"Back for Seconds: Bail"
Rating: PG, but with NC-17 intentions
Bail wants more, too.
How time dragged after you'd had some fun.
Somehow the last two months seemed longer than the previous six. It had taken six months for him to finally get Obi-Wan to sleep with him. It had become a sort of project for Bail, a challenge. With everyone else he had ever been attracted to, things had been clear from the beginning. They either shared his attraction or they didn't. Either way, matters were wrapped up pretty quickly. But Obi- Wan had played coy with him. The Jedi had obviously been attracted to him, but had denied it, refused to act on it, presented some ridiculous notion of unrequited love as the reason why he refused to consummate anything with Bail. Yet every time Bail asked him out, he accepted.
A challenge, indeed.
A puzzle, a mystery, an enigma.
That must be why Bail had kept up the pursuit for so long, a pursuit in which he had absolutely no guarantee of ever winning the prize. In fact he hadn't known Obi-Wan would ever give in until that day of the bike ride, when suddenly the Jedi was all over him in the most graceless, awkward, flustered act of sex Bail had ever experienced.
And by far the most memorable.
Most memorable, and most erotic.
What was it about Obi-Wan Kenobi? Sure, he was a Jedi. There was a certain allure about that. Jedi Knights as a whole appeared so dignified, other-worldly, unapproachable. Even Bail's glamorous friends had not been able to resist the compelling urge of the Jedi mystique. But aside from that, what did Obi-Wan really have to recommend him? Plain beige tunics that tended to wash out his pale complexion. A hair cut that was, quite frankly, rather ludicrous. No sense of fashion or style or the art of temptation and seduction, no baubles or bangles or conventional trappings designed to entice the body and excite the eye. He was altogether quite...plain.
Not that Bail particularly minded that. As much of an aesthete as he was, Bail had often chosen partners who were conventionally viewed as unattractive, even ugly. Bail appreciated beauty of mind and spirit as much as of body, in some ways found those interior charms even more compelling than exterior ones. Bail would pick a plain but lively conversationalist over a gorgeous but vapid prattler any time. (Well, almost any time.) But in the past, his less glamorous partners had made up for their lack with an excess of personality. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was far more reserved than Bail was accustomed to.
Yet Bail had kept up the pursuit for six months, and now that he had finally enjoyed the spoils of his victory...he wanted another taste.
Bail never took up again with an old lover. Sex was either recreation with someone he never particularly cared to see again, or it was a way of getting acquainted with someone he liked, breaking the ice, so to speak. He never slept with people after they had become his friends. Until Obi-Wan came along.
Bail had broken his own rules right and left where the Jedi was concerned, but he still didn't understand why. All he knew was that in the two months since he had finally lured Obi-Wan into his bed, his thoughts had never left Alderaan, never left the circle of Obi- Wan's arms. He still burned with the memory of that touch. The scent of that skin still filled his nostrils. His ears still rang with the dulcet tones of that voice. Bail was trapped, captured, ensnared, like a bird in a net, and the harder he struggled to get away, the more tangled he became. He had been set up. A trap had been laid for him. He had known it, and yet he had blithely gone for the bait.
It was all Qui-Gon Jinn's fault.
That infernal Jedi Master -- he was the one who was supposed to serve on the conference planning committee. Oh, but Bail had to be curious, had to take the Jedi Master out to dinner, wanted to talk in depth with the first Jedi of his acquaintance. Little did he know he was being sized up. Qui-Gon Jinn, talking about his Padawan, telling Bail about his brilliant, talented, but reserved pupil, as if he were merely confiding to a friend and not trying to lure Bail in. Bail should have known better. He was a politician, skilled in the language of negotiation, of wheeling and dealing. He should have recognized the set up for what it was. But no. He remembered exactly what it was that Qui-Gon had said to fatally guarantee his interest, exactly how he had caught Bail on his wicked hook.
"My Padawan is a man who has learned to fear his own passion."
