Master Apprentice Archive Dance Quick search:

Rating: NC-17

Archive: M-A, or ask me

Series: Stars

Categories: Q/O, PWP, AU, romance

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: Obi-Wan asks Qui-Gon to dance. Second in the "Stars" series of post-knighting PWPs.

Spoilers/Warnings: none

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

Notes: Another "commissioned" piece, this one for Sithdragn. Thus went the bunny: "But for some surreal reason yesterday, I had this vision of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan slow dancing in this nice but crowded little place, blending in like just another couple, but having a Moment. Qui-Gon didn't want to dance at first, but Obi-Wan didn't say a word, just extended his hand and gave The Look he knew Qui couldn't say No to. (pause) Qui-Gon wasn't a very good dancer, either. <g>"

Well. The only thing I didn't do was make the place little.

For Wednesday, for spawning the series, and for Kimdy, for this bunny and the beta.

/..../ thoughts.

It was a dark nightclub and the music was calm and relaxed. A huge scaffold structure graced the center of the very tall, domed building, shooting upward from the middle of what would have been a large dance floor in any case. On this scaffold was a set of tiers which made up three distinct dance floors. Couples and triads moved with easy sensuality. For some reason, the place was utterly at ease, almost as though the music precluded any tension, sexual or otherwise. There were tables scattered around the ground floor of the place, almost haphazardly, perhaps to allow for dancing between them.

It was far removed from the kind of place that Obi-Wan used to visit with his yearmates; there, any similarity ended with "dark." Those clubs pulsed and throbbed with lasers and pounding, jumping beats. The atmosphere of this one seemed to flow in an easy, contented manner, the music drifting around the room.

This planet was unique in that its primary socio-religious focus was music. The economy centered entirely on musical exports, schools of composition and instrument construction, and resort areas dedicated to music appreciation. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been sent as the liaison team to oversee the election of a new planetary theme group. The selected group would then affect the political climate of the entire world for the next six years.

At the completion of the voting and the gleeful announcement of the new theme group, the dignitaries in charge of the election had invited the two Jedi to celebrate the inauguration of the new representation. This involved long public ceremonies, the opening of new clubs and concert halls and a good deal of dancing.

There was only one problem: Qui-Gon did not dance. At all.

He had never learned. When he'd been young and idealistic and opinionated, he'd decided that dancing was not something a Jedi needed to learn to perform as a fully capable knight. He'd felt it somewhat beneath him, rather undignified, though he certainly held no such prejudice any more. Now that he was older and worldly and opinionated, he'd simply decided it was not something this Jedi needed to learn at this juncture in his life.

There was only one problem: Obi-Wan did dance. A lot.

The knight had sat as long as he could tolerate it, looking around at the swirling, dimly incandescent lighting and the dancers. He'd eaten, had one drink to be proper, and then began to move in his seat, rocking somewhat, wishing Qui-Gon didn't dislike the idea of dancing so much.

"Can you not stop wriggling, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, almost irritably, and Obi-Wan shot him a look. The master only reverted to that worthy title anymore when he was bothered, exhausted, or too ill to be coherent.

Leaning across the small, oval table, Obi-Wan placed a warm hand on his master's forearm, feeling the tension there, knowing very well what it meant but asking anyway. "What is it?"

Qui-Gon shook his head and rubbed at his temple. "Nothing, Obi-Wan. It is loud here, and I'm very tired."

"Perhaps you should go back to our quarters? I will make your apologies--"

"That would be most improper." Qui-Gon's terse tone brooked no further argument, and Obi-Wan retreated to his side of the table again, stung. When the Minister of Symphonies approached them to them to make platitudes and ask Obi-Wan to dance, the young knight went, masking his irritation under a wide, pleased smile.

Qui-Gon sighed, watching as the knight and the Minister moved to the second tier. He regretted snapping at Obi-Wan; there had been no call for that. He'd always known of Obi-Wan's penchant for dancing; he had also known that eventually he would have to learn. "Eventually" seemed to have arrived. The idea gave him a very unfamiliar sensation: nervousness.

For that reason, Qui-Gon was more than content to watch Obi-Wan dance with the Minister, whose name was a mathematical construct of musical notes, unpronounceable to the Jedi's tongues.

Obi-Wan was quite fluent in his movements. He'd been watching the dancing most of the evening and had picked it up relatively quickly. Qui-Gon could tell, though, that some of the motions required that Obi-Wan make rather intimate physical contact with the Minister: decidedly asexual in this culture, but it nevertheless made the young knight uncomfortable. He was unable to thoroughly lose himself in the dancing, and in fact began to shoot rather cautious looks down at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon began to return them. His understanding of this culture's ease with the humanoid body warred with his proprietary nature where Obi-Wan was concerned. Then, something twitched inside him, quite overwhelming the nervousness, but equally as unfamiliar: he was jealous.

