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Title: Impression 1
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Rating: R
Warning:
Disclaimer:I don’t claim ownership of characters or worlds that belong to anyone else. I’m only doing this for fun and games, and to give my lovely Salix a little pleasure.
Dedication: To my beloved salixbabylon .
Condemnation: Damn you, salixbabylon, for inducing an obsession, nay, a possible OTP.
Note: I tried. Oh, lord, I tried to write a simple hot little sex scene for Salix. But dammit, that Qui-Gon needed time, wanted to savour the moment, was all worried about stupid codes and rules and stuff. A comprehensive study of the fandom was carried out, many hours wasted in examination of the various conventions and clichés of the fanon, repeat viewings of the applicable movie and extra material, and long, purr-producing ponderings of the delectable Jedi in question.
I do not, it seems, do well at simple little smut. The smut goes deeper than that in me. I am, it would appear, smut to the bone.
I was also a little nervous. This is my first time... with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Deep, calming breath...
Impression - Part One
“Master, must I?”
Qui-Gon Jinn gave his faithful Padawan what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Poor Obi-Wan. It could not be easy for him, being Padawan to the unorthodox and unpredictable Master Jinn. While his peers still spent a good deal of their time in classrooms and study halls, practicing their light saber techniques in relatively safe conditions, with padded floors on which to fall and medical help at the ready, and passing their free time with each other, engaged in social and other relations, Obi-Wan had to follow his Master across the galaxy on all manner of difficult missions.
This was, Qui-Gon had to admit, one of the more disturbing tasks they had encountered in their years together.
Obi-Wan looked up at him with keen eyes. “Master, I do not regret accompanying you on the mission.”
How had Obi-Wan read his mind so easily? They shared a strong training bond, but it did not extend to the deciphering of thoughts, only the sensing of proximity and vague emotion. But then, Qui-Gon remembered, last night when they had fallen to their pallets from exhaustion, too tired to even remove their boots, Qui-Gon had expressed his concern that Obi-Wan’s life was too rough, too hectic, and too unstructured. So Obi-Wan was merely making a connection between last night’s discussion and Qui-Gon’s perturbed expression in the present. Perhaps he had been dwelling on Qui-Gon’s confession that he felt the impoliteness and outright hostility of these people created a potentially harmful environment for such a young man.
Obi-Wan had, of course, protested that he was no longer a child and need not be sheltered from the more unsavoury aspects of life. This environment certainly qualified as unsavoury.
The drink in Qui-Gon’s hand, though, went beyond unsavoury. It was revolting.
Obi-Wan was looking down at his matching goblet uneasily. “I believe I have conducted myself honourably and in accordance with the code throughout the mission. I have encountered nothing to harm my development as a Jedi, and I have learned far more than I would have sitting in a classroom listening to one of Master X’amima’s interminable lectures on diplomacy in the midst of tribal strife. But this…”
He swirled the thick liquid in the cup. Revolting indeed. Fresh blood from an Oxoliet grarbous, which was a large, shaggy sort of goat common on this continent and the pride of its herdsman, mixed with the milk of the Urubian scrotto.
Qui-Gon had not, during their weeks on this planet, actually seen an Urubian scrotto, but judging by the smell of its milk he considered himself lucky to have missed that dubious pleasure.
“Obi-Wan, this is a necessary part of the negotiations, a confirmation of our conviction that the settlement is just and fair. This is a tradition older than me, probably older than even Master Yoda. We must not question it. We will endure it with a calmness and acceptance worthy of the Jedi order.”
Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “But master, we don’t even know what it will do to us. Physiologically, I mean.”
“I contacted the Temple Archives, and was assured that no Jedi has ever been harmed by this ritual. Delay, I believe, will render this concoction even more… unsavoury,” Qui-Gon suggested, repeating Obi-Wan’s description from the night before.
Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Yes, Master.” He raised the goblet to his lips.
