Archive: Master & Apprentice, QJEB, SWA-L and The Nesting
Place, anyone else please ask!
Category: A/U, Action/Adventure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Q/O
Summary: The trip to Coruscant brings with it revelations and a
bit of understanding
Disclaimer: Don't own them, George Lucas does. If I did they
would have had a much happier ending! The planet Golgatha as
well as the general idea of the Arena and the Games are
borrowed from Simon R. Green's Deathstalker series - no
copyright infringement intended as no money is being made off
of this.
Feedback: Yes please, it's addictive!
Author's Note: Wonder-betas Holly, Tracy and Heather - gotta
love em for what they do for me! And thanks to all you
lightsaber waving fools out there (especially Fi, Linda, Cyn
and Rebekah who offered to slaughter my evil manager at work
for me) you succeeded in breaking the thick walls of my
writer's block!
[Day 1]
The unending night was broken by streaks of light. Stars:
millions of them. Unknown, anonymous, unaware of the tiny craft
that rocketed past them bearing its passengers toward an
uncertain reception at the Jedi Temple.
After locking the guidance system on autopilot, Ben Ken'ba slid
from his seat, his sword rattling against the navigation
console. He was tired; his body ached from the day's fighting,
as well as the ghost pain from the man in the co-pilot's seat.
All this on top of the Jedi's damned insistence that he go to
Coruscant along with him.
Habit had Ben reaching for a stim-stick, the familiar rush of
adrenaline putting things into perspective once again. Deal
with what you can, let the rest sort itself out along the
way. "Get your ass to the med bay," he growled, glaring
down at the Jedi. The older man was in no shape to argue with
him at this point. If it was necessary, he'd knock Jinn out and
drag him there.
"I was just going to suggest that myself," Qui-Gon countered
mildly as he stood, his right arm pressed against his chest.
"If there is one to be had on this vessel."
"There is." Ben's eyes flicked to the charred area on Qui-Gon's
shoulder, mentally assessing the wound and what treatment it
would need.
The Jedi merely returned the stare. The only evidence of the
pain he had to be feeling was a slight tightening of the skin
around his eyes. Otherwise he appeared totally unaffected. "And
how do you know that?"
"Have been on this ship before, belongs to a man named Cratos.
He owes me." This said, the fighter left the small bridge,
heading down an unmarked corridor, his path taking them deeper
into the bowels of the cruiser.
"For what?"
Ben stayed silent and Qui-Gon was forced to resort to sifting
through those memories of the other man that he could recall in
search of an answer. "He's made a lot of money off you."
"So have a lot of people, it's the way of the Arena. Some
people get rich, some people die."
"But not you."
"Oh I got rich all right, just never managed to die."
"But you wanted to." It was a statement, not a question.
"When the time was right. It was today until someone
interfered."
"Forgive me for hindering your plans." There was a hint of
humor in the older man's voice. "I just had no desire to die
myself at this point in time so your doing so would have been
inconvenient."
Ben palmed open a door and gestured the Jedi through into a
small but well stocked medical bay. "There was no reason for
you to die. She had me, that's what she wanted."
Qui-Gon sat on the exam table and started to pull off his
tunic. His movements were slow and painful and, after a
moment's observation, Ben made a low sound of annoyance.
"Hold still," he commanded, pulling out a dagger and expertly
splitting the garment up the seams so that it fell from the
larger man's body to the floor.
"You know, I may have wanted to wear that later."
"Then sew it back together when we're done here. Sit still."
Hands that were surprisingly gentle in their touch went to
work, first applying an anesthetic and then debrading the
charred flesh.
Through it all, something was still gnawing at the fighter and
he finally spoke. "Why did you think you were going to die?"
A layer of artificial skin covered the raw, angry flesh of his
shoulder and Qui-Gon channeled the Force into the injury,
encouraging the new cells to grow. How to explain the mechanics
of a life-bond to someone who had never heard of one before,
let alone been a part of it? "It's simple. If you had, I would
have."
"Sounds a little melodramatic to me, Sar Jedi," Ken'ba scoffed
as he checked the bandage over the other man's wound.
