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The Ring Master

by Hilary (padawanhilary@gonwan.com)

Archive: Ask, or Jacynthe Demorae's http://jdemorae.slashcity.tv/lightsaberissues/index.html

Series: no

Categories: Definite AU. Q/O explicit, Q/others implied (sort of), PWP, control issues, romance. Ok, mush.

Feedback: Dying for it, please. email above.

Summary: Boy meets boy, boy finds out older boy is operating a huge, high-level BDSM ring.

Spoilers/Warnings: BDSM, obviously. TPM addressed and dismissed briefly in sidelines.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

/..../ denotes thoughts and bond speak, *....* denotes emphasis

Credits: I had written a good deal of this out before, but Ghostwriter gave me such a bunny, I couldn't resist threading it through.

Obi-Wan's character (and hair!) inspired by Marion Mand's sketch at: http://www.amberskys-world.de/artwork/ewan2.html and all I have to say about that is, "Rrrrrowr."

Beta'ed by Ghostie, but errors are all mine.

In this particular AU, no universe-saving happens. The Council appears to be nothing more than another bureaucratic body, and a couple of the members are... (ahem) rather hard done by. Sorry! I mean no offense to said worthy Jedi, but damn, it was just too tempting. My humblest apologies to Mace fans (snerk). I adore him, make no mistake, it's just... he, you know. Well, I'm falling back on my characters-write-themselves argument.

Master Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Knight and Councilor, was tall and controlled, his flawless veneer a hard shell from years of working closely with the politics of the Order. He was battle-hardened, cultured enough to make his way through hundreds of various systems unchallenged-- unnoticed, if he so preferred-- and intelligent, his command of the Living Force matched by few. He carried with him, perpetually, a relaxed air of detachment from his peers. Not above them, but not really one of them.

The young Instructor Obi-Wan Kenobi was not nearly so daunting to his own class members. He had grown a brief, well-trimmed russet beard. His hair had grown long from the infuriating Padawan cut, swinging softly about his shoulders when he left it loose. Often, he tucked it into a tail at the nape of his neck for duty. He had, through sheer perversity, grown a long mimic of a Padawan braid after his ascension to the teaching class. It embodied his quiet rebellion. He was no politico: he knew enough to move as seamlessly through worlds as any Jedi, and yet he had taken a position as an instructor in Force Manipulation Ethics. He maintained his fitness by keeping a training schedule worthy of his former Master's instruction, but he had no desire to wield a 'saber for the Republic.

He made that rather unorthodox decision years ago when he had been refused as a Padawan. Specifically, by Master Jinn. He had decided then that if that worthy Master would not take him, his path lay elsewhere within the Order. He had never forgotten. So he taught, counting himself among the blessed that were not required to rush about the Galaxy at the demands of the Chancellor. There was no bitterness, only mild curiosity about the Master who had refused to have him.

They saw each other, occasionally. In the dining hall, in the Temple hallways, sometimes in the Gardens, or on landing pads. They regarded each other behind shielded expressions, polite smiles, and protestations of "After you," and "Please, take this transport, I'm in no hurry." They were loose acquaintances, each never knowing the other.

Qui-Gon wondered idly if the young Instructor resented him for refusing so many years ago; wondered if the other realized he had never taken a Padawan at all. He wondered, really, why it mattered. Obi-Wan, for his part, wondered if Qui-Gon disliked him for his low regard for orthodoxy and rank-and-file uniformity: a regard that dipped lower every time the Council involved the Order in the Republic's diplomatic disputes. Wondered if he should be wishing that Qui-Gon Jinn were not of that ilk.

It was small intrusion into the regularity of their lives.

"Kenobi." Obi-Wan turned with his books and datapads to the sound of a smooth voice calling to him, thick and clipped with an indigenous accent.

"Othaina," he greeted the woman approaching him, matching her warm smile. Her hair coiled tightly about her head, miniscule ringlets close to her scalp, setting off her high, angular cheekbones and slender throat. Her skin was dark brown, her teeth a white, sincere flash.

"You're buying today, is that right?" he teased her lightly, extending his arm to her. She linked hers through it, tipping her head back and regarding him with her deep eyes. She was very slight of stature: he stood, even with his own unimposing height, a half head taller than she did.

"I ha'dly see how that's fair. You make so many mo'e credits than I do." Her accent aborted the trill of the r's in her speech; he had always found the sound of her voice lovely. She tugged on his sleeve suggestively. "We could go back to my place..." she purred, her eyes lighting on his mischievously, laying thick on the accent she knew he liked hearing from her.

He laughed and his eyes widened, his expression bright as he held up a hand in refusal. "Only if *I* get to cook."

Othaina laughed with him. "Awwh," she protested, hanging on his arm a moment, then relinquishing. "The Hall it is, then." She made a horrid face, and they walked, exchanging instructional horror stories.

Obi-Wan had known Othaina since they had been children together. They adored each other. They had always shared everything, good and bad, and Obi-Wan would have done anything to protect her: not that he played big brother to her; she was well and away better at caring for herself than he ever could be. He teased her incessantly that she should bond, and she always tossed back that the second the right woman came along, he would be the first to know.

Now he looked at her across the dining hall table, affection and adoration washing over him as she ate the colorless, room-temperature Calamarian soup. He shuddered and turned back to his black bread and cheese. He wasn't sure from what species of cultivated dairy animal the cheese had come, but he was sure he didn't want to know. In the Hall, where members of so many species and cultures ate, he had learned long ago to eat what was good without asking questions.

"Disgustin'," she said to him, without preamble. "That was never meant to go on bread."

He concealed a snort and shook his head, indicating her soup with the crust of his sandwich. "*That* was never meant to go into a mouth."

She huffed at him. Then she caught sight of something over his shoulder, and her eyes lit up. "Awwh, look," she glanced pointedly with her eyes toward the wide double entrance of the crowded Hall. "She's back from Mission. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be with *that* one."

Casually, Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder to see who it was Othaina had it for now. The Jedi was tall and willowy, with a long, shining blond braid cascading over one shoulder. Her uniform fit impeccably, with the small exception that the tunics were a bit short, and the leggings drew snugly over her thighs. Obi-Wan smiled, expecting Othaina to make a very familiar turned-on noise in her throat. The Jedi's eyes were pale and elven, and her face was as sculpted and lovely as Othaina's, in a translucent, gilded way. Obi-Wan was not attracted to her, but he could see the draw. He glanced around among the Knights surrounding her, and saw Qui-Gon Jinn. They had been back at the Temple so short a time that he had not even bothered to drop his 'saber and robe off at his room. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of sympathy that they were shuttled around so mercilessly.

"Where did they have to go this time?" he asked Othaina, as she stole a piece of his fruit.

"Naboo," she informed him. "Trade dispute, I think. Done with the knife?"

He turned back to her and waved his hand toward the plate; she took the knife, peeling the hide from the flesh of the fruit she had pinched from him. "She is a good one, that." Othaina made that noise in her throat, a low, appreciative sound, and he grinned. Then she looked at him speculatively. "And you? Yes, you, you look so sta'tled, like you wouldn't know what I was goin' to say. I see you looking at Jinn."

Obi-Wan sighed. "He's definitely a good one," he said noncommittally, but his eyes went a little distant. "Even if he is a slave to the Republic."

"Uhm." She snorted a brief laugh. "Slave to the Republic indeed, Kenobi. Not *that* one." She clicked her tongue. "Always the politics with you."

He looked at her a moment, then glanced back to where Qui-Gon stood in line. "We likely have nothing in common," he reminded her. "As nice as he is to look at, it wouldn't get us very far."

She cackled at him, a loud, raucous noise, and several people including the man in question, turned to look at her. Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan watching him. Obi-Wan met the older man's eyes, unabashed, and nodded once, smiling slightly. Qui-Gon nodded back, his expression softening slightly, but there was no smile.

He was definitely handsome, if stoic. Long, silver-brown hair, extending nearly to the middle of his back, pulled into a half-tail at the back of his head and braided from there. A silver-brown beard, trimmed, always groomed perfectly. Dark, dark eyes, though Obi-Wan could not say he had ever been close enough or paid enough attention to mark their color. Maybe the tightly sealed veneer made him a little nervous to get so close. The man definitely carried a commanding air about him.

Othaina was still nearly breathless with laughter when he turned back to her, her eyes wide. "It would get you far enough into bed maybe," she prodded, and leaned forward to tug at his beard. "Who cares about nothing in common? You and I, we don' have sex together but we have minds." She tapped her temple. "You and he, you may not have minds together but that never stopped anyone's sex from being good. And I have heard *plenty* about good sex with him."

In spite of himself, Obi-Wan grinned at her, a beaming smile that lit up his features from within. "Shall I pay you now for your love advice, or will you read my hands as well?"

"You *are* funny today, Kenobi," she returned his humor, and took his proffered hands, upturned, in hers, pretending to study them.

Qui-Gon glanced back over at the table from which Instructor Kenobi had been watching him. Qui-Gon found himself staring at that dusky chestnut hair, and the braid that dangled out of it. He wondered at the stare the Instructor had given him, and if it had to do with him personally, or with his reputation. He observed the slender, dark woman, still giggling, now holding Kenobi's hands in her own. They seemed to be playing a game.

He speculated, sometimes, on what it would be like to be so relaxed. He did not resent the quiet that must have been Instructor Kenobi's life. Qui-Gon himself was a Knight, first and foremost, and he had made many decisions that affected his personal time. But the Instructors lived in a different world. Their lives were sheltered, and they needed to be. They produced the intellects of the Order: no small feat. It was but one facet of the training that led to great Knights: the others were Force use and physical ability-- his domain, on many levels.

*Many* levels. However, those were his choices. He knew very well the rumors that circulated about him. Most of them were untrue, but there really was no correcting them. The truths remained buried, and were better off that way. Still, he knew the ethics instructor would have a field day were he to find out what the truth was.

Qui-Gon sighed. What in the Republic had Instructor Kenobi grown a braid for?

Still, because of Kenobi's pointed unorthodoxy, the unusual requests that filtered through the lower echelons of Council bureaucracy amused Qui-Gon. Instructor Kenobi requested things like exclusivity of the Garden areas for a day, so that he could conduct his classes in the simulated outdoors.

Once, he wanted transports out of the Temple for entire classes to view outlawed animal exhibits on the other side of Coruscant. Qui-Gon remembered *that* one: he had granted it himself, on the request that he receive a written report of the results of the trip, and an admonishment that the reasoning had better be good. The Order was not in a position to be supporting illegal animal imports, however indirectly. Nevertheless, he could see where the Instructor was going with it, and allowed it in the interest of a *very* impressive ethical lesson.

Now that he thought of it, he never had received that report. He would have to send a message down and see what came of it.

"What a laugh that woman has," his female counterpart observed beside him appreciatively, and he turned to look into Andeli's violet eyes, noting the smoky look she was casting toward the table where Kenobi sat.

"Yes," he agreed, and smiled faintly.

Obi-Wan sighed and couched his expression. It wouldn't do to have his students, rustling quietly and working on text material, catching him being impatient. It was nearly the end of class. He would have time to vent, no doubt, when the day was over. As it was, he could already feel the hum of restlessness in the classroom.

He looked again at the memo from the Council Liaison to the Instructional Quadrant, Attn: Instructor Kenobi, unable to believe what he was reading. No, on second thought, he believed it, just refused to address it. After the flat refusal he had received from the Council regarding his request for transport to a zoological site, he could not believe they were asking for a report on the aborted project-- a cycle after the fact. He reread the missive yet once more. Clearly, they assumed the travel to the exhibit had gone as planned. Well how in the Sith hells was he supposed to...? Without funding or transports?

He shook his head and coolly tossed the memorandum into the bin that led to the disintegrator, pushing a button with one booted foot, emptying the contents into the chute. He centered, released his irritation, and turned back to his mental manipulation lecture notes.

