Obi-Wan was exhausted. The past two weeks had been brutal, stretching his endurance to it's limits, leaving him scared and bone-tired as he waited in the space transport at Ai Dallia on the planet Remwera, Mid-Rim Territories. His luggage was looming in the small station, dwarfing anything there for pickup but the huge bales of Xerianina waiting for export. He shivered and huddled close into his cloak, aware of the eyes glued to him from the desk.

Obi-Wan had thought his future was assured. He knew that Senator Palpatine had sponsored his education, had groomed and prepared him for his role. He 'd just turned sixteen and had been privately auctioned. The Jedi Temple rules for courtesan padawan slaves were most exacting. He spoke fifteen languages from four quadrants, was an expert in comestibles and intoxicants, knew how to perform in five sectors' realm of pleasure. Of course, he was untouched , as was necessary. From the age of two, when the Finders claimed him, he'd lived in the Temple creche, slowly being moulded and taught everything he should know for this moment.

But at the auction, which was held quietly on holo-vid the night before his Ageday, he'd been purchased by an unknown. He knew that Senators Palpatine and Valorum both wanted him...that several others were in the bidding. The creche-master was proud of the far-flung offers for Obi-Wan and had even patted the boy's red-gold head in approval as he'd been escorted off the holo-vid platform. He had felt so sure and proud, knowing his masters approved of his performance on the vid.

He had shown at least thirty different displays of agility, including his internal and external muscle control. He had abandoned himself to the Force while allowing the droids to use his limbs as the bidders wished, feeling himself turned and twisted, opened and fingered for the pleasure of his suitors. It was a gift he gave them, this exhibition of his body even as he writhed and strained in the grip of his own innocence and fear. The name announced, at the end of the bidding, where his prettiest postures were displayed, was a complete shock: Qui-Gon Jinn, Mid-Rim Territories, Sector Seven. Ghods above, it was nearly Outer Rim! He winced, remembering the whipping he'd received for his obvious look of dismay. The Creche-master had been furious and displayed him in the Hall for four hours before taking him over his knee. It had been a less than triumphant way to announce his purchase and departure.

Later that day, his things were efficiently packed by the droids as he was bathed and perfumed and dressed for his journey. Kal, the Creche-master washed Obi-Wan himself, his hands efficient in the hot, soapy water.

"Just remember your training. Don't ever forget that, Obi."

Obi-Wan had looked at his former master with enormous eyes, worried by the tone and the words.

"Master, how could I forget it?" he whispered.

Kal's hand grabbed his chin and held his face firmly, dark eyes boring into his.

"Never you mind. But remember, you are an export. The Jedi-world incarnate. Teach your new master, but never let him know you are the teacher." His fingers traced the ruddy golden brows, the white eyelids. Obi-Wan was completely unprepared for the sudden blow.

Tears welling despite his best efforts, he ground his teeth together.

"Forgive my incompetence, Master." he whispered by rote.

Another blow left him gasping.

"What? What am I doing wrong? he whimpered.

"Just be ready." was the enigmatic reply.

Obi-Wan gulped, remembering his confusion and dismay at Kal's sudden cruelty.

Packed up with his personal effects in seventeen transport cases, he had been shipped out the next morning. He was scared when the trip was more than forty minutes: he'd never been off Coruscant or out of the city's limits since he could remember. When the transport pilot bade him buckle in for the shift to hyperspace, he'd gone white. Twelve hours later, he was fighting tears. At fourteen hours, they finally landed, and he found himself in a woeful little slum of a station, awaiting pickup by a yet-unknown master. The urge to cry was nearly overwhelming. He was hungry and tired and dirty. He needed a bath and Kal's examination that was the end of his normal day . When the landspeeder and it's trailer-form arrived, he was wide-eyed with fear.