"Call it what you will, but there is a bond between us and I am
telling you the truth." Qui-Gon concentrated and sent a pulse
of energy along the link that connected them. Ben flinched and
the Jedi nodded. "See? I feel what you feel and vice versa.
It's there, you cannot deny it."
Angrily the fighter slammed the instrument he had been using
back into its drawer. "That's a load of crap. The last thing I
want is some 'bond" to a fool of a Jedi who can't keep his
damned nose out of other people's business! Hear me out on
this, Jinn. When we get to Coruscant you do what you have to
but I'm gone."
"It isn't crap my friend." The older man's eyes held a wealth
of knowledge and sadness in them. "It is the will of the Force,
there's nothing you can do to fight it."
"Fuck the Force!" Ben shouted, stalking through the door, his
heavy footfalls hanging in the air long after the fighter had
left the room.
"I'm afraid it does not work that way," Qui-Gon murmured sadly.
The trip to Coruscant would take them almost one standard
month. There would be time to talk of this later. Now he had to
concentrate on healing himself. He had the feeling that showing
any weakness when dealing with his reluctant bond-mate would
not be beneficial.
With a sigh, the Jedi arranged himself into his favorite
position for meditation and closed his eyes, giving himself
over to the pervasive rhythms of the Force, allowing them to
guide and heal him.
"Biggest load of crap I've ever heard . . ."
Ben's muttered comments preceded him as he stalked through the
corridors of the cruiser. Unfortunately, its small size meant
that there weren't many places to go. The cargo hold took up
most of the space, while the med bay, three cabins, and a tiny
galley used up the majority of the rest. Thankfully - for
Cratos was a man who wanted the best - there was also spacious
lounge that could double as a training facility with only a bit
of renovation.
Food wasn't a problem. The cruiser was well stocked for
whatever trip the information broker had been planning. Fresh
meat, breads, vegetables, a wide variety of spices and
condiments and a selection of wines and liqueurs that would do
any connoisseur proud.
An image of Cratos' expression when he found out that his ship
was gone made the fighter laugh, the sharp bark loud against
the silence of the galley's unadorned walls and floor. The
stretching of his facial muscles brought a twinge of pain with
it and Ben rubbed at his cheek with his palm. His hand was
tinged with blood when he pulled it away and it was then he
remembered the lines the Empress had dragged across his face
with her nails earlier in the day.
Satisfied that everything on the ship was as secure as it could
be and that he and the Jedi wouldn't starve during their
journey, Ben palmed the lights in the galley off as he headed
out of the room. Choosing one of the cabins at random, he
peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the sani-unit - who
knew if there was anything on board that would come close to
fitting either him or Jinn.
A glance in the mirrored wall of the 'fresher room revealed the
image of a wild man. Most of the dried blood had flaked off of
his face during the run from the palace to the port, but enough
of the gory mask remained to create an unsettling impression.
Bared in the harsh light of the small room, scars stood out in
stark relief against the darker tan of his skin. If he had
wanted to, Ben could have recalled where most of them had come
from and who had given them to him, but he had no such desire
at this time.
Slapping a hand against the water control (and silently
thanking Cratos for being extravagant enough to have such a
luxury on his ship), Ben stepped under the pounding spray. The
heat and force of the water rinsed the accumulated blood, sweat
and dirt from his body, leaving the fighter feeling cleaner
then he had in all his years on Golgatha.
Leaning his palms against the wall, Ben let the force of the
droplets work at the tension in his back and shoulders, slowly
eroding it away as a river would the sharp edges of a boulder
in its path. Tightly drawn lines relaxed, revealing a
youthfulness that was not at all apparent in the face he
presented in public.
Blue-green eyes closed and Ben rested his forehead against the
cool wall of the shower stall, relaxing for what felt like the
first time in his remembered existence. Free. No more
challenges, no more battles, no more dealing with the whims of
the Bitch and her power-hungry court.
