Snapshots: Obi-Wan Kenobi, this is your life (March 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.

March 01, 2001

Once, when I was a little girl, I was in the market with my Momma buying herbs for the healing packets she sold when two men passed us. They didn't touch me, but I could still feel them; I wasn't even trying, but their aura was so strong.

I turned to see who it was I had felt and there they were, walking away, simple brown robes making them look like any other citizen on market day. But most citizens have plain, faint auras. These two...they were bright, I could see the aura clearly even as they crossed the square, and they didn't seem to have two auras, only one.

I wondered who they were but I didn't see them again. Every now and then I think of them, as the wars rage about us and the Republic crumbles. This dark time could use men like those two bright beings.

March 02, 2001

"Why are we doing this, Master?" asked Obi-Wan as he rolled his shoulders, aching and overworked muscles protesting.

"To prevent our muscles from stiffening," replied his master, performing similar gyrations.

"I don't mean this," said Obi-Wan, swinging his arm about, "I mean this...picking fruit and cutting grain. Harvesting."

"Don't you believe it to be a useful use of our time, Padawan?"

"No, I don't. We're Jedi."

His master stopped what he was doing and turned to look at him. "I don't remember the lesson where it says we cannot harvest."

"It is a waste of our talents. We could be helping these people."

"We are helping these people."

"We could be really helping them. Healing the sick or fighting the rebels or-"

"But we were asked to bring in their crops," Qui-Gon told him, frowning.

"Maybe they don't know what we could be doing for them," suggested Obi-Wan.

"Maybe what they need for us to be doing is exactly what they have asked us to do."

"It's menial."

"Helping others is never menial, Padawan."

"But-"

"I would like you to consider the importance of what you are doing tomorrow while you pick. We will discuss the matter again at last meal," said Qui-Gon as he concluded his stretching and prepared himself for bed.

"Yes, Master," replied Obi-Wan softly.

March 03, 2001

He is stretched out next to me. Asleep. And so I indulge once more in my favourite night time activity: Obi-Wan watching.

Tonight he has let the covers slip down to his waist, leaving the compact chest bared to my view. And view it I do.

I focus my attention on the flat, round patch of skin, no bigger than an old republic dollar coin, below his breastbone. It's slightly darker than the rest of his skin and there's a small nub of flesh in the middle that is slightly darker again.

As if my thoughts are a physical touch the nipple becomes raised, protruding slightly from the flesh around it. It invites my tongue and I am left with the quandary of whether to continue to observe or to become a participant in a far more energetic activity.

March 04, 2001

"What's this?" asked Obi-Wan, lips curling down in distaste.

"Evening meal," answered Qui-Gon as he handed the squawking bird to his padawan.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Obi-Wan's voice rose as he spoke.

"You're the cook in this team, you figure it out."

Just then the bird screeched and broke free, running awkwardly on its long, skinny legs. Obi-Wan gave chase, but their meal had too good a head start and disappeared into the trees.

"Is there anything else we can prepare for evening meal?" the boy asked.

"I'm afraid not, Padawan. It was the chook or nothing."

Obi-Wan sighed and settled down next to his master in front of their small fire.

"I don't know which is worse," he said, "the prospect of having to eat that bird or starving."

March 05, 2001

His lips are red, pale and thin.

I lick them, bite them, nibble and suck them. Possess them.

His lips are red, dark and swollen.

March 06, 2001

Another banquet hall.

We seem to find ourselves in many, eating strange delicacies while opposing sides measure each other. My master has the ability to read the room with devastating accuracy, a skill which has led to more than one successful mission. I have yet to master that ability; my strengths lie more along the lines of ingratiating myself with whomever I happen to be seated next to.

And to eat whatever is placed in front of me as if it were my very favourite dish in the entire universe.

This meal there is something nasty and slimy on my plate, I thought I saw it move though that might have been my imagination. But with consummate skill I wrap a portion of it around my fork, as I have observed others doing and place it in my mouth. The taste is an unexpected surprise.

