"Back for Seconds: Obi-Wan"
Rating: PG, but with NC-17 intentions
Obi-Wan is back for more.
Not that he was keeping track of time or anything. It was simply a fact, one of those strange, irrelevant details of life. Like the fact that from the moment his Master told him they would be returning to Coruscant, the dreams had begun. Hot, steamy dreams involving a certain Junior Senator. He hadn't been having those dreams before. He hadn't really even thought about Bail Organa over those two months. Well, not very much. What thoughts he did have never intruded on the fulfillment of his duty, but now that he knew they would be going home...well, now he began to think about him a little more often.
And on the trip back to Coruscant.... Of course, hyperspace travel on the whole tended to be rather boring. Not much going on, no scenery to speak of, cramped as usual into a rather small diplomatic spacecraft...it's not like he had anything else to keep him occupied. So yes, he did think about the Prince. Nothing in particular, though. Except maybe for those incredible, midnight eyes. Okay, so he did think about Those Eyes more than once. A day. Or an hour. Those Eyes, and the way those raven curls tumbled over that smooth brown forehead and into Those Eyes. The way Those Eyes looked at him when he...when they.... Yes, that thought could keep him occupied for quite some time, but only when he was some place very private.
So those thoughts led to other thoughts, and those in turn led to even more delightful and entertaining ones, and by the time he reentered the Temple...well, by that time the Prince seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his brain.
Obi-Wan knew what this was all about. It was sexual tension, that's what it was. After all, before his little...thing...with the Prince, it had been a long time since he had had sex with anyone. His body was just responding to the release the Prince had offered. That's why Bail was now crowding Qui-Gon out of his dreams. He had never slept with Qui-Gon, so his subconscious was simply latching on to an actual experience as opposed to an imagined one. That was why he dreamed about the Prince every night, thought about him every day...fantasized about him every....
Hmm....
After all, the Prince was good looking, if you were into that kind of thing. Not that Obi-Wan was, but he did notice. It was the kind of thing one couldn't help but notice. And he was also charming, intelligent, fun to be with -- was, in fact, Obi-Wan's friend. Yes, his friend. That made him a sort of safe fantasy. Yes. No harm done. That was why Obi-Wan...well...fantasized about him. So if he was looking forward to the possibility of seeing Bail again, it was because he enjoyed the Prince's company, and if he was hoping for something else, well...he was a young man, after all. His body had certain cravings. There was nothing wrong with that. Not that he was expecting anything, not that he ascribed some meaning or depth to it that wasn't there. Bail wasn't Qui-Gon, after all. Obi- Wan didn't love him. It was just sex. And sex was a powerful instinct, so no one could blame him if he, well, thought about it. Sometimes. Like at night as he lay in his bed (that was obvious), in the shower (obvious, too), when he woke up in the morning (especially then!), and at meals (thinking of their dinners), and when he heard someone laugh (the Prince had a distinctive laugh), and when he was sparring (uh...), and when he was supposed to be listening to a lecture in class (hmm....), and at all sorts of other altogether inappropriate times.
It was just sex.
That was all.
But that was not why he desperately wanted to call the Prince. No, that was friendship. It's not like he was expecting anything else, because the Prince had freely admitted his predilection for brief affairs. Obi-Wan had had his fling with the Prince, who had certainly moved on by now. Bail had no shortage of admirers, and now Obi-Wan was indeed a friend "with honors." That was fine.
But it didn't provide him with a ready excuse to call the Prince up, nor did it give him anything to say. The cloning conference, the original excuse for their acquaintance, was long over, so he couldn't ask about that. His last missions had been of relevance only to the parties involved, so he could have no reason to report on them to Alderaan's Junior Senator. He combed through excuses to stop by the Senate offices, but that was ridiculous. He was a Padawan; he had no reason to hang out in the Senate building, could divine no natural motive or circumstance that would plant him in the Prince's path. He dreamed up a thousand excuses, each more absurd than the last, and he got no closer to his objective. Instead he only made his circumstances worse: now he was starting to obsess about the Prince. Things were degenerating awfully fast.