The sensation would have felt better if there hadn't been that
slight tugging at the back of his mind. The reminder that,
while he may have been free of Golgatha and all it represented,
there was someone else who claimed a hold on him now, sent the
vestiges of calm the fighter had found skittering away.
Probing at the connection as he would a painful wound, Ben
found only silence at the other end. The Jedi was there - but
then again he also wasn't, not consciously.
"Good, maybe he'll stay that way until we get to Coruscant."
The muttered words were drowned out by the noise of the spray,
then all was quiet as Ben turned off the water.
Shaking his head to remove the excess water, he moved over to
the sonics, letting the quick blast dry him. Dressing in his
now clean garments, Ben shook another stim-stick out of the
container, frowning when he saw how few were left in it.
As addictions went, the adrenaline-loaded sticks were mild;
their loss wouldn't cause death or hallucinations. If there
weren't any more on the ship though, the fighter knew he was in
for several uncomfortable days. Readily available on the open
market, their abundance was the one reason Ben had allowed
himself the luxury of the temporary relief they offered. There
was no way to govern or limit their spread - half the populace
used them, to cut them off would have been madness.
Unfortunately, that bit of information did nothing to help his
present situation. What had begun as a minor habit had
developed into a full-fledged addiction that worsened with each
passing year he spent under the Empress' control.
Training would help. Sparring would be even better, but he
doubted that the Jedi would be in any shape for that soon. That
left one solution: the careful rationing of the supply he did
have and an immediate search for something that could provide a
substitute for the rush the adrenaline dose gave him.
[Day 3]
Muscles flexed under sun-bronzed skin as Qui-Gon studied his
shoulder, comparing the movements of his now healed arm to
those of his unscathed one. Near to the same range of motion,
movement mostly free of the pull of healing skin; three days of
almost constant meditation had restored his limb to nearly full
health. The only thing that could be improved upon was his
strength. That would come with training and time- something he
had an abundance of at this moment.
He had seen little of Ken'ba the past two days. The fighter had
dropped off meals for him at first in the med center and then
in the cabin he had appropriated. Other than that, the younger
man had hardly spoken and only then if asked a direct question.
Ben seemed jumpy, a direct contrast to the deadly calm that
normally seemed to surround him, and Qui-Gon had so far been
unable to ascertain the reason. There were no enemies out here
unless you counted those each man carried within himself.
Perhaps, the Jedi mused to himself, those were the worst of
all.
The ship's stores had included a variety of clothing and,
though none of it was of a perfect fit, Qui-Gon had managed to
find a tunic that fit him through the chest. The fact that it
was too short in the arms was of little consequence. Any
covering was better than none in protection against the chill
air of the cruiser.
The first day of his meditation had been occupied with healing
his arm. The next two - while still involving using the Force
to rebuild his shoulder - had been less of a concentrated
effort. As his attention was free to explore other pathways of
the Force, Qui-Gon had found himself examining the narrow but
unbreakable threads of the bond that connected him to the other
man.
Through the link, he had been able to determine that Ken'ba
spent much of his time practicing, working himself daily into a
state of exhaustion for some unknown purpose. Perhaps - if the
bond between them had been deeper - the Jedi could have
understood his lifemate's motivations. As it was, he was still
mostly blocked from the younger man's mind.
He's going to kill himself - and me - if he keeps this
up. After pulling his tunic back on, moving carefully to
avoid stressing his shoulder, Qui-Gon left his cabin, walking
down the hallway toward the lounge. Lush maroon carpeting
whispered under his boots and artwork (probably very expensive
but none-the-less gaudy artwork) adorned the lavender walls.
Whoever this 'Cratos' was, he had money. Just not much in the
way of taste.
The door to the lounge was open and Qui-Gon leaned against the
left side of the entryway, watching quietly as Ben worked with
a set of jury-rigged weights. A tingle of desire shivered
through the part of his mind that housed his bond-awareness,
but the Jedi firmly quashed the erotic leanings of his
thoughts. There would be no more of the mindless animal
coupling between them. The next time they came together it
would be with the knowledge of who and what they were. He would
not be ruled by the base demands of his body. He would
not.
