Every element of the reception was exquisite. The elegant clothes of the rich gentlemen and noble ladies, the sumptuous feasts, the entertaining singers and dancers, all combined to create a sensual and lush blur to delight the senses.
Unfortunately, it was all driving Qui-Gon quietly insane.
The two Jedi had been trapped on Alteria for three weeks now. The Alterians were a rich culture, accustomed to indulging their whims and mild vices. An open, loving people, who turned into recalcitrant children at the negotiation table, in Qui-Gon's opinion. He was a man used to hard work - teaching, meditating, exercising, exploring and improving the use of the Force by himself and his Padawan. Now he was trying to convince the two dominant political factions of Alteria to settle major differences of opinions before civil war erupted. At the negotiating table, the Alterians ranted, raved and indulged in every imagined slight. Come the evening, the two factions happily united and partied until exhausted; it seemed to Qui-Gon as if the whole threat of war was merely an excuse to bring diplomats together at the government's expense.
"Looks like another long night, Master."
"Yes, Padawan. These negotiations could have been finished long ago if the Alterians communicated their political differences as intently as they discuss varieties of fine wines," Qui-Gon responded wryly. "I think I will return to our rooms and meditate."
"I'll join you. Quiet reflection sounds a preferable way to end this evening than last night's drunken debacle."
The enthusiastic ruler of the Halterian faction snared Qui-Gon as he attempted to slip out of the reception hall. "Master Jedi, a word on a delicate issue, if I may be so bold?"
Qui-Gon paused and the two men instinctively retreated to an isolated corridor outside the banqueting hall. Obi-Wan waited a discreet distance, ready to be called if necessary but not interfering with his Master's attention.
"Master Jedi, my wife has approached me about the servicing. You must understand and forgive her, but she is a woman accustomed to an older man and she is most enchanted with your young Padawan. She has had enough of the virtues of experience and would like to know again the charm of a virile youth. If you would step aside in his favor, it would be greatly appreciated."
"Lord Lavar, I am confused. What servicing?"
The politician hesitated. "You are not familiar with our customs? I did not realize! No wonder you have not broached the issue. When visitors come to stay, it is customary for the senior of the party to offer himself to the mistress of the house. In this case, that would be my wife, since you are staying at my villa and I am hosting the main negotiations. However, when the parties agree, variations in the arrangements are permitted."
"May I ask . . . what exactly do you mean by 'servicing'?" Qui-Gon kept his tone deliberately respectful, but feared the answer.
"Why, a physical consummation of the two parties! It shows honor and respect to the mistress, the offering of the body for her pleasure."
"Then I'm sorry, Lord Lavar, but the Jedi do *not* offer their bodies."
The Lord smiled weakly, afraid of his wife's displeasure if he failed in this simple task. "But this would be a grave dishonor! You cannot be serious."
"I am completely serious. My apprentice will not service your wife."
"Master Jedi, if I may be so bold, perhaps you should consult with your apprentice before refusing this offer. My wife is quite an attractive woman and well, I understand . . ."
"Yes, understand what?" Qui-Gon demanded impatiently when Lord Lavar seemed to hesitate for words.
"Well, your apprentice has not availed himself of any of the diplomat's daughters or even the serving girls! We older men, you and I, we are past the first blood, we can concentrate on diplomacy, but the young, oh the young!" Lord Lavar waved his hands expressively as Qui-Gon wondered wryly when exactly Lavar had ever managed to concentrate on diplomacy. "Surely Jedi Kenobi would be more - relaxed - if he had some satisfaction. He seems a most intense young man. It is not good for a young man to be too intense! And my wife is a most innovative and passionate woman."
Obi-Wan felt the quick jolt of his Master's emotions through the Master/Padawan bond they shared. While Qui-Gon instantly threw mental shields up, the jolt was enough for Obi-Wan to realize that he was involved in the discussion. He tried to think of any unintentional offense he had done to cause such alarm, but could remember nothing likely. He started to drift stealthily toward the discussion, as the Lord waved him over.
"Obi-Wan does not need to be involved in this," Qui-Gon replied firmly but short of dragging his apprentice bodily away, he couldn't stop the expressive Lord Lavar from a second explanation.
For a moment, Obi-Wan looked slightly stunned.
