Master Apprentice Archive Stripes Quick search:

Rating: PG-13

Series: Stars (Stars, Dance, Rain)

Categories: Q/O, PWP, AU, romance, light kink

Archive: MA

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: The two Jedi are required to partake in a strange ritual.

Spoilers/Warnings: In spite of the rather flat and unoriginal summary line: Anthropomorphic animal representation, possession, and hallucinogens. Don't see *that* too often in a fic, do ya.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day. Notes: It's been a while since I did one of these, so to summarize, this is a series of post-knighting PWPs. There is no frame plot, so you can pick up right here without having missed anything. It's post-TPM and has nothing to do with AotC.

Credit for this series has and always will go to Wednesday, who spawned the first installment. Beta credits go to Cuimne, and thanks to Rahalia, who ran through it at the last minute for continuity because sometimes I can't just be happy and post. Credit to Ruth, for helping spawn the line, "Meditation is just Jedi for pouting."

/.... / Denotes thoughts.

At first, Obi-Wan thought it was interesting to have his body adorned this way; perhaps even a little... exciting. Then they'd brought the wine in: it was an intriguing, deep purple stuff, startlingly clear and effervescent. By the time Qui-Gon actually began, Obi-Wan was well tipsy: everything was interesting and exciting.

The ritual was not particularly complex; certainly less so than the preparations would be. Obi-Wan was to be painted to represent a common herbivore; then, as the ritual went, he was supposed to be given a vision from the people's god of prosperity. Qui-Gon's part in the ritual, to represent the carnivorous counterpart of Obi-Wan's plains dweller, was much simpler, much briefer. All in all, it was supposed to be easy. Obi-Wan had his doubts.

"Don't we usually get into a lot of trouble during these vague rituals involving intoxicants?" he'd leaned over and murmured, but Qui-Gon could only shush him softly and continue to listen to the Queen.

Qui-Gon thought briefly that he should have been a bit less demanding that the Queen's attendants neither paint nor touch Obi-Wan in this state. Glancing at his former apprentice's drink-clouded eyes, Qui-Gon changed his mind back instantly, and that happened amid a wash of uncontrollable possessiveness. Absolutely under no circumstances was he going to allow any traditional preparers access to his inebriated and very naked lover. At the end of the discussion on how to properly ready Obi-Wan and himself for the ritual--and the admonishment that it would likely take him all night alone--he had brought all of the articles for the preparation into their quarters and readied himself to do every bit of it.

The shaving (/Obi-Wan's lovely beard,/ Qui-Gon lamented silently) had taken the better part of two hours, with Obi-Wan squirming and giggling as the wine set in. All of it had to go--everything but that on his head. The hair on his arms, chest, and legs had slowly come off under Qui-Gon's careful hand. It took a good deal longer than three attendants might have required, to be sure, but it was well worth the time to avoid strangers touching Obi-Wan's skin so. More than once, the Jedi Master found himself quite glad he'd stood against the Queen's rigidity: in his increasingly drunken state, Obi-Wan spent a good deal of the time hard.

"Hold still, Obi-Wan," he commanded gently, gripping the knight's wrist for emphasis. Obi-Wan had hit another giggly phase; he was murmuring something about the word counts of hyperspace treatises being directly proportional to the number of stars viewed through the port at the time of reentry into an atmosphere... Qui-Gon wasn't following it at all. He was sure Obi-Wan wasn't, either. At least the erection went down for a moment.

Qui-Gon wielded the brush expertly; the problem was that it was stiff enough not to drip but soft enough to tickle. Obi-Wan belted out a laugh and jerked his arm, causing his master to trail a long line of white paint in entirely the wrong direction.

"Obi-Wan," the master sighed, closing his eyes and reaching for his patience. "I understand that they instructed you to drink all of the wine. I also understand that you shouldn't hypermetabolize it. But if you could just... please... try to be still? Meditate, if you must."

Chuckling, the knight gazed up at his master through glassy eyes. "Don't you realize," he giggled, "Meditation is just Jedi for pouting." He considered that a moment, then went serious and contemplative. "Or... denial...."

Frowning, Qui-Gon resumed his work, beginning by wiping away the long streak he'd misplaced. "You don't honestly believe that. Force, I wish they hadn't required so much wine be consumed."