"If you're well enough to be up and walking around, you're well
enough to make your own food." The comment was accompanied by
the dull thump of the weighted bar hitting the carpeting and
the deep, even exhalations of the fighter's breath.
"What? Not going to tell me how much cooking I owe you for the
meals you prepared already?"
Ben swiped at his face with a deep purple towel, then tossed it
over the bar. "Consider those paying off the debt I owe you,"
he stated, leveling at stare at the older man as if daring
Qui-Gon to contradict him.
"Paying your debts means a lot to you, doesn't it?" the Jedi
queried, moving from his place in the doorway to take a seat on
one of the sofas that had been pushed to the side of the room.
The butter-soft leather looked and smelled to be brand new and
proved to be very comfortable, though the electric blue color
was a tad off-putting.
Ben reached for his shirt, plucking a small container from the
pocket and shaking it. Realizing what he was doing, the fighter
scowled. He did not need one of the sticks to deal with
the Jedi, he could handle Qui-Gon on his own. "One clings to
whatever shreds of honor one has left."
"Honor is also important to you."
"You Jedi are so perceptive."
"Perceptive enough to see that you are terrified of letting
anyone get close to you."
Ben flung himself to his feet at that, glaring at the larger
man who simply looked back questioningly. "You don't know shit
about me Jedi Don't try to fool yourself that this bond or
whatever you claim it is tells you any different." Plainly on
the edge of losing control, the fighter snarled out a curse,
grabbed up his scabbarded sword and strode out of the lounge,
intent on putting as much distance as possible between himself
and the other man.
Qui-Gon rubbed at his temples, debating going after the younger
man, then deciding against it. He couldn't go far, not on this
ship. There had to be some way to break through the defenses
his life had built. Ken'ba had to have a weakness, and once
Qui-Gon found it, he would exploit it ruthlessly until Ben came
to understand that they were a pair. This was not something
that could be turned off or ignored until it withered away from
neglect.
The bond was for life and a life apart from his bondmate was
something that the Jedi did not want to contemplate.
[Day 10]
The low, incessant purr of his comlink roused Qui-Gon from his
light doze and he reached unerringly for the device, thumbing
it on. Flicking the lights on at a low level, he raised the
conlink and spoke. "Jinn."
"Just what did you do on that planet Qui-Gon?"
"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Mace. I sent you my report
on the unfortunate incidents that proceeded my departure, what
more is there?"
"Revolution." Council Member Adi Gallia interjected bluntly,
her tone holding a good bit of frustration. The dark-skinned
Jedi Master was known to control a huge information gathering
network and being caught blind-sided by this development had
plainly annoyed her.
"The people are rebelling?" Qui-Gon could hardly believe this
was possible. There had been no sign of an incipient revolt
during his time on the planet.
"Empress Nepasa made a public confession - a live public
confession carried on all the com-bands planetwide." Muted
ticks sounded as Mace brought something up on a viewscreen
before him. "Corruption, slavery, drug-trading . . . and this
is only the start of the list she gave. Needless to say,
Golgatha is in an uproar and the government has been toppled."
Qui-Gon raked a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of
his face, his mind fixating on the image of Ben whispering into
the Empress's ear. Now he knew exactly what the other man had
said to her. "I suppose this means that Golgatha will not be
allowed to join the Republic?"
"Time for jokes it is not, Qui-Gon! Demanding explanations the
Senate is. Answers we must have for them."
"As soon as I have an explanation, I will share it with you.
Until then you must trust in my judgement on this matter."
The harsh bark of laughter that came in answer was easily
recognizable as coming from Even Piell. The scarred, one-eyed
Jedi had always made plain his dislike of Qui-Gon's sometimes
unorthodox handling of situations.
"We must have those answers soon. There is unrest in the
Senate. Those who were the most vociferous in their support for
Golgatha's entry into the Republic are demanding answers and we
must be able to provide them with proof that the crimes the
Empress admitted to were actual ones." Ki-Adi-Mundi's tone was
even more solemn than usual, an indication of how serious the
situation actually was. The Jedi had enemies in the Senate -
some known, others unknown - and a hint that his mission to the
planet had led to this uprising would cause all of them to
become more vocal, to demand more restraints be put on the
Order.