Nearly three hours later, he awoke to the hard landing. He struggled to rouse himself, tried to keep track of the luggage. It was a chore, the lackeys were so ridiculously moronic. Not to mention unintelligible. The language was Standard, but so twisted by local dialect that it might as well have been foreign. It took him twenty-minutes to make them understand him at all.

His heart sank lower as a peasant came forward with another landspeeder to claim him.

He had a bad feeling about this.

II

His first sight of the castle was not helpful. It was grey, huge, looming out of the mist and dampness like a hulking monster. Obi-Wan had ceased to even try to conceal his dismay. He was tired and disheartened, sick of the green, fog-shrouded landscape, his stomach was growling and he had a terrible headache. The peasant who collected him had glared, but not spoken and he had dozed off and on, only to be wakened by too-sharp turns or a bump. He could have sworn they were deliberate from the malicious smile on the peasant's face.

Once inside the Great Hall, he felt his stomach churning. The place was as grey and forbidding inside as it was without. It might have been lovely, several hundred years ago, Obi-Wan thought savagely. Only a lifetime of training kept his back straight and his head up.

"Where are my quarters?"

"Maister noan back yet. Ye'll hafta wait here."

Swallowing his exasperation, he moved closer to the fireplace. It was bitterly cold and his pale silken clothing was certainly not suited to such a wet, chilly environment. The flagstones around him were stained with grease and ghods-knew-what else, sweet strewing herbs rotting in the corners. Force above they're savages! There were tapestries hanging on the stone walls, very ancient, Alderian, he thought. Once they must have been lovely. Now they were rags, their colours dimmed with grime and smoke. The only light poured in through slitted windows high in the dome and the darkness was oppressive. Obi-Wan huddled close to the enormous fire, examining his hands . Lord, two nails broken and the dirt beneath the rest!! Kal would have my head. He rubbed them together, watching the fire with bright eyes.

An eternity later, a small girl in a dirty brown shift brought a wooden tray to the enormous table behind him.

"Sumpthin' t'drink fer yew." She grinned at him, bobbed a curtsy an d disappeared behind the curtained doorway, giggling. He could hear more laughing as she talked rapidly in her unintelligible dialect.

He stalked over to the table, his eyes narrowing with anger. He was worth a galactic fortune, a prize to be cherished and celebrated. But his new Master's servants seemed to think he was funny. He heard more raucous laughter, and although he couldn't understand the words, knew the intonation for a dirty jest. His eyes stung. It was criminal he should be treated in such a fashion.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and looked down at the leather mug on a rough wooden paten. Experimentally, he hefted it and sniffed. Beer. He set the nasty brew down with the expression of a martyr. Bad enough to have been subjected to a day's worth of horrendous travel, but to be laughed at by kitchen help and offered nothing more than peasant fare was too much. He sniffed long and hard, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. Force sake, he didn't even have a handkerchief. He would have given anything to be back in Coruscant. Well, wishing wasn't getting and he was terribly thirsty.

"Hello?" his voice was steady, although his hands were shaking.

The little girl stuck her head through the curtain, followed by a rangy youth's.

"Wot?"

Obi-Wan straightened his spine, his eyes icy. "I will not be kept waiting in the hall like a merchant." His lips curled with distrain. "I insist on being shown to my quarters now. "

He glanced down at the mug with utter contempt. "And please get me some water."

Two pairs of eyes regarded him with amusement.

"Bugger off, fuckboy." that from the youth.

Anger surged through Obi-Wan and he used a little Force-hold to push the boy against the wall.

"Care to repeat that?"

The lad's eyes were wider now, a grudging respect dawning in their dark depths.

"Damn ye, Force-user! Maister'll hate that i'ye." The dark eyes grew taunting again. "Mebbe tha's wot he wanted ye fer. But I doubt tha'!"

Obi-Wan released him with a sigh. "Please. Water." He tried to read the other boy's thoughts briefly, hoping to find something of pleasantness or compassion. But there was only contempt and lewd speculation.

"Fer wot?"

