Wish I May, Wish I Might Have the Knight I Wish Tonight

by Renaissance@moonmail.org

Archive: Master-Apprentice and my own at www.angelfire.com/zine/renaissance only. All others, please ask.

Rating: NC-17 overall

Spoilers: None

Pairing: QG/OW

Category: AU/Romance/Angst

Summary: "I'm celibate," says Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan believes him. (Qui- Gon's song is "Scarecrow's Dream," written by Dan Fogelberg, from his "Netherlands" album.)

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns everything here, except my imagination. I make no money off of this smut.

"They who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me
  than they are
They who speak to me do not know that my heart is full 
  with your unspoken words
They who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone 
  with you
They who love me do not know that their love brings you 
  to my heart."
    -Rabindranath Tagore

Prologue

I fell in love with my Master when I was sixteen. Just standing next to him, anywhere, anytime, made my palms sweat. He could say, "Good Morning, Padawan," and I'd become fully, painfully erect, seemingly for the rest of the day. I wanted him so badly that I could think of nothing else for weeks on end. I loved being with him, being his Padawan. Having the right to just be near him.

I let myself imagine that one day he would love me back. I had no idea when that "one day" might be, but I was young and vulnerable and ignorant, and I dreamed.

My dreams were shattered, not by Qui-Gon, but by a conversation I overheard between him and a noblewoman on some planet or another. Men and women constantly pursued him, wanting to climb into his robes, or his bed, or shamelessly begging him to just unfasten his belt and open his tunics and have his way with them against a castle wall or palace balcony, or atop a fortress catwalk or even the filthy floor of a transport shuddering through hyperspace. They weren't picky.

Qui-Gon was.

The noblewoman in question - like so many others before her - managed to drag my Master off behind some tapestry for the express purpose of propositioning him. I'd been wandering a few steps behind them in the corridor and witnessed her beckoning him behind the weaving, but missed the actual proposition. Still, it's not difficult for me to imagine what she said. As a Jedi Padawan, I'd been treated as being all but invisible more times than I could remember, and lots of people tended to forget that invisible Padawans have ears. I knew the lines well. She probably told him how lovely she found him, how much she wanted him, and would he be agreeable to a rendezvous in her rooms a little later? I was in time to hear his answer.

"No, I'm sorry," he murmured in that low voice that curled my toes constantly. That voice didn't sound sorry in the least. "I'm celibate."

She squeaked. Were all Jedi celibate?

"I cannot speak for the entirety of my Order," he answered calmly, lifting the edge of the tapestry and honoring her with a bow even as he stepped away from her. I stuck to the shadows, unobtrusive, invisible, simply not there.

Would it cause so much harm, then, if he was to relax his celibacy for one teensy, weensy night? Did he not find her attractive? She preened.

"Eminently so, little one."

She screeched, and I winced.

Little one? So he thought her a child? Hysterics threatened, and my Master stepped forward again to touch her cheek and murmur a few comforting, sweet nothings. Also to apply a bit of a mind whammy on the difficult female.

The next day, I watched her struggle against Qui-Gon's planted suggestion that one of the other, lesser nobles was devastatingly attractive -- much more so than any graying Jedi Master could be. Her brow furrowed, she all but whimpered in frustration and with obviously dissatisfaction, but she still wandered off in the hapless man's direction. I heard my Master's sigh of relief and sensed the tension drain from his body when she left. And so... another one bit the dust.

Seated beside Qui-Gon, I reached for my trencher of mulled wine and ignored his warning frown; it was strong stuff, far too heady for a young Padawan. I was well aware of this and had no intentions of drinking it. I just wanted to stare into its depths and think deep thoughts as the candlelight wavered on the oily looking surface.

Celibate.

With that one word, delivered so quietly and so deliberately, a wall had slammed down between my dream and me.

The word meant that he was out of reach. And happy to remain so.

And so, at sixteen, I had fallen in love with my Master and knew that I could never act on that love.

That particular mission was soon over. There were others, and I came to value even more just being with him, even if I could not be possessed by him. I watched him for years, hoping against hope that Qui-Gon had claimed something he did not live -- that his statement to the courtesan had been a lie.

