"Luminous"
Rating: NC-17
Several years after Naboo, Obi-Wan is enchanted by the young Alderaanian Viceroy. They go back to the embassy and proceed to enchant each other.
The first time I see him, it is at a diplomatic conference on Marniva. I catch a glimpse of dove-gray robes, a flash of short, quick steps but that is all. I file it in my memory, but the moment does not stay with me long and I forget, losing myself in training drills, conferences, missions.
The second time I see him I am on Coruscant, sitting on the steps of the Senate building with Anakin. I point out to him the different ambassadors and senators, telling him interesting stories about their homeworlds. If I know them personally, I share with my padawan the details of how we met or what we have done together.
As I speak to Anakin, I catch a glimpse of him at the edge of my vision. He is standing on the steps, speaking to a short, slim woman with a datapad, smiling and gesturing to her as she takes notes. The sun gleams on his golden, spice-colored skin and his face is vibrant, his eyes bright and alive. I am enchanted. From the cut of his clothing I place him as Alderaanian and he wears the emblem of a Viceroy over his heart. I do not know his name.
Many months pass before I see the young man again. Anakin is at the Temple, preparing for exams, and the Council has sent me alone to a diplomatic reception on one of Corellia's inhabitable moons. It is here that I finally catch another glimpse of those bright eyes. I am seated to the left of the hostess, the Corellian senator, and he is across from me and a few seats down.
Conversation is lively as the wine flows and I find myself studying him as I make small-talk with the hostess. He is flushed, talking animatedly to the Danvian representative seated across from him. I watch as the reptilian diplomat says something to him but I cannot catch the words over the chatter of the other guests.
His eyes widen, and surprised delight colors his face as peals of rich laughter burst from his lips. The Danvian smiles, adding a few more words, and the viceroy wipes at his eyes as he laughs harder, his whole body vibrating with his mirth.
When he finally settles, choking back the last of his laughter, he wipes his eyes again with his napkin. Finally looking up, his eyes meet mine, bright still with the residue of his laughter. Our gaze holds and slowly his smile widens until I can feel my own lips responding to the pull of his vibrancy, his light. And so I return his smile, unable to resist.
As the party breaks up, he stands and looks at me again, that irrepressible smile threatening to split his face in two. Caught in that smile, I rise as well, thanking the hostess and following the pull of his gaze until I find myself at his side.
When I reach him, he clasps my hand, smiling. "Bail Organa," he says, patting my shoulder with his free hand. His grip is warm, reassuring, and his voice is a light, expressive tenor.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," I respond, squeezing his hand in return. He is not a man of exceptional physical beauty, though he is attractive, but there is something about his smile, his conviviality, that grasps at me, makes me want to be close to him, to touch him. I can feel the force of his personality through my robes, tingling on my skin. He has a childlike joy at being alive, the kind of naive curiosity that most people lose very early, especially those of us who find ourselves in politics.
I do not think that I have ever met anyone, even among the Jedi, who was so utterly luminous.
He is watching me, a curious smile flitting across his face. "I have heard a great deal about you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your adventures as a Jedi Knight are legendary." He reaches out, tracing the line of my jaw with his fingertips. "I would like it very much if you would join me for another glass of wine. If you would allow me, perhaps, to get to know the man behind all the stories."
I stifle the automatic impulse to ask why he is so interested, focusing instead on the intimacy of his touch as he caresses my face. The Force has offered me a gift today, an opportunity to enjoy the company of a beautiful, bright young man. An opportunity to touch someone in a way that I have not since Qui-Gon died.
I take his hand.
We catch a transport to his rooms in the Alderaanian embassy. He offers me a seat and I settle myself on an overstuffed armchair as he pours me another glass of wine. He seats himself on the sofa and we talk, swapping tales of irascible diplomats and irritating politicians. He laughs easily and often and there is something about his face, just before his laughter spills out, that charms and fascinates me. He gets this expression of surprised delight, as if he has been given an unexpected and valued gift. As if he is surprised and grateful to be offered the chance to express his joy.
After a time, during which we finish most of a bottle of wine, the conversations slows. The silence is not uncomfortable and he has shifted on the sofa to a sprawl, one leg flung across the cushions. His face is peaceful but there is a heat in his eyes that kindles something deep inside me.
He drains the last of his wine, tipping the glass back and displaying the honey-toned expanse of his throat. His skin looks spicy and sweet and there is a stirring, a sort of fluttering, deep in my stomach. When he turns to set down his glass, the soft light glimmers over his wine-dampened lips and I find myself on my feet.
His gaze is burning hot, pulling me across the carpet to his side. I want to feel that heat on my skin, yearn to feel the spark of his laughter as I bury myself inside him. There are no words, but none are needed. I bend to touch my lips to his, feeling the radiant heat of his skin as I lean close. It is the merest brushing of lips, building until we are in each others' arms, twining our bodies together, rubbing and caressing as we explore with tongues and hands.
