Pirate and the Padawan Chapter 18-19

Obi-Wan felt as though his lungs would burst. His chest was burning and his eyes began to swim with tears. A little longer...just a little. He exploded upwards, out of the water, dragging air into his deprived body. The rush of it made him faint and he swayed for a moment before Qui-Gon caught hold of him.

"Easy now. That was good. Nearly fifteen minutes. I didna expect so much. Take it easy, boy. Slowly. Breathe slowly or you'll just pass out."

The world spun around in circles, but Qui-Gon's arms were solid and warm. He clung to a stray lock of hair, his entire body trembling. Slowly, he spiralled back to earth, his face buried against Qui-Gon's chest.

As if apart from himself, he inhaled deeply, smelling the warm laundry-soap--and-sweat-scent of his Master's robes. Beneath that, the sweet, warm smell of his Master's skin, the tickling feel of the long hair clinging to his damp face and shoulders. A shift of focus, just a tiny nudge, and he could feel himself pressed against those hard thighs. Obi-Wan's head tipped back and he sucked in a long breath.

"Ooooh Master..." he murmured into the rough fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic, his head cresting against the big hand cradling it. When he looked up into the crinkled, laughing blue eyes, his own were hot and predatory.

He didn't dare speak. It had been three weeks since their return from the ill-fated raid. Part of him was crowing with triumph. The other part had watched in agony as Qui-Gon had lain wounded and half-concious for days. His fingers twitched, remembering days of sponging off that tall, fevered body; of endless bandage changes; of watching frantically for any sign of returning sensibility. There had been a span of some fifteen hours when it was an unsure thing at best. The boy's face had gone haggard, bleak in limpid fear.

Too tired and too anguished to weep, Obi-Wan had accepted one thing as fact in those hours: he loved the big man who owned him. Never mind that he was a barbarian, never mind that he couldn't begin to comprehend the subtleties of fine etiquette. None of that mattered. The only thing he had been desperate for was those blue eyes laughing into his, that face freed of it's warp of pain.

Only Koll knew how he had fled to the lake when Qui-Gon's fever broke, curled up underneath the big tree in a dry-eyed miasma of gratified anguish. Together, the boys had wept for their near-loss and clung to one another in a haze of relief. In the morning light, they had separated with stammers, each returning to his chores, flush-faced and shy.

Three weeks without that strong body claiming his own...Obi-Wan's arms tightened around his Master's neck.

The grey-green eyes darkened to near-blue, burning into his own with want. He tipped the fire-flushed face up to his.

"Yer doin' well, love. Very well." Qui-Gon's eyes measured him for a moment. "How would ya like t'go home?"

Obi-Wan started, pulled back for a moment, confusion evident in his look. "Home?"

"To Coruscant? Would ya like it?" Without waiting for the boy's response, he continued, his voice a little distant and dreamy. "I've never seen it up close." He grinned down at the vibrant face straining up to his. He claimed its lips in a wet kiss.

"Oh, aye, I've been there. But I've never seen all it's high-life. Tell me, imp, could ya show me how the fine folk there amuse themselves." he teased, pinching the round rump to make the long, slender legs twine around his hips.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his Master's arms. "Who cares!!! They don't have this." His last words were swallowed in a devouring kiss.

For a moment, Qui-Gon might have pulled away, then allowed himself to be sucked into a vortex of hot, wet lips. The boy's arms wound round him like sucker vines, his hands clinging to the long hair.

"Master, please..." his voice was a hoarse whisper. Qui-Gon took him by the shoulders and held him at arms' length.

The big eyes were hot and dangerous, a flush burning across the slanting cheekbones, the small straight nose. His lower lip trembled, ripe and lush as perfectly- ready fruit. The long legs tightened around his waist; hard sex pushing against his stomach insistently.

This was an Obi-Wan he had never seen before, alight with passion, insistent and needy. Gently, he disentagled himself from the slender limbs.

"Get yerself cooled off. I'll be in our rooms f'meal. Aye, lad?" Qui-Gon's blue eyes had darkened to near-midnight, dancing.

For a moment, the young face was bereft, paling to show the nutmeg sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Then his eyes deepened to blue-green, laughing back at his Master's.