Qui-Gon wished he could offer Obi-Wan some way to escape the ordeal. The clotted milk swam thickly through the gelatinous blood, yellowish lumps swirling in maroon, never quite merging. The milk and blood could be stirred together, but tended to separate out once the liquid stopped moving. Qui-Gon was assured by the priest conducting the ritual that this was the way it was meant to be – two substances sharing the same vessel, together yet still distinct.
Qui-Gon lifted his cup and drank at the same moment Obi-Wan’s forehead crumpled in distress. They would get through this together.
So overwhelmed was he by the acrid taste, he did not notice the gasp that arose from the crowd when both Jedi drank at the same time.
Once the initial bitterness passed, there was a warmth to the concoction. A pungent calm settled in Qui-Gon’s gut as soon as he drained the goblet of the foul liquid. There was a sweet, almost cloying aftertaste. Not entirely unpleasant. In fact, what had begun as an objectionable exercise, conflicting tastes and colours, stomach churning in its conflict, had ended in harmony.
“Much like the negotiations,” Obi-Wan whispered as he set his empty cup next to Qui-Gon’s.
Qui-Gon could not staunch his swell of pride, most unbecoming of a Jedi, but then Obi-Wan was no ordinary Padawan; he had grasped the significance without Qui-Gon’s help.
Each of the tribal leaders drank, one at a time, and the priest intoned a solemn blessing on the event. “The negotiations do not end. We must constantly strive if we are to remain as a whole. We pledge ourselves to this endeavour wholeheartedly, and give thanks that our communion is harmonious.” There was a flurry of activity as the celebrations carried on.
The leader of the faction that had called the Jedi for aid appeared before them, mildly flustered. “Venerated Jedi, we once again thank you for your wisdom and skill, and for your patience with our conflict. We are unworthy of your attention, and will forever be indebted to you.”
Qui-Gon bowed. He disliked the self-abasement but, as was the drink, ritual humility was part of the tradition. He knew was not expected to reply.
“I… apologize for our oversight.” The chieftess hesitated, not part of the ritual subjugation. “We will make more suitable arrangements for your quarters at once,” she offered. “They are obviously inadequate for your needs.”
Qui-Gon tried to gauge the reasons for the sudden change. Their room seemed perfectly adequate to him. It was large enough to house him, his Padawan, and their few belongings. The paper screens on the doors did not keep out the chill in the very middle of the night, but the thick blankets they’d been issued were sufficient to ward off the worst of it. The low pallets, firm and smooth, were more comfortable than the rocky ground on which they had too often been forced to sleep. They had been using the room for several weeks without complaint. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.
The chieftess looked down and straightened her shoulder sash. “We insist. My attaché will guide you there when you wish to retire. Your belongings will be moved at once.”
“I assure you it is not…”
The chieftess held up her hand and looked him in the eye. “We live on our isolated world, Master Jinn, and while we do not have contact with the Jedi often, and may be unfamiliar with all of your ways, we are not unaware of the ways of the greater galaxy. We appreciate your discretion, but we appreciate even more that you have chosen to honour us with this revelation. We feel no shame in these matters, only prudence. We admire your delicacy; it is something many of our young people lack.”
Qui-Gon watched the slender woman bow gracefully, then retreat to her delegation’s table.
“What was that all about?” Obi-Wan asked.
“I have no clue, Padawan. It appears we have given some sort of impression.”
“She did not appear to be upset, Master.”
Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan. Obi-Wan had a keen sense for mood in these sorts of people. Koana was a planet strong in the force, but the people did not share that capacity. To Qui-Gon, grounded as he was in the Living Force, they were close to unreadable. It had made negotiations difficult. He’d had to rely on theory more than usual. Obi-Wan understood their body language and vocal tone with much greater ease.
“What was she, then?” he asked.
“Slightly embarrassed. Trying to portray herself as sophisticated. Whatever the reason for us being moved, it is something they do not talk about openly, but it has not lessened their respect for us. I think we should move to these new quarters graciously.”