His kiss is urgent, hot and soft, and his mouth tastes of wine and some deeper, sweeter tone. I run my tongue across lips and teeth, swipe it across the roof of his mouth, slide it across his tongue. And he responds, a deep moan spilling from his throat as he positions one thigh against my groin, pressing and rubbing in time to the thrust of our tongues. I run my fingers through his hair, soft black waves that ensnare me even further in our kiss.
My hands work their way to his robes, reaching up under the soft tunics to caress the hard curves of his stomach and chest. He plunders my throat, snaking his tongue along my jaw to the point of my pulse. I can feel the wet heat of his mouth as he sucks, my racing heartbeat thrusting against his tongue.
I reach the hard bump of a nipple and roll it between thumb and forefinger, feeling his body arch into mine. As he sucks at my earlobe I hear the soft singing of his breath and the harsh sound of my blood coursing through my veins.
He unbuckles my belt, dropping it to the floor, and his hands find the sash of my tunics. He tugs but the knot refuses to yield. Against my collarbone, I can feel his lips twitch as he tugs again.
I pull back, raising myself so that I can see his face, that surprised, delighted look settling over his features as he bursts into laughter. Reclining back on my heels, I feel an answering bubble of mirth. Soon my laughter joins his, the two tones in counterpoint as we struggle with the knot.
"What is that? Some kind of Jedi chastity belt?" he asks, finally sitting back and glaring at the offending knot. His glare, however, is ruined by the laughter still dancing in his eyes.
I grin in response but somewhere inside me the words ring true. Nobody but me has untied that sash since Qui-Gon died. I feel the laughter drain out of me but it is replaced by something else, something softer.
"It is," I say solemnly. He sees the change in my demeanor and something in his face shifts, becomes sad. Slowly, I reach for my boot, pulling free a small knife. "But I have the key." I hand the knife to him, holding the silver blade between my fingers and offering the hilt to him. "And I want you to have it, Bail."
Slowly he reaches out to grasp the proffered handle. Gently, almost reverently, he reaches down to slice through the knot. He drops the ruined sash to the floor and places the knife on the table, watching me as my tunics part and running his hands across my chest. He reaches up to push the fabric off my shoulders, watching as it drops to the sofa and then to the floor.
We strip each other slowly, exposing skin and hair and muscle, touching and tasting inch after inch in a living meditation of desire. Finally, we are pressed fully against each other, pale flesh against golden, sliding our hands over and down sweat-tinged skin. Gasps and moaning cries fill the silence of the room and I drop from the sofa to kneel, pulling at him until he sits before me, my face framed by his thighs.
I lean forward, running my hands up the trembling hardness of his thighs to the crease where they meet his body, feeling rough, curly hair brush against my fingertips. I dip my head to nestle my nose against those curls, brushing my cheek against his shaft. He is like fire against the coolness of my skin and I yearn to feel that heat within me. Pulling my head back, I run my tongue up the underside of his rigid cock, feeling the tremors as he takes a shuddering breath and clenches his hands in my hair.
I swirl my tongue around the head, tasting the salty, spicy flavor of him.
"Bail," I whisper as I take him into my mouth again, feeling his heat begin to spread through me.
"Obi-Wan," he gasps as I slide my mouth farther down. Finally my nose is buried again in those dark curls and I work the muscles of my throat, swallowing around him.
He is panting, soft cries escaping from his parted lips. I pull back again until only the head of his cock rests between my lips, wet and pulsing, before I dive back down, setting a slow, gentle rhythm. He is not loud, my lover, but neither is he silent. The language of his loving is contained in his breath, in soft moans and gasps, in gentle cries. Such a contrast to his exuberant, ringing laughter.
I can feel him tensing, the muscles of his thighs quivering beneath my palms, and I ease my lips down his shaft once more, tracing patterns with my tongue. When he rests once more in my throat, I reach up with one hand to touch his sac, cradling it in my hand. As his breath hitches, I squeeze gently and swallow once, convulsively, around his cock.
He comes with a strangled gasp and I can see his face -- that same look of surprised delight he gets when he laughs. His seed spurts against the back of my throat as I pull back to catch the last few drops of him on my tongue.
He tastes of exotic spices, earthy and alive. I lick him clean, savoring the taste of him, the sensation of his softening cock on my lips.
When I am through he pulls me up, pressing kisses to my eyes, my cheeks, until he reaches my lips. There he lingers, tasting himself mingled with my own essence. He presses his cheek against mine, his arms wrapped around me, and whispers, "Thank you, Obi-Wan." He breathes the words into my heart.
Still pressing his face to mine, he slides to the floor, straddling my legs with his. Still whispering, I hear him ask, "How do you want to fuck me, Obi-Wan?"
His explicit language sends a thrill through my body, reminding me of my own aching erection. He must see the answer in my eyes because he turns so that his back rests against my chest. He reaches to the small table where he placed my knife earlier, opening a drawer and pulling out a tube. Silently, he hands it to me.