He managed to rein it in-- Obi-Wan was an adult and Qui-Gon trusted him. At any rate, they would discuss this later and be done with it in the neutral territory of the transport home. That satisfied him, more or less, until the Minister grasped Obi-Wan's hips firmly and spun him away. Then he tugged Obi-Wan backward against him, thrusting his hips forward. If that wasn't a blatant sexual offering, Qui-Gon couldn't imagine what was.

His eyes widened and he stood, indignation and anger rising in him. Just as he was about to head up the scaffold and reclaim his lover from what appeared to be a very personal assault, Obi-Wan was politely extricating himself from the dance and moving down to the ground level.

Moving calmly and smoothly to their table with as much aplomb as befit his position, Obi-Wan nevertheless would not meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

"What," Qui-Gon asked, quite coolly, "was that?"

Obi-Wan fidgeted with his long tunic sleeves, then picked up his empty glass, glanced down into the bottom of it, and looked at the second tier. The Minister had, very swiftly it seemed, found another partner.

"It was nothing, Master," Obi-Wan said dryly, still looking at the dance tier. "Apparently a local custom of which we were unaware. I'll research more carefully the next time."

Qui-Gon deliberately leaned forward, catching Obi-Wan's peripheral vision. "Obi-Wan."

Turning to face him, Obi-Wan trained a very steady, very calm look on his master. "To him, it was nothing more than another dance step. To me, it was intensely uncomfortable. If you had danced with me--" Frustrated, Obi-Wan broke off and folded his arms over his chest, turning away again to stare at the first tier.

The apparent shift in Obi-Wan's focus startled Qui-Gon. "Obi-Wan, you know I can't dance."

Obi-Wan sighed, and Qui-Gon could almost feel him suppressing a roll of his eyes. "I know you won't dance." He caught the attention of a passing wait 'droid and held up his glass. The 'droid produced a second, identical drink and whisked the first glass away.

"That isn't like you," Qui-Gon said, nodding his head toward the second glass.

The knight stared back blandly. "We are going to be here until dawn, Master, as you have already pointed out that it would be 'improper' to leave. If I cannot dance," he took a sip, "then I'm going to drink." He set the tall glass on the tabletop and folded his hands demurely, his gaze still cool but challenging.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and his very unmasterly stubbornness rose to the surface. "All right then, Obi-Wan. You drink." He turned his chair away from the table slightly, faced the dance floors, and fell silent.

The two Jedi sat in strained quiet a while, and Obi-Wan groused mentally about the utter folly of involving himself with a Jedi this mulish. /And it isn't as though I didn't know better,/ he added darkly, taking a sip of the drink he didn't really want. /The Force knows I've seen this since I was thirteen./

Beginning to wish he'd ordered a drink as well, Qui-Gon stared at the dancers. This was ridiculous. He was a Jedi Master, well-trained in diplomacy on countless systems, learning more every day about how the Republic and its new additions worked. /I should know how to dance,/ he berated himself, and almost laughed. /I'm too old to not know how but too old to learn./

He turned his head slightly to look at his former padawan. The darkness obscured the younger man's irritation, softening his features. Occasionally, light would play over him briefly. Then Qui-Gon could see the way his hair slung forward into his eyes, or the way the light beard he'd grown on Astirla matured the shape of his face.

Qui-Gon sighed at himself. /I'm too old to be with someone so young without learning to change again./

Obi-Wan's mental complaints slowed and then stopped, losing themselves in the music and the fact that no matter what peevish bitching he did inside his head, he loved that stubborn Jedi next to him. It was true; they were in some ways incompatible, but it was never enough to merit losing what they had together, either as a liaison team or as lovers.

Obi-Wan had made his concessions; he'd given up his desire to help broken states regain their footing against militant oppressors. He'd let go of the battlefield, where he'd excelled, to be with Qui-Gon. It was as close to a bond as they'd managed yet, this attention to his master's duty. Still, he regretted nothing, and knew he never would.

But a bit of a trade would be nice. Just once. Just this.

Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon watching him, and against his own will he began to soften. But the young knight wasn't done yet. Obi-Wan waited a moment until the music slowed, the band acting out of respect for the lateness of the hour and the fact that the dancers really did intend to go until dawn. He rose then, meeting Qui-Gon's eye and extending his hand down to his master.

Qui-Gon gazed at his former apprentice, standing over him with that look that was a promise, an apology, and an offer all at once. Qui-Gon couldn't resist it; he had never been able to. He slid his hand into Obi-Wan's and stood, suppressing a wave of nerves. Obi-Wan wound his fingers through his master's, pulling him toward the first tier. He had not expected that his master would yield so easily, and his heart surged with love.

Obi-Wan chose an area carefully: not too open, so that Qui-Gon wouldn't feel exposed, but not very crowded, either.