"I will do it, Master." Obi-Wan could tell by his set expression that his Master was not happy with that decision. "Please Lord, a moment?" When the Lord retreated a sufficient distance, Obi-Wan turned to his Master. "Master, I am 18 now. I am old enough to choose sexual partners and it is about time that I begin to do so." He raised a hand, silencing Qui-Gon. "I have been hesitant for, well, for many reasons, but you have told me more than once that Jedi need to experience passion to learn control of that passion. Lady Lavar is an attractive woman--I see no reason why she should not be a suitable partner for my first-time."
Qui-Gon wanted to argue but could tell from his Padawan's determined expression that he would lose. Reluctantly, he nodded in resignation and gestured for Lord Lavar to join them.
"It is settled, yes?"
"Yes, it is settled," Obi-Wan said firmly. "When?"
"But tonight! Tonight! Come, my wife is waiting." The Lord wrapped one hand around Obi-Wan's shoulders and hustled him down the corridor as Qui-Gon stared stonily after the retreating figures.
Obi-Wan Kenobi strolled as quietly down the spacious corridors of the castle as three-inch stiletto spike heels would allow him. A drunken courtier stumbled down the hall. Obi-Wan froze next to a statue, and with a swift movement of his hand and a brief tug on the Force, convinced the courtier to continue stumbling without noticing his frozen figure. /This would make an excellent training maneuver in coordination and stealth,/ Obi-Wan thought bemusedly. /Maybe I should recommend it to Master Yoda./
Safely reaching the quarters shared by Qui-Gon and himself, Obi-Wan entered and moved softly towards to his bed. He flinched when bright light illuminated from one corner of the room.
His Master stood by the reading lamp placed in the window alcove. "You're back early, Obi-Wan."
"Yes, Master. Lady Lavar was satisfied with . . .the evening . . . and suggested that I should pass the rest of the night in my own bed. I did not mean to wake you."
"You didn't wake me. I have been--meditating." The tone of Qui-Gon's voice was low and husky. He advanced on his young Padawan, with a measured tread that appeared to be stalking him; Obi-Wan almost flinched again at the unusual haze in his Master's eyes.
"Is there a problem, Master?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan, there is a problem. I have spent the evening trying to calm my mind, trying to accept that an attractive older woman was introducing you to the pleasures of the flesh, pleasures that I realized . . ." Qui-Gon circled behind Obi-Wan, his hands coming to rest on the youth's shoulders and gently guiding him forward until he stood in front of the full-length mirror. " . . . pleasures that I realized *I* wanted to show you. I had almost accepted that my opportunity had been lost, that I was wrong to dream of such an event, and now--you return to me, an erotic but untouched vision of loveliness."
Qui-Gon's taller form towered over the younger man in the reflection. His strong, capable hands caressed the skin of his apprentice's throat, his shoulders. Stock still, Obi-Wan stared at his own reflection, his hair loosened from his ponytail and braid so that it drifted around his shoulders. The black dress with spaghetti straps revealed his muscular form, the deep color contrasted strikingly with his fair skin. Lady Lavar had deftly painted his face with deep red lipstick, blusher, mascara and eyeliner, casting a femininity to his strong features. The dress was nipped in at the waist, creating a silhouette, before ending above the knees. The stiletto heels enhanced the definition of his muscular legs.
"Master . . .?" Obi-Wan questioned, hardly daring to breathe, to hope. For the last two years, he had been strongly attracted to his Master, to the strength and presence and formidable male beauty ever present in his mentor. Qui-Gon had remained his affectionate but eternally professional self, always the diligent Master instructing a bright Padawan. Obi-Wan had never let his hopes visualize, never dreamed that his Master might return his intense feelings of love and lust.
"You didn't make love to her, Obi-Wan. I can tell. I could feel your aura through the Force, your confusion and your amusement, but not sexual excitement and satisfaction. Why did you not?"
Obi-Wan was still confused, unsure how to respond to oddly tender tone in his Master's voice. He took a risk on honesty. "I found that I could not perform, Master. She did not excite me. I feared that she would be offended and the mission jeopardized so I threw myself on her understanding and sympathy. I begged her to accept that I loved another and that the Jedi could not disassociate love from lust. She accepted good-naturedly, but asked if I would play dress-up." Obi-Wan's lips quirked in a tolerant wry smile. "She has borne only sons and misses never having had a daughter."