Obi-Wan looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Fer watter. Wot'll ye do fer it?"

"Never mind."

The lanky boy laughed and pushed a mane of dirty pale hair out of his face. He came closer to Obi-Wan, reached out a grimy finger to touch the silken robe.

"Forcesake yer a snigetty one."

Obi-Wan backed away towards the warmth of the fire. "Just leave me be. "

He could feel hysteria rising through his gut like fire. Another minute and he would scream. His eyes snapped open as he felt a hand touching his hair. The other boy's dark eyes laughed down at him.

"Yer a small 'un."

Blinded by tears, he simply turned his head away, biting his lip hard to keep them from falling. "Please just leave me alone." His voice quavered dangerously.

The other boy laughed and lifted the long padawan braid. "Wot's this? A leash?"

Obi-Wan straightened up and pushed the boy's hand away. "Stop it." h e made his voice as dark as he could, but it didn't seem to phase his tormentor, who only laughed again and grabbed hold of a handful of his hair, dragging his head back.

He was looking up, his eyes wide, not knowing what to expect next, when the enormous doors crashed open. Abruptly, the tall boy released him and fled to the curtained inner recesses. Obi-Wan shrank back against the wall, his breath coming hard and fast.

"What's all that damned junk i' the yard?" boomed a deep voice that echoed through the hall.

A woman's head peered through the curtains, followed by her considerable bulk.

"Yer new slave, Maister. His stuff."

"Forcesakes, did he bring the whole bedamned planet wi'him?"

Obi-Wan stole a look from under his hair.

The Master was a tall man. Very, very tall. He was in leather riding gear, high boots muddied and wet. He threw his cloak down on the table, grabbed the mug there and downed it's contents in one gulp. "More."

The woman waddled off to the kitchen as he turned to Obi-Wan.

"C'mere."

He wanted to move. He really did. But somehow his feet wouldn't obey his brain. He just stood there, quivering against the wall, absolutely unable t o make a sound.

"Are you deaf, boy? I said over here."

Obi-Wan forced one foot forward, then another until he was standing at the other end of the big table. He tried to speak, but only made a slight squeaking sound and wisely, decided to keep his mouth shut.

The woman had returned with another tankard the size of a pitcher and set it down.

"Anything else Maister?"

"Yes I'm bloody starvin'. " he looked up from the tankard with a truly fearsome scowl. "You. Over here. Don't make me repeat myself or I'll flay the skin o ff ya."

Obi-Wan moved to stand beside the man, keeping his eyes firmly fastened to the toes of his Master's boots. He hardly dared to breathe.

A very large, very calloused hand ran down his cheek, then under his chin. The touch was firm but surprisingly gentle. His face was lifted and he foun d himself staring up into a pair of dark blue eyes that watched him intently.

They were quite beautiful, those watching eyes, under strong dark brows. What the rest of the Master looked like was utterly obscured by a wild mane of silvered dark hair and an unruly beard. From somewhere in the beard's depths, he heard a low chuckle.

"Not quite wha' you're used to, is it?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, mortified. Here was his first meeting with his Master and he should have been bathed and polished and powdered. Instead, h e was travel-stained, tear-stained and ready to collapse in confusion and despair. His eyes were filling again and he bit his lower lip. The hand curved around to stroke his neck, making him feel terribly vulnerable.

"Alright boy. Let's have a look at ya."

That big hand pushed him back a little. "Turn around"

Obi-Wan obeyed, trying very hard to still the pounding tattoo of his heartbeat.

"Hmmmm." The Master wiped a liberal amount of beer froth from his beard with the back of his sleeve. "You're a small one."

That was the final blow. Obi-Wan's shoulders began to shake and he turned to the wall. He raised both arms to hide his face, his whole body beginning to shudder when he was crushed into the Master's leather tunic.