If there was one thing Bail respected, loved, and honored, it was passion. Not sexual passion, despite his reputation. No, what Bail truly admired and believed in was passion of the soul, zeal. Everyone should have something they felt passionate about, something they cared about body and soul, something they would die for. It was people's passions that sparked Bail's interest, and he was very good at uncovering the passions of even the most timid, introverted, and reserved of people. He loved to see their eyes light up with excitement, their spines straighten with resolve, the way their conversation would speed up, their voices rise and grow louder as they spoke about whatever it was they cared about, whether it was something noble like ending slavery or preserving the environment, or mundane like coin collecting or the latest pop band, or something deeply personal like a beloved childhood memory or a private dream of happiness. Passion was the fuel of the universe in Bail's opinion, and he believed that if everyone truly got in touch with their own passion, unleashing it for all to see, then the galaxy would be a much better place.
So someone who had learned to fear his own passion...this presented not only a challenge to Bail, but a challenge that practically took on the tenor of a moral crusade.
He had caught glimpses of it, tantalizing hints, from the beginning. His first guess was that Obi-Wan's hidden passion was his love for his Master, but Bail had come to believe that wasn't quite it. It was a symptom, but not the underlying cause. While Bail harbored no romantic delusions about love, there was nevertheless something attractive about Obi-Wan's whole-hearted if unrequited dedication to his Master. Cynic that he was, Bail almost wished he could feel that kind of love for another person, or be the recipient of such love himself. Almost, but not quite. Such love was far too complicated for him. Besides, Bail didn't like to dwell on something he knew he could never have.
But that wasn't the passion Obi-Wan had learned to fear. Bail still didn't know exactly what it was, but the nature of Obi-Wan's love for Qui-Gon gave him a clue. It was selfless, whole-hearted, unshakeable, grand, even epic in scale. Obi-Wan, Bail suspected, wanted to give himself completely, body and soul, to someone or something, and with no thought of reward. All he wanted was for his sacrifice, his gift, to be for something truly worthy. Bail had on rare occasions met others like that, saints, crusaders, deluded idiots. There was a fine line between inspiration and insanity. But they all shared this grand vision, this self-sacrificing devotion, something that terrified Bail in its all-consuming nature, but which also invoked his admiration, even envy.
Bail didn't know yet what Obi-Wan's passion was, nor why he had learned to fear it. Had he never found a cause worthy of his love? Or had he once given himself to something and been betrayed? Bail didn't know, but he wanted to, and the glimpses he had caught of it, of that hidden passion lying deep within Obi-Wan - oh, it was the most powerful aphrodisiac Bail had ever known.
And that suppressed passion had expressed itself in a much more physical way in bed. Oh, yes. Obi-Wan might lack for experience, might not be the most talented or practiced lover Bail had ever had, but passion - that Obi-Wan had in abundance. That self-giving, that near martyr complex had translated into spectacularly moving sex. Bail had been transformed by that touch, as if Obi-Wan's ability to give of himself had turned Bail into a god worthy of such devotion. Maybe that was the key to passion: it made the object of love into something infinitely beautiful.
But Bail had no idea if he would ever feel that way again. Whatever else, he knew he was not at all deserving of Obi-Wan's grand heart. Obi-Wan had always made it clear, and not in a cruel way, that Bail could never be his Great Passion. That the Jedi had finally given him the gift of his body was more than Bail had ever dared hope for, and he knew he could not possibly expect to receive that gift again.
Oh, but how he craved it.
Just to see Obi-Wan again, to talk with him, to catch another glimpse of grandeur in those gray eyes. Obi-Wan Kenobi was easily the most addictive substance in the galaxy. Bail, who never went back for seconds, wanted more. And Bail was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
He managed to hold out for almost a month before contacting the Temple to see if Obi-Wan was there. He was not - was off on some mission. They wouldn't tell Bail where, nor would they tell him when Obi-Wan was due back.
There was not much he could do about that, so he waited. Another week went by before he contacted the Temple again, but no more information was forthcoming. Bail began to fear he was being too obvious in calling and asking for Obi-Wan every time, so he sometimes asked for Qui-Gon instead, but with each call he came up empty handed.
He sought to distract himself with the thrill of other pursuits - or more accurately, the pursuit of others - but those distractions proved even more transitory than normal, lasting only as long as Bail was in that person's presence. Once out of sight, they were invariably out of mind.