In two standard weeks, the Council had slated a Temple-wide Instructional Day. A refresher, as it were, on basic subjects. Force manipulation had been on the list, and so Obi-Wan had opted for a rather unorthodox argument. He knew the Council would probably raise their collective eyebrows; he would not be surprised if they asked that he turned in the notes before the ID for approval. He anticipated that they would make changes. It did not matter; he had learned to overshoot his goals long ago, so that when he got his "corrected" notes back, they would meet his own personal standards. He closed his notebook and reset his datapads just before the sounder went off for the end of the day.

"So what was the lesson today, Kenobi?" Othaina asked, sticking her head in the door and hanging on the doorjamb with her fingers hooked around it. "You convince them there's a Middle Side of the Fo'ce yet?" She laughed.

He rolled his eyes at her and gathered his things. "Come on, I've booked a training room. We can talk philosophy there."

Othaina studied him fondly. "Don't look at the astrophysicist, I don' hold truck with that whole Gray principle of yours. Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed as her eyes lit up, and she tugged his sleeve. "I have a date..." She dragged the last word out deliberately and lilted it upward, and they moved out the door together, Obi-Wan powering down the lights as they left.

"You talked to her?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes." She nodded her head and her tiny black ringlets bobbed. "It's for the end of the week. Awwh, I can barely stand it." She hugged his arm in excitement, and they strolled toward their training room appointment.

Then he recalled, wincing. "Now I have a bit of news. Remember the field trip I tried to plan last cycle? You wouldn't *believe* the memo I disintegrated today."

Qui-Gon Jinn sat in his Council seat, the embodiment of cool serenity. He had given his summary on the mission to Naboo, and then the Council had listened to Andeli's accounts as well. It had gone quickly and easily; the Nemodians were generally cowardly, and nearly conceded defeat the second the Jedi appeared. They had withdrawn, and sanctions against the planet had ceased.

He wondered briefly, as the Council discussions turned to Senate activity within the bureaucratic systems, whether Instructor Kenobi intended to reply to his memorandum before the week was out. He had not heard anything back today, and he was certain the Liaison office had delivered the message. He shrugged mentally and listened to the debriefing.

Striding out of the Council antechamber, he caught up with Andeli. Touching her arm, he smiled a greeting.

"Greetings, Master Jinn," she nodded her head.

"Andeli," he smiled. "Thank you for your contribution to the report. I think we make a good liaison team."

The Jedi smiled at him, her slender arms folded within her wide, brown sleeves, and they walked on. "I am pleased you think so." After a moment, Andeli spoke again. "Do you recall the woman in the dining hall whose laugh I enjoyed?"

Qui-Gon indeed did recall her; her laugh had drawn his attention to Instructor Kenobi's frank and open gaze.

"I am seeing her at the end of the week," Andeli told him, and Qui-Gon glanced at her curiously, tucking his arms into his sleeves as she had done. "I approached her this morning." Her eyes shone. Obviously for her to disclose this to him meant she was very excited about it.

He merely regarded her, his expression displaying nothing, but he said, "That's a fine thing, Andeli, I'm glad you spoke with her." He paused, looking at the smooth stone floor as he walked. Then he asked, "Is she not seeing Instructor Kenobi?"

"Instructor Kenobi?"

Qui-Gon shook his head once. "The man who was sitting with her that day. I have seen him about. I thought perhaps that they were together."

Andeli arched a delicate eyebrow in his direction, smiling when he looked over at her. "After learning a bit about Othaina, I would say that is unlikely." She looked at Master Jinn knowingly.

He smiled and nodded his understanding. Perhaps, he contemplated, it might be worthwhile to learn more about Instructor Kenobi. He'd been mildly intrigued for a long, long time. Still, the Council already knew him as the most renegade member, among other things.

What would it do to his frayed reputation to be dating a renegade *teacher?* Then again, what could it possibly hurt?

He schooled his features out of a self-deprecating smirk and tried to give his attention to Andeli, thinking he might have to pay Kenobi a visit. Purely, of course, in the interest of finding out what had happened with his dubious excursion to Lower Coruscant. At the thought, Qui-Gon *did* smile.

Since being back on-planet, Qui-Gon spent a good deal of time rushing around and completing errands, tying up loose ends, as he liked to say. By the time he had a chance to find Obi-Wan's class schedule, not to mention his location within the building, several days had gone by. He expected to have received *something* in the way of a reply to the memo he had sent down, but there was none.

Obi-Wan sat in his classroom a while after it had emptied of students, going over his notes for the ID lecture. When the tap came at the open doorjamb, he glanced up, surprised: no one visited him at this time of day other than Othaina, and she never bothered with knocking.

Staring into the eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn, he smiled a slightly startled welcome and rose slightly, settling again as Qui-Gon waved him back into his seat. "Good afternoon, Master Jinn. What brings you to the teaching quadrant?"

Qui-Gon smiled in the onslaught of those blue-gray eyes, wondering how he had missed that they were so intense. His gaze flicked over the braid, unadorned but for the blue band that secured it. He settled himself on the edge of a desk across from Obi-Wan's worktable, and folded his hands into his robe. The sincerity and surprise in Obi-Wan's greeting left Qui-Gon a little taken aback.

"Rather, Instructor Kenobi, what *doesn't* bring you before the Council?" He smiled pleasantly, and Obi-Wan blinked.

"I beg your pardon," he dipped his head slightly, straightening his notes and then swiping a hand over the tail in his hair out of nervous habit, "I don't know what you're referring to."

Qui-Gon's expression opened, and he raised his eyebrows. "The memorandum? Regarding the zoological expedition?"

Obi-Wan's eyes raised ceilingward. "Oh. That. Surely, no response was required. Especially after the curt dismissal I received last cycle."

Qui-Gon stared a little. "Instructor--" he began, and Obi-Wan cut him off, rising from the desk, coming around and extending his hand.

"Obi-Wan," he offered, knowing damn well the man knew his name but more than ready to dispense with the formalities.

Nodding once toward him, Qui-Gon took his hand and offered his own name, noting the warm, firm handshake and strength that moved with quiet grace within the younger man. Qui-Gon continued: "I approved your trip personally. Are you telling me it never occurred?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "That's exactly what I'm telling you." He went to a cabinet along one wall and pulled out a dated drawer containing hard files. Retrieving one marked "Council Correspondences," he riffled through it briefly and pulled out the memorandum of refusal, walking back to Qui-Gon and presenting it to him. "I believe there has been some misunderstanding," he said quietly.

Qui-Gon's eyes flicked over the paper briefly, and he murmured low, "Apparently there has." His gaze returned to that of Obi-Wan, and he said, "My apologies. I approved your request myself with the one stipulation; someone appears to have circumvented my decision. I intend to find out what happened."

Obi-Wan chuckled, moving behind his table again to straighten his notes. "There is no rush, really. I had forgotten about it until I received-*your* memo, was it? I do not have the note, I'm afraid." He grinned broadly, apologetically, and dropped his gaze to the disintegrator bin.

Qui-Gon nodded his head. "I understand. I can produce another copy from my files." He rose, and Obi-Wan reached across the table for his hand. Qui-Gon hesitated, then shook it again. Obi-Wan studied him in that instant: his eyes were blue, a deep, dark blue, his hair pulled back efficiently and simply, and he positively radiated power and calm. /And sex,/ he thought to himself, and squelched it before it could show in his eyes.

"Perhaps we could meet a little less formally sometime," he suggested, and Qui-Gon nodded his head again. /Does he only nod and raise his eyebrows?/ Obi-Wan wondered.

"Yes, I think that might be pleasant." There was a deep, indecipherable look in Qui-Gon's eyes, but the noncommittal answer might as well have been a grunt for all it told Obi-Wan. They parted hands, and Qui-Gon left.

/There's no question now, Kenobi,/ he chastised himself. /You have the squarest stack of lecture notes on Coruscant, not to mention the most stoic love interest in the building./ He sighed and sat back down heavily. /'Sometime.' What a great way to ask someone for dinner. Wonderful./

Qui-Gon walked back toward his offices with a little less purpose and a little more puzzlement than he had walked from them. He studied the note that had, seemingly, come from the Council collective: it remarked quite plainly that the zoological trip was unnecessary, an illogical use of Temple resources. The Council saw no benefit to taking the morning Ethics class away from the Temple, and would not authorize transports. The note had been stamped and sealed with Council authority, though who could have done this, he did not know. He could only imagine that someone had intercepted his own outgoing approval and replaced it.

He had no time to micromanage the activities of teachers and lecturers, any more than he had resources or time to make sure the healers accomplished their tasks. Nevertheless, someone had deliberately undermined his authority, and that would not do.

He found himself setting that personal indignation aside as he recalled his encounter with Obi-Wan. The man had been assured enough in his presence (a rarity on its own, when one was a Councilor) to actually carry on conversation. And the suggestion to meet again. Qui-Gon found himself relishing the idea. He rather looked forward to digging for answers: he wanted to provide Obi-Wan with the resolution, and quickly. For more than one reason.

The man exuded sensuality; there was no getting around it. With his graceful, relaxed body and easy manner, Obi-Wan was very appealing, very pleasant to be around.

And there was the matter of the braid. Qui-Gon wondered at it briefly.

The rank issue might be a problem, however. The differences in their professional stature were not to be overlooked. It could complicate things greatly. Yet he found himself worrying about it just a little less as he reached the Council offices and began to pick through files regarding the teaching quadrant.

When Obi-Wan saw Othaina the afternoon after her date, he was quite sure he had never seen such sweet and utter bliss in her eyes. He smiled to himself, and said nothing, knowing red look she had been wearing all day. He smiled at her lazily, waiting.

He was not disappointed. She fairly purred, "Awwwh, Kenobih." and slumped onto his desk sideways with one hip. Her drawl had intensified in her utter relaxation. "T'at woman. I'm in love."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Othaina flushed. He could *feel* the heat radiating from her. "Yes," she whispered, and he could see that she truly was.

Smiling broadly, he came around the desk and hugged her tightly, expressing his happiness for her. She would not give details, and this was a clue to just how deeply affected she was. Othaina *always* spilled details: loving, crass, lewd details. This time, she was sweetly vague, dropping her eyes and looking at her hands.

"T'at mouth," was all she would say that had any explicit value. "Uhm." She made the catlike groan in her throat, and closed her eyes. Obi-Wan could barely keep from chuckling at her, partly out of happiness for her thrilling new love, and partly out of amusement at her complete absorption.

"Seein' her aga'n tonight," she said, seeming to come back to herself slightly. "Don' wait up, hm?" She giggled.

Othaina *never* giggled.

She looked at him pointedly. "And you? What of your Jinn?"

Obi-Wan smiled faintly and shrugged. "He expressed perhaps a marginal interest in seeing me. Sometime."

She sighed exasperation at him, looked away, and then looked back at him. "You know you want him. What is it about him t'at bugs you?"

His eyes faded to distance. "There's something about him faintly unnerving. Something deeper than the fact that I want him." He shook his head.

Othaina smiled. "It's what he does, Kenobi."

He looked at her flatly. "Othaina, I've dealt with starpilots, Chief Councilors, Senators, and royalty less intimidating than he is."

She looked at him, questioningly, tilting her head. She opened her mouth and paused, then asked with surprise, "You don't know about the Ring?"

His blank look and arched eyebrow answered her question. She crossed her arms over her chest and sucked on her teeth a moment. "Well then, I guess I had best tell you, rather than you hear it from someone else."

He shook his head and spread his hands to indicate that he was all ears.

His best friend took a breath and said, quickly, "He runs a Master's ring. It is some kind of throwback to his home world."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "He's a *professional* Master?" he asked, a little incredulously. "Surely you don't mean...?"

"Awwh, don't be hard on him, Kenobi. It doesn't mean you couldn't see him."

Obi-Wan was a little floored. He looked down at his notes, shuffling them around a bit. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man he was interested in being what amounted to a glorified *prostitute.*

He looked up at Othaina, hard. "Are you sure about this?"

She widened her eyes and stared back at him, then tilted her chin indignantly. "Andeli knows."

He rolled his eyes at her.

Her stare pinned him. "Well you could *ask* him." Then she laughed.