"Follow me," he said quietly, placing his hands on Qui-Gon's hips to better guide him. It was an unusual dance, but no more difficult than any of the traditional Coruscanti steps that most Republic functions entailed. Carefully, he led Qui-Gon through the initial moves, then repeated them, his expression never changing when Qui-Gon's foot slid against his accidentally, or when he overstepped and connected with another dancer.

The master began to grow mildly frustrated. "Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon almost pleaded, but Obi-Wan tugged him close, wrapping his arms around the lean waist and exaggerating his movements.

"Just follow," he said, stretching a bit to brush his cheek against his master's. "Stop thinking."

There was little Qui-Gon could do but dance, then, molded as he was to Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan's movements were loose and fluid; slowly, Qui-Gon was able to relax into them. It took him a little while to stop feeling inexplicably silly. He was aware that there were hundreds of people dancing around him, but no one was paying him any attention; still, he was self-conscious. For the first time in his life, he found himself feeling almost inadequate: Obi-Wan was so supple in his steps that Qui-Gon wondered how he would ever match that grace.

The music developed a slow throb, different than it had been before, and it was something he felt better able to grasp. He began to move with more confidence, and Obi-Wan, pleased, wrapped his arms around his master's neck and smiled.

"That's nice," the knight said, and pressed himself more firmly against Qui-Gon's body.

"Mmm," was all Qui-Gon would reply, but it was nice. The music beat around them like a pulse and he could feel Obi-Wan's body from knee to neck. Suddenly Obi-Wan spun around, facing away from him in the way that he had from the Minister. But this-- this was altogether different, Qui-Gon realized. Obi-Wan reached up behind him and laced his fingers behind his master's neck, still pressed against him and moving in a decidedly different way.

Qui-Gon slid his hands down to Obi-Wan's thighs and then back to his waist, maintaining the dance easily now. Oh, he could see that it was entirely different when he was here with his lover: Obi-Wan danced with abandon now, not wildly like some were, and certainly his movements were not erratic or overly fast, but there was a sensual freedom to them that had been missing before.

Taking heart in this, Qui-Gon spun Obi-Wan back around to him and kissed him softly, enjoying the quickening of arousal between them. He had not realized before how much this meant to Obi-Wan, but he could see it plainly now, and he briefly cursed his own reluctance before releasing it and drawing his lover more closely to him. Obi-Wan was a fantastic dancer, and Qui-Gon felt, for the first time in his life, graceful and at ease with music.

Obi-Wan allowed a moan to escape him before he could catch it. Qui-Gon had caught on far more rapidly than either of them had expected.

The young knight would have been happy to lead him through steps all night, but here was Qui-Gon now, his own master, who constantly proclaimed his own lack of grace in the face of music, leading. And Qui-Gon was good. He'd begun, without realizing it, to take the initiative, turning them a bit around the floor, moving backwards, then pushing Obi-Wan back. Burying his arousal at this turn of events, Obi-Wan stopped leading.

Pressing his hand into the small of Obi-Wan's back and pinning them together, Qui-Gon spun briefly, then bent his head to tuck it into Obi-Wan's neck. Unable to help himself, the knight wound his arms around Qui-Gon and tipped his head back, grinding his hips forward. Qui-Gon responded by splaying his hand across his former padawan's lower back and pressing against him. Both erections made themselves plain in relief against each other, and Qui-Gon groaned softly, leading them into another spin.

"I can't go until sunrise like this," Obi-Wan warned breathlessly, and Qui-Gon immediately grasped the knight's slender hips and held him a small distance off. Obi-Wan put his hands on Qui-Gon's and kept dancing, thrilled, but what he wanted now...

He glanced around. What he wanted now was impossible; they were bound by cultural dictate to dance, or at least remain in attendance, until dawn. Dawn was hours away, and suddenly, somehow, they'd become the center of attention. Dancers had parted around them, clearing a hole in the middle of the crowd through which the two Jedi moved freely, wrapped around and through each other.

Qui-Gon's arousal, by the time they had met the bare minimum of political propriety, was painful. Obi-Wan's was damn near killing him.

No one who hadn't seen the dancing would have known that the two men were in a terrific state of sexual tension by the time they left the hall. They walked with serene calm to their assigned quarters, nodding and smiling and even, in one case, chatting to those who greeted them.

Calmly, Obi-Wan palmed the door open and the two men stepped inside, one behind the other.

Immediately Qui-Gon found himself pinned ruthlessly between the barely-closed door and a solid wall of Jedi Knight.

"I think you lied to me," Obi-Wan breathed, sinking his fingers into Qui-Gon's hair and kissing him fiercely, sliding his tongue against his master's and then sucking it into his mouth.

Qui-Gon broke the kiss and began fumbling with Obi-Wan's tunics, breathing hard. "Lied?"