It wasn't a lie. He brought no partners home to our quarters, and he left every Temple function by himself or with me. It mattered little what hour I came home over the next eight years or so: if I returned early from my pleasures, he was always sitting in his favorite chair, reading; if I returned late, I made it a habit to make sure he was in his own room, asleep. He always was. And he slept alone.

I took other lovers, casual lovers, as the years went by and so knew the giddy happiness of falling in love, or lust as the case happened to be, more often than not. I learned how to give and receive pleasure, to use all of the Force-granted charms I possessed to flirt, to have fun, to please my partner, to *live.* I used none of those charms on him. Instead, I chose to honor his chastity as I honored every other part of him. He seemed not to miss physical intimacy, yet it saddened me to think that he was so alone, and to know what he was missing. It saddened me even more to know that, after I became a knight, I would be required to leave him to that aloneness.

In time, I grew to appreciate my Master's celibacy, as it quite selfishly meant that even if I couldn't have him, no one else could, either. I liked that part. A lot. There was even a perverse comfort attached to it whenever Qui-Gon and I were forced to share a bed on missions. He slept with me, and even if it was in total innocence with our lying back to back, I knew that he didn't even do so much as this with anyone else.

I assumed much after hearing him speak those two words, "I'm celibate." I assumed that it was his willing choice to be, that he gathered strength from it, and that it was some tenet of his personal code which also dictated his deep compassion and caring for all lifeforms. So disciplined was Qui-Gon in every part of his life that I came to see his celibacy as merely an extension of that discipline. It wasn't a path I chose to follow, but it was one that I respected.

What I didn't know was how completely wrong my assumptions were.

It was almost the happiest day of his life. Almost. The happiest had been the day when he realized that Qui-Gon Jinn had truly taken him for his Padawan. This day was a bookend to that one-the day when he was knighted. Already, he had traded his white robes for beige, had replaced his rusty old outer robe with a dark brown one the same shade as his Master's. Standing before the mirror in his sleep chamber, Obi- Wan smoothed down the new robes and looked over his reflection's shoulder as his Master entered the room.

"Knight Kenobi." Qui-Gon's eyes glittered with what appeared to be tears, but his proud smile could have lit a galaxy. Standing behind Obi- Wan, he reached for the Padawan braid, to draw it taut and slice through it with the same pair of scissors he'd used for years to cut his Padawan's hair.

Running his own hand down the braid, Obi-Wan laid his fingers over Qui- Gon's.

"Not yet, please?" Turning his head, he locked gazes with Qui- Gon's. "Leave it for awhile longer, please?"

"But your celebration is about to begin, and-"

"And it's customary for the Master to remove the braid before presenting the new-made Knight. I just..." Faltering, he let his hand fall away from Qui-Gon's. "I just want to hold on to...to being your Padawan... just a little longer, if only symbolically."

"But you've passed your trials and the Council announcement was posted. You're a knight now."

"Master...."

"What is it, Obi-Wan?" The big man's voice was gentle. His fingers abandoned the braid to caress his former padawan's shoulder.

"When you cut my braid, you'll sever our bond, and I'm not quite ready for that."

Qui-Gon stared down at him in silence for a moment. Cupping Obi-Wan's shoulders, he turned him gently around.

"Nor am I, my Padawan." He ran affectionate fingers through the Padawan cut, now being allowed to grow out. "I shall miss you, Obi- Wan." /Miss you in my mind, by my side, and at my back in battle. Miss your sense of humor, your grumpiness in the morning, hearing your voice every day./ "But you've worked for this day for years, and your adventures are only just beginning."

Obi-Wan laughed. "You speak as if you and I haven't had any adventures at all. And besides... 'A Jedi craves not these things.'"

"Yes. Well, even Jedi must have a few pleasures, else we may as well all become monks."

Obi-Wan spoke with amusement and affection. "But we are monks."

Laughing softly at Qui-Gon's startled look, Obi-Wan slid his arms around his mentor's waist and hugged him tightly. Qui-Gon's hands tightened on his shoulders, and for a moment the new-made knight thought that the older man meant to push him away. Molded as he was against his Master's hard length, he instantly felt the heated flesh surging against his thigh, so quickly that Obi-Wan was startled. /Master? I know that you don't feel *that way* about me, so how is it that.../

Qui-Gon seemed to deliberately ignore the mental query, choosing instead to draw back slightly and touch Obi-Wan's cheek. "You will let me know when you wish the braid to be severed, and our bond dissolved?"