"Oh, alright!! I've already told Mairteth what to make!. And I don't want to leave, Master."

Qui-Gon gave him a swat on the backside. "Three laps around the lake, then in wi' you, ya impudent brat."

>By the third lap, Obi-Wan had conquored desire and was painfully aware of his burning leg muscles as he traversed the lake's perimeter. He remembered to tread water for a good five minutes until his breathing returned to normal and his body stopped it's shuddering with the hot release of exercise. Laughing, he swam to shore and toweled himself off. He wound the towel around his waist, grabbed his clothes and headed up the path to the castle.

The great hall way empty when he padded through, lifting his feet instinctively against the chill of a late-summer's evening on the flagstones.

Lightly, he ran up the steps to his Master's quarters.

He paused at the first floor, hearing a voice from within one of the long-unused rooms. Silently, he crept closer, ignoring the goosebumps on his arms and the chilled dripping of his hair down his back.

Obi-Wan flattened himself against the wall, ears straining for the slightest sound. "No, I don't know when. I will alert you, Master."

Obi-Wan melted into the shadows to watch Zath emerge from the dusty room, shoving a comlink into his tunic. The boy's eyes were hard and steady and purely, entirely green.

Obi-Wan luxuriated in the bath for so long Qui-Gon had actually asked if he was growing gills. Reluctantly, he finished his shaving and oils, threw on his pale peach night-robe and emerged to torment his Master with a flurry of pallid silk, damp-dark hair and heated eyes. He settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs that had been installed before the low fire and filled his Master's plate with delicate nuggets of noodle and meat-filled dumpling.

Lifting the food-sticks, he slid onto Qui-Gon's lap, holding a tender, steamed morsel to his lips.

"What..." Qui-Gon swallowed the delicacy. "in hells do you think you're doing?" He laughed, pulling the silk-clad slenderness close.

"Zath. Comlink. Downstairs." the boy breathed into his ear as if seducing him. "Reporting trip to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon's hands became iron and held Obi-Wan away from him. "Are you sure?" he hissed.

Slender hands ran seductively along his cheeks and he leaned in close. "Of course I am. Should I keep watching?" he sighed softly against the ill-shaven neck. "Oh, Master..." his clever hand moved lower, pulling up on the considerable erection in his Master's leggings. Qui-Gon groaned. Those long fingers wrapped themselves around his cock, pulling ever-so-gently. He looked up into the boy's eyes. They were hot, alive, green-blue coals burning in a flushed face of desire. There was no denying that hunger.

"Take me, damn you. Take me!!" Obi-Wan's voice was a hiss of violent need. His hands parted Qui-Gon's sleep-robe as he steadied himself above the stiff evidence of his owner's desire. Lowering himself onto the shaft of his Master's want, he moved back and forth, his whole face burning.

"Oh, please....please my Master. Damn you, FUCK ME!!! C'mon, fuck me hard!!" He was rocking back and forth on Qui-Gon's lap, his hands reaching down between the splayed, long legs; fondling the heavy balls; testing the place where his Master disappeared into himself.

The young flesh enveloped him, swallowed him whole as he bucked against the silken softness of Obi-Wan's skin. He felt the soft inner vortex take hold of him like a vice.

"yesssssss...." he hissed, cupping the round buttocks, fingers bruising the pale skin as he thrust violently into the strong young body. Obi-Wan arched back, pushing himself down deeper and deeper, as though trying to bury his Master inside his clenching-hot self. His hand grasped the long hair, yanking hard to pull his Master's face to his and sucking him into a bruising kiss.

" I love you, damn you. I love you." the lilting voice hissed against Qui-Gon's kiss-swollen lips.

He exploded, arching up to pierce the tender hole he penetrated, hands fierce on the pumping hips to hold the lad steady. He heard a long, low moan of satiation and realised, with a dim shock, that it was his. The boy's arm were around his neck, lips seeking and desperate against his throat.

Leaving for Coruscant was easier said than done. Qui-Gon refused to budge until he felt fit for more than a "mucky little bit o'shite" as he so eloquently referred to their mishap. That meant two more months of training so intense that Obi-Wan despaired of walking, let alone katas or swimming. That last delirious night when he had discovered both Zath's treachery and his own aggressive hunger was a dim memory in a world of fierce physical trials and ever-deepening hours of meditation and Force-use. There had been little time for leisure of any kind, much less using their big bed for more than exhausted slumber.

