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Still As Green

by Tem-ve H'syan (tem-ve@gmx.de)

The young man had not spoken much during the entire journey. In fact, he had not moved much either, oscillating about twice a day between the small porthole in the passengers' mess, where he would stand motionless for hours gazing at the pitch black sky with its pin-pricks of coloured light, and the large, once-comfortable sofa at the other end of the room, where he was now seated quietly as if in meditation, eyes resting on the slender fingers of his left hand as they idly traced the elaborate knot in his belt.

The belt matched his eyes, a dull muted green, and kept his gentle but restless hands occupied. All of fifteen strands of brushed leather threaded around his waist, woven together at the front in an intricate pattern that was supposed to symbolise perfection.

He felt mildly ridiculous in this garb. Compared to the crew and the three other passengers he looked like a gaudy bird of paradise in his knee-length wine-red tunic, split to the waist at the sides, showing off rather tight leggings of a slightly darker red that disappeared inside soft black boots held together by the same dull green leather thongs that made up his belt. His long hair was braided into a thick auburn rope tied into a knot at the top of his head with more green leather, giving him the appearance of a rather outlandish prince.

It was not the outfit that gave him trouble - he had worn more outrageous clothes in his young life, and had never been less than happy with how sensuous and beautiful they had make him feel. It was the fact that he was the only one here dressed like this.

He had just turned 17 two tens ago, marking the completion of his apprenticeship at the Long House of Derv, the place he had called his home for as long as he could remember. He played with the threads of his belt, recalling his improvised family, and the pride with which they had sent him here, on his lifetime mission. He had but a hazy idea of where he was going, and caught himself longing to return to Derv, to stay with the Long House like his Masters had done, like Keee, Bedryn and Fe-Sadarath had done, all of them children of the Long House themselves, brought there as orphans or unwanted offspring, and taken into the small warm haven that the Long House provided.

There had never been very many of them in the House, never enough for him to lose track of new arrivals, never enough to actually fill all the chambers branching off from the one main corridor that ran to a tenth of a mile, giving the building its name. To this day, after almost 17 years of living with the House community and sharing their lives and thoughts, he had no idea how one was chosen as an apprentice, or if indeed there were any tests that applied. All he ever remembered was the joyful and serene face of one of the Masters as they presented another mewling baby or wide-eyed child to the assembled community, announcing their name and welcoming them with gentle words and touches.

They had done that with him too. They must have, for he had arrived at the Long House nameless, a small fearful bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. It had been Fe-Sadarath's idea, or so she had told him with a smile one night, to name him Obi-Wan, a name she remembered from a man she had met a long time ago, or maybe a character from a story that a man had told her a long time ago. She had chosen the name for its colour, and Obi-Wan had grown into it, lithe young body mimicking the off-white upward curve of the first syllable, and gentle lively spirit mirroring the round, pale orange valley of the second.

She had taught him everything she knew, as had Keee and Bedryn. As, indeed, had all the other apprentices, giving and receiving in equal measure. The arts of the Long House were not necessarily handed down from senior to junior, and every now and then a young apprentice would outshine the perfected grace of the older House alumni.

Obi-Wan was one such bright light, if his friends and Masters were to be believed.

Which was why he was here now.

It has been said that even the least, even the ugliest of the Long House adepts were capable of driving any sentient life form to ecstasy, making their bodies burst with pleasure and their senses melt into a thick swirling mass of pure joy. To this end, the Long House apprentices were instructed in the arts of the beautiful, ranging from classical kyo-mai dance and all manners of song to the design and making of costumes and clothes, from the subtle art of ceremonial and everyday make-up to perfumery and cooking. They studied languages and literature, delighted in writing stories and plays and poems for each other, perfected the techniques of backrubs and massage and last but certainly not least, fine-honed their sexual skills in long playful sessions on the beds, tables, floors and in the baths of the Long House.

To Obi-Wan, this last extension of his training had come as an eagerly anticipated gift, and he cherished the day he had woken up with the first wet spot on his sheets and had been deemed ready to begin learning that particular art as well. He had jumped into it headfirst, instinctively lapping up the lessons and experiences gained from what in retrospect felt like one month-long orgy to him. He had revelled in being able to give all three of his Masters the pleasures that their species most desired (at one point simultaneously, resulting in his being bed-ridden for the next three days, visited by a continuous stream of amused and curious friends), and had ridden the waves of pleasure generated from sensuous play with his age-mates of both sexes.

Obi-Wan was writhing delightedly on the soft carpeting, reddish-blond hair slowly but surely weaving itself into the lush grey pile, long slender legs kicking at thin air, narrowly missing the shoulders of a short stocky boy with feathery yellow hair and an angelic grin wrapped around Obi-Wan's straining red cock, his long flexible yellow nails teasing the soft skin of the older boy's armpits and sending gibbering moans spilling over those sweet pink lips everyone adored...

"Oh Gods, stop... Ür, Üüüüüür... too much, aaah... yes... no, no. Ür, please, pleasepleaseplease stop!"

Chasing and catching his breath, Obi-Wan cupped the boy's face in his hands and lifted his gaze from where it had been locked on to Obi-Wan's delicious throbbing hardness. "That was bloody good, Ür. Just felt a bit too... white for my taste. Try a little darker, you know, the red of fresh blood maybe. Or melted chocolate."

The younger boy raised his eyebrows, then smiled. Obi-Wan was relieved, and within seconds he was back on the floor, reduced to a squirming moaning animal.

He had been everybody's darling at the Long House, revered by the young ones, desired by the pubescents and befriended by the Masters, who saw his off-kilter comments for what they were: evidence that his senses were melted in their natural state, vision bleeding into sound, scent inextricably bound to touch, in everything he did, not just in the throes of orgasm where every sentient being was capable of seeing the stars a scream produced, and tasting the red of desire.

Obi-Wan had never known it any other way, and when asked exactly why he thought Master Keee's metallophone sounded like orange coins falling behind his closed eyelids, or why second-day was lime green, he only shrugged his shoulders and said they were. Still, he found this made him capable of a sensual empathy few Long House adepts ever reached, and to his great delight he found himself able to pass this talent of his on to some of the others, getting their senses to talk to each other, as he put it. Sometimes he could see the threads of his partners' minds looping into new sensations, taste their elation or disappointment long before they'd come into the room. It didn't work equally well with everyone, but there were some, specifically Master Fe-Sadarath and Ür, who had quickly become his best friend, with whom he could almost communicate in images, blurred pale mental pictures of real sensations.

Ür had been in tears when Obi-Wan set out on his journey in the dingy rented ship that touched down on Derv every few orbitals, and Master Fe-Sadarath had exuded a shroud of mental blue, deep greyish blue, the colour of his own mind at that moment.

He had had to change transport at the spaceport on Medath-Ger, alien territory to him. He had been a little puzzled at first at the stares he attracted, and felt compelled to seek out a mirror where he stood for a good twenty minutes, willing himself to calm and serenity, watching his frown-clouded eyes turning back to their usual placid pale green. He had looked clean, empty almost, a perfectly formed vessel ready to take in new sensations and deal them out in equal measure to those who would be his new hosts.

Wandering back through the spaceport, he had found himself once again able to pick up the stares of the lingering pilots, mechanics and passengers without even looking at them. He had caught the odd wave of lust, occasionally laced with a violence that vaguely disturbed Obi-Wan, seeing as it was so much sharper and less balanced than the wonderful rare dark red rages of the Long House, the rapturous screams of his own Master as he came underneath him, wrists bleeding from the bonds, skin covered in deep pink scratches and bites, giving himself up in savage surrender...

Obi-Wan blinked away the memory. Here, aboard the line transport to the Galactic centre, people had got used to him, often not even sparing him a second glance as he sat on the sofa in his bright red and green clothing, projecting a cool greyish earth tone of an aura. Blank.

He knew next to nothing about his new position, apart from the coordinates, and what his Masters had told him during those last two tens, in hushed tones of awe. The place he was going to was a lifetime assignment, and a coveted one too. Which did not mean he was not free to leave it, should he feel the urge to. He would then simply be replaced by another Long House delegate, just as he was on his way to replace a recently-deceased alumna of the House who had resided in that Temple for over three decades.

All he had to fall back on were a few textbook texts, his Masters' quiet but dim assurances, and the rumours he had picked up on his journey. The place he was going to, the Temple, was shrouded in mystery, as was the order that ran it, an order he had no real grasp of. The Jedi.

From what he could tell from his Masters' faces, the Jedi did not know much about the Long House either, or at least did not publicly associate with it. Still, they had invited him to take over the vacant position, to do what he could as a Long House adept - to learn and teach, and bring balance and bliss to the senses.

Obi-Wan sipped the mild, slightly acidic tea that appeared to be the staple of the Temple. It tasted green, a dancing yellowish green that completely belied the thin liquid's brownish-red colour and tickled his taste buds as well as satisfying his thirst. He shifted in his chair, drew his knees up to wedge against the tabletop, and breathed out, slowly, letting the tang of the hot tea flare up on the inside of his lips, aware of how it receded into the calm of a breath let go.

