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A Purrfect Pair

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As I approached our quarters, I reached out with the Force to subtly brush against my Padawan’s mind, seeking for a hint of his mood. It was a common practice for Masters. We carried a grave responsibility, educating young individuals to be Jedi, to be capable to handling the daily tasks and mammoth crises they would ultimately face. Padawans, particularly those in their developing years, could be incredibly excitable, prone to those normal hormonal imbalances each species seems to suffer as they grow. Awareness of their moods often helped us determine in advance how their day had gone, and what kind of lesson we should ensure they received to ensure their successful development into serene Jedi Knights.

By the time Obi-Wan and I became lovers, the automatic mind check was no longer essential. He was a mature man, not an occasionally hyperactive teen. His observations were uncanny, his insights astute, his reasoning sound, his deductions logical. Few lessons were required to mold his basic shape; merely a light seasoning to ensure his perfection, in my perhaps slightly biased opinion.

The mind check was too habitual to stop and I discovered an extra advantage. Before I put hand on door, I knew if my young lover would be most receptive to an evening of romantic flirtation or a rough grasp on his tunic, dragging him into the sleeping chamber. I sometimes wondered if he had begun mentally gauging my mood, since if I did not take any initiating action, he had a remarkable ability to give me just what I needed, serious discussion, patient coddling, or passionate sex.

Today, he was … a little perplexed. Confused by something. An odd occurrence these days. He had so much field experience, that few of his Temple lessons could truly surprise him. Oh, he struggled with some of the more esoteric concepts in his advanced classes, but he handled most social and political situations with aplomb and polish.

He was sitting on the couch, studying the comm padd. His feet and a wine bottle filled with a milky colored fluid were on the low table. I crossed the room, bending down to give him a swift kiss on the lips. He seemed pleased, if a little distracted, so I gave him another. Then another…there’s something about Obi-Wan’s lips. They have truly the most special flavor in this world.

Since we’re become lovers, I have become addicted to their taste.

One of his palms met my chest, lightly pressing away, and I acceded. A rueful smile, mocking my own eagerness, and I rose to remove my cloak and walk back to the closet to hang it, saying as I did, “Good evening, Obi-Wan. Did you have a good day?”

“My day? Oh yes. Knight Col’voni’s physics lecture, Master Asme’s class on cultural taboos, helped with the sparring class for the initiates…” He was nonchalant while reciting his activities and indeed, time at the Temple is pleasantly mundane compared to many of our missions.

My cloak hung, I sat on the couch next to him, turning my torso to look at him, one elbow resting on the back of the couch. “You seem distracted.”

“I received a communication and a present from Sherla.”

Ah. Sherla. Not really one of my favorite people, though I must appreciate that her antics brought us together. “Did she say anything interesting?”

“She’s been allowed to re-open her business. She made an odd reference about conceding to your demands, hopes there’s no hard feelings, and sent that present.” He gestured to the bottle with his reader. Catarrian milk-wine, then, not really one of my favorite beverages, but a tolerable drink. The alcohol level is fairly low and the taste…well…milky. It's certainly better than many beverages Obi-Wan and I have ingested during our missions. Obi-Wan continued, “What did you demand?”

“That she cease using your image in her advertising and that she not use mine.”

Suspiciously, he questioned, “Why did she concede? She seemed completely unwilling when I asked.”

This was going to be tricky. Making sure Obi-Wan learned a lesson was not entirely comfortable since we became lovers. He still took lecturing well and never reciprocated with coldness in our romantic relationship, but it was undeniably awkward. At least, it was to me. “You didn’t threaten her with a lawsuit.”

“You threatened her with a lawsuit?”

“No, my attorney threatened her with a lawsuit. Even the Jedi have rights, including the right not to have their images used for commercial purposes.”

“Your attorney?” His voice rose. “You hired an attorney? A Jedi with an attorney?”

“They are valid professionals on most worlds in this Republic, including Catarria and Coruscant.” My tone was calm and level.