“Very good, Obi-Wan. I believe you have read the situation accurately. I sense no disturbance in the force. We will go along with whatever this change entails.” Besides, the negotiations were over. All sides had agreed on the settlement. There was no reason to suspect a trick or trap.
Qui-Gon busied himself greeting the various leaders and their attachés. He accepted congratulations and gratitude, and returned those congratulations to the leaders of the different tribes. He lost track of Obi-Wan at one point, and was somewhat bemused to find him in a crowd of young men all watching the young Jedi with undisguised admiration and, Qui-Gon could not help noticing, not a small degree of lust.
Obi-Wan had a look on his face similar to that of a hunted creature. He noticed Qui-Gon and sidled away from a quite handsome young man who had been toying with Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid. “Master,” he whispered. “Those men appear to have the wrong idea about me.”
“Oh, really? They all seem to be quite attracted to you. However could that be ‘wrong’? One must not judge the preferences of others.”
While it was disturbing to see anyone else touch Obi-Wan’s braid, it was also amusing see his young apprentice so rattled by a little attention. Obi-Wan had fended off advances from all manner of young ladies at various formal functions in the past. Perhaps it was the maleness of his admirers that threw him off his usual calm reaction to any difficulty.
Perhaps that also explained Qui-Gon’s irrational irritation with the young man for daring to touch the braid.
“Some of them were quite… forward. And one of them suggested that you were of an advanced age, and that he was of a more suitable vintage!”
Qui-Gon chuckled. It was both rare and delightful to see Obi-Wan flustered. His wide eyes and flushed skin were most becoming.
That was inappropriate. Qui-Gon schooled his features. “Perhaps we should retire for the night. I think you have had quite enough excitement for the day.”
The chieftess’ attaché led the two Jedi up a winding path to a cabin situated far from the well-lit compound below. This particular hill was dotted with small dwellings nestled in natural hollows. Qui-Gon breathed the crisp night air deeply, thankful to be away from the heady scents and sounds of the crowded celebrations.
The attaché slid the delicate doors open and gestured at the simple interior. “I believe you will find this more suitable.” It may have been Qui-Gon’s imagination, but he could have sworn the attaché winked at him before descending to the gathering in the public square far below in the valley.
Obi-Wan looked around the room. “It is the same as our original quarters,” he said, “but for the incense and the candles.”
It was true. The sleeping room was approximately the same size, contained the same sleeping pallets and firm pillows, the same low table in the centre. The only difference was the smoky incense and flickering candles, exuding a scent similar to sandalwood.
“More secluded,” Obi-Wan continued in his analysis of their new quarters.
The ritual. Of course, Qui-Gon realized.
“Perhaps they believe we require more solitude for our meditations,” Obi-Wan suggested, demonstrating his innocence in a way that made Qui-Gon feel less than honourable.
So naïve, Qui-Gon thought fondly. He suppressed a laugh. “Obi-Wan, it appears we have given them the wrong impression after all, when we drank from the goblets at the same time. They believe we are… more than just Master and Padawan.”
Obi-Wan blinked at him in the dull light. “More? What could be more than Master and Padawan?”
It might have been Qui-Gon’s imagination, but Obi-Wan looked even younger in the candlelight than he did in the daytime.
“Padawan, every culture has its own quirks. Ignorance can lead to misunderstandings.”
“I studied the files carefully, as you instructed. It was our duty as negotiators to imbibe that vile substance. We did nothing untoward.”
“True. It appears that we unwittingly gave the impression. We drank at the same time.”
“I assumed we were giving each other much-needed support during a difficult task.”
“And they assumed we were choosing to reveal our profound desire for one another.”
Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
“The consumption of a ceremonial drink simultaneously…”
“Indicates that we are…”
“Lovers.”