"Alright. Alright. Hush now." The big hands gentled his hair, his slen der form was enveloped as the entire miserable day seemed to well up inside him and he simply sobbed against the broad chest. The Master was speaking softly, his mane of hair spilling over Obi-Wan's face, smelling faintly of horses and strongly of beer. For a few moments, he cried stormily, hardly hearing his Master's voice through his tears.

"It's alright, child. You've had a long day, I know."

Obi-Wan sniffled and tried to wipe his face with the trailing sleeve of his cloak. But the Master lifted his head and brushed away the tears himself. His blue eyes were gentle.

"I'm gonna let Zath show you where t' go. You'll wanna change I'm sure."

Obi-Wan nodded "I-I-I'mm s-sorry." he murmured softly.

"Zath!!" The roar nearly made him burst into tears again it scared him so badly.

"Zath, get yer ass in here, ya miserable mawgrat!"

A man of middle height and age, shuffled into the Hall.

"Don't waffle around like that!! Walk like a bloody man, you idiot. Take the boy up to my rooms and get his things in here. There's a storm brewin' and I've business i'the stables." He strode to the leather curtain and st uck his head inside.

"All of ye. Look lively."

The Hall exploded into a flurry of activity as a dozen servants scattered to collect the transport cases. The sullen man called Zath took Obi-Wan by the arm.

"This way." He led Obi-Wan up the broad staircase to the upper gallery.

Threading their way through a maze of dark hallways, Zath now walked swiftly , forcing the boy to run to keep up.

He pushed open a large door. "Maister's chambers." He grabbed Obi-Wan's arm and yanked him inside.

The room was big, the fireplace nearly as large as the one in the hall. The huge bed looked as though it had been carved in Corellia a few hundred years ago. Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled in distaste. It was covered with skins and fur. He tried to pull away from Zath's grip to move towards the fire, seeking warmth anywhere he could find it, when sudden pain flared on the tender skin of his inner arm.

"Just remember t'stay up here and not baither us." Zath hissed and gav e him another vicious pinch. He barely had time to register the hostility when another group of servants came in with the clothing cases, which they dumped unceremoniously at his feet. Their glares and snickers echoed Zath's as t hey left. Zath laughed shortly and kicked at one of the cases.

"I'd clean this up if I was yew. Maister'll hate the mess." Another snort of laughter. "Wha' yew need all the clothes fer I dunno. He'll jus ' tear 'em off ye."

Obi-Wan stared at Zath, rubbing the bruised skin of his arm. "What have I done to you?" he asked softly. His grey green eyes were hurt.

The man glared down at him contemptuously. "Inner Rim brat whore! As if our Maister'd need t'buy the like of you! Force knows he don't. An' ye r as useful as tits on a bull. Wot'dya think'll happen when he gets bored o 'you? We'll get stuck baby-sittin' and tryin' to make yew inta somethin worth it's feed. Bah! " He gestured again to the cases.

"Clean tha' up yerself. It's yer mess."

Growling "whore" again under his breath, Zath stalked out, slamming the doors behind him.

III

Obi-Wan sank down to the floor, methodically opening the cases and wondering where he would put things. He was so tired and so unhappy that any task helped him focus. Eventually, he found the two wardrobes, one full of his Master's things, the other empty. As he efficiently folded his clothing o nto it's shelves, he kept remembering Zath's furious contempt, his cruel words. It seemed only the Master himself wanted Obi-Wan here. The rest of his Master's staff evidently regarded him with equal amounts of distain and ha te.

A tear dropped down onto the silken robe he was folding. How would he ever manage in this horrible place? And why had the Masters at the Temple allowed him to be brought to this? Obi-Wan knew his value quite well. He'd been trained to a peak of perfection, knew that there wasn't another padawan at the Temple that could touch him. His auction price could have bought a small planet. Why, oh why hadn't Senator Palpatine purchased him? He thought of his sponsor sadly, remembering pleasant dinners and garden walks with the man he had hoped to be his master. More tears stained the delicate fabric in his hands. What was the point of all those years of learning if he were to be stuck in this savage place with a houseful of hostile barbarians?