After several days of frustrated agony, Obi-Wan finally decided that he ought to just call the Prince and hope that the Force would tell him what to say to make it all sound normal somehow. Forget trying to come up with an excuse or a motive. Live in the moment, and all that rot. The decision was made. Now all he had to do was act on it.
Which proved to be difficult, indeed.
Call him when? Call him where? More hopeless, impossible decisions to trip him up. Obi-Wan grew irritated with himself. Dammit, he was a Jedi; this paralysis was ridiculous. Just call him. Pick up the Force-forsaken commlink and call.
Six tries before he actually managed to activate his commlink.
Four times he succeeded in calling up the Prince's frequency, but never patched it through.
After an hour's meditation to focus his concentration, and a quarter hour's recitation of the Jedi code, he finally managed to activate his commlink, call up the frequency, and patch it through in an almost natural way, though his palms were sweating so much he almost dropped the commlink.
The connection at last was made - to the Prince's answering service. Obi-Wan immediately terminated the link.
He should just leave a message. That was probably better, anyway. He wouldn't have to talk to Bail, then, just say, "Hi - wanted to let you know I'm back on Coruscant. Give me a call if you want to get together." That would leave the ball in Bail's court. Yes, that was a good plan.
Five calls to the answering service. Obi-Wan cut off the link each time. He wanted to pound his head into the wall in frustration.
He tried again after his morning class, practicing what he would say, running through the meditation on serenity, while he waited for everyone else to leave the room. He could do this. He was a Sith- damned senior Padawan. He couldn't let a little thing like an answering service get the best of him.
When he was at last alone, he activated the commlink without thought (there is no emotion; there is peace), called up the frequency (there is no ignorance; there is knowledge), patched it through (there is no passion; there is serenity), waited for the link to be made - this time he would leave a message (there is no death; there is --).
"Bail Organa speaking."
Sith! He almost dropped the commlink. What the hell was he supposed to do now? "Bail!" he exclaimed, then corrected himself, "Your Highness."
"Yes?" Confusion, then, "Obi-Wan?"
Identify yourself, you kriffin' idiot! "Yes, it's me. I - sorry, I wasn't expecting you to answer."
"You weren't trying to reach me?" Slight amusement.
"Yes, but - I got your answering service, and I thought...but I was going to -"
"Well, lucky for both of us you got me instead."
"Yes." Work, brain! Twenty years of Jedi training, flushed down the pipes.
"So you're back on Coruscant, I take it?"
Oh, yes, that's right. Brain starting to function again. "Yes. I...I just thought I'd give you a call."
A pause. A long pause. Brain deciding to shut down once more. Things were going from bad to worse. At last, the Prince ventured, "So...would you like to have dinner?"
Confused, Obi-Wan said, "Now? It's mid-morning."
Laughter bubbled out of the commlink, and Obi-Wan realized he really ought to go pound his head against a wall; it might jar his malfunctioning brain back into gear. "Not now," the Prince said. "I meant -." Another pause, this one mercifully brief. "Well, not tonight; I have an engagement. But perhaps tomorrow?"
Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow was good. That would work. "Yes."
"Where would you like to go?"
Force! More decisions? "I don't care. You pick."
"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 Obi-Wan leaned wearily against the wall, exhausted by his ordeal. Now all he had to do was survive that long.
A little smile crept onto his lips.
That he could probably manage.
Now that the hour of meeting was almost upon him, his earlier tension returned. Just friends, he kept telling himself, just friends. Like hell! His body was so tense he would probably explode at the sight of the Prince. That wouldn't do at all. He needed to...relieve the pressure. After all, meditation only worked up to a point. Sometimes it was necessary simply to...take matters in hand. So to speak.
A quick trip to the 'fresher - heavens, it didn't take long at all, and it certainly didn't take care of the problem altogether, but at least it eased some of the tension. After washing his hands and carefully inspecting his clothing to make sure nothing had been mussed, he glanced once more at his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him wore a fierce, determined expression, as if he were about to march into battle. He willed his features to loosen, but he only managed to relax into the slightly more benign "Jedi frown." He spoke out loud, as if rebuking his recalcitrant reflection, "There is no passion; there is serenity." Yeah, right. He squared his shoulders. He was as ready as he would ever be.