Obi-Wan looked around the room in alarm. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid I am,” Qui-Gon said. “It is clear they believe us to need more privacy. The chieftess was probably so apologetic because she believes us to have been harmed in some way, due to restraining ourselves.”
It really was amusing, the panic on Obi-Wan’s young face.
“Master! But I… you can’t be…. They mustn’t…”
Qui-Gon had not heard Obi-Wan stutter so much since he was a young lad barely as tall as Qui-Gon’s elbow.
“The seclusion of this cabin is to ensure our lovemaking will not be heard by all and sundry.”
“Master!” Obi-Wan looked positively scandalize+d.
“Calm yourself, Padawan. If we are far enough away that our ‘passion’ would not be overheard, no one will be the wiser if we do not indulge in such pleasure.”
And a pleasure it would indeed be. Obi-Wan was a very attractive young man, if a bit unseasoned in the arena of love.
In fact, Qui-Gon would not be at all surprised to learn his Padawan was a virgin. Qui-Gon had never been given any hint, not an inkling, of any carnal activity on Obi-Wan’s part. There were never late nights or misplaced clothes or little love bites on his Padawan’s neck, none of the usual things that a Master might expect from a mature and desirable Padawan. Obi-Wan always conducted his social life with a controlled dignity, his passion reserved for lofty ideals and eminently just causes.
This lack of amorous activity only increased speculation around the temple as to Obi-Wan’s preferences, and even the depth of his relationship with his Master.
It also peaked Qui-Gon’s curiosity to an unhealthy degree.
“Close the door and let them think what they wish,” Qui-Gon instructed. “It has been a very busy day, following a tumultuous few weeks. We should meditate before we retire, centre ourselves in the Force.”
“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan slid the thin screen shut and sat on the floor opposite Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon smiled. “You did very well at the ceremony, Obi-Wan.”
“Thank-you, Master.”
“And the Drink of Union was not nearly so foul as you feared. I trust you suffered no ill effects.”
“A little light-headedness, Master, but that could be from the ale I had afterward. Or perhaps this incense.”
The incense was a tad overwhelming. Qui-Gon reached over and extinguished the smouldering stick. “Better? Good. Now, sit quietly and reflect on the negotiations. The tribes were far apart when we began, but came together when they realized their dependency on each other for material wealth and social health. The interdependency of tribes reflects the interdependency of species, planets, systems… the Force links us all and balance can only be achieved when we recognize our need for others. Meditate on the lessons we have learned.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles into a contemplative posture.
Qui-Gon did not. These were lessons he had learned many times over. He found it much more soothing to behold his Padawan’s meditation.
It was possible that that simultaneous drinking of the concoction had been enough to convince the entire gathering they were lovers. He had been on worlds where the mere holding of hands was considered betrothal. On Thalaysu Three a couple were considered bound if they wore each other’s tokens hanging from their ear lobes. It was more likely, Qui-Gon suspected, that the synchronization of their actions was but the final clue. He had, he knew, been watching Obi-Wan more closely of late. It could not have failed to escape notice.
Obi-Wan’s abilities were admirable, his skills impressive, but he had found the constant bickering of the tribes during this mission distressing. All participants had been on their best behaviour during the ritual, but the negotiations had more often resembled open warfare. Minor disagreements, both outside and inside the meeting centre, had often exploded into violent clashes. It was a relief that all sides were finally in agreement, but Obi-Wan had become, and remained, edgy.
Qui-Gon did not think his Padawan needed extra attention because of this nervousness. He did, however, find his Padawan all the more fascinating for it.
Obi-Wan had always worked toward total serenity, whether he was mimicking his Master’s Jedi calm or drawing peace from within. For such a vibrant individual, the attainment of outward calm was the highest achievement. Obi-Wan only let his innate energy truly flow free in battle, or while performing the most challenging kata.
The outright, unrelenting hostility of the tribal leaders had worn through Obi-Wan’s façade. Small bursts of emotion had been surfacing. Nervous energy leaked out. Obi-Wan fairly sizzled with power.