“Yes, but…” he sputtered off. Well, perhaps, he doesn't handle all situations with complete aplomb and polish. The road from mentor and student to lovers has been a little bumpy. We stared at each for a long moment, as I let him process the information. “Why didn’t you suggest an attorney before?”

“You didn’t ask for my suggestions.”

His eyes squeezed shut, as if stabs of pain were driving into his temples, and he banged the data reader on his forehead. “I was in charge of a mission and I didn’t ask for suggestions. I just sent you off to talk to the Catarrian public.”

“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate.

He voice seemed a bit accusatory as he snapped, “I recall a number of missions when you didn’t accept my advice.”

“True, but you always spoke your mind and I always listened.”

“So, I was supposed to request your valuable input?”

“It would not have been unreasonable, to seek advice from a Jedi Master on your first assignment.”

“You were teaching me to not to be prideful.” Definitely accusatory.

“A vital part of leadership is paying attention to all members of your contingent, including those who don’t speak. When we handle negotiations, you know we pay as much attention to the silent ones as to the bombastic. The same principle applies to your own team.”

“Maybe you were just upset because I wanted to handle things myself for once, without having my advice disregarded. As I recall, it was your actions that truly turned that mission into a fiasco.”

I flinched inside, though my face was neutral. There was obviously some lingering hostility from the early years of his padawanship, when I must admit, I did tend to believe my evaluation of the situation was more correct than anything a youth might suggest. And based my actions on that belief. “We have already discussed my flaws on that mission. When we first went to Catarria, I did hope you might convince Sherla without resorting to legal threats. It was only after the Disani/Polonian incident that I fully appreciated the damage that might result from her advertising.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. The teasing around the Temple had been tolerable, if a bit juvenile. My request for tea delivery cancelled, with an extra order of milk inserted. A family of Kertharian field mice suspiciously loose in our quarters. The bad puns. Someone clearing his voice and accidentally purring. But when the wives of the Disani and Polonian delegates insisted that the ‘darling cat boy’ must be respected, listened to, and the nice treaty signed for him, I realized damage control had to start. Jokes among our peers were one thing; an impact upon his professional reputation was another.

After all, one of these days, the negotiators’ wives might be dog people, and then where would Obi-Wan be?

Though it had been rather cute, the way they hung on his every word and introduced him to their own multitude of cats. The inquisitive beasts had climbed all over him, coating his beige tunic with many colors of cat fur. The wives pleaded with him to send a personal introduction for them to Sherla, a favor he promptly performed. He had blushed from embarrassment, bore their attention manfully, and learned the value of connecting with negotiators’ families.

His mood appeared more distracted than annoyed as he replied, “Damage you’ll never have to suffer now.”

I shrugged, downplaying. “News vids do generally receive less distribution than ad vids, though I doubt I will escape entirely. I certainly haven’t here.” I rubbed one hand on his shoulder, massaging the tense muscles, hoping we could change the conversation. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry. Why don’t you eat in the dining hall?”

Not instantaneous forgiveness, then. Sometimes it is better not to force the issue. I pressed a soft kiss on his smooth cheek, ran my hand down his braid, and nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Yes.”

I rose, wanting to give him the privacy he needed to think things through, but hesitated to leave with the atmosphere unsettled. Casting about for a comment, I noted the milk-wine. “Are you going to drink that?”

“I thought I might have a glass. Why? Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No.” Involuntarily, I shuddered. “No offense intended, but I wouldn’t trust gifts from Sherla.” I mentally cringed at my slip. Leaving after insulting his friend was going to be awkward. Sometimes I’d rather handle negotiations between two blood-thirsty, warring tribes than navigate the asteroid field that a romantic relationship can generate.

Though, looking at Obi-Wan’s lithe form, exquisitely shaped and well-muscled, the comm padd still clasped in one hand, boots on the table, it cannot be disputed that the benefits of a successful romance are heavenly. Even though I believe strongly in the will of the Force, small doubts creep into my mind, wondering why I have been so truly blessed, to be united with a mate whose body is as beautiful as his soul.

I decided not to try to recover from my miscalculation. Another pat on his shoulder and I strode out.