After she had gone, he sat at his worktable, staring over his papers and datapads a little morosely. Councilor Qui-Gon Jinn, director of a Master/servant ring. He shook his head. How could that be? How was it he had never heard of such a thing? Obi-Wan wasn't naïve, but he simply couldn't fathom it.

He thought about it, turning it over in his mind. When one took into consideration the fact of Qui-Gon's command of a room, the overwhelming presence he carried about him, it began to make a strange sort of sense. He wondered if there was any truth to the rumor at all. He had to admit that Othaina was not exactly a solid information source, regardless of how much he adored her.

But he couldn't shake the images her information presented him with. The more attention he paid to the idea, the easier it was to believe.

He turned his thoughts to Othaina. He hoped she had found what she wanted. She seemed to have tripped and fallen directly in love, which was not her style at all. He envied her, and worried for her at the same time. He also felt lonely, because he knew he would be seeing so much less of her in the weeks to come.

That evening, he ate last meal at the Hall, filled his training room appointment, and wandered back to his rooms, lightsaber in hand, brown issue robe draped over one arm. He went to bed early, feeling uncharacteristically sorry for himself.

His dreams were dark and sinuous, not lonely, but filled with images that his years-trained mind knew were not real. He felt kisses, hot and firm, that mirrored his own, kisses that were bearded and insistent, the lips demanding, teeth scraping skin, searing him. Everything felt dimly lit, glowing with the spark that was now rapidly becoming an ember. He heard his own name, whispered in that delicious voice, and knew that voice filled his mind in dreams even he did not remember. Soon, his rational voice went silent and his body responded to the dream images and sensations: the warm mouth, a thrust of hips, solid muscle, damp, soft skin. Hard, work-callused hands, on him, sliding over him, mouth descending wetly--

Obi-Wan woke on his stomach, shuddering into the bed. He groaned. He'd spent himself into his linens, his pillow gripped in fists. Burying his face in his pillow, releasing it from his tight fists, he sighed harshly, the eroticism of the images clinging to him. The intense emotional caress of the dream stayed with him even as he rolled onto his back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He flattened his feet to the floor. It was cool, and he centered himself on that. He needed to ground the last of the fading heat his dream had left behind.

He stood a little shakily and brushed his fingertips over his forehead, triggering a memory of *those* hands doing just that in his dream. He shuddered again and left the mess that was his bed behind in favor of a cool shower.

"If you didn't look so miserable, I would say you had sex," Othaina teased him, and at his dour look, asked, "Did you not sleep?" Concern worried at her eyes, and the teasing grin faded. She leaned over his desk, studying him.

"No, I didn't sleep," he told her brusquely, but because he didn't elaborate, he supposed, she grew quiet. Obi-Wan sighed at himself and adjusted the datapads on his desk.

"Uhm." The sound was knowing, full of intuition, but she did not speak. Othaina could put a world of elaboration into the delicate equivalent of a grunt, and each one as weighty as any paragraph. He looked up at her, and she bit her lower lip in sympathy. She knew all too well the result of unrequited lust; she experienced it nearly constantly. To Othaina, everything came down to sex.

Obi-Wan's best friend slid one hip onto the desk, then leaned over it to put her hand over his on the desk. "Talk to him," she said quietly, squeezing his hand, and abruptly, she removed herself from his work surface and was gone.

She was right. This was ridiculous. It would be better to discover outright that the older Jedi was the front man in a sex ring spanning the entire hierarchy of the Order than to wonder whether it was true. Besides, it might be a moot point: it was entirely possible that Qui-Gon had no interest in him.

He wondered, really, which would be worse. Still, he couldn't imagine that he had so completely misread the man's signals. The warmth in his eyes spoke volumes.

He was able to complete several tasks that afternoon: the final draft of his lecture notes, including a datapad copy for the Council, and a few other smaller, miscellaneous items. His day, after his sleepless night, had been long and taxing. He felt tapped.

Tired, with shoulders tense and sore, he rubbed the back of his neck with his fingertips and pulled the tail out of his hair, letting it curtain his face, tunneling his range of vision. He slumped his head forward onto his chest, stretching his neck back and forth. He needed a hot bath, a cup of tea, and his bed. He leaned his elbows onto his desk and put his forehead into his palms, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

A soft tap at the doorway startled him, and his head jerked up. It was Qui-Gon.

Mouth suddenly dry, Obi-Wan nodded a greeting, straightening his notes and tucking his loose hair behind one ear. Qui-Gon strolled into the classroom with a memorandum in his hand.

"My apologies, Instr--- Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, faltering a little. His eyes flicked over Obi-Wan's tired face, taking in the fall of golden red hair, the expression, the posture that did not straighten. "Perhaps now is not a good time? I can return--"

"No, no," Obi-Wan waved his hand and sat back, drawing himself up a little, banishing remnants of the dream images from behind his eyes. "I have had a long day, but I'm not too busy for you." He wondered if that had come across as a little eager, but decided that he didn't mind much if it had. He studied the tall frame, trying to imagine it in black leather garb, Qui-Gon holding a great whip in one hand. It didn't work; he couldn't see it. Perhaps he simply didn't want to. He was not into that sort of thing.

Although...

He shook his head minutely and tried to clear the thought away, disconcerted to find that it would not go.

Qui-Gon paused, and his eyes flicked over Obi-Wan's features. He allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the clean good looks, averting his eyes when Obi-Wan began to notice his stare. Then he handed the memorandum across the table to Obi-Wan. "I am sorry," he said, a pre-emptive strike against what he was sure would be Obi-Wan's irritation.

Obi-Wan skimmed quickly, with the ease of a well-read scholar. It said, clearly, that Qui-Gon had never been authorized to grant transport to last semester's field trip. Further, Master Mace Windu himself had circumvented the plans, in the interest of protecting the moral standards of the Padawans of the Order, and also in the interest of refusal to support illegal animal capture and holding. Obi-Wan set the letter down before he finished.

"I knew where you were going with it," Qui-Gon told him apologetically. "I was prepared to explain to the Council why the trip would have been good for the class. That was why I asked for a report; to back my feelings on it."

Obi-Wan suppressed a laugh and shook his head. "Ah, well. I didn't think they would understand. It's done, at any rate. No harm, really." He kept his voice light.

Qui-Gon left the missive on the desk, telling Obi-Wan he should keep it for his files, offering to provide a copy of the demanding memo he had destroyed. He tipped his voice up teasingly over that, provoking a smile. He mentioned abstractly that the Council wished to review his notes for the ID lecture; Obi-Wan handed over the datapad immediately, to Qui-Gon's puzzlement. Obi-Wan laughed and said only that it was a regular occurrence.

All the while, Qui-Gon allowed his gaze to roam over Obi-Wan's beautifully sculpted features. He hadn't realized Obi-Wan's hair was so long; he must have missed it due to the perpetual tail the younger man wore. Loose, it looked impossibly soft, half-framing, half-draping over the angles of cheekbone and jaw.

The hands were softer than his own, he was sure; callused, perhaps (he had seen the logs of the Training Hall and knew Obi-Wan was at least going there for 'saber exercises), but not hardened. It was difficult to imagine that the body was as lithe as it appeared to be under tunics. Qui-Gon responded to a joke with a brief laugh, warming to the man's charm as well as his appearance. He became aware of his rapidly redoubling attraction. Obi-Wan bestowed such warm smiles, it was easy to believe that the attraction may be mutual.

"I wonder," Qui-Gon murmured, leaning over the desk onto his hands when the conversation had lulled, "if you would be interested in perhaps taking last meal with me tomorrow night?"

The request was delivered with such casual certainty that Obi-Wan found himself flushing slightly. "Certainly," he replied without hesitation, the word barely a breath. He looked up into those eyes and away again quickly, couching his growing excitement: the man was too near, too like the dream. Qui-Gon's radiant strength swirled about him, consuming.

Obi-Wan rose quickly. "Now-- if you'll excuse me," he just managed not to stammer, stepping away from his desk, "I still have some more-- work to do, and I am sure you are also very busy?"

Qui-Gon smiled apologetically, marking Obi-Wan's reactions. He would have been absurdly pleased with himself, if only it wouldn't cause the Instructor much discomfort. He came around the desk and extended his hand companionably, and Obi-Wan looked at it a second before he took it, and was surprised to find himself pulled closer to Qui-Gon.

"I do apologize for the misunderstanding regarding your trip," Qui-Gon offered once more, quietly, his voice warm and resonant. "I should like to make it up to you." Unable to help it, Qui-Gon allowed his gaze to drop to Obi-Wan's lips, parted in surprise, and then caught himself and raised his eyes again. Obi-Wan closed his mouth and licked his lips, but did not trust his voice in the slightest, so he said nothing, only nodded, his stare caught in Qui-Gon's. Abruptly, Qui-Gon let go of Obi-Wan's hand and stepped back.

Obi-Wan searched for something to say, something witty, something intelligent... something coherent might have been nice, too. Instead, he smiled. Qui-Gon smiled back, a quirk of his mouth; his face scarcely changed, but his eyes... Obi-Wan was very aware of the animal sensuality behind those eyes, and to see it directed at him meant more than any toothy grin.

"Until tomorrow, then?" Qui-Gon confirmed.

Obi-Wan finally found his voice. "Tomorrow. Seventh hour." He paused, then added, "Here."

Qui-Gon's head tilted in acknowledgement. He bowed slightly, then left.

The young Instructor sidled to his chair and sank into it, knees suddenly near failure. Rumor mill or no: excitement was building in him at the thought of seeing Qui-Gon on a more personal level. It filled his chest and spread over him, and he became aware once more that he would not sleep much that night.

Qui-Gon strode back toward his quarters. It had been difficult to leave Instructor Kenobi's classroom this time, he thought to himself. Very difficult indeed.

/More difficult, still, to get back there again,/ he thought irritably later that evening, as he stuffed gear into a pack. To his very great frustration, Mace had intercepted him on the com link on his way back to his rooms and informed him that he was required in Council immediately. Apparently the Nabooan dispute with the Trade Federation had gone wrong again; he was needed to oversee further negotiations. In fact, three other Council members were going. Qui-Gon had no idea how it was that a simple trade treaty required so many Councilors along, yet here he was, preparing for at least a weeklong journey.

Then Mace had left the Council session with him and asked if Qui-Gon could spare a moment. A moment had turned into an hour and a half.

Annoyed, he reached for his com, but realized that Kenobi, not being eligible for emergency duty, would not have been issued one. Cursing silently, he drew on his robe and slung the pack over one shoulder, palming open his door and heading for his offices.

Obi-Wan stared at the door. It was eighth hour. He found it faintly unbelievable that he Qui-Gon would stand him up in this way. Something must have happened. He could only think, /Well, that dampens things,/ disappointed to the extent that it ached within his chest.

When Othaina made an unexpected appearance in the doorway of his classroom late that evening, she noted his being dressed in a creamy green civilian tunic and leggings and still sitting there, trying to focus on his notes but failing.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," she soothed. He didn't need to look at her to know that she was worried; her use of his given name was enough. "What is it?"

He smirked. "I had a-- an engagement tonight." He tipped his face toward her and met her gaze. "It fell through." He glanced at the chrono out of lonely habit, but he knew without looking that it wasn't going to happen.

"Who-- not *him?*" she made a small gasp. "No no no, oh Kenobi, he got called away-- so did Andeli. Back to Naboo. They left at tenth hour last night. Did he not send something?"

He shook his head. "If he got called back to Naboo, it must have been urgent." There had not even been a note. Knowing Qui-Gon had gone off-planet certainly did not improve Obi-Wan's sense of disappointment. And if they hadn't left till tenth hour, surely Qui-Gon could have got word to him somehow?

She looked down at his hands as hers covered them. "Come on, come on. *I'll* take you out."

He wanted to protest as she pulled him up from his seat, bidding him leave his datapads, papers, books, and holos scattered about. He *really* wanted to go to his quarters in a very un-Jedi-like fashion and sulk. But he allowed her to take him out; he let her fill him up with some very bitter wine. Bitter but strong, and eventually, he relaxed enough to be cheerful.