He had despaired of ever being able to calm himself again this morning, when he had finally set foot on what passed for a surface on Coruscant, the planetary homebase of the Jedi order, his destination.

At least he assumed the planet had a surface - he could still not be certain of it, but had willed himself to letting it go after the sense-crushing vertigo of peering over the edge of the landing platform. Gasping depth, loud and corrosive lines jutting up out of something that was so utterly buried under a thick angular mess of steel, light and movement that it might as well not exist. Looking upwards, the structured mesh of towers, antennas and knife-sharp outlines seemed to cut the twilit sky into jutted sections, stretching away to either horizon in a splintered jigsaw of not-here.

Obi-Wan shuddered at the memory, and even now, after almost a day on planet, had no wish to head out there again. The place had seemed... blank. Both as in 'empty' and 'blade-like', it had cut him to the heart, planting a subdued screaming sound in his ears and a dirty metallic flavour at the back of his tongue. No, it was not an inhospitable planet - the high civilisation was evident even to him as an alien visitor, and all the beings he had come across on his way from the spaceport to his final destination had been either friendly or indifferent, and universally well-informed. He would be able to survive here without any trouble.

What he had doubted he'd be able to do was live here.

The Temple itself had come as a mighty relief to Obi-Wan - the forbidding mile-high concrete and steel structure had fair vibrated with a warm hum of life that he had sensed a few minutes away already, on his way in on one of the planet's garishly-coloured hovertaxis. After much bickering, the pilot had relieved him of most of his collection of precious metals he had brought as spare currency, and zoomed off, leaving Obi-Wan to follow his sense of direction, and the gentle tug of rightness emanating from the building.

After half a day inside, Obi-Wan felt safe to state it was the size of a small town, and it had taken him a while to find an entrance where he would not simply be regarded with a questioning smile and a pair of raised eyebrows, but found an actual receptionist with a data terminal interested in his name and status. Within minutes, he had been swept up by a diminutive grey-haired female of uncertain humanoid species and ushered into what would be his quarters for the rest of his life, should he so wish. Of course the little old lady in the brown robe offered to arrange for different accommodation should he feel the need, there would certainly be something more suitable available eventually, but meanwhile he would be lodging in his predecessor's quarters, all newly redecorated of course...

Obi-Wan tuned her busy chattering out pretty much the moment he'd set foot in his new rooms. There was... there was a view, a view from a high window that reached almost down to the floor, a view that sang of possibilities, of growth, of ground and home. He pressed his body against the glass, full-length, and absorbed the gentleness of what was behind, stretching his senses out to what lay beyond, level with his feet. Ground.

This was ground, in the thick brownish-red sense of the word. Solid, scented, verdant ground covered in messy plant life with a few paths cutting through that looked like they'd been carved out of the growth with a machete. High broad-bladed bluish grasses covered every inch of bare earth, clinging to the stems of the larger plants. Spindly vines with oily red flowers twined around gnarled bushes in a stranglehold that was as threatening to the host plants as it was exhilarating to Obi-Wan.

A small gasp clouded the glass in front of his face, and Obi-Wan noticed too late that the brown-robed woman had fallen silent, apparently awaiting a reaction. Flushed with embarrassment and joy, he turned away from the window, only to find his guide's lined face grinning at him. "I thought you would like these quarters," she murmured, winking a pale grey eye at him, "Master Kig's garden is a beautiful sight to those attuned to the Living Force. As are you, dear boy, as are you."

He decided to pass on the last cryptic comment and make sure he had heard correctly. "Uh, it's... it's a Master's garden? Do you think he'd let me in there, occasionally? Just to... just to be..."

The old woman laughed, a sound like thin silk-paper. "Master Kig joined the Force centuries ago, dear boy. He was the one who originally planted this particular garden, and it is said the very messiness of it was part of his concept. Feel free to wander around at any time, boy..." - "Obi-Wan," he'd replied absent-mindedly as the woman flicked some control switch set in the wall, and the long window slid aside to let him out, and to let the garden in.

He'd fed his parched senses on the lushness of Master Kig's garden for what seemed like hours to him - but the chronometer on the bare cream-coloured wall of his new quarters made it all of thirty standard minutes. The brown-robed woman had gone, leaving his bags on the table along with a datapad that took him a few minutes to figure out how to operate. Eventually, he managed to access it, and found it to contain a friendly note from her (signed 'Pitr, Knight Refengi'), welcoming him to his new home and advising him to settle in and wander around freely, as the High Council wouldn't formally induce him into his new office until the next day. He would be contacted by a messenger. The datapad also contained a veritable library of useful information such as how to operate the door lock, where to requisition additional furniture, where to find what kind of food etcetera. It closed on the encouraging note that any Jedi in the Temple would be happy to assist the newcomer with any questions and problems he should have.

With a long relieved sigh, Obi-Wan decided he had no immediate problems that were worth pestering a Jedi about, and set out to find food.

He had come to appreciate the quiet corner of the Temple refectory he had ended up in, and reckoned he'd been sitting here for well over half the day already, refuelling his body with the occasional cup of green-tasting tea and filling his parched senses with the strangeness of it all.

The gentle hum he had sensed from outside the building had intensified massively once inside, and emanated mostly from the thousands of life forms constantly populating the Temple. He sensed a purposeful bubbling beneath the surface, the quiet but quick activity of thousands of highly trained minds in conversation, study, argument, concentration. Over this hubbub of currents, voices and gesturing hands spread a warmth and rich ease that appeared to belong to nobody in particular, just hanging in the air like an immaterial caress.

He had sat quietly for the first few hours, just taking in the surroundings, the bustle of hungry and well-fed life forms wandering in and out of the refectory alone or in small groups. To say that the Jedi came in all shapes and sizes would have been a gross understatement, and even though Obi-Wan had grown up among members of various humanoid species at the Long House, he found himself dumbstruck at the variety of creatures living in apparent harmony here.

They all appeared to speak assorted variations of the same language for a start, and wore variations of the same clothing, though he wasn't entirely certain of this little theory any more when a small group of Jedi settled down at the table next to them. One, a tall humanoid male with long black hair and a crown of pale ivory horns on his head, bobbed a friendly smile to him, then proceeded to shrug out of his enveloping brown robe and stretch luxuriously, exposing a greyish floor-length tunic belted with a wide sash and a thin strap of leather. He slumped down on his chair with an audible sigh of pleasure and tucked into his lunch almost immediately, chewing delightedly and not entirely soundlessly.

Suddenly and without any apparent reason, the horned man burst into laughter, dropped his fork and made as if to give his table-mate a clip round his substantial round ear. "Hutt yourself, Padawan! Honestly, won't you grant me even the small pleasure of eating my lunch with the appreciation it deserves?" A few seconds of silence, then the horned Jedi gave a snort of amusement and resumed eating, occasionally shooting wicked glances at the large-eared creature opposite. They were communicating, that much was obvious from their faces, and the faint scent of agitation about them, but it was just as obvious that they were not using their voices for it. Shame, Obi-Wan thought, the tall fellow with the horns had a pleasant voice, and a warm rolling accent.

What had Obi-Wan mystified for a while was the third plate on the table, evidently unattended to as the chair behind it appeared empty. However, when the tall horned man and the being he had addressed as Padawan put down their forks he was amazed to see that the third dish had also been cleared, and he was prepared to believe in magic when Padawan turned to face the empty chair and asked the thin air there, "So, Hii, care for a sparring match later this afternoon? I've got some excess energy to burn off around ninth hour..."

To Obi-Wan's amazement, the empty chair spoke, a mouth forming in the air. Pale like a ring of smoke at first, the insubstantial mouth split open in a grin and answered in a raspy, high-pitched voice, "If you promise you'll lay off the mathematics before that. You know I can't stand your 'sabre style when you've overdosed on that useless eight-dimensional stuff..."

The words left the mouth like puffs of smoke, congealing around the speaker like a yellowish haze. There was no definite shape to the creature that formed itself from its own words, but it ostensibly made an effort at blending into the general colour scheme by shifting between a mild range of earth tones, much like the robes its two colleagues were wearing.

Obi-Wan was still gaping by the time the three had left, the tall man flinging his long robe over his shoulder, the large-eared one straightening his short tunic and scratching his slender calf just above an impressive leather boot and tucking a long thin braid of hair behind his ear, and the cloud-being nudging its chair back under the table without any apparent effort.

These Jedi looked every bit as odd as they were said to be, Obi-Wan thought. True, there were normal ones as well, small groups of young children behaving like all humanoid children did, large and ugly but friendly hairy creatures like he had seen at both spaceports, bald old men deep in conversation with thin females young enough to be their granddaughters, everyone moving along his or her or its little path, meeting, parting, arguing and making up, opening and closing like a mobile garden of exotic plants. Everybody wore their own version of the earth-toned robes, everybody wore their own version of functioning biology, united by a loose colour scheme and a background hum of understanding, of dedication to a common goal.

He noticed a few things that reminded him of the Long House. Like at home, there were Masters and apprentices here, though generally he found that one Master would have only one apprentice whom they would pretty much keep with them at all times. From a certain age, the apprentices would mark their status by growing the long thin braid he had observed on the one called Padawan, but this seemed by no means to be compulsory, and in some species' cases, fairly impossible.