Then, there was the harvest to consider. Qui-Gon oversaw vast sweeps of acreage and, typically, found it difficult to leave it to outsiders or even his own people. He was responsible for many, many people and took it as a personal point of honour to make sure they were well-supplied for the harsh Remwara winter. Thus, Obi-Wan learned to thresh grain, haul fodder, and herd animals. He balked entirely at the slaughterhouses, and, once his Master saw how pitifully sick he'd been, was grateful to be relieved of that duty. That was Qui-Gon's only concession to his delicate, Inner-Rim upbringing. He was a part of the castle family now, and expected to work just as hard.

In the end, it was almost four months before Qui-Gon was satisfied that his people were cared for and his body healed. By that time, the winter had arrived in a blistering hail of sleet. Obi-Wan was shocked at the violent change of season. Summer had been a heaven of sweet grass breezes and soft rain. Autumn blew more fiercely, it's downpours hard and long and chilly, consoled by the glowing bronze-gold of the fields, of flame-coloured trees. Just as suddenly, it grew achingly cold. The wind howled in the castle flues, blowing ash about the Great Hall. They spent much more time there for warmth, every member of the household huddled close to the great fireplace, almost as tall as Qui-Gon himself.

During one of these evenings, Obi-Wan was stretched out on the floor, teaching a dice-game to Ara and Koll, when heavy banging on the enormous doors startled him violently. Qui-Gon didn't even turn around: he simply waved the doors open and rose with a sigh, putting his pipe down to turn and face their soggy visitor.

//Not here.// he glanced briefly at Zath, who was studying the fire a little too pointedly.

Without another word, the two men disappeared up the steps to the Tower room.

Only Obi-Wan noticed Zath, whose eyes darted up and back rapidly.

An hour later, the servant rose and slinked halfway up the stairs, only to be called back down by a shriek from Mairteth in the kitchen. Koll and Obi-Wan ran, parting the leather curtains to see an entire flock of bats wheeling around the arched ceiling, knocking into the strung herbs and hanging pots. Somehow, the small window high up in the wall had come undone and was flapping wildly in the wind.

Zath trudged into the storeroom for the ladder, cursing under his breath. Mairteth waved her apron about, screeching, while Koll and Obi-Wan climbed up on the table to open the great skylight.

Only Ara, a small shadow by the stoves, caught the grin on Obi-Wan's face in the low firelight.

Three days later, Obi-Wan settled himself into the pilot's seat of Syrene, his smile so broad Qui-Gon thought it would split his face in two.

Obi-Wan had not been surprised when his Master had insisted on taking Zath with them, as well as two crew members he'd never met, and Mace. He knew enough court intrigue to understand the concept of keeping one's enemies close.

"I don't care about home!" He settled down, his right hand hovering into position on the gilded console. "I get to fly!!"

"That ya do, but do you know how t'take off?" Qui-Gon was lounging against the bulkhead, arms crossed.

Obi-Wan bit his lip and glanced up. "Well, no. But I figured Syrene'd help and..."

His Master shook his head and leaned over the high-backed chair. "That's right. Now, left hand here." He moved the smaller hand into a place, down and to the left.

"Greetings, Dulaan. Obi-Wan." The pleasant metallic voice echoed a little in the golden bridge. "View screens up." The hangar appeared suddenly all around them.

"Revving engines." Obi-Wan's toes curled in his rough traveling boots at the warm hum and gentle vibration. "Course plotted, Obi-Wan?"

Syrene had addressed him as the pilot in charge and it made his face glow, but her question made him droop in dismay and he turned to Qui-Gon, a furrow dug deep between his even brows.

The Master shook his head with a laugh. "Don't take on so!! I've already plotted it, Syrene. Check the number five datalog."

"All right, Obi-Wan. Pull through your left hand." The boy's questioning look earned him a smack to the back of the head. "Use the Force, ya dimwit."
Qui-Gon was laughing softly.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Obi-Wan's face flamed. He centred himself, taking a long breath and felt the engines' purring grow deeper.

