Disclaimer: They're not mine but I like to make them do fun
things.
Summary: Obi-Wan struggles with public perception and his own
careening emotions.
This is a bit lighter than my last fic, but hopefully Obi-Wan
retains his edge. If you like, please let me know at
Dianora2@aol.com, as I'm on the fiction-only list. All of my
fic can be found at members.aol.com/dianora2/main.htm.
"Obi-Wan, you're over-reacting."
Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks, took a deep breath, and turned
around. "With all due respect, master, I think I'm reacting as
well as can be expected, given the circumstances." He could
sense passersby glancing at them, raising eyebrows in
ill-mannered curiosity, but he determinedly ignored them and
held his head high. His injured hand throbbed with dull pain,
but he ignored that too.
And damn Qui-Gon for obviously fighting a smile when he
replied. "Of course...I'd forgotten that you, young padawan,
are the sole arbiter of correct behavior. Forgive me."
Mother of all... "You were there, master, you heard what was
said!" he exploded. A passing Wookiee stopped, looked at them
inquisitively. "What are you staring at?" Obi-Wan snapped, and
flinched when the Wookiee growled at him ferociously in
response. "Uh, sorry," he said sheepishly. Next time, skip over
the part where you antagonize someone who could snap you like a
twig, he told himself, Jedi powers or no. The Wookiee grumbled
and lumbered off; Obi-Wan sighed in relief and looked back at
his master.
Qui-Gon was barely managing to restrain his laughter.
That did it. "I'm leaving," Obi-Wan said with as much dignity
as he could muster. He turned on his heel and headed in the
direction of the landing bay where their ship was docked, brown
cloak billowing behind him. With any luck, he could convince
Captain Malandro to take off before Qui-Gon got there. Sure,
he'd pay for it later, but at that point it was a risk he was
willing to take.
Maybe I wouldn't be quite so angry, he reflected as he stormed
through the streets of D'luth, cradling his hand against his
chest, if it all hadn't hit so close to the mark. Or if Qui-Gon
hadn't been there. Or if I'd just given in and struck the
little bugger down --
No. He stopped in mid-stride, causing a native to nearly bump
into him, and he muttered a distracted apology. That way lies
the dark side, he told himself. You did the right thing. You
know it and Master Qui-Gon knows it.
Nonetheless, it rankled.
As he continued through the winding streets, dodging other
pedestrians and hovercars, he ran through the events in his
mind, knowing he shouldn't be dwelling on it, but unable to
resist. He and his master had just finished mediating a dispute
between a local landowner and his tenants -- the tenants
believed the landowner had the regional government on his
payroll, and they had called on the Jedi to intervene -- and
were enjoying a well-deserved meal at a local eating
establishment.
The eatery was alive with local color, its long, gleaming metal
tables packed to the gills with D'luthians and a menagerie of
other races, from Wookiees to Rodians to Zeltrons, all
gibbering in various languages, their roars and clicks and
squeaks drifting up into the air, bouncing off the expansive
skylights that let in the strong D'luthian sun. Even though
Obi-Wan and his master had to speak loudly to each other over
the din in order to be heard, the running commentary from the
D'luthian at the next table was all too audible.
"Didn't know Jedi came that pretty," the furred creature said
to his companions. His elongated snout twitched in amusement
and released a wet snort. "Looks like a good little boy, eh?
Does just what his master tells him, in more ways than one,
I'll bet."
"Don't," Qui-Gon said quietly, before Obi-Wan had even spoken.
His master was staring pointedly at Obi-Wan's fist; Obi-Wan
looked down, realized he had a death grip on his glass, so
tight that his knuckles were bone white. "But master --" He
could feel the anger welling up inside of him, a simmering heat
in danger of exploding into a conflagration of rage, and he
tried desperately to keep it from igniting.
"Boy that pretty should be selling his goods, not squandering
it as a Jedi," the D'luthian said in a tone that
communicated all too clearly what he thought of Jedi Knights.
"What a waste!" His table mates burst into malicious laughter
and he puffed up with pride.