To his great surprise, Jedi behaved pretty much like normal life forms, at least in the refectory. He watched friends greeting each other noisily across several tables, children complaining about the food, Masters engaged in complicated philosophical arguments while their apprentices looked bored. There even was a brief food fight at a table occupied by young braided apprentices, though that died down quickly following a stern look from a bald dark-skinned man at the neighbouring table who had been the inadvertent target of a small blob of mashed vegetable.

Of course he had not been alone at his table all afternoon, and Obi-Wan had been far too polite, and too curious, to avoid conversation with the odd Jedi who would seat themselves on the chair opposite.

Word had begun to spread rather quickly about the nature of the new arrival, and soon Obi-Wan picked up the occasional interested gaze from the adult members of the Jedi order. A group of young braid-bearers had shot him shy glances, whispering and giggling amongst themselves, and two imposing Iridonian females in loose cream-coloured trousers and tight tops under their robes had regarded him with unabashed and mildly awed heat, warming him with their distant presence.

Obi-Wan drank up his tea and sighed gently. Yes, the new Long House boy had well and truly arrived.

The door to Obi-Wan's quarters chimed quietly, then a little more insistently. Stretching with a groan, Obi-Wan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked at the window where a pale brownish dawn was just beginning to colour the sky. It was too early.

It was definitely too early to remember how to remote-operate the door controls, and so Obi-Wan padded towards the entrance himself, yawning. It was just too early.

It was very nearly too early for him to realise he was naked, and that this was most likely not a state fit to face a Jedi in. He hurriedly snatched the nearest covering garment he could lay his hands on and slipped it on. His bathrobe, still crumpled from being transported halfway across the galaxy in his small hold-all. He sighed. With a bit of luck it would give him a fetching decadent appearance... though he doubted that was what a Jedi would appreciate. But then, maybe it wasn't a Jedi outside. Maybe it was room service... putting on a smile that he hoped would outshine his dishevelled appearance, Obi-Wan opened the door.

It was a Jedi.

A tall slender creature with long-fingered dark hands matching the colour of her robe. She was holding something in her hands, but Obi-Wan rightly decided it was more polite to stare into the stranger's face first, a long even face with a small smiling mouth and mottled skin, uneven blobs and swirls of brown that seemed to be changing as he watched, at least on her cheeks, while the top half of the Jedi's face remained a glossy ebony black. In her eyes, he saw reflections of a shaggy-haired sleep-softened young Obi-Wan. His smile had dissolved into a soft pink 'o'.

There were three reflections. Three eyes.

Obi-Wan tried his best to will himself to neutral politeness, blinking. "Umm.. come on in...uh..."

"M'tvi. Padawan M'tvi Fefestram. You are Obi-Wan...," she shot a shy glance at the datapad in her hand, "Obi-Wan Konbi?"

"Kenobi," he automatically corrected before smiling apologetically and drawing up his shoulders in that universal gesture of embarrassed endearment. "Doesn't matter - I've been just Obi-Wan for the best part of my life, and I'd be honoured if you'd call me by my given name too, M'tvi Padawan..."

The girl grinned, exposing a deep gold tongue. The way the various shades of dirt and chocolate played over her cheeks made Obi-Wan think this was her species' equivalent of a blush. Her voice was as golden-toned as her tongue, and the thin braid of hair snaking over her shoulder was the same colour, darkening to a deep russet at the tip. So she was an apprentice too, was M'tvi Padawan... it was only when she nudged him in the ribs that he realised he'd been staring at the side of her face for the best part of a minute.

"Something wrong, Obi-Wan?" Amusement seemed to override the nervousness in her voice now, giving it a quivering, seductive coppery hue.

"Um... you've got no ears." Damn, he felt like a right prat for saying that. It was just too early for diplomacy, he decided.

The girl laughed, a melodious birdlike sound. "Well observed, Obi-Wan. I assure you I've never had any though. Does that bother you?" With a smile, she traced one long finger along the shell of Obi-Wan's ear, tickling the soft skin underneath it.

"No.... not at all, not at all. It's just that I thought... I met this other youth called Padawan yesterday, and I thought you might be related somehow. But he had these huge white round ears..." he traced an illustrative line along the side of the Jedi's head, barely ruffling her shimmering short hair, gently surprised at the unambiguous sexual scent she exuded. Were Jedi this forward? At this early hour?

That particular question was answered for him as the golden tongue darted forward to lick at his ear, and the dark voice continued, still slightly amused, "Oh Obi-Wan, you clearly haven't been here for a long time, have you? Just arrived, fresh from wherever that fabled House of yours is? Still green and all that?"

Spurred on by this seeming taunt, Obi-Wan cupped the back of her spiky golden head with both hands and nipped a line of kisses across her uneven brown cheek, across the bridge of her nose and along the other cheek, painting a warm wet stripe underneath where she darkened to the colour of her eyes. He heard a faintly sizzling intake of breath, then felt her shrug out of her brown robe with one undulating motion, dropping whatever it was she'd been holding into the puddled earthen folds and pushing her long slender hands inside Obi-Wan's crumpled bathrobe, encircling his waist with slim hard fingers.

Taking a moment to bury his nose in the crook of her neck and determine the colour of the scent there, he gathered his strength and pounced. A tailor-made attack, half fight move, half dance, silk sliding against linen and skin, strong warm muscles holding his delighted victim in a vice grip until he had rid her of her layered tunics and exposed all of that messy brown-stained skin. He trailed a palm down an agitated dark swirl from her hip to her knee, then brushed his fingertips along the back of her knee and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her knees buckled quite satisfyingly, and she collapsed on top of him on the carpet.

Grinning widely, Obi-Wan whispered, "They taught me well enough, don't you think?"

The girl squeaked as Obi-Wan drew his fingernails along a series of small bumps on her lower back, then relaxed warmly as he cupped her lush warm buttocks in his hands. "Not... not quite well enough, no... eeeep! Not well enough at any rate for you to know that 'Padawan' is not anyone's name. It's old Stand-aaaaaaaah! ... 's old Standard for 'apprentice', and my name is M'tvi..."

"M'tvi, M'tvi," Obi-Wan purred against her nipples, letting his teeth and the cool sibilant sound of the girl's name do their magic on the three near-black nubs. She had no breasts worth mentioning, but those little lumps near her spine were extremely intriguing... rubbing small circles around them with his fingertips, he watched her eyes glaze over and her voice slide into lust-soaked gibberish. Mmmmh, this Jedi was certainly a responsive one, and her gasping breathless little shrieks of pleasure filled Obi-Wan with a warm red delight. He clawed his fingers into her back and soaked up the erotic energy as she arched away from him, writhing, plastering her hard slender body against his own slowly throbbing length.

The contact warmed all his senses, and he basked in the joyous playful aura the young Jedi exuded. This might just be the assignment of a lifetime, Obi-Wan thought dimly, before flipping the wriggling M'tvi over on her stomach to get a closer look at her pleasure centres.

A series of small oval lumps just underneath the skin, soft and swollen yet hard at the centre, trailing up in a slightly curved line from the cleft of her lush buttocks to where they disappeared under a line of the same short dirty-golden hair that adorned her head. In fact, it ran all the way down from the nape of her neck towards the centre of her spine where it split up into two thin lines of short shiny hairs trailing round her buttocks and down the sides of her long thin legs, right to her ankles where the growth ended in a flourish of red-streaked hairs half-covering the tops of her feet.

Obi-Wan surveyed all this, taking it in with his hungry senses, breathing warmth and scent on it while mercilessly teasing the sweet little swellings on M'tvi's lower back, a fingertip on each, rubbing harder and harder until the Jedi's skin lit up in a flash of almost-white and she let out an almighty scream of pleasure, then slumped boneless on the floor.

The hairs along her back were standing on end.

Obi-Wan smiled and soothed the glowing prone form back to her senses with gentle caresses, watching the mottled skin darken back to its accustomed brown while letting his own arousal dissipate warmly throughout his whole body, pumping his heated blood away from his cock and into his feet and fingers and stomach and head. He felt warm, and amused, and wonderful. Almost like home.

"Guuuuhhh...," the tarnished-gold voice rose from a depth that Obi-Wan wouldn't have expected from the slight Jedi, "point taken... they really have taught you well..."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but giggle as M'tvi's three bleary eyes cast around for her clothes, and she reached for her robe, tugging it modestly over her lower back, leaving the hairless and apparently uninteresting area between her legs uncovered.

Something slid from the sleeve of her robe and clattered to the floor. "Oh...," that same swirling muddy blush again, "there you go. Made me forget why I was here in the first place." She flipped the datapad on and read out, "As the new Long House Delegate to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Obi-Wan Konbi... Kenobi. Chatäm, I'll get you for that... Obi-Wan Kenobi is kindly invited to attend the High Council Chamber in the Central Tower at the third hour today to receive his formal induction. May the Force be with him, signed, Billaba."