Salt is the first flavour to register, not too strong but with a hint of bitterness, like the essence of Qui-Gon's sweat as I lick his skin, that drop that forms in the hollow of his throat. Following the salt comes a meaty spice which, along with the very texture of the morsel, brings immediately to mind my lover's shaft, hard and hot beneath its velvet cover.

I let the food slide down my throat and into my belly, the texture not unlike my master's essence. I reach eagerly for another bite.

Though my belly will be full, I believe I will be quite hungry by the time this meal has been consumed.

March 07, 2001

His fingertip traces my lips, teasing me, taunting me.

I pull his finger into my mouth. Just the tip, held between my lips and then softly suck in so that my tongue may play with the tip. His nail scrapes against the top of my mouth as I pull him deeper, my tongue curling around the slender length. My teeth scrape along the top of it as I increase my suction.

In and out I let it slide, pulling it slightly deeper every time until I have it all in my mouth. Still, I suck and play with it, my tongue sliding teasingly over the slender digit.

I let his finger slide from my mouth and it pops wetly past my lips.

My eyes never leave his.

March 08, 2001

"What is it?" asked Obi-Wan, peering cautiously into his master's lap. Qui-Gon was petting it, sliding his hand up and down along the smooth length. His master wore a soft, pleased smile.

"It's all right," said Qui-Gon. "You can touch it, it won't bite."

Obi-Wan reached out slowly and laid a single finger on the pink skin. It was quite warm, almost hot and surprisingly silky. Then it moved and he yanked back his hand, barely suppressing his startled yelp.

Qui-Gon chuckled and continued to stroke the thing in his lap.

"What is it?" he asked again, glaring at his master.

"A woffle."

"Is not -woffles have fur!" At Obi-Wan's exclamation the little beast leap from his master's lap, hissed once and promptly disappeared beneath the couch.

"Obi-Wan," chided Qui-Gon as he got down on his hands and knees and began to attempt to coax the supposed woffle out from its hiding place.

"This is a furless woffle; apparently they are bred this way for use as pets for those who work on spaceships -the fur tends to mess up the electronics."

"That's right," said Obi-Wan. "Pets are a nuisance in lots of situations."

"And yet people continue to keep them, even going to the lengths of breeding out the traits that make them hard to keep," his master pointed out.

"I still wouldn't want it as a pet."

"Why not, Padawan?" "It's ugly."

March 09, 2001

The backs of his knees are ticklish. Except when I use my tongue; long, slow licks that circle the smooth, soft flesh.

Then he writhes and wriggles, but moans are the noises he makes.

March 10, 2001

I love the taste of him.

He lies spread before me like a banquet, naked on our bed. I start at the crease between his brows, tickling out the flavour with the tip of my tongue.

His mouth is an obvious source, his taste sweeter here and abundant. I linger until I have drunk my fill and then move on.

A long lick behind his right ear, teasing the beginning of his braid. Here he tastes of duty and devotion.

I move in for a quick lick at the hollow of his throat where drops of sweat have collected. His taste is stronger, hinting at what is to come.

I nuzzle into his armpit, licking and sucking at the stronger flavour; it teases me, I want more. So I trail down his body, licking and sucking his skin as I make my way to the root of him.

Taking him into my mouth, I suck and play at the small slit with the tip of my tongue until I coax several drops from him. Bitter here, slightly salty, it is still as much him as the sweet liquid of his mouth. I let his shaft slide from my mouth and move still further down.

I lick at his opening, the strong earthy taste of him encouraging me to stab my tongue into him. He writhes and pushes back. We continue this dance until his whimpers become desperate.

I move back up and swallow his shaft, taking it deep inside my mouth. The slit is leaking more of his bitter flavour and with that is the sweet taste of the fine sweat that covers the heated silk of his length. I suck and lick and swallow, savouring each nuance of flavour. The bitter fluid leaking from him becomes sharp, warning me and then my mouth is flooded with a taste that is a combination of every other flavour his body offers.

I lick until every drop is gone and then slowly trace my steps back to his mouth, finally leaving a last kiss between his brows, where I began.