"Ignore him, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said firmly. "Find your center,
take hold of your feelings. This fellow is not worth the
trouble."
Once again Obi-Wan tried to obey, but the D'luthian's shrill
voice cut through his concentration with the heat and precision
of a lightsaber. "Bends over when he's told, eh? Bends over and
asks for more. Good little puppy dog."
Obi-Wan had only enough time to realize that the shattering he
heard was his glass breaking in his fist; an instant later he
ignited his lightsaber, leapt up from the table, and towered
over the D'luthian, his blue blade humming inches from the
native's twitching snout. Blood welled up from the fresh gouges
on his hand, but he stubbornly ignored the pain. "Say that
again, to my face this time," he ordered, tightening his grip
on the lightsaber handle, even though it sent waves of agony up
his arm. The immediate area around the table fell silent in
shock and anticipation.
Blood dripped from his hand onto the floor.
"Obi-Wan." His master's voice was like ice. "No."
The D'luthian and his friends said nothing, waiting to see what
the apprentice would do. Desperate for control, buffeted by
anger and pain, Obi-Wan reached out with his feelings and drew
the Force around him like a cloak, allowing it to soothe him,
calm him, restore his focus. Give in to anger you will not,
Master Yoda's voice whispered in his ear. Anger leads to hate,
and then where will you be? Where will we all?
Shame flooded him; he clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and
then with an iron effort of will he extinguished his saber and
walked away, refusing to look at his master as he did so. The
D'luthian and friends erupted into raucous laughter behind him,
the sound of their amusement following him out the door.
Remembering it now, Obi-Wan felt the anger well up again, the
wounded pride, and he tried desperately to cast the emotions
aside, to be at peace.
But you will bend over, won't you, a snide voice said in his
head. You will bend over tonight and you will love every minute
of it and beg for more...
He shook his head in frustration, padawan braid whipping about
him, hoping to cast out the unfair thoughts, but it didn't
help. Cursing under his breath, he took stock of his
surroundings, and when he saw that their ship loomed directly
ahead of him, he breathed a sigh of relief. After he tended to
his hurt hand, he would spend time in quiet meditation, and
endeavor to get his careening emotions back under control.
Everything would be all right. Until the next time he let his
anger get the better of him, anyway.
And damn it all, he hadn't even had time to finish his meal.
His stomach grumbled as a reminder.
Once on board the transport vessel, he grabbed a first aid kit
from the galley and ensconced himself in his small passenger
cabin, not even bothering to let Captain Malandro know he had
returned. They had to wait for Qui-Gon anyway, much as the
temptation still lingered to take off without him. And Obi-Wan
knew his master: he'd take his time coming back, giving Obi-Wan
a chance to calm down and himself a chance to shop for any
last-minute supplies.
If I'm lucky, he'll bring me back some puppy treats, he thought
bitterly.
Enough. After tending to his shredded hand with synthflesh and
bandages, he settled down on the floor and folded his legs
underneath him. Finally prepared for some much-needed and
wanted mediation, he closed his eyes and surrendered to it.
He wasn't sitting there for very long before the door slid
open. "Master Qui-Gon," he said in greeting, without opening
his eyes.
"Are you still sulking?"
He opened one eye. "I'm meditating."
"I can see that. But meditation and a persistent sulk are not
mutually exclusive, as you have illustrated before."
He opened both eyes at that. "Do you not realize, master, that
the main reason I was so upset by the D'luthian's remarks is
because they were true?" he asked in exasperation.
Qui-Gon leaned against the doorjamb and quirked a brow.
"Because you're pretty? Really, padawan, vanity is not a
becoming trait on anyone, especially not a Jedi."
"Neither is being deliberately obtuse," Obi-Wan retorted.
Qui-Gon inclined his head; point taken. "Then tell me what's
bothering you," he said quietly, his voice finally sincere.
Obi-Wan rested his hands on his knees and rotated his neck
until it cracked. "Puppy dogs," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"Puppy dogs," Obi-Wan continued, getting up from the floor and
starting to pace -- so much for the calming effects of
meditation -- "are loyal, obedient, faithful, and by all
accounts, sickeningly adorable. You pat puppy dogs on the head
and give them a biscuit and send them on their way."