She propped her chin on one fist and looked up at Obi-Wan's serene grin. "Yep, I'd venture to say the Force is with him indeed. Twenty-five minutes to third hour, by the way..."

Obi-Wan jerked upright with lightning speed, looking wild-eyed. The High Council of the Jedi Order! In less than half an hour! It was too early...

M'tvi rolled herself up from the floor and pulled her robe around herself. "You go to the fresher, Obi-Wan. I'll sort some cha while you make yourself presentable, eh?"

Obi-Wan nodded mutely at the swirl of brown skin disappearing under the swirl of brown robe. "Fresher...?"

M'tvi was already halfway to the kitchen unit when she turned around at Obi-Wan, laughing. "Bathroom, Kenobi, bathroom!"

Bathroom. Absolutely.

He sat at his accustomed place in the Temple refectory, watching the bustle of Jedi around him, sipping the red/green tea and letting the general busy liveliness of the place invade his senses. Every now and then, a gaggle of young Knights would pass by his table, stopping for a friendly chat, or a Padawan would surreptitiously wink at him from behind his or her Master's shoulder. What amused Obi-Wan was that the Masters would do exactly the same as soon as they thought they weren't under their Padawans' watchful eyes any more.

Of course it wasn't a secret that Obi-Wan was here to give pleasure, and his reputation was spreading throughout the Temple like a slow-burning fire eating away under the swirl of brown robes. More often than not, Obi-Wan found the tables on his side of the refectory occupied by at least two or three Jedi who had been with him at some point. Right now, the two large Iridonian women, evidently a soul-bonded pair of Knights, were giving him smouldering looks, no doubt anticipating the next ferocious threesome whenever what they called the Force told them Obi-Wan was available.

Yes, he thought, sipping his tea thoughtfully. Jedi behaved just like any other sentient beings. Just not the way you'd expect them to.

Those two Iridonian Knights for example. Tall, strong, every curve of their broad bodies solidly muscled... and they liked nothing more than feather-light touches to where their skins were thinnest and most sensitive. He had made one of them come by trailing the end of a silk scarf between her legs, time and time again until the powerful Jedi was reduced to a writhing, dripping animal, moaning low in her throat and ostensibly transmitting her overwhelming arousal to her mate who held her head in her lap while gently touching herself... later, the second Knight had pulled Obi-Wan down by his long russet mane and demanded the same attention. And he had given it, of course, delighting in the helpless groans he drew from the big pale mouth, letting his hair feather over the strong thighs, tickle her pebbled nipples... she had come screaming at the first touch to her soaking wet labia, and claimed him in a rough hug that threatened to break Obi-Wan's ribs.

Or take the Master Librarian, gentlest of beings to his fellow Jedi... away from his books he discarded the second part of his title like he discarded his long enveloping brown robe. Underneath he was just "the Master", usually in something tight and black, showing off a physique that was remarkably taut and youthful for his apparent age. He would bury his hand in Obi-Wan's long hair and pull his head back, exposing the long pale throat, biting a deep red mark into the creamy skin, possessing him. Under no circumstances was Obi-Wan to use his hands, even though they were hardly ever physically restrained. The Master's hands, on the other hand, were all over him almost constantly in rough strokes, tiny pinches and possessive grips, and Obi-Wan delighted in the loose easy feeling of being owned for an evening, of being handled and groped and roughly caressed. He kept his hands behind his back and peeled the Master's clothes off with his teeth, and played the seductive slave boy to the hilt, using his mouth and tongue and the tips of his long tresses to such devastating effect that the Master's orgasm, buried deep inside Obi-Wan's greedy flesh, was almost an anticlimax.

The Master Librarian also made very good cha afterwards, Obi-Wan reflected, smiling to himself at the memory of these slightly awkward moments when the Jedi would draw his daytime serenity around him like a cloak again, gently touching Obi-Wan's bruises and healing them, and thanking him in his deep gravelly voice.

Obi-Wan cast his eyes around the refectory. That Padawan there, the short black-haired boy of barely eighteen, had been all over him like a kitten after he'd dressed him in clinging blue velvet from neck to toe, and they'd danced with an almost unbearable grace until the heat in both their groins had flared up, and yes, this time Obi-Wan had allowed himself to come in one bright agonised spike of lust instead of letting the warmth flow into his entire body as he usually did. Or the Twi'lek healer who had been in raptures at the lighting in Obi-Wan's room - the second time she visited, he'd installed candles, coloured mirrors and censers burning various rare-earth salts in licking green and red and purple flames. They had sat on the sofa all night enjoying a light meal and intellectual conversation, but the pleasure radiating from the healer's features had been on a par with those who had come bucking and screaming in sexual ecstasy.

Sometimes there would even be children coming to see him, tiny ones who loved to play I-Spy or older initiates such as Saar, a ten-year-old boy who learned the Mushi-no-ne dance from him, scene by scene, eagerly coming back every other ten for more, or the ostensibly braidless thirteen-year-old Iktotchi girl with the malformed horn who could spend ages playing dress-up with Obi-Wan, and who confessed in a quiet moment that she didn't want to be chosen as Padawan really, and Pehe Vaurt had already expressed interest in taking her on as an apprentice tailor in the Temple's own workshop.

M'tvi had been back a number of times too, for steamy playful sex and long chats over juice and qualla bread. She had more or less cast herself as Obi-Wan's guide, giving him an introduction to the structure and mythology of the Order, pointing out the various sub-organisations ("the ones in the dark red robes are the Healers... tradition has it that they're the colour of humanoid blood. You know, looks less messy most of the time...") and members of the High Council ("See the little green troll? Don't ever call him that to his face, mind. His name's Yoda, and he's the oldest living Jedi around. Over 800 standard years. Nobody remembers when he was young... in fact, people say that he was twelve years old already by the time his first birthday came around...").

Maybe that's the beauty of my position, Obi-Wan mused over his cooling cha. In my room there is no distinction between male and female, young and old, beautiful and ugly, fast and slow, Master and initiate. With me, everyone is no more and no less than a bundle of bright glowing sentience... and he chuckled at the memory of how he'd quite recently worked Councillor Plo Koon into a pulp by gently raking his nails along the Jedi's sinewy brown flesh. By the end of the massage, the large Master had been so relaxed that his breathing mask had nearly slipped off his face, finding no purchase on the slack muscles there.

The very same Plo Koon was just now entering the refectory, interrupting the animated argument he was having with a fellow Councillor (the one who had been the target of the food-fight, Obi-Wan's memory supplied. Windu, his name was.) to bow briefly in Obi-Wan's direction and say his name in his boomy voice. "Obi-Wan."

They moved on, voices and minds entangled in a controversy that radiated from them in spiky grey waves, Plo Koon occasionally looking behind him as if he was expecting someone, someone who was late.

Obi-Wan decided this was as good a moment as any to leave, and motioned to Plo Koon to offer him his vacant table. As the refectory was quite full at this time of day, the Councillor and his colleague gladly accepted.

Obi-Wan made his goodbyes, not without casting a shy glance at the bald Councillor and imagining what kind of sensual delights he might favour. He had become good at this over time, reaching out through the shield of brown robe and serenity, touching the sensualist that slumbered within every Jedi. The one inside Windu was sleepy indeed, he thought with a slight grin as he strode along the dimly-lit corridor away from the refectory, and would take quite some waking up, probably very very gently and decently at first, and then...

"Ooph!" The impact knocked the wind out of Obi-Wan, and he could barely catch his breath at the sight. Or more precisely, at the impact the person he'd run into had on all of his senses. Pure overload, tension beyond what Obi-Wan had previously considered bearable, magnetic uneasy attraction that rooted him to the spot. The man stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head as if he'd been mesmerised, smiled apologetically, murmured a gruff "sorry" and went as quickly as he'd come.

The sheer power the man had exuded still tingled on Obi-Wan's skin after he'd come home, and not even a hot shower could rid him of the gut-deep feeling of heavy grey he had seen in the man's cool blue eyes. Sighing, Obi-Wan slumped down on the couch in nothing but his bathrobe and tried to will the image of that man back before his mental eye. Tall, broad, imposing, bearded, long dark hair greying around the temples. An older Knight, or a Master even. He wore his robes with dignity, as if they'd been designed for him. Given his non-standard size for humans, they probably had. Obi-Wan focused on the mental image. Pale lips. Brows drawn together in a permanent frown of worry. Large gentle hands. Such power in that body, such sadness in that face... such beauty gone to waste, the long hair unkempt and dry, the blue eyes dulled by some unspoken woe. Such a swirling bright aura as he had never felt in his life (it still itched and prickled on his skin, even after the shower), such a scintillating mind dampened by doubt, barren and hard and yet starkly beautiful.

It drew Obi-Wan to him, for what he could not say. The soft magnetic greyness of the man's sorrow drew him down into the cushions, and he opened himself to it, drawing it inside him and away from the sad absent stranger, at least for a moment. It settled around his heart like a soft grey blanket, letting him feel the other man's gentle despair. He drank it, away from the tortured soul, and let it spill over his lips in deep quiet sobs, crying for another's pain that was nothing more than a diffuse ache in his own heart, but one he felt belonged there.