Ignoring his Master's erection as he was obviously meant to do, Obi-Wan buried his nose against the big man's chest and inhaled deeply. /I probably won't ever be this close to him again./ "I will, Master."

Qui-Gon's scent was so achingly familiar, Obi-Wan tried to imprint it on his mind, knowing that he'd need to recall it while trying to sleep on some not-so-far-off mission on some too-far-off and horribly uncomfortable planet.

Releasing him gently, Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "Then let's be off to your party, and no more moments of sadness. This is meant to be a happy day."

"I am happy." Obi-Wan summoned a smile through mock-gritted teeth. "See how happy I am?"

It made Qui-Gon laugh, as it was meant to do. "Is there something you'd rather be doing instead?"

/Besides staying home, confessing my lust, and having my way with you?/ "No, Master."

"Then let's go." Clapping a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, the Master gestured with his other hand. "After you, Knight Kenobi."

The loud music, the endless wine, the driving music, the huge group of friends, the bantering conversation, and the wild dancing... His celebration party was more than Obi-Wan had imagined it would be, and it went on for hours on end, with himself as the main attraction.

/I'm a popular fellow,/ Obi-Wan reflected, allowing himself to be dragged back out onto the floor, regardless his feet ached from dancing and his cheeks hurt from laughing. Every friend that he'd had from the creche onward seemed to have shown up this evening, and all wanted a good bit of his time-to share embarrassing old stories and to tell monstrous tales, to remind of things he'd thought long dead and buried.

"Half of those stories, my Master never found out about!" he'd yelled at Bruck over the roar of the crowd at dinner. "Don't tell him now, or he'll have the results of my trials reversed!"

"YES!" Bruck Chun bellowed back, rising to offer yet another toast to his friend. "Blackmail material!"

"Tell me what!" Qui-Gon shouted from further down the table, where he and the other Masters were deep into regaling their own Padawan tales, past and present.

"Nothing, Master Jedi!" Chun had shouted back, leaping onto the table and back down beside Obi-Wan, grabbing hold of his braid and hauling him out onto the dancefloor.

"That's not a leash, Bruck!" Bant had gurgled behind them.

"It's good of him to keep it, though, ya gotta admit-just for me!"

Obi-Wan followed along obediently, but his eyes flashed fire that told Chun that he'd better watch his back; his trials were several months off and he still sported his own braid; what was good for the reluctant knight was also good for the always-obnoxious Padawan.

"Yeah, I know you'll kick my butt," Bruck muttered, "but that's later."

Bruck had begun what had become an evening wherein Obi-Wan was simply not allowed to leave the dance floor. Hard night fell on Coruscant, torches were lit, and still the party went on. It seemed as though time stood still in the Temple, just for Obi-Wan, with every friend he'd ever had determined to be part of the celebration, to tell him congratulations, that he'd make a fine knight, and that he was to keep in touch and regal them with his tales whenever Council let him come home for more than half a week.

He laughed and flirted and joked and danced with all of them and yet...One of the most beloved was missing, even as he was in attendance. It might have been the natural reticence of a Master Jedi, except that Mace Windu came to claim him once, and Adi Gallia, and others-including the ever-reticent Master healers who'd put him back together more than once. Even Yoda had come to place his hand on Obi- Wan's and wish him well, if not to take a turn on the floor.

Eventually, the night wound down, the wellwishers began begging off to bed, and Obi-Wan sat slouched at the table with his feet up on the soiled cloth, a half-filled wineglass twirled between his fingers, and only Bant left to keep him company. The torches were guttering, the air was heavy in the early morning, and Obi-Wan began thinking about escorting his friend home and then falling into bed himself. Bant's webbed hand covered his on the table as they reminisced about their time as Initiates.

"You got chosen by one of the best Masters there is-after you swore for weeks that no one would ever claim you as their Padawan, remember?" She grinned.

Obi-Wan shook his head in wry remembrance. "I remember all too well. What's really weird is that part of me is still afraid that I'm in some sort of dream, that I'll wake back in the dorm and discover that the Masters are coming to watch us spar this afternoon, that I'm only a few weeks away from turning thirteen and absolutely doomed to never be chosen."