Except for Obi-Wan.
Thoughts of Obi-Wan were always lurking in the corners of his mind, ready to take center stage whenever Bail was unoccupied, even for a moment. Maybe it was all just one of those legendary Jedi mind tricks.
Then one day when Bail called the Temple, he was told that Obi-Wan had returned, had in fact arrived the day before. Bail was taken so completely by surprise that he was actually stunned into silence.
"Do you want me to connect you through to him?" the woman on the other end asked.
What?! "Uh...no, thank you." Think of a reason, or you'll come across as the fool you are. "Now is not a good time." Inward cringe, but it was all he could come up with. "Anyway, I have his comm frequency. I can contact him myself."
"Very well," came the answer, with perfect Jedi calm.
The link terminated, and Bail sat in a dazed stupor. Call him! Call him! the dominant, want-it-now side of him screamed. But no, he couldn't do that. He had already learned that Obi-Wan didn't respond well to the strong-arm approach. He had to be subtle with Obi-Wan, gentle, let the Jedi come to him.
Aargh!
Either that, or come up with a believable excuse to call him. But for all his diplomatic skills, he couldn't come up with anything that would stand up to Jedi scrutiny. Obi-Wan was bound to see through all his ploys. So he waited, hoping desperately for a miracle, even knowing how undeserving he was of one.
But the universe saw fit to grant him his wish.
One morning when he was between meetings, his commlink buzzed. Absently, he answered, "Bail Organa speaking."
A startled voice yelped, "Bail!" then amended, "Your Highness."
"Yes?" That was odd, as if his caller hadn't expected to get him. And who would call him by both his given name and his title? Normally people used one or the other, friends the former, acquaintances the latter, except for... "Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, it's me," his caller confirmed, and Bail felt a frisson of delight shiver up his spine. "I - sorry, I wasn't expecting you to answer."
What? The call was an accident? Or maybe this was just a subtle ploy, the old "called the wrong frequency but I'm glad to get you instead" routine. He'd used that tactic before himself. In fact, he should have thought of it. He smiled. "You weren't trying to reach me?"
"Yes, but - I got your answering service, and I thought...but I was going to --."
He meant to call! He was admitting it! And he sounded so jittery! Bail's delight grew exponentially, but he fought to sound casual. "Well, lucky for both of us you got me instead."
"Yes."
When Obi-Wan offered nothing else, Bail ventured, "So you're back on Coruscant, I take it?" As if he didn't already know. As if he hadn't been plaguing the Temple with inquiries for the past month.
"Yes, I...I just thought I'd give you a call."
A pause. A long pause. How like Obi-Wan, to admit his interest but still refuse to do anything about it. Well, the Padawan had given him an opening; he'd be a fool not to take it. But be subtle. Don't push too hard. "So...would you like to have dinner?"
Confusion on the other end. "Now? It's mid-morning!"
Now?! Bail couldn't believe he had actually said that. The image of a flustered Obi-Wan rose in his mind, and Bail found it hopelessly endearing. He couldn't help himself. He laughed, unable to contain his giddy joy. "Not now," he said, "I meant --." Whoa. Check the schedule. He grabbed his appointment book. Rats, dinner this evening with the Senator from Bothawui. No way he could get out of it. "Not tonight. I have an engagement. But perhaps tomorrow?" It was a work day. Not good - just in case they stayed up all night for some reason.
"Where would you like to go?" I'll take you anywhere, my dearest Bendu - the most extravagant, expensive place on Coruscant, anywhere your pure, lovely heart desires.
"I don't care. You decide."
Typically unassertive. Obi-Wan would never make a request. "All right. I'm sure I can come up with something. Shall I pick you up at 7:00?"
"That's fine."
"Great. I'll see you then."
They terminated the call, and Bail released an enormous, contented, body-shaking sigh. Oh, he didn't deserve this at all, had never done anything to earn such good fortune.
But Bail wasn't about to quibble with fate.
And he did it, with an efficiency his parents would never have believed possible. Once in the taxi, however, he longed desperately for a mirror. He anxiously pulled on a lock of hair above his ear, a sure sign of stress. He sat on his hands, lest he show up at the Temple with a bald spot on the side of his head.