"I will have answers for you upon my return to Coruscant. Will
that suffice?"
A lingering silence while the Council shielded the line to
converse amongst themselves followed, then Mace spoke again.
"That will be acceptable. We can explain the delay due to your
injury and the travel time."
"May the Force be with you Master Qui-Gon."
"And with you also, my Master." After he cut the connection,
Qui-Gon leaned back against his pillows, studying the shadows
on the ceiling and trying to quiet his mind. He knew the answer
to the Council's questions but what would be the cost of
bringing Ken'ba before them? He would not have his bondmate
thrown to the mercy of the Senate - considering their mercurial
nature, they would as soon tear him to shreds as honor him for
exposing a corrupt regime. This would be much simpler if the
fighter was speaking to him, but conversation seemed to be
something they were incapable of.
With a sigh, Qui-Gon set his com-link on the bedside table and
pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, searching for some
solution to the ever increasing problems that surrounded him.
[Day 15]
In his hands he held salvation and damnation both. This tiny
stick, the last in his possession, could provide blessed
relief, but if would only be for a while. Then the craving
would be back and there would be nothing to slake it.
Temptation dragged at his hands, bringing the adrenaline-loaded
dispenser closer to his mouth. Al it would take was a small
motion and it would be between his lips, his teeth would be
closing on it, the familiar rush of the drug would invade his
body . . .
A violent tremor raced through the fighter and the slim
rectangle dropped to the floor, bouncing under the bed,
becoming lost in the shadows there.
"Fuck!" Ben was off the bed in an instant, not caring that he
pulled the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets with him. Spewing out
curses that would have caused some of the Arena's most seasoned
gladiators to blanch, he dug under the bed, frantically
searching for his last remaining stim-stick. His last hold on
sanity.
The slickness of the floor and the thin edge of the stick
combined to elude him and Ben howled in frustration, smashing
his fists against the side of the mattress as he tried to vent
his anger and frustration. Two weeks of ever increasing
withdrawal had left him prone to violent mood swings and almost
uncontrollable shaking. Dark circles ringed his dulled eyes and
sweat spiked his sandy hair, darkening the color to almost that
of blood.
The universe narrowed down to that moment. Years of pent up
rage and frustration boiling over to be unleashed on the room
and its furnishings. The bed shattered under a wild flurry of
sword strokes, splinters of the heavy Andaluvian wood raining
down to land on swatches of the linens and puffs of the
mattress's stuffing. The other pieces of furniture fell next,
toppled, then hacked apart by rage and Force-enhanced strength.
Hangings flew from the walls, torn to shreds even before they
hit the floor. Ben raised his arms to deal another blow to the
bedframe, at the same time levitating a crystal vase and
propelling it toward the wall.
The crash he expected to hear never came, however, and suddenly
the fighter found himself wrapped in a pair of enfolding arms.
Struggling became impossible and his sword slipped from his
hands as another round of shaking began, draining the strength
from his body.
"Easy, easy," Qui-Gon murmured, sweeping the area around them
clean with a careful use of the Force, then lowering them both
to the ground, cradling the smaller man's body against him.
Ben fought viciously, hissing and cursing the whole time, but
his body simply was past the point where it could fight
efficiently. Finally, exhausted, he slumped against Qui-Gon's
chest, his breath rasping in and out of his lungs in labored
gasps.
"Need - can't find - " he panted, making a vain effort to
escape the larger man's hold once again.
"Can't find what a'shera?" the Jedi kept his voice low and
soothing, trying to calm the younger man.
"Fuckin' stim-stick. Dropped it and . . ." Ben waved a hand
toward the wreckage of the bed and a note of desperation crept
into his tone. "Last one I had . . ."
Now it made sense. The mood swings, the edginess, the times the
other man's restlessness had awakened him in the middle of the
night. Classic symptoms of enforced withdrawal and tonight's
episode was the culmination of the buildup. Qui-Gon cursed
himself for not seeing it earlier.