The following morning when he reached his classroom, he found the note, scribbled on Council-authorized paper, in *ink.* He hadn't realized anyone else ever *used* ink other than himself, anymore.

/Obi-Wan--

/Emergency return to Naboo, along with other unexpected events. Hope to return in six or seven standard days-- perhaps more.

/I hope that we have a postponed engagement, and not a cancelled one?

/Yours,
/Qui-Gon Jinn/

Yours. Obi-Wan felt absurdly happy at that one small, formal and yet very intimate word. He felt thirteen suddenly, and would have admonished himself, but then realized that it wasn't an altogether bad thing.

But what "other unexpected events" had occurred? There seemed to have been a huge gap between when he had been called away and when he had actually left.

He shoved aside the niggling worry that there was a lot -- a whole lot -- about the man that he didn't know. It was only dinner.

Obi-Wan taught his classes and spent a great deal of time with Othaina in the evenings. He prepared for the ID lecture. He meditated. He moved through katas until he felt he should have fallen over from them. He learned aerial fighting techniques from Othaina that she had resurrected from her own defunct training. Both of them were sure that no one used such styles anymore, but it was fun, in the Moment, spinning mid-air and taking turns defeating each other. She continued to feed him small, worthless tidbits of gossip about Qui-Gon Jinn, some of which he deflected, and some of which intrigued him. The whole thing made him faintly uneasy, but it seemed so small in comparison to his very large desire for the man.

Often, he and Othaina slept together in his quarters, both just lonely enough to want someone near, someone breathing in the same bed. Sex with Othaina, their preferences aside, would have been like sex with a sibling. At any rate, Obi-Wan knew that she was humoring him. She had always been stronger than he had in matters of desire and love and loneliness. They ate little in the Hall, preferring to stay in quarters, alone, both of them filled with a terrible, longing sense of ennui.

Obi-Wan could understand perfectly well why Othaina would have it. What he couldn't understand was why *he* should. Othaina had her lover; Obi-Wan had... well, potential. However, always before, he had sunk into his work, and that had been enough to gratify him. Now... now, he kept wondering what it was about Qui-Gon that made him so disappointed that their engagement had never happened. Certainly, it wasn't because he expected he would be able to keep pulling in favors from a Council member over teaching issues that he shouldn't have been playing with.

Was it possible that he was tired of teaching? Was that the root of this flat feeling he had? Or was it the unresolved lust he and Qui-Gon had triggered in each other? Was it the question of who Qui-Gon really was?

It gnawed at him. The attraction was there; he wondered why Qui-Gon hadn't moved that afternoon in the classroom. He couldn't really say why he himself hadn't moved, either. Perhaps the moment hadn't been right. Perhaps it wasn't meant to happen at all. But perhaps they were both waiting for a truly better time, when they *both* knew--

Surely not.

Othaina was peering at him over her eating stick, a bite halfway to her mouth. "What."

"No, nothing," he muttered around a suddenly dry piece of some starchy vegetable, staring at his plate. His stomach wrapped around itself in knots, and the beginnings of an adrenaline-induced ache crept through his chest, killing his mood along with his appetite.

Othaina stared at him pointedly for a long time-- he could feel it-- and waited until he tipped his head back up. "*What?*" she asked him again, with a little more force, widening her eyes at him.

He shrugged, uncomfortable. "Well, I -- think I just realized I am really very intrigued by Councilor Jinn's extracurricular activities."

She looked at him a second, then stabbed a piece of white-fleshed fish with her stick. "Well if *that's* all."

He scowled at her and plucked at the food on his plate.

When she looked back up at him, Othaina rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh-- Boy, don' you know I already knew that? Jinn this, Qui-Gon that, I hear his name in my *sleep.* Course that's mostly because you're *saying* it. Just let the man spank you and be done with it." She looked at him, hard, and he flushed.

Obi-Wan had not expected to see this many people in attendance for the ID lectures. Adjusting his datapad with the newly transcribed notes, he began. He rather wished he had pulled his hair back. It was a warm day; his lecture had been postponed until after second meal, and before long, he could see the strained signs of boredom settling in to his audience. By the time he began to speak on Force manipulation and ethical conduct in indigenous cultures, he noted the shuffles and bored looks, and so he began to improvise a bit. He had forgotten how difficult it was to entertain Jedi who were already trained on the subject matter.

Glancing off to one side, he indicated the doorway. "Would someone be so kind as to retrieve Master Jerla for his Force Sleep talk? He has volunteers." Chuckles erupted in small pockets in the auditorium, and he continued to speak, interjecting the occasional humorous remark to keep people awake.

He was sure he would be dressed down for his irreverence later.

Halfway through, he paused to sip a little water. As he began to speak again, he quite lost his train of thought as Master Jinn entered through a side door and took a seat at the edge of an outer section.

Obi-Wan drew himself up, pulling his calm about him, and went on explaining the dangers of overuse of Force manipulation techniques on indigenous peoples. After expounding on this a moment, he added. "The Jedi shall be known throughout the Republic and beyond as smoky, mysterious wraiths who come, alter things to some unknown potential, and leave confusion in their wake." He paused, smiling directly at Qui-Gon. "Some of us prefer that reputation more than others." More chuckles broke out across the auditorium, and Obi-Wan could see that Qui-Gon, as well, was smiling a very rare smile indeed.

Qui-Gon was exhausted, punchy from space flight, and tired altogether of Naboo. The incident he had overseen had involved a kidnapping, an indigenous tribe of amphibians, and a Senator whom he had personally had to kill; the possibility of his having been an agent of the Dark Side was currently being investigated.

Regardless of the chaos that the Council was in, he had made sure that his report was the first one out so that he could take his leave to hear Obi-Wan speak. This time, he had canceled all of his previous engagements.

He was glad of it. He had never considered the Jedi reputation as being questionable, and yet here it was, a viable reason for the strange and sometimes frightened looks the brown-robed Knights received in nearly every system he'd encountered. He was quite sure he would never look at it the same way again; might, in fact, change his stance on Force manipulation altogether.

His tension began to dissolve altogether as he listened to the subject matter Obi-Wan presented with such ease. Occasionally, Obi-Wan's roaming eyes would pierce within the audience to catch a gaze, wake someone, or engage a wandering mind. More than a few times, it would drift back to him, and he would feel a ripple, a waving flurry in the Force between them. There was no question. The attraction was mutual.

He noted that Obi-Wan had left his hair down about his shoulders today. It waved away from his forehead slightly, then fell inward again, highlighting the very distinct features handsomely. Qui-Gon found himself wondering about that light chestnut hair-- how it smelled, what it might feel like trailing down warm skin. He shifted uncomfortably and listened to the lecture, staring at the braid again.

He'd thought about Obi-Wan a lot while he'd been away. It had both passed the time and dragged the time out extensively as well. He had come to understand several things, and one of them was important enough to bring to light: tonight. He was tired, very tired, but he was more tired of this strange, gnawing want.

Qui-Gon was waiting for him, just outside the side exit as he took his leave from the auditorium. Obi-Wan smiled widely and hoped that he did not look as nervous as he felt.

"Councilor," he greeted rather formally, not knowing how else to proceed. "I trust your mission was completed successfully?"

Qui-Gon smiled a little tightly, surprised at his own disappointment over the stiffness of Obi-Wan's words. He cloaked it quickly and bowed his head slightly. "Yes, thank you." He paused, and felt something alien to him: a twinge of nerves. Did Obi-Wan's formality mean he no longer wished to pursue...? "It was a well-delivered lecture," he complimented, for lack of anything better to say.

"Thank you." Obi-Wan stood, his weight on one hip, the opposite leg cocked out to the side slightly. He shifted, unsure of what to do now. He had felt the fluctuations between them during the lecture, so why was it suddenly so difficult to be in the older man's presence? Before he ruined what was beginning to look like his last chance, he asked, "Perhaps-- that is, I was hoping you might consider the rain check on our meal plans? For a time when you are-- rested." He ducked his head down, grimacing under the drape of hair that hid his face. /Smooth, Kenobi. Very smooth./

"Tonight would be fine," Qui-Gon replied, and Obi-Wan looked up, stifling his surprise. He could feel his own flush as Qui-Gon regarded him openly wit his class of philosophy, outside of *everything* he seemed to hold dear. Then he caught himself on that thought, knowing the same could be said of him. *That* was it, that was the draw. Smart, soft and intellectual versus blunt, hard and political-- he could see it now, plainly. Qui-Gon wanted to embrace something sure, and stable, just as he knew Obi-Wan wanted something daring and outside his realm of certainties.

Qui-Gon knew he was *far* outside Obi-Wan's realm of certainties. Tonight, they would find out just how far.

He only hoped they could find a place in the middle in which to meet.

Obi-Wan checked his reflection. He wore a dark green tunic that fit as though it had been tailored, and extended to mid-thigh. His leggings were of a dark brown, his boots black and softly shining. He dressed for comfort, largely, and not for appearance, but he hoped more than he wanted to admit that he looked good tonight. He had even threaded three beads into his braid, dark green ones, thinking for whatever reason, Qui-Gon would appreciate it. Momentarily, he wondered if it was all too dark, should he change? Then he scoffed at himself, and left his quarters. He waited, when he got to the classroom door, for several minutes before he began to have that sinking worry again that something had come up, some other mission. Or worse, some other "appointment." The hallway was silent and dimly lit, with only slightly brighter illumination coming from the classrooms. It was a quarter past the hour, and there was no sign of Qui-Gon. He leaned against the wall with his shoulder, facing down the hallway, watching.

/Perhaps,/ he tried hard to convince himself, /it's for the best. You don't know him, you only know *of* him. The rumors--/

Obi-Wan sighed dejectedly. /Sod the rumors. I want him./

Eventually, Qui-Gon did come round the corner. Obi-Wan struggled to suppress his pleasure. He'd been ridiculously sure-- but that didn't matter now: Qui-Gon strode toward him, projecting confidence and a sense of the same pleasure Obi-Wan felt. He wore a gray tunic and leggings that bore a silky sheen to them. Obi-Wan steered his thoughts away from how the fabric might feel, gliding over that strong body, under his own shaking fingers-- swallowing, he could do little more than smile. He was afraid that his voice would simply fail him.

Qui-Gon could feel the waves of nervous sexual tension rolling off of the Instructor, and was a little startled, now, to realize he was the cause of it. "This is... most unusual for me, Obi-Wan," he said frankly.

"Yes," was all Obi-Wan could think to say. It seemed all that was required. They both knew, plainly, what lay between them.

Then Qui-Gon was talking again, quickly, as if to get the words out before he lost his will to: "I know of a nice place, about a quarter by shuttle, that serves wonderful Correllian food."

Obi-Wan let out a small smile, and extended his hand. "Then we had better go, before we both change our minds."

Qui-Gon chuckled, nodding, and took Obi-Wan's hand in his own large, warm one. "Indeed."

Qui-Gon discovered many things sitting across the table from Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan greatly enjoyed the dark, bitter wine that Corellians preferred. He grew slightly flushed, his wit seemed to stretch out and relax, and became more prolific, less formal. His eyes became soft and hinted at the feral drive behind them.

Qui-Gon discovered also that Obi-Wan was, indeed, looking for the one thing outside his own life that would fill in the gaps, dissolve the ennui. He realized that were he to voice this out loud, Obi-Wan might never agree with that assessment. Nonetheless, Qui-Gon could see it, in the faded excitement Obi-Wan took in his teaching, in the fact that he maintained his fitness with a lightsaber in spite of the unlikelihood that he would ever use one in combat. Qui-Gon could see that he needed a place somewhere between Instructor and Knight, but that niche, sadly, did not exist.

Qui-Gon set his plate away from him, and leaned on the table with his elbows, and his open stance cued Obi-Wan that it was time to talk. He kept his expression light as Qui-Gon began.

"I am quite sure, Obi-Wan, that you have heard plenty of rumors circulating about me."

Obi-Wan nodded. "They are rather unusual," he admitted. "How much is true?" he asked bluntly, knowing at least *some* of it had to be or it wouldn't have come up.

