Snapshots: Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is your life (April 2001)

by Pumpkin (apumpkin@rogers.com)

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. Each piece stands alone. 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.

April 01, 2001

"It is blue!" Obi-Wan sounded indignant.

Trying to ignore the white bandage across his padawan's eyes, Qui-Gon frowned in concentration, looking around the garden. "What's blue?" he finally asked.

"The wind."

April 02, 2001

Obi-Wan checked the ground carefully for sand lice and skorspiders. Satisfied that he would remain unmolested for several minutes, he slowly lowered himself to his knees and then back onto his haunches. Grimacing at the stiffness of his joints, he nevertheless settled into a light meditation.

He reached, tapping into the Force, riding along its current rather than pulling it to himself; becoming a part of it rather than using it.

The wind here was a light, yellowy-red brown, almost the same colour as the sand that covered the ground, but when it was going to rain the edges of it were tinged with dark blue, like the promise of life. Each drop of water was precious on this all-but-Force-forsaken world and any warning of rain equally so.

Today there was no blue in the wind, only the endless sea of brown; no water meant no relief. He opened his eyes - more brown, the endless sandscape; unrelieved and barren.

Using his hands, he pushed himself up, ignoring the twinges in his joints and slowly made his way back to his small dwelling.

April 03, 2001

Obi-Wan ate his breakfast of dry scornuts, washing it down with a half cup of water. The nuts were crunchy, noisy in his mouth, loud in the perpetual quiet of his lonely vigil. The water was warm, there was no way to keep it cold, but it was wet.

It was one of the pleasures of the day that half glass of warm water. He could drink it all at once, a waterfall pouring over his dry throat, or he could drink it in smaller sips, holding each mouthful for long minutes before swallowing.

Sometimes he would work out the composition -mentally catalogue each mineral in the liquid. Other days it was just water, the drinking of it just one more step in his day, bringing him closer to the end of that day; the end of each day bringing him closer to the end of waiting.

April 09, 2001

"Obi-Wan would you be so kind as to fetch my other robe, it should be in the closet of my study."

"Certainly, Highness." He bows and then turns and walks from the room. I watch him go, admiring the intoxicating sway of his hips.

Once he has left the room, I finally turn my attention back to the others seated around the table and Jinn's eyes catch my own. He knows. This is the 3rd such errand I have sent his boy on, errands that could be equally, or indeed better performed by one of my staff, but I send him instead so that I might enjoy the sight of him walking. Jinn knows, has seen the truth of my requests and for all his Jedi might there is nothing he can do about it.

It is good to be King.

April 10, 2001

Looking out the frost-touched window at the white and silver tipped landscape, I wonder -when did I grow up?

I can remember when I was just a boy, still in my initiate whites. We would visit the frozen gardens. I used to run ahead and push to be the first in line, all attempts at calm and control put aside, forgotten in the rush to play in the cold white world.

Now I huddle into my robe, grateful for its warmth, loath to leave the heat of our small hearth.

Qui-Gon's arms come around my chest, his body presses intimately against my own.

"I've unpacked our winter gear -how about we change and then go build a snow statue."

I laugh and lean into his heat. Perhaps I'm not so grown up after all -it sounds like fun. And I'm already I'm planning my sneak attack...

April 11, 2001

He's doing it on purpose. I know he is.

We are separated by two tables -dozens of beings, and yet I'm as hard for him as I would be if he were kneeling at my feet, my shaft buried deeply in his throat.

He is taking full advantage of the Sialin custom of eating with one's hands. He is eating. But he is also doing so much more than just eating.

He is making love to his hand: licking and sucking each finger, nibbling his knuckles and biting several fingertips, his tongue dragging along his palm in a long, slow swipe.

He appears unaware of me, ignorant to the fact I cannot look away from him, that my body is pulsing and hard, that my breath is stolen and my food forgotten. He appears oblivious, but I know better.

I shall have to punish my padawan for teasing his master so.

April 12, 2001

Obi-Wan hunched over his book and dataslate, slowly deciphering the book's text, translating it from the ancient Sunan to modern basic. It was very slow going and if he gave himself permission to think of the document in terms of the whole, he would never finish -the task seeming, and therefore being, too daunting. Instead he worked word by word, line by line, page by page.

"Obi-Wan." His master sounded surprised as he came into their quarters.

"Master," he replied as a greeting, inclining his head.

"I thought I'd made it clear that the evening was yours to do with as you would."

"Indeed, Master, thank you - I haven't had a chance to work on the Sunan Book of Records in quite some time."

"I had thought you might like to visit with your friends - go out on the town and paint it red, as they say."

"No, Master, I'm happy with my translation." It suddenly occurred to Obi-Wan that perhaps his master wished to entertain his own friends in their quarters, without his padawan present. "I could work in the library though or one of the reflective gardens."

"No, I don't mean to chase you out of your home," replied Qui-Gon. "I was just surprised to find you at home, working." Lotus Services Projects - By Person

Obi-Wan shrugged. "We're not here that often -it's a novelty to be able to sit and relax. And I like the work - it is challenging and fun. Not to mention fascinating."