He headed down to the lobby. Early, but he couldn't wait any longer. Obi-Wan gracefully let pass Qui-Gon's reminder that he was too old for a curfew anymore. We'll see, we'll see, he told himself.
No prying Padawans in the lobby this time. Good. Obi-Wan sat down to wait, and almost immediately felt the urge to get up and pace. Ah, still too much tension. He forced himself to remain seated, only to realize he had absently begun to chew his fingernails. This was ridiculous. Jedi should not have nervous habits, but at this point it was either pace or chew. He chewed. Probably not a good choice, given Bail's generally well-manicured appearance, but.... He chewed, mangling the nail of his left ring finger. That finger tended to get lost among the others, anyhow. Bail wouldn't notice. Hopefully. He chewed all the more anxiously. Chewed, and bounced his leg.
Obi-Wan knew the instant the Prince entered the lobby, knew before he saw him, sensed him like a heady fragrance, like a panther scenting a potential mate's pheromones. He stood, and the Prince approached him. Sensuous movements. Black curls. Those midnight eyes. Oh, yes. That irresistible smile tugging at the full lips. Silk and velvet. Had he forgotten how beautiful the Prince was? Or did his own desire make him that much more susceptible to the Prince's beauty?
"Are you ready to go?" Bail asked, voice soft, low, husky, as if he had just woken from sleep, just come from bed.
Ready? Hell, yes!
And they were off in an air taxi, heading to one of the smaller restaurants Obi-Wan had grown fond of during their courtship phase: simple fare, not crowded, good for conversation. The Prince had remembered. Obi-Wan relaxed slightly. This setting was familiar, a scenario acted out numerous times during those early months. He could handle this.
The safety of a table between them, the momentary distraction of the menu, and the toughest choice was what to order for dinner. By the time the waiter had come and gone, Bail and Obi-Wan were chatting away as easily as they always had. That was one thing Obi-Wan could count on: Bail was a master at conversation, asking engaging questions and keeping the topics flowing. Obi-Wan told him about his missions, Bail told him about upcoming legislation and the latest Coruscanti gossip, innocuous subjects neither of them particularly cared about. What they talked about didn't matter; it was the exchange. They shared a common language now, a repertoire of in- jokes and references. They delighted in each other's wit, valued each other's opinion, took pleasure in each other's company. It was good to have someone outside the Temple to talk to, someone he could unwind with who was not related to any mission, someone whose daily life differed so refreshingly from his own, someone for whom his own stories were new. Bail was not Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan didn't love him, but he was fresh, new, a joy to be with.
Dinner came and was eaten, the plates carried away, and the two of them hardly noticed, engrossed in their chatter. A lull finally opened up in the conversation, a quiet space, a little room for thought, and Bail at last ventured, "So...I guess you have to be getting back to the Temple?"
That had been Obi-Wan's line. Every time they went to dinner he had an excuse: a late-night sparring session, a test he had to study for, his belt buckle to polish, his hair to rebraid. But he didn't want any excuses this time, didn't want the evening to end, wanted something else. What had been Bail's line? "Maybe...we could go back to your place for a drink?"
Oh, no. Head pounding time. Could he have been any more obvious? Bail would know what he meant, would know what he was thinking. He already knew. He knew.
And he was smiling.
His face lit in a broad, delighted grin, Bail drawled, "I was rather hoping you might say that."
Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. Bail wasn't Qui-Gon, it wasn't love. Just a physical reaction, his body craving a certain kind of release, his hormones reacting to a certain kind of stimulus. Nothing wrong with that; perfectly natural. All the same it felt good - good to feel this way, good to be the one desired for once, good to know his desire would be fulfilled. Very good. Bail wasn't Qui-Gon, but....
And Obi-Wan forgot how the rest of it went, because Bail was standing, taking his arm, and through the fabric of his sleeve his skin tingled at the touch, sending a wave of liquid heat coursing through his entire body.
No more excuses, no more rationalizations, no more attempts to explain why, to define what it was or was not. No more.
It was time to live in the moment.
Oh, yes.
~ fin ~