Master
Apprentice  Archive
Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is your life (July 2001)
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Author's webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Archive: yes
Rating: G - NC17
Pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Feedback is always appreciated
Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same universe, but they are not in any sort of order. The snapshots will run the gamut from G to NC17. Some may be several pages long, some only a couple of paragraphs; some will contain smut, many will not; they will be different styles with different voices.
Disclaimers: Mine they are not, dream a girl can.
July 02, 2001
Obi-Wan swallowed past the tightness in his throat as he heard footsteps approach. Behind him huddled the children, quiet but for the occasional sniff. They didn't need to make any sound, he could feel their fear, it poured from them like a wave.
He spared a moment to turn to them.
"It's all right," he told them softly, gently patting each one in turn. He didn't have his master's deft touch, but gave them what comfort he could.
The footsteps were almost upon them now and Obi-Wan turned and sought his centre. Reaching up, he touched the short braid that hung from behind his right ear.
He was ready.
July 03, 2001
The young prince holds his hand over his mouth, laughter bubbling past the ineffective barrier and making black eyes dance.
Obi-Wan looks about, trying to figure out what has caught the boy's amused attention, holding the suspicion that it is himself. It makes the prince laugh harder. The boy in the bright, fancy robe points at Obi-Wan, finger jabbing at him as giggles continue to pour from his mouth.
He is rude. Obi-Wan knows this and stands a little straighter, waiting to find out what it was about him that has this spoiled boy, not much older than himself, laughing so.
"You have hair like a girl's," the prince finally tells him, around giggles.
With a puzzled frown, Obi-Wan passes his hand over the short cropped hair on his head.
"No," corrects the prince, grabbing at the braid that falls from behind Obi-Wan's right ear. "This -it's long enough to put into a tail!"
"It isn't a tail," Obi-Wan informs the boy -the king's oldest son. A spoiled and petulant boy who will one day rule this planet as selfishly as his father does. Will he one day need help from the Jedi, too?
Obi-Wan raises head, straightens. He explains, even though he doesn't expect the boy to understand, expects to be further mocked. "It is a padawan's braid. It marks my service to the Jedi."
The prince shrugs and looks sullen as Obi-Wan refuses to react to his mocking. "It still looks like girl's hair to me."
July 04, 2001
Obi-Wan was reading, the soft drone of hyperdrive engines relaxing him. Across the room, Qui-Gon sat on his own bunk, working on the report for the council. Every now and then the sound of the keys on the datapad would stop and his master would mutter indistinctly.
It was a familiar scene.
Obi-Wan's only warning that something was amiss was the high-pitched squeal and then his head was jerked to one side as something small, but heavy, landed on his braid.
Leaping to his feet he looked down at his braid, finding a small green lizard clinging to it. He shook his head, but instead of dislodging the beast, it caused it to flail its tail from side to side, hitting him in the neck. Funny how something so smooth looking could actually be rough enough to scrape away skin.
He tried to pull it off, but the lizard hissed and one razor-sharp claw sliced into his thumb.
"MASTER!"
"Obi-Wan, stop. You're frightening it."
"I'm frightening it?" He looked up at Qui-Gon in disbelief.
"Just calm down," his master told him, putting aside his datapad and coming, finally, to his rescue.
"Get it off."
Qui-Gon's fingers brushed the scratches on Obi-Wan's neck as his hand surrounded the lizard and Obi-Wan hissed.
"It's just a small thing, far more scared of you than you are of it," his master chided.
"It bit me," Obi-Wan accused, holding out his bleeding thumb.
"You provoked it," replied Qui-Gon, gently stroking the small creature. "I'm going to see if I can find a plant or two for this little one."
"What about me?" Obi-Wan thrust his hand into his master's face again.
"This looks like a good opportunity for you to practice using the Force for healing. I'll check on your progress when I get back."
July 09, 2001
"That's not a leash, Master!"
Obi-Wan looked up from where he was playing with Geran and Bant, watching wide-eyed as one of the Masters led a padawan from the gardens.
"What's a leash, Obi-Wan?" asked Bant.
He shrugged and went back to the game of marbles. "I dunno."
"Not a padawan braid," suggested Geran as he set up a shot.