March 11, 2001

Obi-Wan watched as the small blue fish swam from one end of the tank to the other. And back again. The tank was only a couple dozen centimetres wide and the fish was soon performing the same manoeuvre; its fins and tail flowing like silk caught in the wind.

"What else does it do?" he asked as he watched it make another pass back and forth.

"What do you mean?" asked Bant.

"Well, does it do tricks?"

"No."

"Does it talk to you?"

"No."

"Does it have restorative powers or something?"

"Of course not, Kenobi." Mon Calamari couldn't roll their eyes, but Obi-Wan could clearly hear the gesture in her voice.

"Does it act as a Force focuser?"

"No."

"Are you keeping it as a project for class?"

"No."

"They why do you keep it?"

"It's a pet."

"I don't get it."

"I like having it around."

"Why?" asked Obi-Wan, still trying to figure out the appeal.

"It's a companion."

"But you've just finished telling me it doesn't do anything but swim back and forth."

"It just is."

"Seems stupid."

"You're hopeless, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan shrugged and spared a final glance at the fish before going back to his studies.

March 12, 2001

His spine is a path along his back. I follow it with fingers and tongue, learning the way from his head, past his heart to his tail; the slightly protruding bone that begs to be sucked.

I do, unable to resist any plea from him -verbal or not.

March 19, 2001

Obi-Wan saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see his padawan shiver again. Anakin got up and padded over to the thermostat, ratcheting it up yet another degree.

"Padawan," he admonished the boy softly.

Anakin looked up guiltily. "I'm sorry, Master, I'm just so cold." The boy crossed his arms around his chest and shivered again as the wind wailed around the spire their quarters were located in.

"The wind might be noisy, but it can't penetrate these walls, Padawan. The cold is all in your head."

"The cold feels real enough, Master."

"You've turned the heating up high enough that I'm sweating."

"I'm sorry, Master," Anakin said in a soft whisper.

Obi-Wan frowned. "Sit down, Padawan."

Anakin scurried to obey him, sitting in a miserable heap on the couch next to him. Obi-Wan went over to the door and got his cloak from the hook next to it.

"When I was a padawan, we went on a number of missions to cold planets. Very cold planets like Hoth where it snows year round."

Anakin shivered again, but the misery on his face had been replaced by interest.

"I was so cold."

"What did you do?" asked Anakin.

"Well, my master-"

"Qui-Gon?"

"Yes, Master Qui-Gon gave me his cloak to wear." As Obi-Wan spoke, he put his own cloak around Anakin's shoulders. "He told me that as long as I wore his cloak, I would never be cold and he was right, I never was."

"Why?" asked Anakin, snuggling into the large folds of Obi-Wan's robe.

"I asked him the same question and he said it was because a master's cloak is a part of him and a master would never want his padawan to be cold. So anytime you're cold, you can have my cloak and that will make you warm again."

"Thank you, Master Obi-Wan."

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, I'm warm now," Anakin replied.

Obi-Wan smiled and tousled his padawan's short hair.

March 24, 2001

Obi-Wan lay on his bed, staring out the small porthole at the stars as they streaked by. If he let his eyes unfocus far enough, the white blurs ran together, coalescing and morphing into various shapes and colours, like the skies on Stetha Prime.

It had been one of his first missions. Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder was warm and heavy, waking him.

"Come, Padawan, I've something to show you."

He padded after his master, eyes blinking in the darkness. He shivered as they went out into the garden, but Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders and then pointed his chin upward.

Obi-Wan could distinctly remember that he'd gasped at the sight; swirls of liquid colour moved and shifted against the black sky, dancing about. He and Qui-Gon stood side by side and watched until dawn chased the lights away.

He'd never seen anything like it again.

Obi-Wan slowly let his eyes come back into focus, the colours and shapes beyond the porthole fading back into simple bright streaks.

"Ben? Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Luke," he reassured the boy. "We should be there soon, are you ready?"