This is going to be a very long night.
Keeping his movements slow and gentle, Qui-Gon shifted them
around until he was leaning against the wall, his arms still
folded around Ben's chest. Once they had settled into this new
position, he reached out with the Force, gradually channeling
power into the link that bound them, broadening the connection.
Utter chaos greeted him as he took a glimpse of the other man's
mind and Ben moaned low in his throat at the intrusion.
Rudimentary barriers rose, then fell as exhaustion stripped
away the control needed to sustain them. Reaching out with his
thoughts, Qui-Gon let his consciousness seep into the
fighter's, soothing the raw, aching places, dulling the need
for the drug.
Gradually Ben relaxed, not understanding what had happened,
simply knowing that for the first time in weeks he was at
peace. With it came the knowledge that the Jedi had not taken
advantage of the access he had been given. Had not taken
advantage of his debilitated state as so many others would
have. The first beginnings of trust began to take root, tiny
but strong, in the morass of the fighter's emotions.
"Sleep a'shera," Qui-Gon murmured, loosening his hold enough to
shift the younger man's body into a more comfortable position.
Leaning his head back against the cabin wall, the Jedi stroked
his bondmate's hair, his fingers following the white patch and
the scar that marked his scalp under it. Feeling Ken'ba finally
relax into the oblivion of slumber, Qui-Gon sighed. "What am I
going to do with you? What am I going to do with both of us?"
[Day 25]
"Drink your tea, Ken'ba, it will help with the headache."
Ben arched his eyebrows and gazed at the ceiling but did as he
was told. During the past ten days, a kind of impasse had
developed between himself and the Jedi. The wary trust on his
part was met with calm acceptance from the older man, something
that still never failed to amaze the fighter.
After the night they had spent on the floor of his wrecked
room, something had changed in their relationship. The bond
felt different, more complete. Thoughts and emotions flowed
more freely across it and Ben found himself less inclined to
try to block himself off from it.
Through a combination of distraction and Force-healing, Qui-Gon
worked Ben through the lingering effects of his addiction,
walking the hallways of the cruiser when the cravings became
too much until they both knew every inch of the ship by heart.
There was no pressure for intimacy, no demand for some kind of
payment for services rendered. This in itself was so far
outside Ben's realm of understanding that he simply could not
comprehend it. On Golgatha everything came with a price of some
kind or another. To have someone offer not only care, but hope,
was unheard of.
As for Qui-Gon, he had come to spend the time looking for the
infrequent flashes of the man behind the gladiator. He was
there. It would just take time and patience to woo him from his
hiding place out into the open.
The second night after Ben destroyed his sleeping quarters, he
had planned to stay in the third cabin, but sleep did not come
easily, if at all. This was repeated on subsequent nights until
finally Qui-Gon rose from his bed, caught the reeling fighter
by the arm and guided him into this room. This was met with a
snarl of protest that died off as the Jedi opened his mind to
the other man, letting him search his thoughts for any sign of
ulterior motivations.
The moment Ben's head hit the pillow, he was asleep. Qui-Gon
smiled to himself as he slid back into bed beside him, knowing
he too would sleep this night.
Waking up with his bondmate in his arms was one of the most
profoundly satisfying things the Jedi could recall having
experienced. The moment was somewhat marred by Ben's tensing
the second he awoke, but the younger man didn't pull away or
run, so Qui-Gon counted that as a minor victory.
A week passed, one that found Ben up and out of bed more often
then not when Qui-Gon woke. The fighter was confused and it
showed. He had lived his whole life learning not to depend on
anyone other than himself, but his body and mind were both
demanding that he put his trust in the older man. Unable to
come to a satisfactory reconciliation of his feelings and
thoughts, Ben spent many hours staring out the viewscreens in
the lounge, watching the blurred images of the stars as they
swept past. Meals he shared with the Jedi, but he could not
bring himself to go to the other man's room until he was sure
that Qui-Gon was asleep.