Obi-Wan stretched languidly, then burst into a flurry of laughter again. "I don't mind. Just wish they hadn't--ooh, nice paintbrush, go lower--" He arched suddenly, trying to get more of the small tickling sensation on his throat, and caused Qui-Gon to slip again. This time it was a black streak, running down the column of Obi-Wan's neck. The animal that Obi-Wan was meant to be mimicking did not have vertical stripes.

There was no help for it; Qui-Gon had to induce sleep.

"I'm sorry, my own," he murmured, covering Obi-Wan's eyes with his large hand and applying the compulsion carefully. Obi-Wan finally relaxed and stopped squirming. Sighing, the master muttered to himself, "Thank the Force for little favors."

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon continued painting, brushing a narrow black band that descended somewhat, from the bone at his shoulder to just under the arm at the opposite side. He painted over Obi-Wan's collarbone, and couldn't help but pause to study the contours of bone and muscle under smooth skin. Obi-Wan wasn't particularly pale, but he did not cultivate a dark complexion, either, as some did. His skin was flawless, if not perfectly even--Qui-Gon did not count the occasional mole as flaws, nor did he count the scars. Both men understood that scars were as much an ingrained trait for a Jedi as birth marks.

He would have thought the work was painstaking, but what could possibly be painstaking about painting dryland animal stripes on a naked, sleeping Obi-Wan? It was, however, very slow work. He stopped more than once for tea, and more than once simply to admire his handiwork on the well-loved body. The slender stripes, no wider than Obi-Wan's fingers, flowed over his skin and accentuated the relaxed lines of muscle, latent with strength and agility.

After a long while, Qui-Gon had finished his lover's front, then had to fan Obi-Wan briefly to facilitate the last of the drying so that he could be turned over. It seemed somewhat decadent to be doing that, generating a breeze for his sleeping, striped lover. He tried not to concern himself with how Obi-Wan was going to feel about all of this after the wine wore off.

Gazing at his former apprentice lovingly, Qui-Gon smiled to himself again. Obi-Wan would recover from the strangeness of being shaved and painted; worse things had happened to him in the course of his knighthood, to be sure. But for the moment, at least, Qui-Gon was glad to simply savor the presence of the man who held his soul.

He knew what the ritual would entail, roughly: the totem predator Qui-Gon represented would interact with Obi-Wan's striped beast, and that would determine the course of the people's next year. Suppressing a momentary concern at what kind of interaction might follow, Qui-Gon took another moment to watch Obi-Wan's repose before the master gently turned him over. There wasn't much time left, and Qui-Gon knew his penchant for daydreaming over Obi-Wan's skin would not ease during the painting of his backside.

Obi-Wan woke with a snap, sitting up and then staring down at himself as the light covering slid away from his body. Qui-Gon had done an amazing job of painting Obi-Wan to look like the plains creature he was representing. Glancing around, and then stretching out his senses, he realized Qui-Gon was nowhere about. Neither, he saw, was the room he'd been in: he'd been moved to the ritual chamber within the temple. All around him was darkness, but for the small portal above him that admitted the moonlight.

"You are awake," a sweet, low female voice murmured from the darkness near him. The tall, graceful woman, adorned in swaths of sheer, brightly-colored fabric came from nowhere and presented him with a small bowl, cupped in her two hands. "Drink, and begin the Viewing."

Obi-Wan drank unquestioningly; for all his reservations, he was beholden by his position as a Jedi and a Force-user to complete this ceremony. This wine was different: it was clear, a shade of liquid not unlike the blue of his master's eyes. /I am drinking of Qui-Gon's eyes,/ he thought a little muzzily, and it dawned on him that the wine was taking effect much more quickly than the other had.

He finished the wine and set the bowl back into the woman's hands. Tilting his head and staring at her, he saw that she was quite beautiful. It took him a long moment to realize this was the Queen herself, nearly unrecognizable without the heavily symbolic weight of her headdresses and robes. The high, slanted cheekbones, dark skin and pale eyes that he'd hardly noticed made him realize he had scarcely looked at her in her chambers the day before. Unaccountably, he realized he wanted to touch her skin, so he did. She smiled.

"It begins. Look at yourself, w'lika." The name of the animal Obi-Wan represented rolled from her lips musically as she held a mirror up to him. He was striped from forehead to toes--Qui-Gon had painted his face as well--and even his hair had been colored to match the black in the animal's pelt. Curiously, he lifted the sheet and glanced under it--the only thing on his body other than paint was a narrow, pleated cloth, striped as he was, barely enough to allow him his modesty in front of the Queen and her entire Council.