It was late when I arrived home. A lively discussion on the Giinevian crisis had sprung up over dinner, with several of the Masters taking opposing positions. While the debate was purely academic – Master Bellota and her Padawan had already been dispatched to the planet – the conversation was intriguing, the differences of opinion well-argued. Being able to see and analyze all viewpoints is a critical Jedi skill. The conversation flowed back and forth, Master Seret and Knight Volra taking the most extreme positions, with the rest of us fueling the fires in the genial, albeit sporadically heated encounter.

I reached out with my mind and met only the lack of consciousness that characterizes sleep. I quietly entered to find the lights still on. Obi-Wan was sprawled on the couch, fully dressed. His right leg was on the couch, while the left was flung over the back. His left hand rested on his chest while the right dropped to the floor.

He should have looked a bit crass, so artlessly disarranged with his legs spread wide and his braid trailing to the ground, his face muscles loose. Instead, he simply looked ravishing.

I picked up the bottle and his glass, placing the rest of the milk-wine away in the chiller, rinsing the glass. He had finished at least two glasses from the amount of liquid remaining. I gave him a slight nudge, intending to encourage him to undress and move to the bed. The couch is relatively comfortable, but he would be stiff in the morning.

I would rather he would be stiff tonight. In our bed.

He didn’t wake.

I shook harder. He still didn’t wake.

I sank back on my heels and contemplated the matter. Obi-Wan was well-accustomed to snapping to awareness in an instant. He was a trained Jedi warrior, taught since his first years in the crèche to be ever vigilant. His day had been long, but classes and sparring with initiates couldn’t push him to the edge of exhaustion.

Leaving two logical options. Sherla was miffed about her loss, sending drugged wine as a form of revenge.

Or Obi-Wan was faking it.

I found neither prospect appetizing.

I shook him roughly, and he eventually opened his eyes, blinking lazily. “Meowr?”

For a moment, I had to admire as he stretched. He’d always been an athletic person, but since his time in a state of cat mentality, he was even more deliciously tempting to watch when he moved, stretched, exercised, walked… Every single muscle rippled with feline grace, and his stride was positively slinky.

“Obi-Wan,” I said sternly. “I am well aware you are faking it.”

His “Meowr” was indignant, as it might very well be, if his conscious mind was trapped by but fighting a bestial dominance. Or if he was faking it.

“Obi-Wan.” This time, I tried for a threatening tone.

The “Meowr” was conciliatory, as he leaned forward, rubbing his cheek on mine, a purr rumbling in his chest. His tongue darted out, lapping at the skin of my throat.

My third “Obi-Wan” was decidedly weak, encouraging his arms to wrap around my neck, as his tongue licked up the column of my neck, reaching my right ear, where his teeth nipped at the lobe.

This didn’t make sense. He hadn’t slept nearly as long as the last time and the unabashed amorousness was new. Unless, of course, Sherla had experimented with the formula, reducing the time for the potion to work its way through the body, and potentially creating side effects. Maybe the side effects were deliberately created for newlyweds….perhaps the formula worked differently on second exposure…I was finding excuses, wanting to justify that this was her mischievousness.

But if it was her fault, then Obi-Wan was literally out of his mind, driven by impulses he couldn’t control, his rational mind an impotent observer to his own actions. Picking him up and carrying him into the bedroom, as I strongly wished to do, would be…tacky to say the least. Taking advantage of a drugged individual, even a lover who would enjoy the experience, would be beneath the honor of a Jedi.

Particularly if Obi-Wan was faking it, to trick me into such reaction.

I scrambled back, out of his arms. I aimed for stern again and succeeded. “Obi-Wan.”

He answered my words with more lazy blinking, his ever-changeable eyes looking amazingly blue and innocent.

“Either Sherla has been reprehensible and drugged you, or you are faking it.” A very long blink, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. “If you are drugged, I will not take advantage of you. If you are faking, please stop this moment and we will not discuss this again.” That instruction generated a yawn, his head rolling back as his mouth opened wide, his pink tongue flicking against his top teeth.