Qui-Gon sat back in his chair, smiling inscrutably. "There are... several people with whom I am involved on a more-or-less professional level."

Obi-Wan looked at him expectantly. "More-or-less?"

"I don't take any money," Qui-Gon elaborated, and noted Obi-Wan's slightly mollified expression. "I simply fill a need. I am the only one locally, it seems, who can."

Obi-Wan couldn't resist a laugh. "You have a whole subculture built around you. I should say you fill a need. And what is that need, exactly?"

Qui-Gon folded his hands over his stomach, leaning back. "There are those who prefer to have at least part of their lives marked by subservience. I provide a safe place for that, being well trained in and familiar with the art."

Obi-Wan sipped his wine, slightly puzzled but knowing that he probably wouldn't fully understand, being so completely outside this realm. "And who are your clients?" he asked, wondering if some of his own colleagues were involved in this.

The object of his attraction smiled broadly. "I'm surprised that you should even ask, Instructor. Surely, you recognize the need for discretion in such matters."

Obi-Wan conceded with a nod, noting Qui-Gon's relaxed stance and the obvious lack of either guile or nervousness in his voice. He was either telling the truth, or he was a very, very good liar. Obi-Wan took up a bit of bread from his plate and ate it, then pushed a loose strand of hair away from his face.

Qui-Gon watched him fidget, and observed simply, "I make you nervous."

Obi-Wan laughed. "Of course you do." He quieted, and glanced down at his plate, then back up, then took up his wine, staring into it as he drank. He set the glass down and added, "You also intrigue me."

He met Qui-Gon's frank stare openly, and when Qui-Gon changed the subject, he allowed it.

As they talked, Qui-Gon began to understand the depth of his attraction, on a level deeper than the physical one. He thoroughly enjoyed the Instructor's company, taking amusement in his irreverence. They laughed, more than he had laughed with anyone in years. Those light eyes turned a smoky blue-green in the dimness of the restaurant, and Qui-Gon was unable to resist their pull, his calm demeanor all but gone in favor of that of a relaxed sensualist on the hunt. He appreciated Obi-Wan's honesty, above all. He could feel the raw potential between them, and it thrilled him in a way it never had with anyone else.

Obi-Wan simply settled into himself as best he could. He had not been this nervous with anyone before. However, with the nervousness came a promise. He had noticed that Qui-Gon seemed to have some sort of fascination for his braid. At first, he thought it might have been simply that no other Jedi above a Padawan wore one, but then he began to question that assumption. He studied Qui-Gon's lazy smile and nonchalant posture: he sat, leaned far back in his chair, fingers laced together over his stomach. He tipped his head down, his eyes meeting Obi-Wan's, watching the younger man just as intently.

The desire rippled between them like heat waves. Obi-Wan didn't know how much of it was fueled within him by the idea of what Qui-Gon did in his spare time. He wondered if Qui-Gon viewed him as a mark of some kind. Then, Obi-Wan decided he wasn't really sure if he cared.

Qui-Gon called for the check.

Qui-Gon led the way back to his quarters in silence. He palmed his door open, waved Obi-Wan in past him, and stepped in. He leaned on the controls behind the small of his back as the door slid shut, watching the man who had come home with him. The rooms were dark; there was low safety lighting in the main room, but the rest of the apartments were lit only by the city outside. He left the dark alone.

Obi-Wan stepped closer to Qui-Gon, his eyes sharp in the dimness of the room. "I've waited for this," he breathed. Qui-Gon moved forward, taking the Instructor's hands and holding them at his sides.

"As have I," Qui-Gon sighed. He wanted to run his hands through that silky hair, bite that smooth throat, play with the beads in the braid, oh that braid-- did Obi-Wan have any idea? It was so much to want, all at once. He moved in slowly, his eyes locked with Obi-Wan's, and raised his hand, cupping one cheek, stroking it with his thumb. His breathing was warm and quick. He whispered, "We both want this, then." It wasn't a question.

Obi-Wan answered by closing the distance between their mouths, sliding his tongue past Qui-Gon's lips as soon as they cleaved with his own, immediately. He made no request, and did not wait to learn the other's kisses. He found himself undeniably intrigued by the hazy unknown that was Qui-Gon's other life. He wondered how much of that other life would come into play tonight, then lost himself to the kiss.

Qui-Gon plunged his hands into Obi-Wan's hair, and it was like satin between his fingers, as soft as he could have imagined. His fingers found the beaded braid, and he played with it, sliding the pads of his fingertips over it. He pulled Obi-Wan closer to him, deepening the kiss heatedly and pressing himself against Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan put his hands on Qui-Gon's hips and tugged him closer still, making evident his own hot arousal. His tongue darted around Qui-Gon's lips and mouth, and he pulled away from the kiss just enough to capture a bottom lip in his teeth.

Qui-Gon groaned, kissing ravenously, all teeth and tongue, leaving Obi-Wan breathless and wanting when Qui-Gon tore his mouth away and began to undress, leaving his clothing in piles. Obi-Wan would have done the same, but Qui-Gon uttered a short denial and pushed his hands away. He finished undressing, then moved to untie, unbutton, and slide clothing off his new lover's body.

He gazed at Obi-Wan's skin, glowing pale in the ambience pouring in the window. Obi-Wan stood still, waiting, relishing it somehow, though he could not say why. He had never stood in the middle of a common room and been *looked* at like this. When Qui-Gon began to trace his fingertips over Obi-Wan's face and throat, he shivered. The touch traveled lower, over collarbone, chest, nipples, stomach, and down... Obi-Wan shuddered, whispering something lost. Qui-Gon covered his mouth with kisses and trailed them down one side of his throat, murmuring, "No more talking."

Obi-Wan was still. Quickly he was overcome by sensational lust as Qui-Gon reached around the back of his neck, brushed the hair out of the way with long, curling fingers, and planted increasingly demanding kisses along Obi-Wan's shoulders. Obi-Wan made a small gasp when Qui-Gon's teeth found the flesh at the side of his neck, but he tilted his head, giving greater access.

Qui-Gon lifted his head, his eyes glittering in the half-light. "Do you trust me?" he rasped.

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered without thinking. Qui-Gon's eyes dropped to the beads in the long braid, and he raised his hand and took the braid in his fingertips, playing them over the beads. He drew his hand away slowly, letting the thin weave of hair slide out of his grasp, and he cast a look at Obi-Wan that was shrouded and inscrutable. Qui-Gon led him to the bedroom.

Qui-Gon guided him onto the bed. Obi-Wan ended there sideways, feet still on the floor, body slung across the middle of the bed. Then Qui-Gon straddled Obi-Wan's hips on the wide mattress. He swept his long hair over one shoulder.

Obi-Wan was glad of the window directly over the bed. He looked at how the City's glow slid over Qui-Gon's body coolly, accenting muscle and flatness. Qui-Gon's body was hard and fit, a Jedi warrior's body, and he was very strong. Obi-Wan squirmed, unable to help himself: Qui-Gon sat just so that he was away from Obi-Wan's straining erection, and it was maddening.

He reached up to touch Qui-Gon, to brush his fingers over one nipple, or up into that hair shining dark and silver in the gray dimness, anything. Qui-Gon captured his hand, kissing and licking the calluses at the base of his fingers, and Obi-Wan moaned. Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hands, studying them, stroking them, running his fingertips along the length of Obi-Wan's fingers, and Obi-Wan's need grew as his hands were given the caresses the rest of his body longed for. It felt glorious, that soft, strange, ticklish electricity centered in his hands.

Qui-Gon took both of Obi-Wan's hands then in one of his own and leaned far over Obi-Wan's body to place them above his head, holding them. Their mouths were close, and Obi-Wan leaned up to kiss. It was a kind of concession, it seemed, when Qui-Gon kissed him back. /Perfect,/ thought Obi-Wan through the kiss, a sweet tangle of lips and tongue, but he could feel Qui-Gon holding back reluctantly, restraining some part of him with a great deal of will. Qui-Gon broke the kiss, murmuring something in a native tongue. Then he whispered, still holding Obi-Wan's hands, "Will you be mine?"

Obi-Wan faltered. All he could feel was his aching erection and the heat of Qui-Gon's thighs against his. He craved release, but he could not find an answer to the question. /Be mine./ What did that mean? Qui-Gon shook his head, his hair falling around him a little off his shoulders. "I mean tonight, now, do you trust me enough to ... to let me own you for a time."

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered, immediately, a little startled by the reverent tone in Qui-Gon's voice. Startled, but warmed. He heard himself saying, "Own me." He wasn't altogether sure what he was asking, but he was intoxicated with desire, with need, and as softly commanding as Qui-Gon was, Obi-Wan found nothing that couldn't be trusted. No-- damn the explanations, he *wanted* it with some instinctive part of him he had never seen before. Qui-Gon's eyes shone with something like gratefulness, and he rose from Obi-Wan's body. He guided Obi-Wan to the pillows, and stood.

Obi-Wan lay flat, his head cradled in softness, and Qui-Gon said quietly, his voice clear, "Put your hands above your head. Don't speak." Obi-Wan did so, forgetting to wonder. Qui-Gon straddled his hips again when Obi-Wan complied, pressing them with his own, and Obi-Wan gasped as his erection met Qui-Gon's. Qui-Gon leaned over his body.

"Perfect," Qui-Gon whispered. He stroked Obi-Wan's face, sighing when a finger brushed over Obi-Wan's lips was met with a small lick of tongue. He ran his hands over Obi-Wan's body, down his arms, back up again, his fingers hardening nipples and pinching lightly, causing Obi-Wan to moan softly and squirm. Qui-Gon leaned downward, hesitated, then took Obi-Wan's mouth in a kiss, a damp slide of tongues that encompassed them both in stark need. It was obvious Qui-Gon was fighting for control. He found the braid again, fingers buried in Obi-Wan's hair, and raised his mouth from the kiss. Obi-Wan wondered what it was that caused Qui-Gon to war with himself for control. But then Qui-Gon was kissing him again, and thought was lost.

Those lips brushed along his and then left the corner of his mouth to trail down his throat, and Qui-Gon planted small bites along the way, sucking the skin afterward, tasting with his tongue. Qui-Gon's hair trailed over his shoulder onto Obi-Wan's skin. It sent fire through him alongside the kisses, and he writhed, grinding his hips upward. Qui-Gon settled his weight more firmly and told him, "No." As soon as Obi-Wan went still again, Qui-Gon rewarded him with one of those biting, sucking kisses on one nipple, and Obi-Wan cried out, trapped between his need and his oversensitized body. He wanted to bury his hands in Qui-Gon's hair, to hold him tightly, but something unexplainable kept him still, his hands obediently on the pillow above his head. Qui-Gon bit and then sucked the other nipple, and Obi-Wan shifted and made a guttural sound, watching Qui-Gon torture him.

"Very good," Obi-Wan thought he heard between kisses. Qui-Gon moved down Obi-Wan's body, parting his legs and sliding between them. Obi-Wan found himself holding his breath as Qui-Gon nuzzled one hip, his hands gripping Obi-Wan's flanks. "Don't move," Qui-Gon whispered, and the breath floated over Obi-Wan's tense erection. He struggled to keep still as Qui-Gon swirled his tongue from the base of the straining cock to the tip, lapping at the head almost delicately. Obi-Wan moaned and gripped the edge of the pillow in tight fists. When Qui-Gon slid his mouth over Obi-Wan's head and down, sucking softly, Obi-Wan gasped and bucked his hips reflexively. Suddenly the mouth over his erection was gone.

"Don't," Qui-Gon said pleasantly, and Obi-Wan drew a shaky sigh and forced himself to relax, shuddering. "Focus on your body, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him quietly. "Focus on the pleasure. Sound and movement are distractions." He engulfed Obi-Wan in warmth and moisture again. Obi-Wan bit his lower lip, hissing out a breath between his teeth, forgetting every control technique he'd ever learned, every centering exercise, every calming thought that had ever worked for him before. But something in him allowed him to do as Qui-Gon had commanded. He opened himself to it, drew from it, aching, sweet, sharp pleasure that fogged his thoughts. Qui-Gon's tongue and lips worked his erection softly, agonizingly slowly.