Withdrawing, the Queen took the mirror away and pulled back into the shadows. "W'lika awakens," she said, her voice ringing clearly against the temple's stone walls. "Bring the mas'yi."

Obi-Wan heard a heavy stone door slide open, then closed. He looked in the direction of the sound and was faintly surprised to see Qui-Gon moving toward him.

The mas'yi Qui-Gon appeared as was great and broad, robed in a heavy, pale fur. His face was changing; the whiskers were moving, the nose was broadening--Obi-Wan blinked and shook his head. No, it was only Qui-Gon, stalking toward him--wasn't it? Slowly, slowly, this creature who was Qui-Gon and yet wasn't descended into a crouch until his hands were on his knees and he was slinking across the floor. When he spoke, it was with a growl, and the transformation was nearly complete.

"Do you fear me, w'lika?"

W'lika's eyes widened as the mas'yi's mane grew shaggy. Shaking his head, tossing it, the mas'yi stopped in his approach, awaiting his answer.

Sliding from the pedestal on which he sat, w'lika dropped into a crouch before the mas'yi. "I do not," he said simply. "You are a simple beast as I am. We dwell together, as was written ages past. You will eat me, or you will not. I fear nothing."

The mas'yi shook his head again and moved close, resting on his forepaws and nuzzling w'lika's throat. "You are close to your own death," he warned, baring his teeth. "Show me your fear."

W'lika twisted away, then gripped the mas'yi's mane, tossing him to the ground and landing on him lightly. He bent his own head to the mas'yi's throat and licked. "There is no fear; there is understanding."

The familiar words rang through Obi-Wan's remaining consciousness. He snapped back to himself, staring down at Qui-Gon, who had not changed at all but was only robed in the pelt of the mas'yi. Shaking his head, Obi-Wan straightened and moved off of his master's body, standing, then extending a hand to assist Qui-Gon to his feet.

Where had those words come from? Obi-Wan could only think he truly had been possessed by the totem's spirit. Still clasping Qui-Gon's hand, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be drawn close and tucked within the huge folds of the animal robe. When he looked up at his master, he could still see the glint of possessive certainty there, as though the mas'yi still lurked behind Qui-Gon's eyes.

Or perhaps that was Qui-Gon.

"It ends," the Queen's voice echoed through the chamber once more. She snapped her fingers and several portals were dragged open, revealing the night sky on all sides and illuminating the temple with sharp, clear starlight.

Approaching the Jedi on silent feet, the Queen smiled. "Your love is strong," she observed, bowing her head to them. "You bless us. Ritual w'lika stands tall for ages, but he has not mated with the mas'yi in centuries. It will be a good Sun for us."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan could do little more than bow their heads in acknowlegment.

Obi-Wan squirmed. It was good to have the paint off, good to be in his own standard-issue Jedi uniform. Soft and worn though his old clothes were, he still itched terribly.

"An allergic reaction to the paint?" Qui-Gon asked, somewhat concerned, setting the cruiser for hyperspace.

"Never that," the former padawan snorted. "You shaved everything. Everything. For a ten-minute ritual I... somehow barely remember." He shook his head, shifting in his seat. Qui-Gon seemed to have no problems with the way the ritual played out; he only tilted his head toward his former padawan and cast him a look.

Obi-Wan sighed and raised his hand apologetically. "I am not denigrating the custom, Master. I know it is sacred to them and I... I do feel they will have a good Sun, don't you?" He stared out into space as Qui-Gon engaged the hyperdrive: a moment of promise--home, or adventure, as the case may be--as the stars flickered and then caught, streaked and painted by sheer speed. Obi-Wan finished a little incredulously, "I think the Council did that on purpose--sent us where there would be all of that preparation just so I could lick your neck and symbolically fall in love with you."

Qui-Gon reached over and cupped Obi-Wan's cheek affectionately, smiling. "Obi-Wan, I would go to a thousand star systems and deal with any amount of overpreparation for you to lick my neck and symbolically fall in love with me."

Grinning in spite of himself and tucking his face into Qui-Gon's palm, Obi-Wan nodded somewhat sheepishly, scratching at his newly-growing beard.

End