Qui-Gon did not consider it dangerous at all. He considered it sinfully attractive.
Most inappropriate.
He had probably been watching Obi-Wan far too closely in the past few days, waiting for the next hint of the passion beneath, the flickering of emotion in his lovely eyes or the flickering of a nervous tongue across his soft lips. That way Obi-Wan had of bouncing, as if sparring, when a situation became tense. Hints of what lay within.
Exceedingly inappropriate. Qui-Gon forced himself to close his eyes, and gave himself the metal equivalent of a cold shower. Master Yoda, beating him about the shins with his walking stick for being caught with his hand on…
“Master.”
…the ground when he was supposed to be levitating.
“Master?”
Qui-Gon groaned inwardly. He would be remiss in his duties if he ignored his Padawan during a meditation on such a complex and difficult situation. He cautiously reopened his eyes.
Obi-Wan’s eyes glittered at him from across the table. “If our actions led people to believe we were together, why were those men propositioning me?”
“That is a good question.” Qui-Gon took a steadying breath. “It appears that… well, what we revealed… that is to say, our actions…” Qui-Gon took another steadying breath.
“Is the desire of a man for other men so highly-valued that monogamy is not presumed?”
Qui-Gon peered at his Padawan. Obi-Wan’s expression was not significantly dissimilar to the one he wore when questioning his Master about astrophysics or intergalactic law.
“Is the revelation of the preference for males enough to make other males who desire the same assume that the one revealing his preference is… fair game?” Obi-Wan continued.
“Fair game, Padawan?”
Obi-Wan carefully composed expression fluttered for an instant. “Just a turn of phrase I heard from one of the pilots.”
“Hmmm. I do not know if this is an appropriate topic for meditation, Obi-Wan. We should be concerning ourselves with what is most relevant to the situation.”
Obi-Wan shifted his hips. “You do not think that men desiring other men is relevant to the evening’s events?”
Qui-Gon made an effort to keep still. Obi-Wan was almost squirming, and he was within reach. All Qui-Gon would have to do is extend one hand across the table to still him. “Perhaps those men were pleased when they discovered your supposed orientation and took it as permission to make advances. You may be correct that sexual preference is a factor; I doubt that they would have approached you so if you were a female.”
Or if Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan really were together. For if Qui-Gon were truly involved with Obi-Wan in a romantic fashion, he would not tolerate a single hand laid on the young man.
But that was something he was not about to include in his meditations.
“Master, this has been a very confusing evening.”
Qui-Gon heartily agreed, although he might be willing to apply a different adjective to the situation. Something along the lines of ‘frustrating’, perhaps.
“The simple revelation of my sexual preference has somehow rendered me desirable in the eyes of others.”
Qui-Gon felt a tremendous pressure in his chest. Obi-Wan would be viewed as desirable no matter what his preference. Even if he made it clear to one and all that he only sought the company of the Urubian scrotto, he would still be desirable. “An inadvertent and false revelation, so no harm has been done. Ease your mind, my Padawan. Focus on the now.”
“Still, I suppose it would be wise from now on to wear my tunic when I partake in my morning exercises.”
Qui-Gon shut his eyes and pictured Obi-Wan that very morning, clad in only his trousers and boots, performing his drills with determined precision, a thin sheen of sweat on his flexing muscles despite the chill of the air. Indeed, it would be wise to not display himself so enticingly to those who believed him open to their advances. The curve of Obi-Wan’s spine when he executed the spin turn during the fourth movement was breathtakingly…
Qui-Gon stood abruptly. “I think I need some air.”
Obi-Wan leapt to his feet. “Don’t leave me here alone, Master. What if they are waiting for you to leave?”
“They are not predators, Obi-Wan. They will not pounce the moment you are alone. I simply desire…” Best not to speak about what he desired. “It is too warm in here.”