Without sound, without motion, he could feel the build of climax long before it was due, and in spite of the incredible burning tension in his body, something made him whisper, "Close."

Qui-Gon stopped. He removed his mouth completely, and Obi-Wan shuddered a frustrated breath. Qui-Gon looked very pleased as he moved over Obi-Wan's body, stroking the quivering skin with his long hands as he went. He cradled Obi-Wan, kissing him, and Obi-Wan returned the kisses with a feverish hunger he had never felt before. Qui-Gon soothed him, smoothing his hair and slowing the kiss, drawing it out. Obi-Wan's need was almost a physical manifestation between them now.

Qui-Gon looked into those desperately yearning eyes and said, "You would make such a sweet d'kall. So obedient, so restrained, and you don't even know why you're doing it."

Obi-Wan shivered at the unexplained praise, not understanding, but somehow not needing to. His breath rasped in his throat, and he cleared it, wanting to speak, to beg for release, a kiss, or anything, but he was beginning to see his role in this, and remained quiet. As if he had heard the realization, Qui-Gon shifted, said, "Kneel," and rose to his own knees. Obi-Wan rose also, and was met with a blistering kiss, Qui-Gon's mouth demanding and biting, drawing pain along with blissful moans, the large hands in his hair once more, playing over the braid as if it were an erogenous zone. When he released Obi-Wan's mouth, Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes flicking over Qui-Gon's, "Let me?"

Qui-Gon made a soft sound and nodded his head.

Obi-Wan's hands found Qui-Gon's hair at last, combing and petting. It was soft, luxuriantly so, and he kept his hands in it as his kisses traced a line to Qui-Gon's ear. He burned, but he kept his own erection carefully away from Qui-Gon's skin, knowing that the slightest contact would bring him to orgasm now, and that would not do. He bit Qui-Gon's ear softly, then harder as a groan of approval reached him. His fingertips circled over Qui-Gon's skin, and he sought to memorize every twist of muscle and scar, the dip along the spine, the swell of taut, smooth buttocks. His lips found the pulse in Qui-Gon's throat and he bit. Qui-Gon thrust his hips forward, and Obi-Wan held himself farther away.

He licked and bit as Qui-Gon had done, and his hands glided from Qui-Gon's ass to his erection, stroking softly, with fingertips only. His mouth kissed lower, harder, until Qui-Gon was gasping at the sight of him, kneeling, folded over, taking Qui-Gon into his mouth. A moan tore itself from Qui-Gon's chest, and Obi-Wan began to move, sliding along the shaft to the tip, swirling his tongue around, then sliding down again. Qui-Gon wove his fingers into Obi-Wan's hair again, relishing the feel of it and /Oh that mouth.../ Obi-Wan began to suck harder, dragging his teeth lightly along the underside of Qui-Gon's sharply hard erection. Suddenly Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan's head and thrust, shuddering, a blinding white orgasm ripping through him, stunning him with its quickness and causing him to cry out. Obi-Wan continued to kiss and suck, wrapping his tongue around the shaft until the climax had subsided.

Qui-Gon pulled him up, kissing him furiously. Obi-Wan plunged his hands into Qui-Gon's hair, pulling him into the kisses, breathing "Please, please" in between them. Qui-Gon eased him back onto the bed, and he could see the raging hunger in the younger man's eyes. He raked his hands over Obi-Wan's body, and when Obi-Wan would have reached for him, said "Be still." Obi-Wan, desperate, put his hands back over his head, gripping the pillow again.

When Qui-Gon immediately moved down and lowered his mouth onto Obi-Wan's aching hardness, Obi-Wan gasped and cried out, trembling with need and with the effort of holding his body still. His whole body tensed and his sounds took on a feral quality-- he could no longer keep from making them, he had waited too long for release. Qui-Gon's tongue and mouth were too good, too hot. Obi-Wan turned his head to one side, tilting one arm toward his face and biting his upper arm to stave off the rising tide of climax, but it was too much. He bit out, "Qui-Gon--" and Qui-Gon raised his head long enough to say "Yes." Then he was plunging back down again onto the throbbing cock under his mouth.

Screaming into his arm, Obi-Wan came into that glorious hard suction, and his orgasm seemed to implode on itself and stretch time. His throat rasped by the time it was over, and he was gasping for air. Qui-Gon was moving over him, soothing, trying to calm him when the unexpected blackness took him.

When he came back to himself, Obi-Wan was beside Qui-Gon, his head cradled on the older man's chest and one leg draped over Qui-Gon's thigh. Obi-Wan asked, "How long?" in a voice cracked and dry from his rasping breaths and screams.

Qui-Gon studied him, relief overtaking the concern in his eyes. "Only a moment. Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan nodded, sinking into Qui-Gon's warm, tight embrace. Qui-Gon stroked his hair, and they were silent for a while, absorbing each other. After a while, Obi-Wan asked quietly, "What just happened here?"

Qui-Gon drew a long breath. "Welcome to the bright and glorious world of submission," he said quietly, and at Obi-Wan's puzzled look, he explained, "It was your braid."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon in the dim light from the window. "My braid." Qui-Gon lifted the weave of hair and studied it almost reverently. "In my culture," he said quietly, fondling the braid, "this would mean you had given your life to being a slave." At Obi-Wan's startled look, he hastened, "Not the kind of slavery that is a social constrict. It is a choice. A gift. The willingness to be such is highly prized. D'kall means 'owned love.' The braid is left plain until one has chosen an Owner. A Master. It is always someone loved and respected, someone trusted above all else. When the right One has been chosen, he or she gifts the d'kall with small, precious beads to decorate the braid.

"Imagine my surprise when I came here as a child, seeing Padawan braids, beaded and plain. I have been dealing with my. clients, you called them. for years, but I had always hoped that someone would come along, willing to step outside the role-play and be mine. Then, I met you-- you, who had kept your braid in defiance of tradition. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you were placed. No-- I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I refused you as a Padawan, actually. But I knew even then if I took you as an apprentice, nothing could happen between us until you passed your Trials." He smiled, almost apologetically. "Even I have only so much patience."

Obi-Wan stared off into some unknown distance, overwhelmed. "I had no idea."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "That was apparent. But tonight, Obi-Wan, you were very, very good. It is a shame you aren't d'kall. You have the instinct for it."

Obi-Wan smiled, a little nervous in spite of the intimacy they already shared. "I have never had so much self-control before," he said, with a measure of pride.

Qui-Gon kissed him softly, tracing Obi-Wan's lips with his tongue briefly, then pulled back and said, "I have never had so *little* self-control before." He stroked his fingertips along the braid once more before releasing it with a sigh. "Of course, it is dishonorable to press the issue the way I have. I am sorry. I have sprung this on you, and Force only knows what kind of things you've heard--"

Obi-Wan shook his head and put his fingertips over Qui-Gon's lips, then stroked the mouth and beard softly. "I would like for you to teach me. If-- if that would be acceptable."

Qui-Gon's answer was a long, bruising kiss.

When Obi-Wan had wondered how much he would be seeing Othaina, he hadn't thought that he himself would have been the one to turn up missing. He spent every spare moment he could find with Qui-Gon: they trained together, and Obi-Wan showed off the aerial maneuvers he had learned from Othaina. They researched Obi-Wan's class material together, which lightened the boredom for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon seemed to take a great interest in Obi-Wan's views of gratuitous Force manipulation-- Obi-Wan, however, began to display a detached air regarding his teaching. He held it at bay though, knowing there was nothing to be done for it. He craved.... Something unknown, something *more,* but he couldn't place it.

He wondered at Qui-Gon's mysterious side, wondered if he still kept appointments with his "clients," but he wasn't sure that it was his place to ask. They had made no bond, no commitment. Obi-Wan did his best to let it go. He had once asked who Qui-Gon's other partners were, and received no answer, only a calm, deflective statement that it had only to do with the privacy of the people with whom he dealt. Obi-Wan made a concerted effort not to view it as a withholding of trust. He never asked again.

Qui-Gon remained silent, knowing the adventure Obi-Wan needed, but unable to help him attain it. The part of him that longed for security and safety sympathized, and so they delved into each other, unmatched by any other pair in the Order for intensity. He could sense Obi-Wan's desire for commitment, and remained quiet on that account: he had to be sure the time was right, that they had a future. It wasn't like Qui-Gon to blindly throw himself into someone this way; he was determined to reserve one last wall behind which his reason was stored.

Misgivings notwithstanding, Obi-Wan threw himself into the role of d'kall with such enthusiasm and seriousness that Qui-Gon was both impressed and humbled. Obi-Wan, strong, intelligent and schooled in his own right, nevertheless learned meal and wine service, bathing techniques, protocols, and bed manners with ease and grace, and then taught his classes, the same vaguely rebellious Instructor he'd always been. The beads, to the puzzlement of his fellow Instructors and the delight of Othaina, stayed woven into his braid.

Qui-Gon ttant preparation, from the moment Qui-Gon spoke the words of initiation until the final whispered words before sleep. To serving Qui-Gon in ways he'd never dreamed of and now couldn't live without. Obi-Wan maintained a continual state of readiness, in every way conceivable. He was addicted to the utter power of slavery. Qui-Gon balanced him, guiding him out of dark places, drawing him softly down from the light ones, carefully bringing him back out of those spaces where a submissive soul could get lost, or crash down.

It wasn't long before Obi-Wan realized that it was more. It had gone far deeper than just a role. He felt his relationship to Qui-Gon deeply-- he felt his own submission, the fact of his ownership, and it empowered him. It was uplifting in a way that changed from strange and new to comfortable second nature, very quickly. But it carried a dark, jagged edge, too, as Obi-Wan wondered who else had experienced this rapture at Qui-Gon's hands, and when they might, again.

One afternoon, when his classes were over for the day, Obi-Wan went to Qui-Gon's quarters, as he had been for weeks. He palmed the door open and faltered.

Qui-Gon sat on the couch, his posture tense and withdrawn. Mace Windu sat beside him, leaning forward, an agitated expression on his face.

"You can't be serious," Mace was saying incredulously, then he looked up to see Obi-Wan entering the room. Qui-Gon smiled faintly at him, and his body language eased considerably.

"Master Mace Windu," he nodded at the Councilor, "Instructor Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Mace stood, veiling his expression as he sized up the young Instructor. He extended his hand, though, and Obi-Wan shook it, unable to suppress a curious look.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, then thought, /Even a teacher can ask a stupid question./

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Of course not." He stood, and turned to Mace, his face congenial, but determined. "I assure you, my friend, I am quite serious," he said, as though the interruption in their conversation had never occurred.

Mace recoiled a little. He glanced at Obi-Wan and then back at Qui-Gon. "Shouldn't we finish discussing this?"

Qui-Gon dealt him a measured look. "There is nothing we can say that cannot be said in front of Obi-Wan. Besides, I am quite firm in my decision."

Obi-Wan, to the contrary, wondered sincerely if he should be going. He kept his eyes on Qui-Gon, indecisive as to his place here. He was desperately curious to know what the second-highest Councilor in the Jedi Order was talking about, but at the same time, a dawning suspicion told him he knew. Bright jealousy flared surprisingly in his gut.

Qui-Gon simply waited. He looked at Obi-Wan, a promise to explain in his eyes.

Mace narrowed his eyes, summing up the situation instantly as he marked the exchange of emotion between the two other men.

"Fine, then," Mace said quietly. "There truly is nothing to discuss. Shall I notify the others?"

Qui-Gon gave him a curt nod. "If you like."

Obi-Wan was nothing short of relieved when Mace left the quarters. He set down the datapads and robe he was carrying on a chair. "Do I want to know what that was about?" he asked, trying to keep the tension out of his throat.

"I think you do know," Qui-Gon replied easily, but he was concerned. "I am sure you've surmised that Master Windu is one of my 'friends'."