March 25, 2001

I look at him out of the corner of my eyes. He's got his hood pulled on, but I can see his face. He doesn't cry but his face looks pretty sad. He's looking at the pyre.

I look back at it, too, but then I look away again. I can't believe Master Qui-Gon is dead. I didn't know him very long, but he was really nice and he freed me and I'm sad he's dead. And I'm scared.

I think Obi-Wan knew him for a long, long time, so he must be really sad. And even though he's a Jedi I think he's a little bit scared, too. I wonder if he wishes his mom was here, like I do.

March 26, 2001

"What's the matter, Obi-Wan?"

"It's Necklace -she's sick," replied Obi-Wan, holding the snake gently in both hands.

Qui-Gon made a nest out of his robe and squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder reassuringly. Obi-Wan laid his pet in the middle of the soft nest and stood anxiously at Qui-Gon's side. Putting his hands on the snake, Qui-Gon reached into the Force. He smiled as he realised what was "wrong" with Necklace.

"She isn't sick, Padawan, she's pregnant."

"Pregnant? As in going to have babies?"

"Yes, Padawan."

"Ew. That's disgusting!" exclaimed his padawan.

March 27, 2001

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon sleeping.

His master's face was quiet in sleep, lines and emotions rubbed smoothly away. He almost looked like an imperfect reproduction; the likeness was right, but without the soul exposed in blue eyes he seemed only a shell.

A perfect, cold shell.

Reaching out, Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon's face, feeling the warmth and life beneath his fingertip as he traced over one of his master's cheeks.

A sound rumbled indistinctly from Qui-Gon's chest and the big body shifted restlessly. Qui-Gon's brows drew together and his nose twitched.

Obi-Wan smiled as the illusion of lifelessness was shattered.

March 28, 2001

It is a quiet day. There aren't a lot of those, so I plan to enjoy it.

As I arrive at the gardens, I quickly hide behind a trellis -one of them are here. They're the reason for the cease-fire, so I suppose I should be happy, but Da is worried. When he found out they were coming he said that was it, there would be a settlement now, for good or bad. I think he's scared of them.

I peek through the climbing vines at this Jedi, almost giving away my position with an exclamation. He's young -probably about my age, though without the feathers who can know for sure? He's sitting quietly in the middle of the wild grass. His eyes are closed, his face tilted up to catch the sun.

He looks so peaceful I can't believe he knows anything of war and hatred and hopelessness and I have to wonder how such a person can be expected to find common ground between us and our enemies.

March 29, 2001

He looks up into my face as we make love. I watch his eyes as I slide into him, the colour of them becoming more deeply emerald the closer he comes to climax.

Our eyes remain locked together as I thrust in and out of his body; his gaze slowly becoming unfocussed until at last his lids drop, his body stiffens and then convulses.

My own orgasm shuts my eyes as well, but when I open them again he is there, staring at me. His eyes, now muted grey, share with me the pleasure in his soul.

March 30, 2001

"What?" asked Obi-Wan, convinced he'd misunderstood his master.

"I asked you to tell me the colour of the wind, Padawan."

"But I can't see the wind."

His master moved to stand behind him and put a hand over his heart, the long fingers warm against him.

"You aren't supposed to be looking with your eyes."

They stood quietly for some time.

"Blue?" Obi-Wan finally ventured.

"You aren't supposed to guess," Qui-Gon chided softly.

"I'm sorry, Master, I just can't see any colour."

"That's all right, Padawan." His master's hands squeezed his shoulders. "It's early days yet."

March 31, 2001

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged in the gardens, drifting in a light meditation. He could feel the breeze moving over his skin, tickling through his hair.

He tried to chase it, to capture it, but it proved elusive, evading his grasp. It would have helped if he could have seen it, but he couldn't. No matter what his master said.

Sighing, he opened his eyes.

"Well, Padawan?"

"Blue," he said, trying to sound certain.

"You're still guessing."

"Yes, Master."

The wind blew again, moving his braid against his neck. He closed his eyes and looked as hard as he could but the wind remained colourless to him.

End.