“But, Master, we wouldn’t want the chieftess to think her efforts have gone to waste. Perhaps if you remove your outer tunic you will find the room more comfortable.”
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at his Padawan.
Obi-Wan sat back down and resumed his meditative posture. “I will meditate on these matters,” he said quietly.
“As will I,” Qui-Gon assured him, lowering himself to the floor.
Obi-Wan squirmed again. “Are you sure there was nothing in the drink? I feel odd.”
Qui-Gon centred himself and searched his body for signs of poison, medication, allergic reaction or intoxication. “No. There was nothing in the drink other than the blood and the milk.”
“Perhaps they combine to form some sort of stimulant. I am restless.”
“You are merely overtired. Meditate, and you will calm yourself.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “What about the incense?”
“I extinguished it.”
“The candles?” Obi-Wan suggested.
“That would leave us in the dark,” Qui-Gon pointed out, not wishing to sit in the dark with his Padawan, who could suddenly not sit still although he’d been trained to do so all his life.
Perhaps the dark would be preferable.
Obi-Wan made a concerted effect to settle, and closed his eyes.
Qui-Gon followed his lead, but could not find peace. He could only find the image of his startled Padawan dodging the grasping hand of the handsome young man. Of Qui-Gon pushing the young man aside. Forcefully. Of a grateful look on Obi-Wan’s face. Of Obi-Wan taking his hand and leading him up the path to the cabin.
“Master?”
Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. “Yes, Padawan?” he breathed out.
“What if it was inadvertent, but not false?”
Qui-Gon kept his eyes shut. “I beg your pardon?”
“The impression we gave.”
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. They were not together, so the impression was false. Unless Obi-Wan was referring to…
“The impression I gave. Of my preference. What if I do desire men? I mean, a man?”
Qui-Gon did not like where this seemed to be leading. Obi-Wan was old enough and well within his rights to return to the gathering and choose whichever of the men he desired. Qui-Gon had no right, even as his Master, to prevent Obi-Wan from doing so, no matter how much it would pain him. Every muscle in his body tensed. “Did you… see a young man you desired?”
“No.”
Qui-Gon relaxed. “Well, then, it is not an issue.”
Obi-Wan fidgeted with his braid. Qui-Gon sincerely wished he would not do that, since it made Qui-Gon yearn to reach out and…
“Do you think it is wrong, Master?”
“Certainly not,” Qui-Gon said. It was not wrong, but it was not right, either. “We are Jedi, Obi-Wan. We must be mindful of our actions. We cannot form attachments, and that sort of activity, unless undertaken with great care, and with someone who understands what it means to be a Jedi, inevitably leads to emotional entanglement.”
“So it is acceptable to act on those desires as long as it does not result in a new attachment?”
Qui-Gon nodded curtly, unwilling to contemplate how Obi-Wan might wish to act on his desires.
Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. “I understand, Master. There is no passion,” he quoted. Paused. Continued. “But I didn’t mean… I meant men. Desiring men. Do you think there is something wrong with desiring men? A man. Me… desiring a man.”
Qui-Gon felt himself begin to squirm. Of all the times for his Padawan to choose to be open about his nascent sexuality. “There is nothing at all wrong with it,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry, Master. You looked uncomfortable with the idea. If you don’t wish to talk about it, I can speak to someone when we get back to the Temple. Perhaps Master Windu…”
Over Qui-Gon’s dead body!
“Nonsense, Obi-Wan. I am not uncomfortable with the subject. I am merely a little warm.”
“I did suggest you remove your tunic, Master.”
So he had. Qui-Gon sighed. His tunic. That would be the tunic that draped heavily over his front, hiding his interest in the conversation quite effectively.
“I could open the door, but someone might see in and see that we’re not doing what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“We are doing precisely what we are supposed to be doing, young Padawan.”
And that was the problem. Qui-Gon would much prefer to be doing what he was not supposed to be doing.