It was not a feeling he had ever known. And not one he would be able to let go easily.

This one needed working on.

"There." Obi-Wan smiled as the Iktotchi girl finished pinning the long green veil to his hair, smoothing it over his shoulders. "You know you should almost be a woman, Obi... sometimes. You look good as one."

"Well, there's not much chance of me ever becoming a stern old Jedi Master, so feel free to dress me as whatever you think I should be..." He gave a little twirl in front of the mirror, and the failed Padawan clapped her hands gleefully.

"Oh, you'd make a fantastic Jedi, Obi-Wan. You're better than me, in the Force, I mean..."

"How would you know? I mean, how can I even tell what this Force is, exactly? I can't see it or hear it or smell it, can I, little one?" He had a feeling he knew the answer to that one, but he wanted to hear it from a Jedi's mouth, even if it was just an initiate.

"You sense it, Obi, and I know you do because you can hear colours and see smells. The Force is... the Force is what you feel when you're not trying to hear or see or smell anything. We Jedi call it meditating, you know, turning off our conscious minds to listen to the Force. But sometimes simple absent-mindedness works as well..." she giggled a little, clearly embarrassed at such an un-Jedi-like observation.

"So the Force was what I felt when I ran into this tall bearded old knight the other day and only saw him for a split second... but came away feeling what he felt? You know, sadness, distraction, beauty... we never spoke a word, but I felt like I was carrying the weight of his life on my shoulders in that moment..."

"Whoa. Was that... was he a bit dark and old... and really long hair... never says anything much, but he's got a voice that's so low it's..." She trailed off, uneasy at the thought.

"Yes... yes, could be him. Seemed a bit absent-minded himself... does that make him strong in the Force, then?"

The girl swallowed and earnestly gazed up at Obi-Wan. "They say he's one of the strongest of the Jedi, and that his name is Master Jinn. He... he scares me, Obi. Don't let him harm you please..." Silently, the little Iktotchi wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan's waist and hid under his long green veil.

"Jinn? Yeah...," Councillor Windu sighed, keeping a studied frown in place as he surveyed his hand. Kenobi's sabacc cards were unusual to say the least, and even though they could be no means be banned for lewdness the had a certain... sensual quality to them that made the Councillor uneasy. Especially given the light-hearted comments and stories the young man tended to weave from them.

Windu straightened his shoulders. "He's a great asset to the Order. One of the best swordsmen of the galaxy, and a skilled diplomat at that. He could talk all four legs off a bantha if necessary, and then come riding home on it if he felt like it. There's stubborn, and there's Jinn..." He sighed. "He used to be a good friend... he hasn't been friendly with anyone for years now. Your turn."

Plo Koon's breaths were loud and even through the mask as Obi-Wan kneaded the hard muscles of his shoulders. "Mace wasn't quite right, Obi-Wan... he and I are still friends, as we have been since our Padawan days. But even I can't go as deep with him as I used to in happier times, and he's been shutting himself off from others to a much greater extent."

"The initiates are scared of him, Plo."

"That's what comes with being so empathic and so deeply sad... however much he tries to bury it and keep himself from burdening others with his bleakness, he can't help but project it through the Force. So you have felt it too?"

Obi-Wan nodded, sighing assent. "The moment I set eyes on him, a complete stranger. But... I can't seem to forget him. I feel like... like I'm suffering with him, only I can't sense what for. I can't sense anything beyond this deep mire of sorrow cloaking his entire being. And yet... he used to be strong and beautiful, didn't he?"

Plo Koon growled in agreement. "He would still be if he wasn't so consumed by his grief, Obi-Wan. Sometimes even I wonder if there's some of the old Qui-Gon left in him, the bright young Knight everyone knew and loved..."

"Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan spoke the old Master's name aloud, awedly. It struck a cord in him, fell into place, into the field of lighter grey that held access to the sad man's soul.

Plo Koon wriggled on the bench, stretching his muscles, then got up. "I'm surprised you managed to get this much out of him in one meeting, young Obi-Wan... he's been a mystery to a great many fully qualified Jedi since... since he lost his Padawan over a decade ago."

"We - we never spoke, Master Koon."

"Really? Remarkable... remarkable." Clearly lost in thoughts of his own, Plo Koon threw his robe around his shoulders and left Obi-Wan to his musings.

Lost a Padawan. That explained some of it. From what M'tvi had told him, a Master and his apprentice had some kind of mental link between them, a connection that enabled them to communicate wordlessly, something much stronger than the inklings he had felt with Master Fe-Sadarath and Ür. To have such a bond ripped from you by the death of a beloved student would constitute pain indeed.

But - over ten years ago? What kind of love must this man be capable of feeling if the death of his student still affected him this much after such a long time? Some of his lovers and friends here at the Temple had lost their dear ones at some point too, and he'd been amazed and impressed at how well their faith had helped them cope with their bereavement. When M'tvi's friend Bruck had been killed on a mission she had admittedly been inconsolable for a month or so... but that had been two years ago, and now she spoke freely of him, of his quirks and virtues, and how she sometimes felt him in the Force, and she always sounded like she was sincerely happy for him now.

Hell, Plo Koon had told him once how he'd foreseen his own death, and was no less serene for it. There must be something stronger than death here, he decided.

And he would find it, find it and give it to grey Master Jinn.

Qui-Gon Jinn. He said the name to himself at least three times a day, like a mantra, like an anchor in the dull grey fog that had settled at the bottom of his heart, filling it with a yearning that was as immaterial and as longing as the fog over the sea. He longed for a ray of light, a glimmer of hope in those steely blue eyes to drive away the enveloping dimness.

Dreams came harder to Obi-Wan now, in lucid colours and screaming, stinging scents he could barely remember after waking. Often he would find his face wet with tears and his sheets wet with his own seed in the morning, and nothing left in his mind but the hazy image of Jinn, wrapped in his long brown robe, gazing sadly through a pane of milky grey glass.

Of course he had sought the man's presence in the Temple, caught every fleeting glimpse he could get to quench the low throbbing thirst he felt underneath all the grey. It was not painful to him, just very... unusual. Uncomfortable, a stalled sort of feeling that kept getting stronger, urging him to seek out places where he might meet Jinn, speak with him, touch him. He found himself blushing at the thought, something he had not done since he'd been a little boy. To touch Jinn... he was sure it would feel like water in the desert, the fulfilment of this dull yearning he was feeling.

He sought the man's presence, and then again he pulled himself together and sought the man's absence, tried to bury himself in his work, to fill his head with the clumsy movements of a dancing child or the distant purring of a pleasured Knight. And time and time again, pulling himself together was the one thing he found himself incapable of doing. There seemed to be only one project that could command his full attention at any given time. Jinn.

He would sit at his accustomed place in the refectory, keeping his eyes fixed on a distant point, casting his senses out for a glimmer of the warm grey he knew was there. Jinn. Even across the crowded room, Obi-Wan felt tears welling up in his eyes and heat welling up in his groin at the sight of the big sad Master, eating in quiet company with Windu and Koon. He felt the inexplicable need to plaster himself against that big frame and pour all of himself into this man to heal his aching soul, and relieve the inexplicable faint ache in his own. He needed, for the first time in his life. Needed, without the luxury of a technique to relieve himself of that need. Needed deeply, desperately.

Needed this man to be gone from his life, or else buried inside him, body and soul. Needed to grab him and shake him and press desperate kisses to his pale lips. The very thought made Obi-Wan's throat constrict, and something inside his chest spring open like a messy tangled knot. To kiss Jinn... it was beyond mere attraction, and it certainly wasn't born from pleasure... he had no word for it, and he just hoped Jinn would make a move, offering him an opening. It was unethical for a Long House man to initiate a relationship with an unwilling partner, a tenet that had never been a problem for Obi-Wan in the past because there had not been any unwilling partners, at least not ones he cared about. This was different. Willingness was not an issue, not on his part. The grey feeling plain ignored his will.

Heroically, he held out, offering shy glances, warm words, soft greetings, idle talk. Begged inwardly for a reaction, anything that would allow him to glance inside this hard sad man who seemed to hold his entire being in his huge hands. He received nothing but polite disregard, clipped courteous words in a warm low voice that made the hairs at Obi-Wan's nape stand on end. Close to tears and burning with dull need, Obi-Wan would retreat, licking his wounds.

Washing. He would wash himself in these moments, mindlessly pampering a body he secretly knew was no longer able to enjoy his own gentle ministrations. His movements felt shallow, his hands powerless, and his skin dirty. Grey.

If only he could do something, make the first move. If only he could be sure he would be giving pleasure and relief, not deepening the old man's pain. If only Jinn could feel him the way he felt Jinn. And there was no sign of that, however hard he looked.

The dreams got wilder and more graphic, shreds of remembered images haunting Obi-Wan's waking hours, distracting him from his duties. Jinn all over him, crushing him with his weight, grinding his stone hardness into him and screaming a dying scream as he came, spurting sticky acid all over him that would eat away his skin, exposing his hollow insides.