The other two nodded solemnly in agreement.
July 10, 2001
"That's not a leash, Master!"
Obi-Wan knew he was whining, but really, it was undignified to be led about by his braid as if he were one of his master's pathetic animals.
"If you wouldn't insist on acting like a child."
"I'm not," he pouted.
Qui-Gon just looked at him, one brow arched.
"It still isn't a leash," he muttered sullenly.
July 11, 2001
"That's not a leash, Master!"
Yoda cackled as Qui-Gon pulled his padawan close for a kiss. Many times those words he had heard. Prelude to a kiss they almost never were.
Climbing off his bench, he headed toward the entwined couple, stick ready. Rooms of their own Jedi had. Need to use public gardens for encounters, they did not.
July 12, 2001
"That's not a leash, Master!"
The words were whispered softly, spoken more out of reflex and swallowed by Qui-Gon's mouth as he closed it over Obi-Wan's, his hand wound tightly around his padawan's braid.
July 13, 2001
"That is not a leash, Master!"
Qui-Gon's chuckle was as husky and distracted as Obi-Wan's protest had been. He managed a rejoinder none the less.
"It seems to work rather well as one," he told his padawan while tugging gently.
A soft moan and Obi-Wan moved forward, following obediently, as if he was indeed tethered.
"Master..."
Qui-Gon couldn't tell if the word was protest of prayer and he continued to back up, taking Obi-Wan with him.
Finally reaching the bed, he released his lover's erection.
July 14, 2001
"That's not a leash, Master!"
Anakin's voice was plaintive, sullen.
"If you wouldn't insist on acting-" Obi-Wan stopped and made a face. This particular conversation seemed awfully familiar. He glanced from Anakin's rebellious face to the braid in his hand, and then loosened his hold.
"No, it isn't, and I'm sorry. I will try to remember that in the future."
Anakin's sullen expression had turned to one of almost comical surprise.
"Come on," said Obi-Wan, snagging his fingers through the boy's belt and tugging him into motion. "That doesn't get you out of attending the Senate's Opening and writing précis of the speeches."
July 15, 2001
"That is not a leash, Master!"
Some nights, not often but sometimes, the words haunted him and his hand would move automatically to his right ear, fingers searching for the thin braid of hair that was no longer there. That hadn't been there for a long, long time.
Now his hair was white and cropped short all over, no vestiges of a padawan's braid or a knight's tail to be found. Most days those words barely held any meaning and he wondered if he had dreamed them.
Dreamed of legions of boys and girls wearing the braid, looking to masters for teaching, wisdom, protection.
The words had no place here, now.
No place among the army of white that hunted him, no place among the grains of sand that hid him.
Some nights, not often but sometimes, he dreamt of a place where there was no sand.
July 16, 2001
I was put in a room by myself after Master Qui-Gon's funeral. It's a big room and has a bed, so I guessed I was supposed to sleep.
I tried to, I really did, but it was so big, and...lonely. I've been lonely a lot since being freed.
When I woke up, I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just stayed here, wondering what's going to happen to me now. I hope they don't forget I'm here. I'm not even sure who they are anymore. Except Obi-Wan said I was gonna be a Jedi. I hope so.
It's Obi-Wan who finds me. He looks serious, but he always looks serious, especially since we were at the Jedi temple.
I don't know what to say and he's just looking at me, so I say the first thing that I can think of. "Your braid is gone."
He puts his hand to his ear and looks like he'd forgotten it was missing.
"I'm a knight now." He doesn't look very happy about it.
July 18, 2001
Ground. Down. Green and brown domination. Other colours -blue-white-yellow-small glimpses, jewels sown on a dress.
Flying. Blue becoming white becoming blue becoming...
Light.
Light.
Fading.
Greying.
Thin rope. Hair. Choking.
Choking.
Shock.
Crying out -darkness.
Gasping.
July 19, 2001
He sits behind me as I kneel on the bed. His mouth is on my skin, hot and wet and good. His tongue circles along my flesh, tracing muscles and vertebrae, drawing lines from freckle to freckle, mole to mole. It leaves me breathless and trembling as my skin becomes the canvas for his love.