Pushing his hands away, Obi-Wan undid them himself. "You've danced before. You had to have." He ground his hips forward and let his eyes slide closed as his erection contacted the rock-hardness in front of him.

"Never," Qui-Gon replied, latching onto Obi-Wan's throat as tunics were discarded. Obi-Wan continued to thrust his pelvis forward, lost in the friction of rough cloth between them. Unable to tolerate it any longer, he sank to his knees, tugging laces open and yanking leggings down.

Obi-Wan's mouth felt cool and wet over Qui-Gon's cock, and with a cry he buried himself, grateful in a voiceless, brainless way. Obi-Wan pushed the fingernails of one hand up Qui-Gon's thigh and then spread that hand around the taut, warm sack, thumbing it as he sucked and licked. His other hand found its way into his own leggings, tugging at his cock as he moaned raggedly around Qui-Gon.

Almost immediately, Qui-Gon was coming with a shout, his head thrown back against the door, one hand splayed tensely against it, the other buried in Obi-Wan's hair. Obi-Wan followed close behind him, his own half-scream sending shudders through his master.

Struggling against an impulse to sink to his knees, Qui-Gon bent and tugged Obi-Wan up to him by his shoulders.

The knight wavered only slightly, a well-done effort considering he'd only just experienced a screaming orgasm. He put his hands on his master's chest and kissed him, and Qui-Gon tasted himself and the fruity drink Obi-Wan had struggled through during the long hours till sunrise. Obi-Wan grinned against the kiss and ran his tongue over Qui-Gon's lips, then tipped his head back to look at his master.

"You can dance," the knight said quietly, smiling.

Qui-Gon smiled back; he couldn't help it. "Apparently I can," he whispered, and kissed his knight again.

The President of Notation and the Minister of Symphonies stepped forward from the small assembly that had gathered on the landing pad to wish the Jedi a safe return.

"You will forgive us," the President said, "for recording the most gorgeous display with which you presented Nasql Hall." Respectfully, he bowed and presented a holochip to the Master Jedi, who barely refrained from exchanging a concerned glance with his partner.

Quickly, the Minister stepped forward. "After our abortive dance," he told Obi-Wan, "I realized my error in pressing you into our traditional movements, which have sexual implications in your culture. When I witnessed you and your fellow Jedi dancing, I realized that I had overstepped my boundaries as a platonic acquaintance. However, I will say that you have given us new perspective on our own dances; you quite aroused several hundred spectators, and the distribution of the chip has gone unhindered; it will be around the planet, speaking of your passion for the dance, within hours."

Horrified, Obi-Wan froze his face into a mask of calm and bowed. "We are honored by your... attention to our... observance of your festivities," he said, suppressing a wince.

Qui-Gon bowed as well, but was spared the need to speak as the pilot made a final request for boarding. Giving the customary hand signal for a farewell, the two Jedi boarded and the ramp was closed.

Obi-Wan groaned, slumping against the hull of the ship. "They recorded it, Master. I am so sorry. I would never have dragged you out there if I had known."

Smiling, Qui-Gon uncurled Obi-Wan's fist with his fingers and took the chip, pocketing it.

"Do not concern yourself, Obi-Wan," he said. "We have made a good impression; perhaps even initiated cultural change for the better. The learning that will come from this experience is beyond measure."

As Qui-Gon turned and made his way to the back of the ship, Obi-Wan stared, following after him almost helplessly.

"Master, does it not bother you that we were recorded dancing quite erotically? Surely the Council will consider this beneath us-- undignified--"

Qui-Gon smiled and turned back to his former padawan as they reached their quarters for the trip home.

"I am not bothered," he said quietly, closing the door and pulling Obi-Wan to him. "You taught me something new. Together, we taught an entire culture something new. If it concerns you, I will request that all of the copies be recalled--"

Obi-Wan quickly shook his head. "No, Master, it isn't anything like that--" Qui-Gon suppressed a smile as he heard his own accent on his lover's words-- "I am simply stunned that they would do this."

The knight looked at his master sharply then, noticing something in those deep blue eyes that he'd never seen before. Apparently there lay a wealth of strange, new emotions in the eyes he'd known for so long, and all of them had begun to surface in the months since they'd become lovers.

"You enjoyed that so many people were watching," Obi-Wan observed softly, glancing at the pocket in which Qui-Gon had placed the chip.

"Yes."

Obi-Wan stepped closer. "And the Council?"

Qui-Gon shrugged and pulled his lover close to him. "We were observing a long-standing tradition in the way that felt most natural to us. Surely we cannot be faulted for that."

"Surely not," Obi-Wan breathed, and kissed his master, almost looking forward to the Consular dance that awaited them. His mentor was rebellious, and Obi-Wan couldn't have been happier with a less defiant mate.

End.