Bant's eyes widened over Obi-Wan's head a scant moment before a deep voice spoke and a heavy hand descended on his shoulder.

"Allow me to dissolve the nightmare once more, my Padawan."

The hand moved to his elbow, urging him onto his feet. Trained to obey that hand, Obi-Wan shoved back from the table, slapped his boots onto the smooth wooden floor, and all but rocketed to his feet. Abruptly, he was nose to chest with his Master, whose was standing so close to him that his hair bushed Obi-Wan's cheek. He knew that Bant's eyes were widening when Qui-Gon leaned down to brush his lips across his Padawan's forehead. Bending lower, Qui-Gon murmured softly into Obi- Wan's ear.

"Dance with me."

"Um... sure."

It couldn't be his Master's arm sliding possessively around his waist, nor his Master's hand engulfing his, nor his Master's broad chest pressed against his own. No, this simply could not be. Peripherally, he was aware of Bant skittering from the room, leaving them their privacy as Qui-Gon began the familiar dance steps.

Obi-Wan followed as he'd followed for thirteen years, by some instinct that sang in him, telling him exactly where to put his feet to exquisitely match the Master's rhythm as he'd matched him in countless battles. They were joined, hips and hands and thighs, their breath mingling as they rounded the room, as Obi-Wan came to realize that even though the band had left an hour before, Qui-Gon had brought his own music. Humming softly beneath his breath, he guided Obi-Wan without faltering, his bearded cheek atop Obi-Wan's head, his arms pulling the knight closer, encouraging him to lay his own cheek against his Master's chest.

Obi-Wan did so and was rewarded by Qui-Gon shifting slightly to set his lips close to partner's ear. Was that a kiss pressed against his temple? Obi-Wan didn't have time to ponder as the last torch guttered, casting the great hall in near darkness.

"Do you remember this song?" Qui-Gon murmured.

"I'm... not sure, Master." He was unsettled by Qui-Gon's nearness; arousal teasted at him. He never wanted the moment to end, could have spent all eternity locked in this dance, but knew it was impossible. /I don't know why he wants to do this, but I'll enjoy it while it lasts./

"We heard this song on Lesgui, as it was sung by the court troubadours. It's an old song, meant to encourage lovers to speak the secrets of the heart on the night of the full moon. " Qui-Gon began singing softly in the warm, rich baritone Obi-Wan had seldom been allowed to hear. "'Seldom seen, a scarecrow's dream-I hang in the hopes of replacement. Castles tall, I built them all, but I dream that I'm trapped in the basement.'"

The words were coming back to Obi-Wan now. Snuggling closer to the big man, he closed his eyes, hummed along, and listened to the great chest vibrate.

"'And if you ever hear me calling out, and if you've been by paupers crowned, between the world of men and make-believe I can be found.'"

Sotly, Obi-Wan began singing along, remembering the peaceful mission that had been sheer delight and torture at the same time. They'd shared a bed, and he'd awoken snugged close to a body that meant safety and warmth and strength. /Strange, to remember a song heard only once in our lives. And yet, we both remember./

"'Plans I've made, a masquerade fading in fear of the coming day,'" Qui- Gon sang on. "Heroes' tales, like nightingales, wrestle the wind as they run away. And if you ever hear them calling out, and if you've been by paupers crowned, between the worlds of men and make-believe they can be found.

"'Garden gate, an empty plate, waiting for someone to come and fill scarecrow's dreams, like frozen streams, thirst for the thaw but they're running still....'" Obi-Wan let his voice trail off, contented to listen as his Master finished the song.

"'And if you ever hear me calling out, and if you've been by paupers crowned, between the worlds of men and make-believe I can be found....'" Qui-Gon's voice faded. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he let his hands fall away, took a step back, and gazed down at his former Padawan. Obi-Wan gazed back, not certain of what was expected of him now.

Slowly, as though almost against his will, as though compelled to do so, Qui-Gon raised his hand to run his forefinger over Obi-Wan's lower lip.

"Not a monk," he murmured. "Never a monk."

"No. I'm not, Master." Puzzled gray-green eyes stared up into uncertain blue.