I clasped him under the armpits and picked him up. He went limp in my hands, head dropping, chin hitting his chest. He is a good half head shorter than I, slimmer of build, and never appeared so fragile. I sighed. “Either way, I’m going to let you sleep in the other room tonight.” By other room, I meant his former room. We’d rearranged our furniture and personal belongings after becoming lovers, using the other room primarily for storage. We kept the single bed for infrequent visitors.

He dangled bonelessly as I carried him. I am strong, but not strong enough to carry the weight of a grown man in this fashion. A judicious boost from the Force helped, since I didn’t want to swing him into my arms, allowing him close access. He was too tempting and regrettably, I am too weak. I crossed our main room and into the padawan bedroom, depositing him on the bed.

He flopped back on the covers, one knee bent so his booted foot was on the bed. His legs were spread and he was half-erect. He was downright…scrumptious.

Out of consideration, I removed his boots and swung his legs onto the bed. “Good night, Obi-Wan. We will talk when you are well.” I left, sealing the door shut with a shield of the Force.

An insufferable howling emerged from the sleeping room, a long, tortured moan of pain and neglect. I faced the door but didn’t open it. “Obi-Wan, stop this,” I demanded. There was a momentary break and I congratulated myself on the effectiveness of a firm hand. Then the howling resumed, agonized and lonely. “Obi-Kitty,” I yelled over the noise.

I heard the ping of the comm unit. My “What?” was brusque, and Obi-Wan’s caterwauling shrieked ever higher in the background.

The dour visage of Master Racinne appeared. A more humorless Jedi I have never met. Unfortunately, his quarters are right next to ours. He complained, “Really, Qui-Gon, I’ve tried to be tolerant of a Master having an affair with his Padawan, but whatever bondage or kinky games you’re playing must stop. Some of us would like to sleep in this temple.”

I tried to object strenuously, but it was difficult to talk louder than Obi-Wan’s howling. Racinne snapped, “At least gag him if you *must* be deviant,” before disappearing from the screen.

Pounding on Obi-Wan’s door didn’t get any results. I opened the door and found my arms immediately full of demonstrative padawan, arms and legs curling around me, his head butting against my chest as he nuzzled on tunics. I forcibly separated him from me. "No, Obi-Kitty, no." I had this vague idea that cats didn't accept the word 'no' very well, but Obi-Wan seemed to understand. He hung in my arms, looking dejected. I sighed. "You may sleep in our bed. Only sleep. No howling." Leaning forward, he brushed his head against the small patch of my chest revealed by my tunics and purred an apparent assent.

His hips swung as he sauntered into the bedroom and leaped onto the bed, landing on his hands and knees, rumpling the covers. I tugged off most of his clothes as he considerately rolled on the bed, easing their removal, giving an occasional purr or "meep." I left him wearing his leggings with another strict instruction to sleep.

Deciding discretion was wise, I retreated to the freshing chamber. I didn't need his interested stare watching me as I undressed. I pulled on a pair of sleep pants and then I stalled, fussing over my ablutions, washing my face and combing my hair, trimming a few hairs from my short beard, hoping to find him curled in a small lump, fast asleep.

My wish was granted, though he wasn't quite curled in a small lump. Rather, he was sprawled on his back across both pillows, arms and legs flung carelessly out on the sheets, mouth slightly open as he breathed. At least, he had left me the majority of the bed this time, rather than claiming the exact middle. The pillow from the other bed was easy to fetch, and I settled down to sleep, having to curl slightly since he was hogging the upper quarter of the bed.

I awoke in ecstasy. Absolute sweet bliss. My cock was hard and aching while a warm, wet tongue licked up and down its length. I raised myself to my elbows so I could glare down at Obi-Wan, lying between my spread legs. "Obi-Kitty, stop that." He was oblivious, licking me as if I was the finest delicacy, mouthing my balls, licking me some more, his tongue tasting the slit… "Stop!"

His expression could only be called wounded, as I pushed him away. He sniffed, scooting up to sit on my legs, his knees on each side of my thighs. He didn't try to touch me again.