Obi-Wan rose and walked around the table. “Master, let me help you prepare for bed. These negotiations have been tiring, and you had to deal with all those politicians at the celebration.” He knelt beside Qui-Gon and put his hands on Qui-Gon’s shoulders. “Turn toward me. I’ll help you with your boots.”
Qui-Gon had no choice but to obey. Obi-Wan would suspect something was amiss if he refused.
It was something Obi-Wan had started doing years before. When times were difficult, he would care for his Master the same way Qui-Gon had cared for him when he was very young.
Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan pull his legs straight and tried to train his thoughts on the image of the loathesome Oxoliet grarbous.
The heat from Obi-Wan’s hands penetrated the polished leather of Qui-Gon’s boot as Obi-Wan held it securely in his lap. “Your injury isn’t bothering you, is it? I could massage it for you.”
Qui-Gon had not felt even a twinge of pain from the twisted ankle since long before they arrived on this planet. “Perhaps, a bit,” he said weakly. His voice was weak. His morals were weak. His discipline was weak. He would have much to meditate on during the voyage home.
He would have to lock himself in his cabin to avoid further weakness.
But merely to feel Obi-Wan’s gentle hands and long, aristocratic fingers on his ankle would surely do no harm. Those nimble fingers worked the straps of his boot loose. He sighed and leaned back on his elbows when Obi-Wan pulled the boot off.
“I’m sorry, Master. I’m trying to be gentle.”
“And you are succeeding, Obi-Wan. Thank you for your attention to my comfort. You are a great help to your old Master.”
Obi-Wan scrunched his nose, making the face he always made when Qui-Gon referred to himself as ‘old’. He ran his fingers over the ankle and closed his eyes to better concentrate. His fingertips probed the joint delicately, precisely. Encountering no swelling, they took on a more active role, soothing the tendons and massaging the heel.
Qui-Gon felt a wave of protectiveness and calm. He did not wish to take advantage of his Padawan after all. That had been some sort of aberration, brought on by tension of ceremony. Perhaps there was something in the drink that had caused an imbalance. He would have to discuss the matter with other Jedi who had helped in negotiations in the past. Perhaps the incense was some sort of mild intoxicant. The effects would pass. All was well. This little crisis of responsibility was over.
He closed his eyes and felt the peace of a Jedi Master, resting at the end of a difficult mission while his innocent Padawan massaged his still-healing injury, warm fingers circling his ankle, palms warming the tired joint, thigh muscles flexing under his heel.
It was almost perfect.
Then Obi-Wan’s fingers slid under his leggings and caressed his bare calf.
Qui-Gon snatched his foot away.
“I’m sorry, Master. Honestly. I was being as gentle as possible!”
Qui-Gon sat upright. “Perhaps we should retire. I am quite tired.”
“Of course, Master.” Obi-Wan made a half bow from his kneeling position. The poor boy looked quite flustered. “I’ll get the other boot.”
Before Qui-Gon could stop him, Obi-Wan grabbed the other boot and began to remove it.
Very well. Qui-Gon could endure that. He watched as Obi-Wan deftly pulled the leather straps. He watched the elegant fingers linger on his ankle.
Obi-Wan looked up at him with astonishingly blue eyes, through impossibly thick lashes. “Are you sure it wasn’t this ankle that was injured, Master?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, alarmed at the huskiness of his own voice, and at the realization that he could not, for the life of him, remember which ankle he had injured.
Soft lips curled up in a sly smile. “Perhaps I should massage this one as well, just to be sure.”
Qui-Gon nodded, not trusting his voice to work at all, when Obi-Wan’s tongue snaked out and swept across his lower lip.
If the blood and milk, or the incense, or the candles, had aphrodisiacal qualities, his Padawan was obviously under the influence. It was far easier to believe there was some outside, vaguely sinister stimulus that than to confront the truth.
Continued in: Impression 2
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