His fingers trail up my arms and trace the bones of my shoulders. The tie on my braid is removed and he slowly unwinds my hair until the strands lie loose against my skin, against skin made sensitive by his talented tongue. His breath turns to wind, shifting the individual strands. They dance upon my body, giving my lover a hundred tiny fingers to touch me with.
"Now," he whispers, hands no longer gentle as they grip my hips and pull me back, up and then down onto the length of him. Heat fills me, heat surrounds me as his hand closes over my shaft.
"Move." His voice disturbs the strands of hair, sending them twitching along my skin again.
I obey his command, rocking back onto him and forward into him, into the tunnel he has made of his hand. Faster I move, and faster.
His mouth, lips and tongue, are again painting his love onto my shoulders and neck, while each rock of my body moves the strands of hair against my chest. Longer loose like this, the hair brushes my nipples and down along my abdomen. It makes me gasp. It makes me rock faster.
He is breathing heavily now, almost as heavily as I am, soft gasps and occasional moans running counterpoint to my own.
I'm close, so close. And so is he; I can feel it in the way his shaft is even harder now, in the way his mouth has latched onto a single piece of skin, in the way his free hand searches for my braid, finding only the strands of hair. He grasps at them and my rocking is met by his thrusts.
And we are both coming, bodies merged, minds, souls, soaring together.
July 20, 2001
Obi-Wan tied off the end of Anakin's braid with the yellow tie. He ran the short rope of hair through his fingers; the gesture was as familiar as breathing, though it had always been from a different perspective.
Qui-Gon's hands always seemed so large, especially in the beginning. He looked at his own hands -they were small in comparison, though he supposed they must look large enough to Anakin.
But when he looked, the boy's eyes were on his face, the blue orbs wise in the youthful face. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and cleared his mind of the memories, managing a soft smile.
"There you go, now you look like a proper Jedi padawan."
July 21, 2001
Some missions are dangerous, some tedious. Others are entertaining or exciting or even extremely enjoyable. This mission could only be described as uncomfortable.
Perched, side by side on an outcropping even Yoda would have found small, neither of them could do more than shift slightly. They had been sitting there for just over two days. There was another day to endure. And for no other reason than to assure the Vilante people that they were human and not ghosts.
Even after two full days of doing it, Obi-Wan still wasn't sure how exactly sitting partway up the mountain and doing nothing for three days was supposed to prove that they weren't ghosts and he was fairly sure that his master was just as perplexed. But Qui-Gon had accepted the edict as if he and Obi-Wan were asked to perform this particular task on every mission.
And so here they sat.
They had not been allowed to bring anything up with them. Any view there might have been was blocked by the dense grey fog that drifted around them. No noises penetrated the area either. While not really physically painful, it was an experience that he had no desire to repeat and though they were more than two thirds of the way through the experience, the half day or so they had left to go seemed interminable.
The feeling in his legs and buttocks had come and gone and come back again often enough that he'd long ago lost count and was currently just happy for the variety. And his back was sore from sitting in place for so long. And worst of all was the crotch of his leggings where his own come had grown stiff, hard and uncomfortable against his tender flesh. That had been his master's fault and he still had revenge to extract and, now, with only a half day left in which to do it.
Running his hand through his short cropped hair, a wicked thought came to him. He let his hand move behind his right ear, finding automatically the start of his braid. Setting the braid into the middle of his hand, he made a fist around it and slowly began to run his hand up and down the thin rope of hair.
"You know," he said in a conversational tone. "I know my braid turns you on."
He felt Qui-Gon turn his head to look at him, but kept his own gaze out over the fog as if there were something new there after two days of looking at nothing.
"Padawan?"
"Sh, Master," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I'll do the talking. You just listen."
He felt a shiver go through his master's body and had to suppress his own grin. He continued to run his fist slowly up and down the length of his braid.
"I've seen the way your gaze brushes it as we talk, when we begin to make love. Force knows it's the first thing you grab when we kiss."
He could hear Qui-Gon take a deep breath, knew it was prelude to his master interrupting him.
"Sh, now, Master, and just listen." He laughed, feeling somewhat giddy and wondered if this feeling of euphoria was what the Vilante wished for them to experience or was he merely high on the knowledge that his revenge was in his hand, quite literally?