Jinn standing alone on a rocky outcrop in the middle of the sea, too far to reach, and Obi-Wan's arms tiring from swimming, the cold wet grey sea dragging him down time and time again, night after night, a little closer to the so-desired island every night.

The night he'd reached the rock and clambered ashore, he'd found that Jinn was made of stone.

"What's wrong with you, Obi? S'na used to be your favourite food... are you ill, boy? What's eating you?" With a rough little caress, M'tvi stuffed a tiny piece of cold s'na between Obi-Wan's unresisting lips. He swallowed mechanically, staring at a point in the middle distance.

"It's not still that crush you've got on Master Jinn, is it? Obi-Wan, please. Forget him if you can. It's for your own good. Believe me, he's never even regarded anyone with so much as a friendly look. Socially he's as dead as a doormat. Obi-Wan...," she stroked his stubbly chin gently, "believe me, you wouldn't want to be together with someone as grey and sad as Jinn."

He sighed, a bone-deep exhalation. "M'tvi... I feel like I already am."

Her shocked expression said more than any number of soothing words could have done. Wordlessly, she gathered his forehead to her chest, carding her fingers through his thick reddish-blond hair. It had lost all its lustre recently, paling into a dull dirty straw colour, a shade lighter than the dark rings under Obi-Wan's eyes.

He sobbed quietly into his friend's tunics. "M'tvi... I feel all of his grief and none of the love that must have been behind it. It's like he's shutting me out of his mind when that's the only place I can find peace... I wish I could forget him too, but that would be like forgetting to breathe... I don't know, M'tvi, I just don't know... I wish I could relieve him... use something on him. But I have nothing... I can't do it."

She stroked her friend's head with her long brown fingers. "Well... I take it you've tried? Don't tell me he resisted your charms?"

"M'tvi... it's not as simple as that. You know I can't initiate a relationship of any kind with someone who does not reciprocate..." He sniffed quietly as M'tvi laughed deep in her throat.

"You sure felt like initiating when you ripped my clothes off the morning I brought you the Council summons..."

"You were willing, and you showed it, M'tvi. That was your tongue in my ear, and I bet that with your Force-sensitivity you knew I would take that as an advance. And Jinn is... they say he's one of the strongest in the Force, and he's not giving me anything. Not even a thought."

"Hmmm... sounds like a case of Jinn shielding to me. Believe me, Obi, it takes a Master to breach those shields, and most of the ones in the Temple have tried over the years. He's not worth your efforts, Obi, you won't turn him back into the bright one they say he once was... and your brightness is wasted on someone like him, darling. Jinn isn't worth all the life in you..."

M'tvi's kiss was roughly terminated as Obi-Wan pushed her away, both palms flat against her chest. "He has... he is all the life in me, M'tvi! You just don't understand... nobody understands, hell even I don't...," he shooed his friend's gentling hand away, "leave me alone, M'tvi... please just leave me alone!"

With a sigh, the dark-skinned Padawan gathered her robe and quietly left the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Obi-Wan stared at his reflection in the mirror, a hostile glance. Deep rings shaded his puffy eyes, and his once so lush pink lips had thinned to a line, his skin numb and pale. He had not slept properly for weeks, haunted, ripped open, crushed by the Jinn of his dreams, the unattainable man of stone.

So he had lost a Padawan. Years ago. Even M'tvi couldn't remember him - she had been little more than a child when it had happened, and the rumours that had been flying around the Temple since then had not been conclusive at all. A Padawan, a bright and beloved one, lost and dropped out of existence, leaving his Master grieving and numb to all pleasures, to all life beyond his duty.

A Padawan.

With a grim desperation that resonated inside the grey pit of his soul, Obi-Wan went to the kitchen to retrieve the scissors.

Obi-Wan stared at his reflection in the mirror, unbelieving. Dull russet strands of hair pooled around his bare feet, feather-light caresses that would never be again. What was left on his head stood off in all directions, the short spikes he hadn't worn since he'd been a little boy, too young to grow and maintain his own hair. He felt like a stupid little child again, in some ways, and in others, older than he had ever been.

He stared at the pale cream tunic he had dug up from the bottom of his wardrobe, at the old brown leggings that went with it. They felt right, somehow, these colourless clothes. Pale, obsessed, possessed. None of the old brightly-clad Obi-Wan was left in him anyway. They would not recognise him when he left his quarters. Which was a good thing.

He stared at the long strand of hair he had left behind his right ear. Absent-mindedly, like a litany of hand movements, he began to braid it. It felt like he had done so all his life, and it saddened him unspeakably.

Obi-Wan gave up his name and his voice and wandered around the Temple seemingly aimlessly, unrecognised, in search of he knew not what. In search of Jinn, not the Jinn of his tortuous dreams. In search of relief, fulfilment. Maybe forgetting.

He spent days in Master Kig's garden, hiding among the greenery like a thirsting man hiding underwater. It failed to touch him.

He spent hours watching the Padawans spar, wishing he had that elegant grace in him.

He spent sad lonely hours in front of the mirror in his darkened apartment, not at home to anyone, trying to reproduce the effortless warlike grace of that lost Padawan.

He failed every time.

He had lost count of how many days he'd been wandering around the salles, just a morose Padawan among other Padawans, when he felt a small warm slap on his back. "Obi-Wan, is that you? Don't tell me you've joined the order, man! Amazing..."

Obi-Wan silenced the young initiate with a gentle finger to the boy's lips, then squatted down on the floor to be level with his face. "Yes, Saar, it's me... and yes, maybe that's what I'm trying to do. I don't know, Saar, I don't know myself..."

The boy's face darkened a little. "So you're here to learn katas? Hey, maybe I can show you a few... like you showed me the Mushi-no-ne, remember?" The slender little body slid through a series of elaborate poses, a little too fast, but with the eagerness of youth. "Come on, I'll show you First Form!"

Gently, Obi-Wan held the boy by his shoulders. "It's no use, Saar. I have tried. I can copy these movements but I can't keep them in my head... you know I'm good at kyo-mai, where all that's in your mind is the concentration on the next slow pose and step... and I'm sure you've been told I was good at sex, where everything is improvisation... this, I can't get my head round."

"Aaaah." The expression on the little boy's face was worthy of Master Yoda himself, and would have been funny if Obi-Wan had felt like laughing at all. "That's what you shouldn't do. Leave your head out of it. Let the Force flow through you. You know, the Living Force... like you have in the garden. Look -"

With seemingly effortless grace, Saar executed a fast series of steps, spins and parries, side-stepping a puzzled Obi-Wan and ending up pointing his imaginary lightsabre at the young man's chest. "If you move like that, with the Force, you needn't remember the steps and moves. The Force will remember them for you, and believe me, the Force has got one hell of a good memory..."

"You forget, little one, that I'm not adept in the use of the Force..."

"Poodoo. Of course you are. Even I can feel it in you, and I'm just a puny initiate... and you move like that anyway. Shall I show you?" He ran to the edge of the training salle, picked up a towel, and threw it at Obi-Wan. "Here. Now imagine you've just come out of the shower. What do you do?"

"Uh... towel off." Obi-Wan wasn't sure what this had to do with the Force.

"Show me." Saar took a step back, sheathing his imaginary 'sabre.

Feeling more than a little silly, but not really concerned about his appearance any more, Obi-Wan moved through his towelling-off routine, swinging the towel over the back of his head, rubbing his face in long luxurious strokes, then flipping the towel over his back to drag it down slowly. A rub down his belly to his groin, left calf, right calf, thighs, arms... to his own surprise, Obi-Wan realised there was a certain mindless flow to the movements, movements he had been executing without thinking ever since he'd first stepped out of the shower by himself.

Saar beamed. "See? Now do it without the towel."

Puzzled, Obi-Wan threw the towel away and went through the routine with bare hands, imagining wet skin and the rough kiss of cloth. He still wasn't sure where this was going, but it didn't feel bad, and kept his mind off himself, and off Jinn, so he continued.

"Great! Again, Obi-Wan - now let's see what we can do with this!"

Obi-Wan was momentarily distracted as he felt the little boy move into his personal space, weaving his own movements into Obi-Wan's towelling routine as if this was a small-scale hand-to-hand fight. The calm Saar radiated was otherworldly, and Obi-Wan found himself reaching out to him and the pale green aura he seemed to project. Hands followed hands, feet stepped forward and back while Obi-Wan's mind sank into a pale green wash of thoughtlessness, a pure cool breath of life that momentarily pierced the dull stifling grey that his soul had become. It felt wonderful, and Obi-Wan whooped with joy at the sensation, reaching out for Saar's hand, chasing the boy in a wholly improvised but perfectly matched fight routine he had not known he had in him.

He had lost track of time entirely, and when he finally wound up on the floor, Saar triumphantly astride his chest, he found his tunic sticking to his skin, wet with sweat, and his heart hammering loudly in his chest. His mind, though, was calm and green as the sea.

"That," Saar whispered earnestly, "is called the Living Force. Now don't tell me you didn't notice the difference."

"And I can feel that... every time I want to?"