"Ah. And who does excite you, Obi-Wan?"
An unbearable tense pause glided through the room.
"You, Master, only you." Obi-Wan's voice dropped to a low whisper, but he kept his gaze steady on Qui-Gon's eyes in the mirror, noting the delight and wonder that filled that fine dark gaze as the words registered.
"Then her loss is my gain and I will wait no longer, Obi-Wan."
Qui-Gon dropped his head to Obi-Wan's neck, starting first with gentle kisses before advancing to licking and nipping. For a time, Obi-Wan was content to wait, enjoying the surprisingly soft feel of Qui-Gon's lips, but too many years of longing had passed for eternal patience. Obi-Wan turned into his Master's arms, wrapping one hand into the thick brown hair while the other slid down the long line of his back and clasped one buttock in his hand.
Qui-Gon groaned deeply, throatily, and pushed away from his apprentice, creating a gap of several feet between the two. Once again, he held Obi-Wan's gaze, but this time while pulling off his own clothes. Jedi robe, tunic, boots, breeches were discarded. Obi-wan licked his lips and admired the form uncovered for his gaze. He had seen his Master unclothed many times in the course of their adventures together, times when the two had been forced to share sleeping and bathing quarters, but never with the freedom to admire every rippling muscle.
"Stay here. Don't move." Obi-Wan waited, stifling impatience until Qui-Gon returned from the bathing room, a bottle of lotion in one hand. Standing in front of Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon massaged the lotion into his own chest, circling the taut nipples, before skimming down his tight abdominal muscles and smoothing oil onto his stiff erection. Obi-Wan licked his lips nervously, dazzled by the sight of his Master preparing himself.
Qui-Gon stretched out upon the silk cover of the bed and finally gestured Obi-Wan to him, releasing him from the spell. Obi-Wan started to pull the dress up over his head, but a shake of his Master's head stopped him. He kicked off the spike heels and crawled onto the bed, settling one thigh on each side of Qui-Gon's hips. Slipping his hands under the dress, Qui-Gon delighted in the strength of his young lover's thigh muscles, brushing his fingers through crisp hair before clasping his erection. Obi-Wan groaned in ecstasy as his penis was pumped by Qui-Gon's skilled fingers, and leaned forward for more kisses.
Wiping up excess lotion from his own body, Qui-Gon fondled Obi-Wan's buttocks, massaging oil into the tight hole. "Obi-Wan," he gasped, "this may not be the best way to start . . ."
"Please, Qui-Gon, I need you so."
Permission granted, Qui-Gon raised his apprentice slightly to position him correctly before lowering him onto his rigid erection. Obi-Wan eased down slowly, letting his body adjust to the overwhelming feel of his Master within himself. Qui-Gon placed one hand on Obi-Wan's penis, languidly stroking and cupping the soft sacs of his testicles, waiting for Obi-Wan to become accustomed to the pressure. The young Jedi began a rhythmic movement, raising up and down, as Qui-Gon arched his hips off the bed. The pace quickened as the two men fought for satisfaction. The struggle continued for long, delicious moments as Obi-Wan fondled his Master's chest muscles, rubbing his thumbs over the brown nipples. Qui-Gon tightened his grip on Obi-Wan's penis, increasing his pace to match their speed, the silk fabric of Obi-Wan's dress drifting over his forearms. Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingling with the body lotion, as cataclysmic fire ripped through their nerve endings and with husky groans their passion exploded into an inferno beyond control.
For long moments later, Obi-Wan simply laid upon Qui-Gon, too stunned for words or action. Qui-Gon idly rubbed his hands possessively along Obi-Wan's back as they both recovered their breath.
"If I had known this is all it would take, I would have borrowed Leesa's blue party frock two years ago," Obi-Wan teased when he could talk.
"But what excuse could you give?"
"I would have dreamed up something. I can be quite creative when the need arises."
"Good. You can think about it on the trip back to Coruscant."
Obi-Wan laughed. "You can't actually be serious, Master. Leesa's nearly half a head taller than me. The dress would swamp me."
"Yes, but it would fit *me* wonderfully. And match my eyes." Qui-Gon rolled his apprentice onto his back, smothering his exhilarated chuckle with more kisses, determined that tomorrow the Jedi would be the ones who strolled in hours late for negotiations . . . and that his apprentice would find an artistic explanation to borrow that dress.