The younger man nodded tightly. Obi-Wan had known that he consumed Qui-Gon's every free moment for weeks, but he had wondered when that might come to an end, when Qui-Gon would resume. he choked the thought off. He had thought it might not bother him. It did. A great deal. Cultural significance or no.

Qui-Gon stepped close to him, placing his hands on Obi-Wan's arms, gently. "You've known about this since the first night, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, his voice low.

Obi-Wan swallowed uncharacteristic tightness in his throat. "Perhaps I didn't realize what I was getting into," he said stiffly, cursing his own weakness before the man he had come to love. The words hadn't been spoken yet, but they hung there, unsaid. Obi-Wan was clinging to them now, glad they were still his alone.

"I know *I* didn't," was Qui-Gon's soft rejoinder. "I had no idea what I was getting into." His thumbs stroked Obi-Wan's arms.

Obi-Wan watched him, watched his eyes darken. He stepped back, away from Qui-Gon's large, warm hands and undeniable physical energy. He rubbed his arms where Qui-Gon's touch had rested. "And you regret?"

Qui-Gon dropped his hands. "There is nothing to regret, Obi-Wan."

"That's not an answer."

The Master sighed. "No, Obi-Wan, I do not regret. I am who I am. I've done what I've done. Regret is useless and dangerous."

It wasn't enough. Obi-Wan took another step back, wondering if he fell in somewhere with those other nameless, regretless events.

"I think I need some time," he whispered, looking away.

Qui-Gon was very still, and said nothing, only watching. Obi-Wan took that as his cue to leave. He picked up his robe and datapads from the chair and slipped out the door.

Obi-Wan returned to his own cold quarters, dumping his gear carelessly into a corner of the sofa. He paced a bit, feeling the emptiness of his rooms and his heart. He loved Qui-Gon, but could deny himself that luxury if Qui-Gon didn't trust him implicitly.

He wondered whether he deserved that trust, remembering the intent jealousy he had felt toward Mace. He hadn't liked the way Master Windu had looked at him, as though Obi-Wan were some kind of latecomer usurping Mace's claim on Qui-Gon. It made him angry. But how much of it was true?

He stood in his common room, feeling cold, not knowing what to do.

Qui-Gon sat at his dining table, staring at a cold cup of tea left over from Mace's visit. What did Obi-Wan want? He'd given everything he could, he'd poured himself into the younger man. He lifted his spoon and tapped it on the table idly. He hoped somehow that Obi-Wan didn't think he, Qui-Gon, was the answer to his ennui. Qui-Gon wasn't prepared to take that kind of responsibility.

He had seen Obi-Wan's interest in his work decrease, even though he had friends in the teaching quadrant to encourage him, and even though Qui-Gon had taken an interest in his philosophies. It obviously wasn't a case of Obi-Wan only wanting what Qui-Gon wanted-- *that* would have been too much.

/But you can be responsible for him as a slave?/

He pushed that thought aside. Personal slavery was something Qui-Gon was used to controlling. It was known territory for him. He realized, however, that for Obi-Wan, it wasn't.

He had seen Obi-Wan's reactions to his instruction. He was drunk on it, positively lost in it. Qui-Gon had noticed Obi-Wan's enthusiasm with pride and desire. He had found someone at last, someone who understood him on a soul-deep level, someone who did not only require that the Master do what the submissive wanted. But who trusted him so implicitly that he could take his hand and lead him down a blind path and back again, returning to the world wiser, more sensual, and more aware.

The realization filled him with remorse and humility. Obi-Wan trusted him to such an extent that he had laid more than his pleasure in the Master's hands. He had laid his whole heart there. And Qui-Gon still had refused to share the details of his past. That was all it was, now: his past. What Obi-Wan didn't understand was that Mace had come to confront Qui-Gon about his absence from the Ring, and Qui-Gon had told him plainly that the Ring no longer existed. It was over. Qui-Gon could no more guide anyone else to submission than Obi-Wan could submit to another.

The thought stunned him. He knew this, with perfect clarity. And there was only one reason for it.

He rose, leaving his tea untouched on the table, and moved to the table where he kept his notebooks. He retrieved one from a drawer and headed out.

Obi-Wan had changed to a robe, considered eating something, then discarded the idea. His stomach was queasy with indecision. Damn Qui-Gon and his power! Obi-Wan was a strong man in every aspect of his life but where *that* man was concerned. Qui-Gon made him crave something more. Something exciting that he wasn't getting from his seemingly preordained life as a teacher. Something he may never find. That bothered him. Who was this man to have that kind of power over him?

He was beginning another restless round of pacing when the door chime rang. He froze, and his heart raced.

"Yes," he tried to say, but it came out a dry croak. He moved to the door and slid it open.

Qui-Gon stood there, his eyes dark and amazingly uncertain. Obi-Wan stepped aside, admitting him, but muttered quietly, his voice shaking, "When I said 'time,' I think I meant a little longer than ten minutes, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon ignored the comment and moved to Obi-Wan's common room table, sitting on the floor at it and opening the notebook in front of him. He looked silently at Obi-Wan, and for all the younger man's appearance of sullen irritation, he flushed under Qui-Gon's regard.

"This is my list of contacts, our agreements, our activities: everything."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, dropping his head and folding his arms over his chest. "Qui-Gon--" he sighed.

"No, Obi-Wan, I think it's time. You should see this now." He turned to the first agreement. It was Mace's.

Obi-Wan felt vaguely squeamish. "You don't have to-- I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Qui-Gon simply stared at him, and Obi-Wan found himself acquiescing under that gaze. He sank to the floor beside Qui-Gon.

The details of Qui-Gon's alternate life both fascinated and frightened Obi-Wan. In spite of all the learning he had done under Qui-Gon's tutelage, still he had never even heard of many of these activities. Details of personal sessions shocked him: Mace Windu, the staunch and irritable second-in-command, preferred to worship a particular set of boots. He enjoyed self-effacement, humiliation, but no pain. It seemed theirs was a strictly nonphysical relationship, involving, in fact, very little skin contact at all. Depa Bilaba, however, enjoyed pain a great deal. The list of equipment she preferred was so long and varied, Obi-Wan was afraid to ask some of the definitions of the items. It might have been easier to define what she *didn't* like.

Qui-Gon began to turn the pages. There were a *lot* of them. Some of the contacts had moved on, either choosing to leave the Ring or being forced to after being transferred to other areas within the Republic. Not all of the contacts were within the Order. Not all of them were human.

There were dozens of them in the notebook, many of them with several preferred activities. Servitude, paddling, bondage, sensory deprivation, practices that took into account various skin and pelt types, body structure, variances in nervous systems, fetishes of kind and scope that Obi-Wan couldn't fathom. All were listed in the notebook associated with names, some of which he knew.

"The head of the Liaison office," Obi-Wan said in mingled marvel and disgust. "No wonder he wouldn't see your messages delivered to me on time."

Qui-Gon explained it all. He defined activities Obi-Wan was unfamiliar with. He explained how they were done. He explained the degrees to which some of his "clients" preferred them carried out.

Apparently, there was a great deal here that Qui-Gon had never intended to tell him.

"Why now?" Obi-Wan asked, a little sickened at the depth and breadth of the Ring, not because of the activities but because there seemed to be a whole world of people and events within the society that Qui-Gon had hidden from him. He had buried it all under the guise of discretion, when Obi-Wan had shown him nothing less than utter trust.

"What's the good of showing me this now? Do you think *that,*" he waved his hand at the notebook, "is going to make me feel better about the state of our relationship? Qui-Gon, I can't give you all that. I can only do so much-I altered my very future because of you, years ago when you decided not to take me as a Padawan. I've changed my whole outlook on life for you. What am I going to do with the fact that I became a *slave?* For *you,* Qui-Gon." His voice broke.

Qui-Gon sighed, lowering his gaze. His heart swelled at the words, in spite of the coldness with which Obi-Wan delivered them. He had not known that Obi-Wan had cared so deeply about him for so long. But he should have. He should have.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, marking the thing that looked like regret in Qui-Gon's eyes. "That's it then, isn't it? This is what you came to tell me. That there are all these other people, and in spite of everything, I can't compete with all that, so this is supposed to be some kind of..." He trailed off, stood up, paced a little. He muttered something about opening doors and closing them. His heart was sick. Suddenly he was very glad indeed that he had never confessed his love. At least that much remained at *his* discretion. It was little consolation. He ran his hands through his hair distractedly, then balled them into fists to keep them from shaking.

Qui-Gon stood and moved to Obi-Wan, grasping his shoulders and bending his head to stare at him. "Enough. Blast it, Obi-Wan, would you *listen* to me?"

Obi-Wan stilled, his pulse beating hard in his throat. He stared back at Qui-Gon, refusing to avert his eyes, refusing to give in to another embarrassed flush. He considered it a major victory when the perpetually cool Master released him and looked down at his braid, flustered.

The damned braid that got him into this in the first place.

"Obi-Wan, I didn't come here to torture you with exploits of all the people I've been with."

"Really," Obi-Wan muttered, openly sarcastic.

"You don't understand. Sex never entered the picture with any of those people. That was always one of the conditions." Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest. "Why else, exactly, do you think I brought that here?" He nodded in the direction of the table where the notebook sat.

Obi-Wan snorted. "There's no telling, Qui-Gon. What good does it possibly do me to know that the venerable Master Mace Windu, who refused me a class field trip on *moral* ground, prefers Sith-style footwear?" He laughed shortly, and his voice shook in his anger and hurt. "All I ever wanted to know was *who,* not how, when, how many times, and how hard." He tried to lace his words with acid, but he was losing ground. He could only hold up his tattered bravado for so long under that stare.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "Don't you find it the least bit odd that after all this time I would suddenly decide there's no risk in telling you? I realized something today, Obi-Wan, something very important. And before you came home, I told Mace that he could consider the Ring officially closed."

Obi-Wan drew himself up and met the older man's gaze, stunned. "You-- what?"

Qui-Gon nodded, his look passing over Obi-Wan's face, his hair, his robe. He reached up and played with the braid, half-absently, his sea-blue eyes staring into Obi-Wan's stormy, confused ones.

"I closed the Ring, Obi-Wan. It's done." His eyes held an almost apologetic look. "I can't do it anymore."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and swallowed, feeling the anger drain out of him in a rush. "Because of me."

"Yes." It was a whisper. "I don't want that anymore. I have this. You. That was something I could do to ease others' needs, and to exercise mine. Only while I looked, while I waited. For you."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, to ascertain the truth. Qui-Gon had relaxed and was now simply waiting. His eyes were dark and intense, no longer inscrutable or hidden, but full of longing and hope.

"I need to be with you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I need you to let me love you."

Obi-Wan sighed and succumbed, unable to find the strength to keep himself out of Qui-Gon's arms any longer.

"Yes," was all he breathed, before Qui-Gon's mouth found his.

In the following weeks, Qui-Gon quietly and discreetly destroyed the evidence of the Ring, speaking privately with those who demanded an explanation, assuring them that their secrecy was well in hand. Some of them parted amiably; some of them did not. Qui-Gon could do nothing either way. He was, somehow, comfortable with the fact that his own privacy was safe. It was simply accepted that those involved were too deeply embedded in it to risk divulging the other's names. He speculated, at any rate, that the number of those aware of the Ring was huge. Obi-Wan heard via murmurs throughout the Temple that it had become quite fashionable to know someone who knew someone who was involved with the now-defunct Ring Master.

The Instructor and the Jedi were seldom seen apart. Qui-Gon requested larger quarters and Obi-Wan put in a termination request on his own rooms. The Council took an interest. When it was noted that Councilor Qui-Gon Jinn was spending a good deal of time, publicly and privately, with Instructor Kenobi, the Council called a special session and went to work on their particular brand of meddling. Qui-Gon received a summons to appear *before* the Council, rather than as part of it.

"We are concerned you might be jeopardizing your own impartiality," Master Windu told Qui-Gon frankly, steepling his fingers. "Especially considering Kenobi has been listed for procedural... difficulties... before."

Qui-Gon couched his irritation with his friend, saying mildly, "I fail to see how my involvement with anyone has anything to do with the Council. My performance has not been hampered."