He did something much worse.

His hand clasped his own erection, and he began lightly stroking himself. Just staring down at me, masturbating, watching me watch him. My eyes were trapped, torn between meeting his gaze and staring at his hand roughly pumping his erection.

I must admit my sensual side has always appreciated the aesthetic benefit of the Jedi lifestyle, and our continual, vigorous athletic training that creates almost perfect physical specimens. When I first became sexually aware, I couldn't help but compare and contrast the Jedi to others I met - many of them indolent diplomats who might command armies, but couldn't survive five minutes in a pitched battle. Selecting lovers among the Jedi has undeniable advantages. This appreciation, though, was rarely a major factor in my life after those initial, raging hormone years; I experimented with sex, love, and relationships, but my primary interest was always the Force.

Falling in love with my own Padawan resurrected all those youthful cravings which I had suppressed in
the service of the Jedi. Never was I so aware of a handsome face and a giving spirit. An undiscovered, frankly carnal side of my personality asserted itself, and I had to meditate many hours to control my inappropriate lust before the barriers between us were crumbled by his first cat-transformation.

He wasn't tall and broad like me, but lean and slim, his compact body rippling with solid muscle as he rocked above me. Creamy skin covered his frame, its silk disturbed by only his rosy brown nipples, the curly hair surrounding his groin, and his darkened erection. His hand was jerking his cock vigorously, squeezing himself as the other hand toyed with his own nipples, flicking one then the other. The thin braid swung back and forth with his movements. His tongue darted out, wetting over his lips as he breathed heavily. Entirely absorbed with his self-pleasure, his eyes closed shut as a low, purring wail emitted from his mouth. The veins in his cock throbbed as semen erupted from the head, splashing onto my thighs. His bottom pressed heavily on my thighs, as he relaxed, idly fingering his softened cock.

Yawning, he stretched, quite happy and satiated. He swung off my thighs and curled on the bed next to me, snuggling his back to my side. With another lengthy yawn, he tugged one of the pillows under his head and prepared to sleep.

Leaving me, still raised up on my elbows, staring down at my rampant erection, which had not diminished an iota. For the first time, I consciously absorbed the fact of my nakedness. Obi-Wan must have been somewhat humanly conscious during the night, to stealthily remove my sleep pants and discard his leggings. I touched his mind, but received only basic animal thoughts of warmth and comfort.

I was in a quandary. I could meditate, releasing my sexual desire into the Force. I could simply masturbate in bed, or retreat to the freshing chamber to avoid soiling the linens more. Certainly, it wouldn't have been the first time Obi-Wan had caused me to take any of these actions.

Or…

I rolled to my side, spooning to Obi-Wan. Nipping at his ear and throat, I asked, "Obi-Kitty, do you know what a very wise man once said to me?"

His "merr?" was almost a whisper, as if I was disturbing his slumber.

"He said, when in doubt, fuck your apprentice." On those words, I grabbed Obi-Wan's thigh, hooking it over my own. My cock pressed against the opening between those firm cheeks of his buttocks. I waited for a second as I continued to nuzzle his throat, letting him feel the hardness that would soon claim him.

I bit down on the solid muscle of his shoulder, while stretching him with the Force and sliding into his welcoming channel. He was wonderfully tight, clamping down on my cock. He hissed at me and I growled, thrusting back and forth rapidly. His exhibition had both captivated me and aroused me to the point of desperation, my cock so hard it was almost painful. I could only surrender to my desire, to the overwhelming demand that I bury myself into his body, over and over again.

Despite my lack of gentleness, I tried to be considerate, stroking his thick cock, hoping to give him pleasure. It rapidly hardened in my hand, easing my concerns. His vocal protestations didn't last long, the hisses replaced by throaty, needy moans. His body was pliant and responsive in my arms, meeting my fast pace, his muscles flexing as he thrust back eagerly.

As I fucked him, I continued to growl like the lion he has named me, licking at his neck and shoulders, biting hard enough that I would leave marks. Something about Obi-Wan brings out the dominant in me. For so many years, he has been mine…my apprentice, my Padawan. Now my savage side asserts that he must know that he is totally and completely mine, my lover, my beloved. I am the Master and he is my mate.