The taxi came to a rest on the public landing platform of the Jedi Temple. He was a little early, but while Bail generally subscribed to the practice of being fashionably late, this was Obi-Wan he was going to meet. Why waste any time?
Out of the taxi, through the grandiose main entrance with hardly a glance at the impressive surroundings, eyes alert only for one sight. And there he was: Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Jedi rose to his feet with effortless grace. He was wearing that violet shirt Bail loved so much, the one that brought out his color so well, the red in his hair, the green in his eyes, the blush of cheek and lip. The Jedi might not have an extensive wardrobe, but he knew exactly how to wear what he did have. Exquisite. Bail had never seen anything so perfect.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked, barely managing to keep himself under control.
Obi-Wan only nodded, with an air of composure Bail heartily envied.
And then they were off, heading to one of the smaller restaurants Obi- Wan had proven so fond of during their courtship phase, simple fare, good for conversation. Bail prayed desperately that the decision was the right one, and when they entered the restaurant, he was rewarded with the sight of a pleased smile on Obi-Wan's lips. Good. He remembered.
The safety of a table between them, the momentary distraction of the menu. By the time the waiter had taken their order, Bail and Obi-Wan were chattering away as easily as they always had. Obi-Wan's proximity was intoxicating, and Bail tended to prattle when he got tipsy, but he handled intoxicants well, so Obi-Wan would never know how drunk Bail really was.
Obi-Wan told him about his missions. Bail told him about upcoming legislation and the latest Coruscanti gossip. What they talked about didn't matter. What mattered was their easy camaraderie, the give and take of their discourse, their pleasure in each other's company. Conversation was an art, one that Bail excelled in. He could talk for hours with anyone about absolutely anything, but he had discovered that most conversation on Coruscant was disappointingly shallow, too much about sizing people up, gleaning useful information, discerning how much to get away with and with whom. Bail rarely talked with anyone who had no underlying agenda of some kind. But conversation with Obi-Wan was different, the honest reflection of an earnest soul. No guile, no artfulness, just the pure exchange of ideas, of stories, of opinions and jokes. Even sex couldn't compete with the pleasure of a good conversation in Bail's opinion, and Obi-Wan proved himself as naturally gifted in the one as he was in the other.
The evening passed by without either of them realizing the time, and at last there arose a natural lull in their discourse. They had stayed too long at the restaurant. Time to move on, but Bail wasn't sure how to ask. "So...I guess you have to be getting back to the Temple?"
Aargh! What the hell was he saying? He'd just given Obi-Wan the perfect out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But wait - what was that Obi- Wan was saying?
"Maybe...we could go back to your place for a drink?"
Oh, yes! That had been Bail's line, the one Obi-Wan had taken such offense at on their first date. He had misunderstood Bail's intention then, but now - oh, there was no way Bail was misunderstanding him this time! He couldn't help it. his face lit in a broad, delighted grin. "I was rather hoping you would say that."
Too good, all far too good to be true. He was standing now, taking Obi-Wan's arm, and Obi-Wan was smiling at him, eyes smoldering through those sandy lashes. Oh, Bail had never done anything to deserve such extraordinary good fortune, and if he behaved himself for the rest of his life, he still would never earn the inexpressible happiness of this one moment, to stand with Obi-Wan's arm in his, to glimpse the hidden passion of the Jedi's soul, to anticipate what was soon to come. No, he didn't deserve it at all.
But Bail was not about to quibble with fate.
Oh, no.
~ fin ~
The next day he realized he shouldn't have said 7:00. He didn't know how he would be ready in time. Bail always paid careful attention to his appearance, spent an inordinate amount of time primping, but this was a special situation. He had to look good, but not too showy; alluring and desirable, but not obviously so. This required extraordinary care and precision. He needed two hours at least, but he wouldn't have that, and there was no way he would postpone the date. So every free moment of the day was given over to the contemplation of what he should wear, how he should do his hair, how he should present himself. He would not have the time for last minute wardrobe changes. He had to get home, get ready, and get going.