"And...?"
"And I'm tired of people seeing me as one."
Qui-Gon stepped into the room, and the door whooshed shut
behind him. He folded his arms over his chest. "Do you truly
believe that is how others see you?"
"Isn't it?" Obi-Wan countered. "That D'luthian was just one
example. I freely follow you and am mindful of you as an
apprentice to a master, but I'm tired of also being regarded as
your...house boy."
"House boy?" Qui-Gon said, and his lips twitched in a way that
looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
"The choice of words could be better, but you know exactly what
I mean," Obi-Wan bit out, already regretting the conversation,
but having no choice other than to forge ahead. "As if in
addition to my apprentice duties, you also keep me around
to...service you." He glanced at his master, then away again,
embarrassed, cursing himself.
"Do you believe that's why I 'keep you around,' as you put it?"
Qui-Gon asked mildly.
"Of course not," Obi-Wan said without hesitation.
"Then, as far as I can see, there is no real problem here. You
understand that you are much more than however others might
perceive you, and you must also understand that any erroneous
perceptions of you held by those others are irrelevant to who
you are. The only conflict here is the one within yourself. One
which needs to be resolved as soon as possible."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, biting back another retort.
Intellectually, he knew his master was right. But that didn't
stop the anger or the humiliation --
"You really are upset about this, aren't you?" Qui-Gon's voice
held a glimmer of frustration. "What do you need, Obi-Wan, a
reminder that while you may be my apprentice, in other ways we
are nonetheless equals, completely?"
"No," Obi-Wan said immediately, but his heart started pounding
a little bit faster.
Qui-Gon walked toward him slowly, deliberately, and his deep
blue eyes glittered suddenly with arousal. "I'm not sure I
believe you," he said.
His master was directly in front of him now, and Obi-Wan could
smell the other man's familiar scent of sweat and soap and
something deeper, could see every line etched on his well-worn
face. Their eyes met; Obi- Wan drew in a ragged breath that
sounded unnaturally loud to his own ears. He opened his mouth
to say something, anything --
-- and was cut off by Qui-Gon's lips on his own, searing,
all-consuming. Obi-Wan fought off the shock and opened his
mouth eagerly, taking the other man's tongue in to tangle with
his own, tasting the honeyed tang of D'luthian ale as he
deepened the kiss.
And then without warning he was slammed against the wall,
Qui-Gon's body leaning against his with persistent, heavy
weight. He could feel the other man's rock-hard erection
pressed against his stomach. "What--" he whispered in surprise,
tearing his lips away to speak.
Qui-Gon didn't answer; instead he unfastened Obi-Wan's belt and
let it fall to the floor, then slipped his hands inside
Obi-Wan's shirt, finding the nipples, pinching them in unison.
Obi-Wan gasped, bit down on his lower lip as Qui-Gon continued
to knead his nipples in a slow, maddening rhythm. He closed his
eyes, opened them again and stifled a sound of protest when his
master withdrew his fingers. He watched as Qui-Gon knelt before
him and pulled his pants down in one smooth motion; Obi-Wan's
hips twitched of their own volition. His cock was exposed, red
and rigid in the harsh light of the chamber, and aching for
release.
Obi-Wan let down all his mental shields, allowing his master to
sense completely his wanting, his need, his impatience. Qui-Gon
flinched, but recovered quickly and smiled up at him.
"Patience, Obi-Wan," he said, taking Obi-Wan's cock in his
hand, stroking it gently. Obi-Wan swallowed a groan. "Always so
impatient..." And then he took his apprentice's shaft into his
mouth.