Mace nodded a grudging concession to this, but Yoda said irritably, "Potential there is for trouble. Like this, we do not. Allowed to continue you are, Master Jinn, but required you are to keep personal and Council matters separate."

"Especially," added Mace, "in the interest of classified or secure matters."

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "Does the Council suggest that I would jeopardize mission security by discussing it with my partner? Or is the Council implying that my partner would be indiscreet?" His gaze speared the younger man.

Mace stared hard, and said nothing.

Qui-Gon stood down, relaxing his stance. He could see where this was leading. He released his preconceived notions and bowed slightly. "I see."

"Careful you must be," Yoda admonished him, and glanced at Mace. "That is all."

Qui-Gon paced, barefoot, restless with irritation as Obi-Wan knelt on the bed in their new suite of rooms. The rooms were brighter, with more windows, and Obi-Wan had moved in bearing plant clippings and potted, blooming flowers. They drooped now, however, in Qui-Gon's unavoidable anger.

"This means they are going to watch us. Everywhere we turn, there will the Council be."

Recently, Qui-Gon had taught him more about the formalities and traditions of the d'kall, and Obi-Wan had accepted it all with passion, shifting easily from teacher to slave, and back again.

As Qui-Gon fumed and vented, Obi-Wan said nothing. Here, in their rooms, it was neither his place nor his desire to speak, unless Qui-Gon wished him to voice his opinion. Qui-Gon had spoken the words of initiation that evening, and Obi-Wan's behavior reflected that. He wore a loose blue robe that buttoned along one side, nothing more, and he sat silently, waiting for an indication to speak.

Qui-Gon whirled to Obi-Wan and suddenly sat on the bed next to him. "Do you know what this means? This means in order to be left alone, we will have to tell them. Explain the concept of d'kall and the fact that we are honor-bound to each other." Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hands in his own, stroking them. He was unsure, suddenly, knowing he had again pressed too far, overstepped his bounds as a keeper.

Obi-Wan sensed this and looked at Qui-Gon, and drew a heartening breath. He met Qui-Gon's dark blue eyes and whispered, "You are my Master." He tested the word, relishing it. He had never used it in reference to Qui-Gon before, wishing to avoid any further allusion to the long-ago refusal when he was an Initiate. But now, it felt real. Qui-Gon studied him, seeing easily that Obi-Wan spoke from the heart.

Obi-Wan continued, "I am not ashamed of us, or of this. I am ready to bind myself to you, in the eyes of the entire Republic if need be."

Qui-Gon sat speechless, and the teary sting in his eyes was unfamiliar, shaking him as Obi-Wan knelt and spoke the ritual words that Qui-Gon taught him as a formality, an aspect of the culture that was d'kall. He never dreamed he would hear the words from Obi-Wan's lips.

"With all my soul, I love thee," Obi-Wan breathed, and Qui-Gon had never known that words could sound so beautiful. "By my will, I Choose thee. By thy desire, I worship thee." And he bent his head and kissed Qui-Gon's hands, sealing the words between them. Qui-Gon's eyes gleamed with unshed tears when Obi-Wan looked up at him again, and his heart ached with love.

"My Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed, sinking to his knees beside his d'kall, and then the tears were spilling down his cheeks. He cupped Obi-Wan's face in his hands, kissing him with shaking lips. A sob tore itself loose from Qui-Gon's chest and Obi-Wan held his Master, smoothing his hair, caressing as the tears abated gradually.

Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan reverently, almost in awe. He rose, drawing Obi-Wan up with him slowly, and bid Obi-Wan kneel on the bed. He moved to his closet, pausing on the way, looking back at Obi-Wan as if to assure himself that this was real. He palmed the closet open, and reached just inside the door, retrieving a small, red box. He returned to the bedside, knelt before Obi-Wan and opened the box. Inside it glittered three black stones, shimmering with opalescence, each driven through with a small hole.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and swallowed. With trembling hands, Qui-Gon removed the band that secured Obi-Wan's braid and unwound enough of it to remove the blue-green beads that Obi-Wan had kept there. As he wove the three black beads into Obi-Wan's hair, he said quietly, "With all my soul, I love thee. By thy will, I am Chosen. By my desire, I treasure thee." He secured the braid with the band and set the box aside.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and opened his heart, and felt something give minutely. When Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed him, he could feel the lightning-quick exchange of energy between them increasing and redoubling. Qui-Gon's mouth slid over his, tongue delving into his mouth, and Obi-Wan felt the thin membrane of the last shield between them crack and fall away. Qui-Gon's amazement poured through, mingled with his love, his desire, and the awed knowledge that they were bound together, at last.

Obi-Wan shifted back, kneeling upright, and removed his robe, his fingers slowly unfastening the buttons and then sliding the robe away from his shoulders, dropping it in a silken puddle over his calves. He removed Qui-Gon's sash and tunics, untying and sliding his leggings down as far as he could, then guiding Qui-Gon's knees up, one at a time, to finish removing the last of his clothing.

Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan to him, kissing him roughly, shaking with emotion. His hands slid over Obi-Wan's body almost aimlessly, expressing a strange uncertainty now that he had never experienced before. Now, Obi-Wan knew his lover, his Master, and his place. He traced his tongue over Qui-Gon's lips, guiding him down to the bed. He stroked Qui-Gon's hair, lovingly fanning it out on the pillow. He smoothed the last remnants of tears away, following his hands with soft kisses.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said hoarsely.

"Shh, my Master," Obi-Wan smiled knowingly, pressing his fingertips to Qui-Gon's lips. "Allow me to take my place tonight."

Swallowing, Qui-Gon nodded, visibly humbled. Obi-Wan kissed him, a soft, almost platonic kiss, and moved to kneel beside Qui-Gon. Deftly, he swept his fingers over Qui-Gon's face, shoulders, and torso, drawing them down his hips and sweeping his hands into the air, repeating the motion with a quick certainty Qui-Gon couldn't remember having taught him. It was a relaxation technique that had been the domain of d'kall for centuries. He felt the uncertainty draining from him, replaced with fluid electricity after every pass of Obi-Wan's hands.

Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon's hips and pulled open the bed table drawer, retrieving a small vial. He uncorked it and covered the opening with a fingertip, then tipped it to one side quickly. He placed his fingertip on Qui-Gon's waiting tongue, then tipped the bottle again and placed his fingertip on his own tongue. He closed his mouth, tasting the warming oil, feeling its effects as it spread through his mouth, sensitizing his tongue and lips. He leaned forward and kissed Qui-Gon almost ritually, brushing his tongue against his Master's with loving familiarity. Then, he completed the anointing with the oil: Qui-Gon's nipples, then his own, and Qui-Gon's erection, then his own. The fire spread through them both; the oil provoked intense physical reactions, but now... now the reaction was coupled with the bond that was growing between them. Qui-Gon drew a shuddering breath.

Obi-Wan kissed Qui-Gon's chest and stomach, biting randomly until Qui-Gon was shivering and groaning. Without warning, Obi-Wan slid his tongue along the length of Qui-Gon's shaft, picking up more oil and eliciting a sharp gasp. He settled his lips over the head of the erection before him, teasing it with light flicks of his tongue, then sucking lightly. Qui-Gon groaned and cupped Obi-Wan's head, pushing his fingers into the soft hair and pressing Obi-Wan downward. Obi-Wan sank down, the oil shining his lips as he opened his throat and slid his tongue along the underside of Qui-Gon's sensitized length. It proved too much for Qui-Gon: he released a loud groan and pulled Obi-Wan up over him forcefully, biting the soft lower lip hard, tasting the tingling oil, and then burying his face in Obi-Wan's neck.

"Now," Qui-Gon commanded in a thick voice. Obi-Wan reached behind him and guided Qui-Gon against him, pushing back slowly. Qui-Gon tensed as he pushed into Obi-Wan, slicked with oil and relaxing into the penetration. He held very still as Qui-Gon grew used to the tight heat, and it taxed Obi-Wan's reserve unexpectedly. He suppressed a shudder as Qui-Gon began to rock inside him, striking sparks deep within his body. Qui-Gon groaned and closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan opened his consciousness then, using the mind of a Jedi and the heart of d'kall, welcoming Qui-Gon past his decimated shields. Qui-Gon's eyes flew open as he felt himself enveloped in Obi-Wan's emotions. He exhaled sharply, pushing himself upward and shifting Obi-Wan back so that they were sitting, joined, Obi-Wan's legs wrapped around Qui-Gon's waist. Qui-Gon stared into Obi-Wan's eyes and began to move slowly, nothing more than small circles, but every tiny thrust burst inside Obi-Wan like fire. It translated to the link between them: Obi-Wan felt slick heat around himself, and Qui-Gon felt hard, penetrating fullness. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Qui-Gor as the blinding flash darkened. As the d'kall had made his Choice, so had the Force chosen them both.

Qui-Gon stood, composed and serene, before the Council. They had called him before them to address the issue of Instructor Kenobi, and again, he came not as a fellow Councilor, but a Jedi subject to review, and perhaps reprimand. This time, the "issue" in question stood calmly behind and slightly to the right of his Master, both men facing Yoda in the center of the Council circle.

"Grave, this is," Yoda muttered, his ears drooping. "Compromises the integrity of the Council, it does. Make assumptions, you should *not,* Master Jinn, about what I say," he added, knowing Jinn would assume he questioned the man's very honesty. "At issue here is the reputation of the Jedi Council, the heart of the Order."

"The keeping of d'kall is an ancient tradition on my home world," Qui-Gon said, balancing respect and firmness in his voice. "I choose to honor the tradition, as does Instructor Kenobi. I fail to see how this impacts the integrity of the Order's Heart." His voice hung in the air, laced with sarcasm. He was rapidly growing tired of this, and sensed something else at the base of it. Something other than his d'kall.

"We have researched this tradition," Mace countered smoothly. "In order for it to be fulfilled properly, how are you to perform your away missions?"

"Resigned, has Knight Andeli Moshkapi," broke in Yoda unexpectedly.

"Resigned?" Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, not bothering to conceal his surprise. Obi-Wan was astonished, but he hadn't seen Othaina in days, and had heard no news from her.

"It seems her partner is concerned for her safety, and has apparently expressed a desire to see her away from Coruscant less." Mace rolled his eyes slightly. "She has left the Order altogether."

"Like it, we do not, that you are bound to someone in this way." Yoda banged his stick on his seat. "Love. Heh. Thought, I did, that a Jedi such as you craves not this foolish distraction. Sorry I am that I was wrong. Maintain, we must, a great impartiality. Problems there are to this. Foreseen them, I have. For the Council, for you *and* Instructor Kenobi." Nevertheless, his eyes gleamed.

Qui-Gon tucked his hands deeply into his sleeves and regarded the two prevailing Councilors coolly. "I assume you have already found a solution to these preordained difficulties."

Mace dipped his head in affirmation. "It would entail Instructor Kenobi leaving the teaching quadrant." He ignored Obi-Wan's narrow-eyed stare. "It also involves some training, on your part, Qui-Gon, of your d'kall. It would be ... similar to taking on a Padawan," he added, by way of a warning.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance.

"Master!" Obi-Wan shouted, deflecting three quick blaster shots and blowing up two 'droids with the rebounded fire. "I have a bad feeling about this!"

Qui-Gon circled behind Obi-Wan, facing outward in a tight formation they had formed, each covering the others' back as the 'droids advanced. Qui-Gon used a Force projection to slam a piece of rubble into a control center, bringing the automated battle troops to a whining, sizzling halt. He turned to Obi-Wan calmly and said, "Never fear, my Padawan," in an amused voice. "For now, the danger is past." A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as, breathless, Obi-Wan whirled his lightsaber in a flourishing circle and powered it down, tucking it away. His eyes were lit with an internal fire, and shone with devotion. It was clear that Obi-Wan, as Qui-Gon's d'kall and newly appointed liaison partner, had never been so exhilarated.

And with Obi-Wan as his Padawan, Qui-Gon had never felt so safe.
 

End. And I'm spent.