He went to the other case and pulled out the oils and pleasure toys he'd b een equipped with before he left Coruscant. As he found a drawer for them in the bedside table he shook his red-gold head. What was the use of all that? His Master would more than likely simply throw him down and take him like an animal. The thought made him shudder. But it spun off it's own train of thoughts. What will it be like, finally? He knew what to expect, but had no practical experience. And what is Master like? Another shudder raced through him and came to settle somewhere below his waist. The feeling mirrored the knot in his stomach, but was rather more pleasurable.

Obi-Wan sat back on the floor, leaning his head against the coverlet and yawned. The fur was soft against his cheek and he closed his eyes.

A loud banging woke him with a start. Blinking in semi-darkness, he sat upright, looking around wildly. Then he heard the wind, a high, keening moan in the flue, making the fire spit. A shutter somewhere to his left. That was the banging.

He padded over to close it, absently scratching his neck. The shutter was deep in a windowseat recess and he had to crawl across another drape of fur to reach it. His neck was still itching unbearably as he walked back to the fire. He crouched down there, wondering how long he'd been asleep and if his Master was going to feed him. When he saw it, he froze in complete horror. It was plain as day,a crawling speck on the creamy silk of his sleeve. A flea.

His stomach roiling, he suppressed a shriek and then his lips set in a grim line. This he would not accept. No, not ever, not if that brat and Zath and his Force- bedamned Master pinched and starved him to death in a cesspit. His slender body tense with anger, he grabbed the bedclothes and yanked them free.

Trailing the tangle of fur and skin and linen, he stalked down the corridor to the landing over the Hall, where Zath and the woman loafed in front of th e fireplace. Zath looked up with a smirk, but Obi-Wan allowed him no time for comment. With a gesture of one slim hand, the whole mass of material was hurled over the railing to the flagstones near Zath's feet.

"Burn those and get me the other cases." it was a hiss, but quite audible.

The woman gazed up at him, openmouthed, but Zath sneered. "The hell wi ' yew, ya --"

Zath found himself face down in the rumpled mass.

//Burn them. Get me the other cases.// Zath shook his head, then nodded.

"I'll burn 'em and get yer other cases."

Obi-Wan leaned forward over the railing, a slim white ghost, the torchlight flickering in his ruddy hair. It caught a glimmer of pearl in his teeth as he smiled very sweetly.

"Thank you."

He felt a little better as he stomped back to the Master's chambers. He k new he should be ashamed of his burst of temper, that he should be very ashamed to have used his abilities in such a manner. But all he really felt was a savage pleasure in his gut. He waited by the fire, quietly reveling in the feeling until his cases were brought into the room. This time they were placed against the far wall in a neat line. He ignored the bearers and his reverie was disturbed by a tug at his sleeve.

It was the little girl, struggling to balance a large tray laden with a goblet, a pitcher, some bread and fruit.

Immediately, he reached out to help her. Her eyes were very blue and very big.

"Thankee, uh...sir..." she stammered. Obi-Wan put the tray on the round table by the fire, then knelt down to look at her. She was small, perhaps five or six, very dirty.

"You don't have to call me sir. "

"Well...?" she considered it for a moment. "Yer the temple ...uh.... " clearly she was attempting to find a suitable word.

His eyes met hers evenly. "Temple what?"

"Zath says slut. Tha' true? Yer fer Maister's bed?"

Obi-Wan sighed. Well, I suppose it's the truth, if a bit crude.

He nodded. "Yes. But I hope he'll find more in me than just that."

She cocked her head to one side. "Yer from Inner ain'tcha? Where the Temple is? Wha's it like there? Yew talk awful funny."

He smiled and sat down on the carpet beside her. "It's beautiful. The most beautiful place in the galaxy. There are golden towers and gardens with fountains and flowers."

"There's rivers?"