"You won't mind, I hope, if I join you in a quiet evening at home?"

"Of course not, Master."

Obi-Wan returned to his work as Qui-Gon settled on the couch, a text of his own in hand.

April 16, 2001

His lips are like the soft petals of the Isa flower, cool and impersonal against my cheek, as if blown there by the wind. His hand is warm and dry, callused in places, and far larger than my own.

His voice is soft, melodious and almost aristocratic; he might be the equivalent of a worker on my world, but has obviously been taught to move within the upper reaches of society. His clothing is simple but clean and crisp, almost distinguished.

I look up, into eyes as hard to pin down as the rest of him. Now grey, now green, now blue, each in turn and I am vexed for the moment that I can't pin the colour down -pin him down. Worker or noble? Rough-edged or genteel?

But he is only one man among many and I let the puzzle go even as I drop his hand and turn to greet my next guest.

April 17, 2001

Obi-Wan opened his eyes slowly. They teared up immediately from the sudden light and he blinked rapidly. The hand holding his own squeezed gently and he turned toward his master.

At first Qui-Gon was only a watery blur.

"Try this," said Te-Sin, the healer placing a cloth into his free hand. Obi-Wan pressed it gently against his eyes, letting it absorb the excess liquid and then opened his eyes once more.

He concentrated and his master slowly came into focus. The familiar face was smiling gently and he smiled back automatically.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I can see you, Master."

As he watched, Qui-Gon's smile grew, as did Obi-Wan's own. He stared at his master for a long time, watching as the quiet joy in his own heart filled Qui-Gon's face.

April 18, 2001

Obi-Wan sat at the controls of the small land vehicle, examining the instruments carefully. He didn't speak Wasi, but some thing were universal: such as a steering mechanism of some sort, a speedometer and fuel gage.

He wasn't sure what three quarters of the instruments were for, but he wasn't going to worry about it. What was important was the getting away, quickly, not how pretty their getaway might be. He would trust the Force to guide him.

Placing his hands on the steering bars, he kicked what he assumed was the starter. The vehicle roared to life.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" shouted his master. Obi-Wan powered down the engine.

"Would you rather take your chances with me or with them?" he asked, indicating the mob behind them, drawing closer with every moment.

"As you were, Padawan."

Revving the engine back to life, Obi-Wan released the brake and they shot forward with a jerk.

He grinned as his master's hands wound around his waist, clinging tightly.

April 19, 2001

"Do I have to go, Master?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand how you can make up your mind you aren't going to like something ahead of time. I would appreciate it if you gave the dance recital a chance."

"But, Master..."

"Please don't pout, Obi-Wan, it doesn't become you. If you have legitimate objections, I'm willing to listen."

"I don't like the music, Master, what makes you think I would want to watch people dancing to it?"

"Maybe because they won't be dancing to the contemporary music you object to, but that classical stuff you and Yoda seem to like so much."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Hurry up then, Master, we don't want to miss the start!"

April 20, 2001

He is my padawan.

My days are spent in shaping him.

April 21, 2001

He is my friend.

I chose to be with him when my time is my own.

April 22, 2001

He is my lover.

It is his name on my lips as I come.

April 23, 2001

He is my soul's mate.

In him I am complete.

April 24, 2001

He is my Obi-Wan.

That is enough. It is everything.

April 25, 2001

I sit by the fire in the circle of young men, but I am not a part of them. I am separate. Alone.

I watch as a brand is removed from the fire, the insignia glowing red. One of the boys steps forward and lifts his shirt; the brand is pressed against his belly. It makes a soft sizzling sound that is soon drowned out by his scream.

The smell of charred flesh fills the air; its sweetness turns the stomach. The brand is removed and the young man makes his way around the circle, showing the mark to each of us. It is a stylized bird -the symbol of his beloved's family. Most of the brands hold such significance -each fashioned by the young man who will wear it.

Another brand is lifted from the fire, another youth steps forward to be marked. Each one here will step forward to be marked. Except myself.

They believe me to be afraid, but I am not. I would wear my master's mark with pride, with pleasure, but he made it clear that no one is to mark my skin but him.

Which is fair I suppose, as he has already marked my soul; his love burning into me, through me until we are a part of each other.

I wonder if these young men, so quick to mark their skin could accept the searing certainty of marked souls?

April 29, 2001

Now that we are lovers, sometimes I like to close my eyes and look at my master the way I learned to see while I was blind.

His features beneath my fingertips appear different than they did then.

Love has changed forever how he appears to me. Whether I look at him with my eyes or without them, my heart sees him true.

April 30, 2001

My eyes are closed as I trace my master's torso.

Skin hot and soft like silk, the smoothness marred by a dusting of hair between the hard points of his nipples. My hands continue downward, slowly tracing the lines of his body beneath my fingertips.

Muscles, richly defined by a lifetime of work, side by side with scars twisting flesh. Through I can't see them at the moment, I know they stand out without pigment, white. I lean down and trace them with my tongue, the flavour of them speaking of his experience.

End.