"You grab my braid when we kiss," Obi-Wan continued. "Wrap it in your hand and tug on it to tilt my head. It is like a brand that stamps me as yours, a symbol of your ownership of me. We have imbued it with far more meaning than a simple icon of padawanship, you and I."
His master made a soft noise, but was otherwise silent.
"When you take me, you hold it in your hand, you turn my head with it, bringing our mouths together once again. And when I take you, if we're face to face, your hand reaches again for it, holding it as if it were your only link to reality. As if I were all that was real."
"It is. You are." Qui-Gon's words were soft, his voice husky and Obi-Wan could feel his master's eyes on the movement of his hand on the braid. He changed his grip, twisting the braid around his fingers now into a coil and then letting it go only to twist it up again.
"When we get off this accursed rock, my master, I am going to make love to you. I am going to brush every part of your flesh with my braid. Every part. I shall start with your face and let the wisps at the bottom tangle with your beard. From there I will move on to your neck, your shoulders and arms; I will tickle your palms. Your nipples will be tortured and your navel invaded. The inside of your thighs are sure to get their full share of attention as well.
And then, my master, oh then I will take my braid and wrap it gently around your sac, pulling it around those small circles in small circles until you are trembling. You know what's coming next don't you?" asked Obi-Wan, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. Qui-Gon whimpered softly and leaned closer. "Once I have you quivering and whimpering beneath the touch of my braid, I shall wrap it around your erection, slowly, sinuously, sliding it along your tender flesh at first before tightening it, pumping you with it wrapped around you, my braid between your shaft and my hand. Your heat will warm it, your need will infuse it."
He paused, for just a moment and then whispered, "Your come will bathe it."
Qui-Gon moaned and jerked, the subtle musk of his master's semen suddenly filling the air.
Obi-Wan let go of his braid and let go of his smile. He closed his eyes and let peace fill him. Serenity had never felt so sweet.
July 26, 2001
"Good morning, Padawan."
"Morning, Master." Obi-Wan yawned and slid into his chair, blinking tiredly.
"You don't look like you had a very restful night."
"I didn't."
"Would you like to talk about it?" Qui-Gon asked, putting aside his morning meal and turning his full attention on his padawan.
Obi-Wan frowned, the groove between his eyes deepening. "Master, how can you be sure you're supposed to be a Jedi?"
Qui-Gon opened his mouth, the words 'the Force guides you' on his lips. Instead he asked. "How have you determined it up until now?"
"I always just knew."
"But something has happened?"
"Yes, Master, I had a dream. In it I was soaring high above a planet, through the clouds. It felt so good and right and I knew it was where I was meant to be."
"It sounds nice," said Qui-Gon after several moments of silence.
"Yes, Master, it was wonderful."
Qui-Gon spread his hands and gave a little shrug. "I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to why that might have you questioning your calling as a Jedi."
"That didn't," answered Obi-Wan, a grimace crossing his face. "But then I couldn't breathe - I was choking and falling and when I woke up my braid was wrapped around my neck -literally choking me."
"Hmm," Qui-Gon steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. "And this led you to believe you had made a mistake by becoming a padawan?"
"Well, I've been trying to figure out what the dream means."
"Why?" asked Qui-Gon.
"Why?" repeated Obi-Wan.
"Yes, why?"
"Well...because...dreams come from our subconscious -they mean something."
"But not necessarily anything big or dramatic. In fact rarely that. You've had this dream only once?" He waited for Obi-Wan to nod before continuing. "Did it ever occur to you, Padawan, that perhaps it was the spiced vilu you had for lunch giving you strange dreams?"
"But, Master-"
"Or perhaps the meaning is that you feel you are being held back by still being a padawan, that you will be soaring once you are a knight. Or maybe your subconscious was telling you -wake up Obi-Wan, you've gotten tangled in your braid and it is choking you."
"But Master Yoda says dreams are important as clues to our innermost thoughts and sometimes even to the future," protested Obi-Wan, voice rather indignant.
"He also believes that salted swampgrass is a rare delicacy to be consumed in massive quantities as often as possible and the chicken strut to be the most erotic dance ever conceived of. Wise though he is, he still gets it wrong sometimes."