"Yes, and lakes, too."

Her small face scrunched up a little. "Yew must miss it. Oh, I'm Ara. "

"Pleased to meet you, Ara. I'm Obi-Wan."

"Zath tell me t'tell yew Maister'll be late. Fav'rit mare is foalin '"

"Mare?"

"His horse, silly. Yew've got lots t'learn. And doan mind Zath and Koll. They be angered cos Maister looked offworld. And brung yew here." She paus ed and stared for a moment.

"I hafta go back doan."

Obi-Wan uncurled himself and took her small hand in his.

"I'm very glad to have met you, Ara. Thank you."

She scampered over to the door and turned with a grin.

""Sides, I think yer wonderful fair." she whispered, then ran down the hall.

Obi-Wan wandered to the table, absently picking at the bread. Wonderful fair? He knew he was beautiful when tricked out properly. Force knows he'd been told that enough. But now? Exhausted, unbathed, his clothing as rumpled as his mind--was he still 'wonderful fair'? More importantly, would his Master think so. He fell back into his first reverie, wondering about his Master, wondering about the night. Before he knew it, he'd eaten every bit of the bread. Tentatively, he took a sip from the goblet. Water, very pure, very clear. It tasted like the Force itself and he drank thirstily.

Feeling much better, Obi -Wan immediately set to work re-outfitting the bed. The protocol droids back at the Temple had made sure that he was equipped with sheets, blankets, coverlets, everything that was necessary, all manufactured to the exact specifications his Master's servant had given th em. He glanced back at the bed in dismay. Those fleas. No sense to dress it all up and be bitten to death all night.

He grinned to himself and rummaged around in another of the cases until he found the L'avner spray. It was made for firefly-viewing parties, censing the area with it's heady fragrance. It would keep the pretty insects at a proper viewing distance and out of the food. It was also absolutely deadly to fleas. Still grinning ear to ear, he sprayed the bed, the carpet, and the rest of the draperies and throws. While doing so, he found a small housekeeping droid in a corner and activated it to sweep up properly. Then he collected his supplies and went looking for the bath.

It was the adjoining room, very large and surprisingly hot. As he walked, glows on the wall activated and threw the circular chamber into a warm wash of light. There were small sounds of rushing water and as Obi-Wan neared the enormous wooden tub, he realized it was cleverly constructed around a natural spring. Enchanted by at least one thing about his new home, he stripped and sank into the warm water gratefully. It felt good, a little more buoyant that the water in Coruscant.

He pulled three different kinds of soap and two razors from his bathcase and began the ritual that he had followed every night for the past four years. It felt wonderfully comforting and familiar and, once satisfied that he was entirely smooth and clean, he let himself go limp near the mouth of the natural jet. The warm water poured over his young body and he found himself wondering again. What's he like? And how will he do it?

By the time he dragged his limp body out of the tub, primped, powdered and and dried his hair, the housekeeping droid had finished making the enormous bed. The silken sheets, treated to meld with his own pheromones, glowed in the torchlight. Funny, he thought, he keeps glows in the bathroom only. I wonder why?

He slipped on his evening robe and smoothed the padded silken coverlet on his way to the fireplace. The material dragged across his nipples, making him gasp a little. Several months prior to his auction, he'd been given a gift of genetic modification by his sponsor: every erogenous zone of his body had been enhanced to hypersensitivity. A lovely present, but sometimes overwhelming. He settled himself into one of the large chairs by the fireside, squirming a little. Certainly, it had enhanced his sensibilities and his pleasure, but it made simple things, like the act of oiling himself for the night very intense. And he was so tired. He really didn't want to feel intense just now. Only sleepy.

His head dropped forward and he dozed, listening to the muffled howl of the wind outside the window.

IV

Somewhere near dawn, when the sky was just beginning to lose it's thick blackness, Obi-Wan awoke. More thumping down the hall. Forcesakes is quiet impossible around here? he thought, nestling back into the big chair. His eyelids were just drooping when the door slammed open. He sat up with a start.