"You can feel it all the time. All you need to do is quiet your mind, get out of yourself, and let it flow through you. Great, isn't it? And outworlders sometimes wonder why we Jedi live this supposedly hard and horrible life... they have no idea, honest." With a little thump to the young man's chest, Saar got up off Obi-Wan and helped him up. With an appreciative glance up and down his former teacher's sweaty form, the little boy earnestly declared, "I think it's time for a real shower this time, Obi-Wan."

Just quiet your mind. Get out of yourself. It all sounded so simple. What he hadn't expected was that it was so simple. Standing under the hot spray of his shower, Obi-Wan imagined himself opening to the Living Force and feeding the bright green clarity into Jinn's grief-dazed mind. He felt the exhilaration at the thought coursing through his entire body, and for the first time in weeks enjoyed the bright joyful arousal he had known all his adult life.

Towelling off, he rubbed the soft rough cloth over a sizeable erection and delighted in spreading its warm blood throughout his weary body.

Just quiet your mind. Get out of yourself. Slowly, hesitantly, the cool green flood streamed into his consciousness as he emptied his mind of the thoughts and worries that filled it. Imagining nothing but the movements of the kata Saar had taught him, he let himself drift on the slow bright current, confident it would carry him. It felt good, better than he had felt for weeks...

Here is an ocean I can swim in, he thought, one that won't drag me down. I can float this way and that without even moving my arms... there is no weariness here. Isn't it beautiful, oh isn't it the most beautiful thing there is? Master Jinn, how can you have such a thing at your fingertips and not delight in it?

Giddy with the rush of Force, Obi-Wan turned his swimming mind towards the rocky outcrop he had always seen in that stormy grey sea of his dreams. Jinn, he thought. Let me feed you with my bright Living Force... let me give to you, my life, my love, my sad one. My everything.

Obi-Wan gave his everything, sinking deeper into the gorgeous tingling green flood, feeling the life coursing through his veins, concentrating it all on that one point, that one moment... he lifted his eyes and saw...

Jinn was made of stone.

Desperate, pale, worn, weary, and short-haired, a shadow of his former self, Obi-Wan Kenobi walked the corridors of the Temple like a lamb to the slaughter. He was fully aware that he was breaking fundamental rules both of the Jedi Code and the Long House ethics by doing what he was about to do, but he could not think of any other way of alleviating the pain he felt from Jinn's presence in his life. It was no use. It was either this or certain death.

"Ooph!" The impact knocked the remaining wind out of him and sent him reeling. Firm small hands grabbed him by his upper arms and steadied him. Familiar hands.

A face he had seen millions of times in laughter, anger, bliss was staring into his, expressionless, stunned.

"Obi-Wan... is that you? Obi-Wan?" The small long-nailed hands shook him insistently, jerking him back and forth.

"And what if it is me, Ür? What would that mean to you? Have you come to reprimand me after all? Have you come to right me, or to revoke me?" He realised he was shouting, then sagged in his old friend's arms, at a loss for what to say or what to feel.

Ür's hand stroked his spiky short hair. "Oh Obi-Wan... I have come to relieve you. You are free to go, Obi-Wan. This place has hurt you terribly, hasn't it? Master Fe-Sadarath received a letter from one Master Koon of the Jedi Order, and her first concern was to relieve you of the assignment that has become such a burden to you. She felt you. Obi-Wan, you can go home now. Fe-Sadarath and Keee and the boys and girls will welcome you with open arms... and I can take over here, I'm sure."

"Oh, Ür... I wish I could go home... I really wish I could just leave all this behind and forget..."

"Obi-Wan, what's keeping you here? You know there is warmth and joy and love back at the Long House. You'd be a Master long before I've even learnt my way to the library here. Obi-Wan, they miss you. They love you."

"And I - I love..." With a choked sob, Obi-Wan tore himself from his friend's embrace and ran down the corridor, away, away from the gentle touches that could not and would not soothe the aching thirst in him. He barely heard Ür's sad voice as he called after him, inviting him to his temporary quarters, any time...

Blindly, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his pale tunic, Obi-Wan stumbled towards the room that held his downfall. He didn't have to ask for an address really, all he had to do was follow the ache in his heart, follow the shadow cast upon his roiling green sea by that unattainable rock. He sensed Jinn several corridors away, stormy like the sea that was threatening to drown Obi-Wan. Roiling. Not made of stone any more. So it's come to this, Obi-Wan thought dimly, running a hand through his short hair perfunctorily, straightening his pitiful colourless tunic, running a finger down his braid. Now he's angry with me.

With the fearlessness of the dying, Obi-Wan pressed the door chime and had hardly any time to straighten his face before the door slid open.

Jinn was seated on a low armchair in the public room of his quarters, empty cha cups and books scattered around. On the other side of the table, Plo Koon was just getting up from the sofa, bowing to Jinn and taking his leave. He flashed a smile at Obi-Wan as he brushed past him, or at least it felt like a smile. It was hard to tell under the breathing mask. It was hard to tell a smile from a frown as Obi-Wan's heart hammered in his chest. Jinn was looking at him, staring at him, and Obi-Wan was torn between fear and bliss. He's looking at me, he thought, just at me. There's nobody else here...

"So it's come to this? I appear to be in need of private counselling from the resident Long House boy..." The sneer in the old Master's voice was laced with a despair that softened it, and made it sound like a glimmer of hope to Obi-Wan, desperate himself. Putting all his strength into this one last step forward and letting his mind fall away to leave nothing but the calm green flood, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees at the side of the armchair, casting one hand over the armrest like a drowning man, desperate for that touch.

"No, Master Jinn. I am. I am in need."

With the last of his strength, he stretched his fingers and touched the hard warmth of Jinn's hand, then let the floodgate burst open. This could be mental suicide, was his last conscious thought as his mind was swept away on the rushing green tide of emotion bursting forth from him, a flood of heavy tears and thick streams of images leaving his mind, rushing out into the barren land that was Jinn's soul, Jinn's stony island soul. All the dreams he had had, all the hopes, all the amazement at his first meeting with Jinn, all his desperate elegance in the training salle, and all his desperate ugliness in front of the mirror. Images of how beautiful he used to be, and how beautiful they would have been together if it had all been possible then... how beautiful their minds would have been in unison, united within the Force, and how beautiful their bodies would have been in love, united within an embrace that lasted forever and a kiss that turned their tongues into flames of Living Force... flames... Obi-Wan felt his mental world burn up before his eyes, all the tumultuous green water gone, all the sea flowed away and soaked up into the dry grey ground, and nothing there to hold back the flames... he watched, mute, unable to move, as the rock in the middle of what used to be the sea burst open, scattering sharp stones around him, through him, scorching him with the heat of the bright golden flame erupting from where the rock had been. Heat pushed him under, tore at his parched skin as the flame spread over the entire barren land, the land that had been the bottom of the sea, burning it, making cracks spring open in the earth, boiling the water that he had believed lost.

It came up in great plumes of scalding green steam, enveloping him in moist warm heat, taking his breath away and replacing it with pure thick sea-green calm. He felt his senses leave him one by one, felt his heart slow until he heard it no more, then felt nothing any more.

Obi-Wan woke up in a large empty bed, cool soft sheets covering his naked body, amazed to still be alive. He drew a deep breath and cracked his eyes open. Dim muted sunlight trickled in through beige curtains. Where... was he?

Reluctantly, he willed himself to full wakefulness. From what he could tell, he had two immediate problems.

One was a hammering, shining bright headache that felt oddly good, rooted as it was in the deep green bottom of his soul and sending out its throbbing signals to the other end of the... bond? Bond. The other end was outside himself, feeling like a gentle beige curtain. Just like the ones that held the glare of the Coruscant sun away from his face, but allowed the warm light of late afternoon in. It hurt, but it hurt in a good way. In a new way, a way that made him aware again of the life pulsing through his veins, of the voice with which his mind sang, sang to that other end of the bond, that gentle soft curtain that felt so different from the rock that had been...

The other problem was a raging hard-on. Obi-Wan grinned at the sight of the little bulge under the soft worn sheets, half-amused at his body's unmistakable reaction, half-puzzled as to what had brought it about. He was alone. He did not remember any dreams... for the first time in weeks, he did not remember any dreams, and it felt good.

Then, the door opened, and the throbbing headache flared up in a searing flame of need. His cock felt like it would burst any minute, and he moaned in delight at the sight of those stormy blue eyes settling on him.

Jinn.

His heart leapt at the sight, and the throbbing ache inside his head intensified, spreading out through his entire body until he was all heartbeat, all bright flashing beacon of pain and need and desire and... love.

He sat up in bed and yelled at the stinging pain inside his head, there where the bond lay, felt his vision fade to black from the edges inwards, and dropped back on to the pillow... no, not the pillow... that was a hand, a large, hard warm hand that cradled the back of his head. He felt it painfully close through his cropped hair, and he felt the soothing calm emanating from the touch. So very good, so good and soft and peaceful... the headache receded, and awareness returned to his shaking body. He opened his eyes.

Filling his vision, completely, was the earnest face of Qui-Gon Jinn, eyes a deep sky blue, concern etched into the tiny creases and wrinkles surrounding them. These eyes were looking at him. He soaked up the tender sapphire gaze, drinking of the deep blue flavour of Jinn's eyes, eyes for him only.