As I squeeze the lube onto my fingers, I feel his hands come to rest on my thighs. The muscles there jump in anticipation and he rubs his shoulders against me, raising his hips for me, deliberately sliding so that my cock brushes along the length of his ass.
My breath hisses at the sensation and I reach down to press one slick finger into him, then two. Flexing them, I graze his prostate, eliciting a gasp as he grows hard once again.
As I work in a third finger, he begins to tremble. "Obi-Wan," he moans, "Now... Obi-Wan, I want you in me now..."
Removing the fingers, I guide myself to his entrance, pressing past the ring of muscle. He slowly eases himself down until his thighs rest again on my own. Fully sheathed, I moan his name. He is so hot, so tight around my flesh, and the slight quivers as he holds himself in place send sparks of desire through my body. He rocks slowly forward and I follow, letting him set the pace of our lovemaking.
He lets his head drop back, resting it against my shoulder, reaching back with one hand to cup the back of my neck. I lean back slightly, bracing myself with one hand on the floor and trailing the other over his chest. I trace the muscles of his abdomen as we rock together, moving my hand slowly up to his chest. I pinch one nipple, breathing lightly against his temple as he arches into the caress.
He keeps the pace slow and I glide my hand down the planes of his stomach, dipping down farther to caress his sac, cradling it and rolling it in my hand.
His breathing is shallow, rhythmic, and I can feel my desire swirling closer to its peak. Slowly I stroke him, running my hand firmly down his shaft and back up, swirling a finger around the leaking tip. I can feel him flex around my cock as I touch him, his heat rising and his breathing becoming raspy.
Unconsciously, I allow myself to reach into the Force, feeling the threads of our pleasure, reveling in the sensation of his body, crying out at the joy that rolls off him in waves. I feel myself rushing towards my climax and shift forward, angling my light thrusts so that each one glances off his prostate, making him gasp.
"Obi-Wan!" His cry is harsh and beautiful as he climaxes, the warm rush of pearly liquid stringing across my hand. His muscles clench around my cock and my world begins to dissolve.
"Bail!" I cry out, feeling a tightening deep in my core as his voice, crying out my name, triggers my own orgasm. I pulse into him, holding him tight against me. I wonder if that look of surprise and delight has flickered across my own features as I come, throbbing into the heat and softness of him.
Spent, he raises himself off me and turns, brushing his lips across my temple and taking my mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. We stay that way, lost in the aftermath of our pleasure, until a spasm in my thigh forces me to shift my weight. He rises then, making his way on shaky legs to the bathroom. I uncurl my own legs, stretching the aching muscles. When he returns he is carrying a washcloth, which he uses to gently wipe away the evidence of our joining.
Sitting back down on the floor, he pulls my legs into his lap and kneads the knotted muscles gently, coaxing them to relax. Catching my eyes, he smiles warmly.
I return the smile and reach out to touch one of his hands, cradling it in mine.
Eventually he climbs back onto the sofa, pulling me with him until I lie spooned in front of him, his arms around me and his face buried in the back of my neck. Sated and warm, we drift off to sleep.
When I awake, the sun is spilling through the windows of his apartment. He tightens his arms around me for a moment before he sighs and begins to stretch.
Despite the twinges in my muscles, I rise and begin to dress. I reach for my sash, a small smile rising to my lips as I rediscover the neat cut through it. My smile is answered with a beaming grin from my companion as he hands me my belt, watching intently as I fit it around my waist and drop the ruined sash back to the floor.
Disappearing into the kitchen, he reappears with two mugs of tea. We sip, standing arm in arm by the window.
"Thank you, Bail." I turn to look at him, wondering how to express my pleasure at our hours together. The look in his eyes shows that he understands, so I simply lean in to brush a kiss across his forehead.
"I suppose you have to leave?" His tone is soft, but there is no hurt, no possessiveness in his voice.
"Yes," I respond, "I'm due back on Coruscant in a few days, and the transport leaves in an hour."
"I'm sure your padawan will be glad to have you home again."
"And I'm sure all of his teachers will be waiting outside my door when I get there, eager to tell me in great detail what mischief the imp has gotten himself into since I left."
He chuckles. "You know you love it."
I just shake my head ruefully but my smile betrays me. Sighing, I drain the last of the tea. "I have to go."
He pulls me into a warm, fierce embrace, kissing me hard. "If you're ever on Alderaan, look me up."
"And if you find yourself on Coruscant, I live in that building with all the towers..."
He laughs, keeping his arm around me as we head for the door. I kiss him again, rubbing a thumb across his lips, memorizing his smile. His laugh, I know, requires no memorization. It will nest in my heart for many years to come.
As I turn to walk out the door, his hand on my shoulder stops me. Carefully, he holds out my little knife. "Don't forget the key to your chastity belt," he grins.
I look at him and feel an answering smile blossom across my face. "Keep it," I say. "I don't need it anymore."
His face is luminous as he closes the door behind me.
~ fin ~