Obi-Wan leaned forward to look intently at his master. "Are you suggesting I should just forget about it?"
"On the contrary, I think you should meditate upon it after breakfast. But Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon waited until he was sure he had his padawan's complete attention. "You must meditate on all the possibilities."
"Yes, Master."
"And, Padawan -it never hurts to re-evaluate a life path you have always followed. In fact it is good to question your choices now and then, especially those that have come easily or that seem obvious to you."
"Thank you, Master."
July 27, 2001
Obi-Wan carefully re-wove his padawan braid, making sure it fell smoothly from behind his ear. It wasn't very long yet and it looked silly if you went too quickly and got a kink in it, then it would hang with a strange angle in it instead of falling straight down.
"Master?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Yes, Padawan?"
"Why a braid?"
There was a soft rustle as Qui-Gon put his papers down and turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"Why do padawan's wear a braid?"
"Tradition," his master answered firmly, turning back to retrieve his papers.
"But where did the tradition come from?"
"I asked my master the same thing," Qui-Gon muttered with a frown.
"And what did he say?" prompted Obi-Wan.
"Eight hundred years old I might be, present at the founding of the Jedi I was not."
Obi-Wan thought about that for awhile. "He didn't know, did he?"
"No," agreed Qui-Gon, "he didn't."
"Did you ever find someone who did?"
His master shook his head. "I'm afraid it remains a mystery to this day."
July 28, 2001
Obi-Wan got out of bed and padded into the common room. Qui-Gon was still up, hunched over his papers, a slight frown between his eyes.
"Master?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Padawan?"
"It does have meaning though, doesn't it?"
Qui-Gon put his papers down and turned to him. "The braid?"
Obi-Wan nodded.
Gesturing toward the couch, Qui-Gon rose and joined him there. His master undid his braid, the large fingers brushing out the short length. "There is no way of knowing what meaning the original Jedi bestowed upon the padawan braid, no records or documents exist explaining it."
"So it really doesn't have any meaning?" Obi-Wan tried not to let his disappointment show.
"It obviously has meaning for you," suggested Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan nodded. "When I was an initiate I used to watch the padawans and knew that one day that would be me, that someone would take me and cut my hair and make the braid and teach me. And you did."
"Do you remember what I said when I braided your hair?" asked Qui-Gon as he re-braided the short length of hair.
"Yes, Master. You said that you and I and the Force would work best if we worked together."
"Like the braid, we're stronger combined." Qui-Gon tugged on his braid. "So you see, we've given it our own meanings."
"Is that what the tradition is? To say there is no tradition and have us assign our own meanings to it?"
"No," laughed Qui-Gon. "There really is no meaning behind the tradition that anyone knows of."
July 29, 2001
He rides me. His thighs clench against my skin as he pushes himself up and then drops back down again, sliding me deeply into him. His eyes are closed, his back arched, his hands caught tightly in my own.
I take it all in, watching him, seeing him, examining each sign of pleasure. His tongue slides from between his parted lips, licking at the swollen fullness of the bottom one. A drop of sweat slides from the side of his neck, down along his chest. His braid swings with each movement, sliding across the hard little nub of his nipple. His eyes are shut tight, the groove between his brows deep as he concentrates on his pleasure, and mine.
I hold these details in my mind as I finally let my eyes close, as I let my passion take me away, as I let my Obi-Wan drive me there.
July 31, 2001
Confer upon you, the level of Jedi Knight the Council does.
I can hear Master Yoda's words echoing in my head as I stare into the mirror, looking for some sign that the council has made the right decision.
I killed the Sith, but my master died. Qui-Gon is dead. Have I really been raised up to knighthood over such a loss?
Strength over fear. Honour over hate. Peace over anger.
I learned to say it by rote as a babe in the crèche before the words even had meaning for me. They have been my litany, my guide, whenever a clear answer eluded me.
Whether or not it is right that Qui-Gon's death begat my knighthood, it is done.
I stare into the mirror, for some sign that I am changed. It is there -in my eyes is the knowledge that I am Qui-Gon's padawan no longer.
I pick up the knife and cut away my braid.
End.