"For so long, Obi-Wan... I've wished and wanted... Wanted so much to...." Giving a crooked, clearly self-deprecating smile, Qui-Gon shrugged slightly and stepped closer. Trembling fingers slid along Obi- Wan's jaw, caressed the sensitive skin beneath both of his ears. Lowing his head, Qui-Gon sighed before taking Obi-Wan's mouth in a slow, searching kiss.

Scarcely daring to believe what was happening between them, Obi-Wan groaned and deepened the kiss, opening to his Master and tangling his fingers in the thick mane of hair. Pulling, he urged the big man closer, and closer still, until he found himself braced hard against his Master's long, muscular length, until he could arch against the hardness swelling in answer to his own arousal, until he was as certain of his Master's desire as he was of his own.

Their tongues touched; he tasted Qui-Gon for the first time and whimpered at the taste-having known it for so long, yet only now being able to consciously acknowledge its effect on him. He sucked strongly only to chase his Master's taste back between Qui-Gon's lips, suckled on the full lower lip and nipped at the less sensuous upper one, enjoying the soft moustache tickling his own upper lip. Qui-Gon's boldly explored the roof of his mouth, licked and nibbled until Obi- Wan gasped and arched, needing to take more of the Master into himself. So much more.

Cupping Obi-Wan's shoulders, Qui-Gon angled him against his shoulder, and bent his head to kiss him again. Obi-Wan found himself overwhelmed by the large body, welcomed the curtain of hair brushing his cheek. A huge hand caressed the small of his back, the long, blunt fingers splaying low. Rocking his hips, Qui-Gon sent tendrils of fire licking through both of their groins.

Gasping, Obi-Wan abruptly broke the kiss. "I need.... Master...."

Qui-Gon nipped at his Padawan's ear, his erection insistent against Obi- Wan's thigh. "You do know that we are not monks, Obi-Wan?" His tongue flicked out briefly, to outline the shell of the young man's ear. "Not intentionally, and seldom by choice?"

/What is he trying to... tell.... me?.../ Swearing softly, his need insistent between his legs, Obi-Wan pushed the lesson away for another time. He didn't want another lesson; he wanted to thrust mindlessly against Qui-Gon, wanted to touch skin on skin, wanted to feel his Master's fulness inside of him, wanted to be claimed by this man and belong to him for all of the rest of his days. Growling, Obi-Wan turned nuzzled at his Master's beard before capturing his mouth. Qui- Gon arched against him, setting a gentle rhythm that Obi-Wan matched with an almost mindless desperation. A broad hand massaged his back in time to the thrusts, so that the young knight felt himself harden far too soon and hurtle toward completion. Shuddering hard in Qui-Gon's arms, he rocked back and cried out as his climax took him. Strong hands supported him, held him even closer when he would have slid in a boneless heap at his Master's feet.

"Qui-Gon..." he whispered, shivering in the aftermath and realizing as his Master's erection nudged him that the older man had not found his own completion yet.

"I love you, Obi-Wan," he murmured, kneeling on the hardwood floor and bringing Obi-Wan to kneel with him. Cradling the young man against his chest, he whispered soft words of love, stroked his hair and kissed his brow. "I will always love you."

"Let me please you, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, sitting up and trying to regain his balance, retrieve his coherence.

"I... cannot, my Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was soft and sad. He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's mouth to still the instant protest. "Shh... it's alright. I wanted to give you everything that I can this night. All for you."

Sighing, Obi-Wan snuggled against the hard chest once more, listened to the nonsensical words his lover murmured. He felt loved and cherished, sated and sleepy, yet some part of him knew that something wasn't right. He should be reaching out, loving Qui-Gon as he'd been loved. They should be making their way to their shared bed now. Obi-Wan's limbs should be entwined with his Master's, with his Master deep inside of him, filling him, loving him. This dance-nice though it had been- wasn't all they should have been sharing. But.... but......

He couldn't rouse himself, couldn't think because long fingers were stroking through his hair and they felt so good, distracting and seducing him into sleep. Strong arms rocked him gently there on the floor. His Master's heartbeat soothed him, Qui-Gon's warmth surrounded him as it had on many cold missions, keeping him safe from all that might harm him-even from his own Master's desires.

/He won't let me make love to him,/ Obi-Wan remembered on the edge of sleep. /Why not?/ He tipped over into sleep before he could ponder the question further, or ask Qui-Gon to explain.

TBC....