His Master was shedding stained garments as he walked across the room to th e table, with it's waiting pitcher and goblets. Half-dressed, he lifted the pitcher and took a long draught, the liquid spilling over his beard and into his hair, streaking through the blood that covered half his face and both hands all the way to his elbows. With the low firelight gleaming in the whites of his eyes, he looked to Obi-Wan like War Incarnate, a demon out of a creche-tale, a monster. He huddled back into the chair, too terrified to speak.

The glowing eyes came to rest on him. They suddenly seemed bleary and unfocused. He heaved a great sigh, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Bath."

With that he turned and walked to the bathchamber.

Obi-Wan stared after him, dazed. Somehow, he managed to get up and grab his bathcase.

His Master was already sprawled in the tub, head back under the natural fount, his long hair floating behind him like seaweed. // Force, he's huge !! //Obi-Wan quickly shed his robe and waded into the tub, soap in hand. // "/Remember your training, Obi." //

Obi-Wan reached out to begin washing his Master. He trembled a little as he lifted one big hand. Efficiently, he soaped up the broad blunt fingers onto the palm, over the swell at the base of the thumb. He moved up the arm, his slender hands deft and gentle over the broad chest. Obi-Wan's eyes darted up, then down. Which direction? He shied from the choice by concentrating on the bearded face and hair. That done, he retreated to his Master's feet, grimacing at their calloused roughness. Forcing his mind to blank, he moved up the powerful legs, feeling their roped muscles relax under his touch. Delicately, he made his way over the dark groin, trying to ignore the formidable size of the organ he handled.

"MMMMmmmmmm tha's good." a deep sigh.

Obi-Wan dropped it as though it were a snake, skittering back to the edge of the tub. He heard his Master's low chuckle.

"Come back here."

Making himself float those two feet was the hardest thing he'd ever done. // Training be damned, he'll kill me!! // He was panicking. Then those big hands were on him, gentle and exploring. Hardly able to breath, he flowed into his Master's arms. The blue eyes were watching him again, laughter crinkling their corners.

"You're scared to death."

Obi-Wan's pupils dialated. His lower lip was trembling a little.

Then it was claimed in a kiss.

Obi-Wan relaxed into the kiss. It was not exploring, just gentle and sweet. He was released abruptly as his Master got up and lifted him out of the tub as though he were a child.

"Such a little thing." he murmured with another chuckle, then laughed outright at the rebellious set of Obi-Wan's jaw.

"You don't like that, do you?" he tilted the boy's face up. The gr eat green eyes were wide, then dropped under their shadowed lashes. He traced the smooth line of Obi-Wan's cheek, then swatted him playfully.

"Get the towels, boy."

Obi-Wan retrieved the big bathsheets. His Master took one and gave himself a brief rubdown, then wound it round his hips. His big hands pulled Obi-Wan closer and he wound the other towel around the slender body.

"Can ye not speak boy?"

"Y-Yes, of course I can." Oh , that didn't sound right at all!!

But the Master only laughed again and leaned forward to dry him off. "So was your travel really tha' bad? Ya looked like somethin' a cat dragged in. "

The red-gold head crested against his hand. "Yes. It was dreadful."

Obi-Wan took the towel from his Master's hands and sank to his knees, beginning to dry his feet. He was pulled up roughly by one arm.

"None o'that nonsense. I'm na cripple."

Obi-Wan tried hard to conceal his confusion. How was he to remember his training if his training wasn't what his Master wanted? He felt as though he were trapped in an eerie dream of contradictions, just as the big man before him was a study of contradictions. He opted for humility.

"I'm sorry Master."

Another rumble of laughter.

//Tha' was sincere.//

Obi-Wan's head shot up. But his Master just finished drying himself off and turned to the door.

"Finish whatever ya need t' do and come to the fire. I want a good look at ye.

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