It was a fragile peace at best, one that could not be
maintained forever. The call of the bond between them was a
living tangible thing and there were times that Ben felt he
would go mad from the desire to give in to it, to lose himself
in the connection emerging as some new, whole being.
The siren song was loudest in the morning. That was the main
reason the fighter fled the bed they shared. Waking up, limbs
tangled with Qui-Gon's as if they had sought each other out
during the night, it was becoming increasingly difficult to
come up with reasons why staying away was a good idea.
The morning he paused and looked back at the Jedi only to find
him awake and gazing back, cerulean eyes holding no demands,
only a single, heartfelt question, Ben's resolve crumbled. This
was not the maddening, all-consuming lust that had claimed them
the prior times they had come together. The fire burned, but it
was low, enduring, flaring as their lips came together in a
slow exploratory kiss.
The thin sleep pants both men wore did little to hide their
reactions to the kiss and the fabric soon became damp as they
rolled together, bodies arching into one another. Soft moans
and gasps for breath accompanied the end to the next kiss.
Hands roamed, learning the quiescent strength of hard muscles,
the angular sweep of toned bodies.
When he felt the rough sweep of Qui-Gon's beard on his throat,
Ben cried out, a despairing noise that ended in a groan of
satisfaction as teeth and lips closed over the flesh, tracing a
pathway that crept slowly downward.
"Jinn," he rasped, dragging his hands away from the larger
man's back to fist them in his hair, pulling until the Jedi
looked up. "I want you," he said. The mental image that
accompanied the simple words making what he meant abundantly
clear.
"Say my name, Ben, I need to hear it, a'shera," Qui-Gon
whispered back watching in fascination as the fighter's eyes
dilated even more and the pulse in his throat sped up.
"Qui-Gon." The words took a moment to come, but when they did,
they were melodious to hear. "Now." There was no doubt that the
last was a command as Ben pulled the other man's mouth down for
a ravaging kiss after he said it.
Verbal communication became impossible, but images and emotions
flowed as fast as thought through the ever-deepening bond. With
a bit of cooperation, their remaining clothes were disposed of,
leaving them skin to skin, as close in body as they were in
mind.
The slow, thorough explorations continued, each studying the
other as if they were a finely crafted piece of art, one that
had to be understood and examined fully to be understood and
appreciated. Fingers and tongues stroked over scars and burns,
soothing old pains with new memories. Lips followed palms,
teasing flesh until new sounds were heard, soft begging on the
part of both for the oblivion of release.
A bottle of massage oil was found and put to good use. Tight
muscle stretched, aching flesh oiled until the two came
together in a shuddering sigh of ecstasy, all else forgotten
except the rightness of what they found in each others' arms.
[Day 28]
"That's Coruscant."
"Damn ugly planet."
"I will agree with you in that. If it were not the Order's
headquarters I would have little use for it. The living Force
is weak here. There is too much metal, too much interference to
feel the natural rhythm of things."
"Why is the Temple here then?"
Qui-Gon shrugged slightly, his eyes never leaving the
viewscreen before them. "Perhaps because it has always been
here, perhaps because we need to be close to the Senate."
"To keep an eye on them?" Ben asked cynically.
"Partially. But mostly to be available when and where we are
needed. If the Temple was on one of the Outer Rim worlds, we
would be far from most of the other planets in the Republic."
"And that wouldn't be a bad thing?"
The Jedi chuckled at that. "There are times I would agree, but
. . ."
"Cruiser Delphian Light, this is Coruscant Central. You are to
land on platform J-4581. I also have a message for Master
Jinn."
"Go ahead."
"You are instructed to proceed immediately to the Council
chambers upon your arrival."
"Thank you."
The two men exchanged a look, each having their own opinion on
what the Council wanted, but neither voicing them. They would
know soon enough what was in store for them.
~end~
9/30/99
Next: "Mourn Those Who Die" - where Ben is given answers, and a
choice.
Ben's addicted to stim-sticks, I'm addicted to feedback -
though this story will continue one way or the other <G>
Would love to hear from you at RinaSHW@aol.com
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