qui-Gon's shoulders. The ensuing laughter caught Obi-Wan's
attention as his dance pass brought him near the table and he
rolled his eyes upward at the sight of the Council member
nuzzling his Master's ear. The apprentice's face reddened at
some comment from his partner and he whirled them both away
with indecent haste.
In the silence between songs the desultory conversation at the
table turned from Padawan foibles to a rather ribald
speculation on Hutt mating rituals. The next number was slow
and sultry. Mace nudged Qui-Gon suggestively. The latter
responded with a wicked smile and they both moved out to the
dance floor, passing Obi-Wan as he escorted his partner back to
her table.
The club was dimly lit, but not so dark that the two Masters
couldn't see a certain Padawan's censorious expression as the
young man returned to sit at their table. Obi-Wan continued to
watch in almost incredulous fascination as the two men moved
closer together in a slow, sensuous rhythm. The soft lights
reflected off Qui-Gon's sheffsilk shirt and Mace's gleaming
head. Hands that started at shoulder level slowly worked their
way lower and lower as the pair glided rapturously around the
floor. The black open front shirt that Mace wore was no barrier
to the large hands that sneaked in to slide across smooth skin.
As the music continued the bodies drew even closer until they
were dancing almost as one in a primal kata. Obi-Wan refused to
believe the impulses coming over his bond with Qui-Gon and shut
down his end altogether in horrified protest. The lower the
hands traveled the redder grew the poor apprentice's face,
convinced as he was that the Masters were bringing public
disgrace upon the Order. By the time the music was drawing to a
close, hands were massaging tight buttocks, pelvises were
grinding together and the two men were practically french
kissing on the dance floor. After the number ended there was a
long silence on the floor as the deep kiss continued, the two
men oblivious to their audience until a smattering of applause,
whistles and catcalls sent them sheepishly back to their
table.
Obi-Wan tossed back the last of his ale and stood up as the
Masters approached. "I don't believe you two. You are supposed
to be Jedi Masters," he started in a furious whisper, "you are
supposed to represent the Jedi Order, be role models for
younger Jedi, and yet you were out there clinching like a
couple of rutting Bareeshen verbels!"
"Padawan, you need to lighten up, focus on the moment,"
replied Qui-Gon lightly as he and Mace sat down at the table.
Mace gestured to the waitbeing for two more ales. "Is there
something wrong with two friends enjoying themselves a
little?"
"Master, that was disgusting."
"Oh, Obi-Wan, surely it wasn't that bad, now was it?" said
Mace slyly.
Face blazing, the apprentice was almost beside himself with
mortified indignation. He shook his head and slowly raised his
hands in amazement. "A Council member and senior Jedi Master
practically have sex on the dance floor and they ask if there's
anything wrong? Well, if you can't see that you're supposed to
be old enough to know better and insist on making a public
spectacle of yourselves, I am not going to be a party to this
ridiculous display."
"You know, I really don't see a problem here, Padawan," said
Qui-Gon quietly.
Mustering all of his dignity, Obi-Wan drew himself up and
huffed, "I am going back to our quarters to meditate."
"As you wish, Padawan. I would not want you to stay if you are
not comfortable," Qui-Gon said, nodding slightly.
"Good night, Master," Obi-Wan replied as he turned and headed
for the door.
"Padawan," said Qui-Gon quietly.
Back stiff, the apprentice replied without turning, "Yes,
Master?"
"Don't wait up for me," smirked Qui-Gon.
Throwing them both a withering glance over his shoulder,
Obi-Wan stomped out of the club.
Back at the table, Qui-Gon and Mace raised their drinks and
saluted each other with a laugh. After draining their mugs, the
Jedi Masters happily retreated to the darkest part of the booth
for a peaceful session of making out.
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