Obi-Wan groaned audibly this time, his head falling back
against the wall, his eyes raised to the ceiling. Qui-Gon was
sucking him in earnest now, his tongue running up and down
Obi-Wan's shaft, his teeth grazing but not biting, and by all
that was holy it felt so damn good... So hot, and wet, and
tight, and hot, and gods it was hot... Obi-Wan shrugged
out of his shirt, tossed it onto the floor, and leaned back
against the wall once more, the metal cool against his inflamed
skin, and all the time Qui-Gon didn't break the rhythm, didn't
cease his strong suction, even took advantage of Obi-Wan's
movement to wrap his arms around his apprentice's waist and
clutch his behind, driving Obi-Wan ever deeper into his mouth.
Obi-Wan placed his hands on Qui-Gon's head, his fingers
wrapping in the other man's coarse hair, and gently began to
pump his hips forward in time to the rhythm Qui-Gon was setting
with his mouth. His cock felt as if it would burst, engorged
beyond reason, every nerve ending dancing with heat and
electricity conjured by lips, teeth, tongue. The blood pounded
in his cock and in his head and in his heart, roared in his
ears, came to a boil when Qui-Gon took his balls in one hand,
keeping the other firmly in place on his apprentice's behind.
Qui-Gon squeezed gently at that sensitive sac, and Obi-Wan
moaned loudly, jerking his hips harder, the sweat pouring down
his chest and slicking his back.
Through the Force he could feel Qui-Gon's passion, his desire
for him, and he returned it tenfold, losing himself in heat and
sweet pressure, giving himself over to his master's
ministrations, mindful of nothing but nearly agonizing pleasure
as he hurtled closer and closer to complete and utter
surrender.
"Qui-Gon," he whispered, and his master responded by moving his
hand from Obi-Wan's balls to his shaft, stroking him in time
with his mouth, his thumb pressing firmly against the underside
of his length, doubling his assault on Obi-Wan's senses.
The strong, hot, wet suction, the unyielding pressure of his
master's hand, the sweet friction as he thrust himself into
Qui-Gon's mouth again and again...Obi-Wan gasped, breathing
hard, looking down at Qui-Gon now, watching his lover as he
sucked on him ardently, eyes closed in concentration, and the
sight of Qui-Gon devoting himself to him completely, coupled
with the incredible sensation of his cock captured by Qui-Gon's
mouth, sent him -- finally and yet all too soon -- headlong
into oblivion.
"Qui-Gon!" he screamed as he came, the cry torn from his throat
as he gushed hot liquid into his lover's mouth, hips pumping
frantically, uncontrollably, again and again and again and he
thought he was going to die, nothing could go on for this long,
oh gods gods gods and then finally it was over, he could
breathe, barely, and his legs turned to rubber and he fell to
the floor and he huddled there as he gasped for breath and
whispered his master's name over and over and over and
"Obi-Wan, are you okay?" he heard Qui-Gon ask in concern.
Obi-Wan turned over with an effort, saw his master sitting
beside him, one hand on Obi-Wan's hip, brow furrowed with
worry. He grinned, still panting. "I don't think I've ever felt
better in my entire life," he said truthfully. He reached out
to tug at Qui-Gon's arm, pulling the other man down to him, and
their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, Obi-Wan tasting himself
on the other man's tongue.
"In that case," Qui-Gon said when their lips parted, "can we
move this to the bed? My knees aren't what they used to be."
Obi-Wan let out a short laugh. "But of course, wise and
venerable sir," he said sardonically. "We wouldn't want to wear
out those old bones of yours."
"Says the young man who couldn't move a moment ago," Qui-Gon
riposted.
Obi-Wan scratched his head. The man had a point. "Well, you
know us puppy dogs, we bounce back quickly," he said lightly.
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice held a measure of affection and
warning all at once. He clasped Obi-Wan's head with his hands,
forced him to meet his eyes, light blue on dark. "No more of
that."
Obi-Wan hesitated, then nodded, willing to set the matter
aside, at least for now. He got to his feet and helped Qui-Gon
up as well, but instead of leading him to the small bunk in the
corner of the room, he pushed the other man gently against the
wall he himself had recently occupied.
"What are you doing?" Qui-Gon asked in amusement.
"Your knees may be weak," Obi-Wan replied, sinking down and
reaching for the waistband of Qui-Gon's pants, "but
fortunately, mine work just fine."
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