He was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

//No you haven't, lad. Believe me. I know being dead doesn't feel like this.//

Obi-Wan started at the soft low voice inside his head. He was sure Jinn's lips had not moved.

"Who are you to have broken Jinn's body up from the inside and filled it with this... with this alive man?" Incredulous, he stroked a fingertip along the soft lips, still immobile under the short greying moustache.

The voice in his head gave a slight snort. //Who are you to have broken through a Jedi Master's shields when even the Jedi Master in question didn't believe he could possibly want out? Burglar of souls, who are you?//

//Obi-W... Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service, Master Jinn.// Obi-Wan squirmed slightly at the sound of his own mental voice, which caused Jinn's hand to curl more tightly around the back of his neck, making him squirm a little more. Lips parted in pleasure at the firm earthy touch, Obi-Wan calmed his mind and willed that delicious mouth down, down towards his own...

//So you are the new Long House boy, are you?// Eyes sparkling with new-born amusement, Qui-Gon touched his lips to the young man's, gently at first, barely-there warm dry brushes of skin against sensitive skin, letting the fire build between them until both of them could not hold out any longer and dived headlong into a greedy kiss, strong lips sucking, long wet tongues warring for supremacy, teeth sinking in moist soft flesh, thirsty mouths drinking of each other's taste, licking, swallowing, ears filled with the soft wet sounds of desire until neither of them had any breath left and they pulled apart, gasping for air, and gasping for more.

The taste of Jinn bloomed on his tongue, and he savoured it like he had never savoured the taste of anything before. The headache had subsided, leaving a dull warm need in the back of his mind, a need that trickled down his nerves to his groin, where his erection was throbbing madly, screaming for release. Obi-Wan wriggled out from under the sheets, hissing at the cool touch of linen on his heated pulsing flesh, and all the while Jinn was staring at him with that liquid blue gaze of his, as if he had never seen him before, and as if he never wanted to see anyone but him ever again.

"Wrong."

Jinn's left eyebrow rose slightly at Obi-Wan's breathy reply. //What?//

"I am not the new Long House boy. The new Long House boy is a short, lively yellow-haired lad by the name of Ür. I am... uh..." His voice trailed off as Jinn nibbled a line of hard kisses down his throat, from the cleft chin to the hollow between his collarbones, drawing in a deep breath of Obi-Wan's warm sweaty masculine scent, then further down towards where he needed him most, slowly, tortuously slowly, nudging the braid aside with his nose, bypassing the nipples that felt like they were on fire even without Jinn's touch. Obi-Wan was quite ready to forget who or what he was under the unreal tender onslaught of Jinn's mouth...

"You are...?" Oh Gods, the husky rumble of that voice... the warm breath teasing and caressing his bursting cock... it was all too much, too much! With a keening shriek, Obi-Wan bucked up and thrust his hips into the Jedi's face, crushing his erection against Qui-Gon's nose, hard, so hard, harder please... and he was just about to do it again, and again, when a pair of iron-hard hands on his hips stopped him, and a determined hot mouth slowly slid down the length of his erection, enveloping it in sheer hot wet perfection. Obi-Wan's mind was ready to melt into a puddle of blissful goo, and then the Master drew the tight ring of his lips upward again, slowly, sucking gently at first, then harder, until Obi-Wan felt as if his blood was being sucked out through the tender swollen skin of his cock... the world was a pinpoint of bright expanding joy, and it took nothing more than a tiny lick of that tongue to the underside of Obi-Wan's swollen cockhead, and the delighted rumble of that voice in his head to make him explode in a shower of caustically bright stars etching their way down his nerves and firing their screaming brightness into the warm dark velvet of Qui-Gon's mouth.

//You are...?//

"'Myours..." Obi-Wan licked his lips to try and get some moisture back into his mouth, and saw Qui-Gon echo his motion. Such delicious lips... hadn't they once been thin and pale and devoid of all colour and life? They certainly didn't seem like that any more, Obi-Wan thought as he dived in for another taste of the soft horny flavour of his lover, his Jinn, his everything.

"You are what? Mine? You are mad, Kenobi...," the warm voice purred against his ear. "You're stronger and more stubborn than myself, and that's saying quite something..." He sighed. "We need to talk. To think that you cut all this marvellous hair off just to make an impression on me...," he shook his head sadly. "Where on Coruscant was my mind?"

"I wish I'd known... I would have gone and picked it up for you. You certainly seemed absent-minded when I first met you..." //Tell me about it later, Jinn. Tell me all about him.//

Qui-Gon's eyes darkened, and he wasn't sure himself whether that was at the mention of his lost Padawan or at the sight of Obi-Wan's angelic lust-soaked grin.

//I know where your mind is now, Jinn. Isn't that enough?//

Qui-Gon chuckled at the insistence of the brave young man under him. What have I done to deserve that, he thought to himself. One such as him, calling himself mine... and I am not dreaming this.

//You're not dreaming, Jinn. You're most definitely here. Well, your body is... and do you happen to have an idea where I would want that body to be right now?//

//?//

//Where your mind is, Jinn. Right where your mind is. In me.//

Qui-Gon's cock leapt at the idea, and Obi-Wan giggled as he felt his lover's hardness twitch against his thigh. Oh, it would feel wonderful inside him, stretching him to bursting, rubbing him raw with pleasure and need, thrusting into him hard, harder... Obi-Wan jerked back to full awareness when he felt a thick slick finger press into him, coated with something sticky and wet that he was sure hadn't been there before. Eyes half-closed in pleasure, he still managed to send a flicker of mental question along the new bond.

//No, Obi-Wan, it isn't strictly speaking there. Stretch out your senses and I'm sure you'll find... out... what... it... is...// Concentrating fiercely on hitting Obi-Wan's prostate with the tip of his middle finger, Qui-Gon nudged his lover's cock to a new hardness with each eager thrust, holding his own throbbing erection in his fist, ready to pound inside once Obi-Wan was stretched enough. Just one more finger... the boy was writhing madly under him, giving out little whimpers of pleasure and need, hips thrusting back on to his fingers with a strength that belied the youth's slender frame. Never forget he's a skilled pleasure giver, Qui-Gon thought before letting go of all rational thought and plunging deep into the tight hot opening, slick and welcoming and pulsing with need.

It was over within a few thrusts, Qui-Gon's cock enveloped in the hottest tightest grip he had ever imagined, let alone experienced. As he collapsed on top of Obi-Wan, knocking the wind out of him, then rolling off him heavily, sliding on to the sheets on a sticky warm trail of Obi-Wan's fresh seed, he thought he heard the boy's voice in the back of his mind, small, quiet, on the verge of passing out from sheer happiness.

//The Livin' Force?//

//Mmmmh?//

//The Living Force. What you used for lube.// He stretched his sated limbs and snuggled into Jinn's warm heavy embrace, the big man's cock still inside him. Jinn's mind was a gentle yellowish flicker, like a sunset or a candle flame about to fall asleep. Obi-Wan sent a mental caress and was rewarded with a deep purr.

//Only... it felt green...//

When Obi-Wan awoke for the second time that evening, he was no longer alone in the big bed. The heavy hard warm body of Qui-Gon Jinn wrapped around his own reminded him of what a narrow escape he had had, and what a wonderful thing the Living Force was. Hell, you can even use it as a lubricant, Obi-Wan thought with a glowing mental grin. Wonder if they teach that at the Temple...

//Not that I know of. I certainly didn't learn it from my Master... ooaaaaah, good evening, Obi-Wan.//

A long languid kiss later, Obi-Wan was convinced this was where he belonged. No - he had known that all along. The difference was, he now knew he wanted to belong.

Qui-Gon played with the long thin braid dangling from behind Obi-Wan's ear, almost absent-mindedly, giving the younger man a slight twinge of apprehension.

"I guess that'll have to come off now, won't it? I'm not a Jedi, and won't ever be one I'm afraid..."

"Obi-Wan. I would be delighted if you would grow your wonderful hair back to its old length... I could curse myself now for never having looked at you enough while you still had it..." He feathered tiny kisses along Obi-Wan's hairline.

"Yeah well... blame the Force, eh? Or whatever..." He sighed. "Though I'm technically out of a job now, Jinn. It's not like I could return to my old position what with Ür here, and... I really wouldn't want to... want to make love with anyone but you right now..."

"You won't have to. That is, I won't let you..." The warm possessive growl and the grip of those huge hands sent shivers down Obi-Wan's spine as he wriggled closer to Qui-Gon's large hot body. "And if any of the silly heads on the Council dares to want to send you away, I'll tell them that sending you away would be sending both of us away. That should teach 'em... though I doubt Plo would let it come to that... "

"Mmmh. And even then we could still go back to Derv, and the Long House. Master Fe-Sadarath would be happy to see me bringing back someone as elegant and eloquent as you..."

"Oh come on. Don't tell me they would take an old man like me?"

//You are not old, Jinn.// The words drowned in a fierce kiss that tasted bright green, of Living Force and love and steam hope.

---The End---