Our duel was fiery and brief, our climaxes simultaneous as I gratefully released my seed into his body and felt his cock pulse in my hand. My growl was long and fierce, as he moaned with delight, both our bodies quaking with aftershocks from our pleasure. My arms wrapped around his torso, hugging him. His arms closed on top of mine, pulling our bodies even more tightly together. I mouthed his short hair as I regained my breath.

His speech was clear and direct as he said, "I was wondering if you were going to remember the maxim."

"Obi-Wan…" It was difficult to ask, after such a heavenly experience. "Are you really very upset over my failure to make recommendations during the Catarrian mission? Or threatening to sue Sherla?" Maybe I had erred, allowing Obi-Wan to muddle around, not suggesting the direct action of legal recourse, then compounding the problem with my own inanity of allowing myself to be drugged.

"Not really." The strands of his hair tickled my nose as he shook his head. "But when you said you had hired an attorney, you were a little…"

"What?" I asked, mystified.

"Smug."

"Smug!?"

He reiterated firmly, "Smug."

"Oh." I never pictured myself as smug. It was an unpalatable image to accept, but Obi-Wan has known me better than almost anyone else of my acquaintance. Not as long as some, but certainly in closer daily contact than anyone other than my Master Yoda or my earlier apprentices. I respected his opinions of others; I had to at least consider his evaluation of myself. "Am I often smug?"

"Not often." He rolled in my arms so we could face each other. One hand toyed with my hair, winding a strand around his index finger. "You can be a little smug when lecturing me. After all, you have been known to defy the entire Jedi Council, convinced that your judgment is better than their combined wisdom…I'm only a mere apprentice.”

I wanted to note that the Council were occasionally hidebound, conservative idiots who had lost touch with the Living Force, but judged it best not to get sidetracked. My relationship with Obi-Wan was my paramount concern. I squeezed him as I apologized, “I am sorry, Obi-Wan. I hope you realize that I hold you in the highest regard. You are a superb apprentice, who will be a great Jedi Knight.” He frequently exhibited more intelligence than all the Council members combined, but that also seemed wise not to mention.

He smiled and gave me a soft kiss. “Much of tonight is my fault. I may not always like your actions, but I was most angry at myself. I want so much to be your equal, to be worthy of your love. I dislike realizing that I failed."

"Obi-Wan, you are so beyond worthy…" Our conversation deteriorated for quite some time, into murmured endearments and romantic reassurances, our lips sharing little open mouth kisses. I finally managed a coherent sentence. "So…what does reducing us from master and apprentice to animalistic lovers…accomplish?"

"It changes the boundaries of our relationship. You become so caring and yet so dominant. It makes me feel more confident, to see how desperately you desire me." He burrowed his head in the sheets for a moment, as if hiding. "I suppose this means I have self-esteem issues which need intense meditation to resolve, that I receive such validation from being claimed."

"Perhaps. And perhaps when I am pompous and smug and then yield to my impulses to dominate my Padawan, it means I have a few personality defects which need intense meditation to resolve."

His grin was ample reward for the dry self-mockery. "I did notice that you didn't drag me to the healers and have my blood tested. It would have been a simple way to prove I was faking."

"Ah. Well, yes. You and I both seem to miss the obvious. Or perhaps I was secretly enjoying having my handsome young lover pawing my body."

"You thought that was pawing? I'll show you true pawing." His hands were exploring, seeking those sensitive spots which make me tremble and quiver. I swear he has catalogued every erogenous zone on my body, and has experimented until he can calculate the exact pressure so each touch makes me gasp. He pushed me over to my back, his knees landing between my thighs, coaxing my legs to rest on his shoulders. "I'll show you wild animal passion," he promised.

What could I do, when the man of my dreams is determined to make love to me? I softened my normal growl to a receptive purr as I succumbed to his embrace. Because despite our flaws, Obi-Wan and I are truly the purrfect pair.

~ the end ~