"Now, " Qui-Gon's voice was low, next to his ear. "Let it flow through you to the right. Direct it an' let yourself be part of it." The purring became a roar and the delicate craft moved forward, emerging from the hangar. "Good. Good. Now, take your left hand away and let it soar. See it." The rough voice deepened, softened almost seductively. "C'mon, lad. Fly for me."

Obi-Wan's face was set and intense, eyes wide but focused on a place deep inside himself. The little ship gave a lurch to glide up into the rain-sodden skies and out into the thinning bands of atmosphere. Then they were surrounded by the star-sequined blackness of space.

Obi-Wan turned brilliant eyes to his Master. "Before we go into hyperspace, Master, I have one question."

Obi-Wan stared in shock to see his Master's face flood with colour until he was positively scarlet.

"Hmmmm..." Qui-Gon took a long breath. "It's a old language from Remwara's far western provinces. That's where the metal is mined."

"So," the grey-green eyes shone, almost silver in the lights, "what does it mean?"

Qui-Gon sighed again. "It used t' be dealanach." He shrugged. "Times and tongues change. It means 'Lightening. Flamin' coal.'" he murmured. Then he glared at the boy. "An' if ya start laughin', I swear I'll give ya a beatin' you'll never forget. "

It took every bit of his training, both in etiquette and control, to keep for dissolving into a fit of merriment.

Fortunately, the jump to hyperspace and it's nearly-erotic effects turned the tables enough to restore Qui-Gon's humour.

Obi-Wan was almost pouting. When he had been on Coruscant, pouting used to be a favourite method of getting his own way. In his case, it usually had worked, but he'd never dared to try it on Qui-Gon. He had a bad feeling it would only have earned him a load of ridicule. They were near their destination and about to drop out of hyperspace.

Syrene had been on auto-pilot for much of the trip, but Qui-Gon had spent so much time locked in the common room with Mace that he had relented to Obi-Wan's bored yawns and longing looks. He detoured to give them an extra day's journey at time speed. Hiding his grin beneath a beard growing wild again, he chose a small debris field and let Obi-Wan spend a whole day prowling around obstacles, dodging small asteroids and playing in flight like a fledgling bird. His grin grew wider: it had been well worth the day's time. Obi-Wan was not so much a flame that night, but a wildly blazing fire.

'Funny, ' he thought to himself, making his way to the bridge where he knew he'd find the boy, hunched over the console, staring out the viewscreen with rapt eyes. 'If I'd the sense to be embarrassed...even Syrene might've blushed!'

Obi-Wan's long-fingered hands were wandering over the console, clearly in communion with Syrene, soaking up all the nuances of flight like a sponge. The Master's blue eyes crinkled in a wry smile. ' Hate to make him stop, but we've got t'land. An' if I have to listen to anymore strategy meetins', I'll be drinkin' too much when we do!!'

Qui-Gon regretted that so much of the trip had been spent in long hours with Mace and his crewmen, both relatives well-aquainted with his plans. That, and keeping a sharp eye on Zath and the comlinks had made it a less than enjoyable cruise. His greatest pleasure had been the young man's delight at having command of the ship. 'An' thank all the ghods, Syrene likes him or I'd have had my hands full!!'

Obi-Wan turned from the console. "Master, I've learned so much!! Syrene's told me nearly everything!!"

But you've got t'get yourself ready. It won't do f' you to come home looking like the tinker's child."

Obi-Wan sighed. He thought about pouting, nearly did, but it would shame his Master if he descended the ramp dressed in his worn tunic and leggings.

The ship's voice was teasing. // It's ok. After all, there's a trip back, isn't there?//

Obi-Wan ran lightly back to their quarter's and reluctantly pulled out his traveling clothes. He had not so much as looked at them since his arrival at Remwara so many months earlier. He threw the three robes on the bed and pulled out the great traveling cloak in its tissue wrappings with a moan.

After a quick trip to the sonic,clean and freshly shaven, he sat at the dressing table and carefully replaited the heavy braid hanging over his right shoulder, then brushed the rest of his hair well.

'Ugh.' he thought. 'I'll need to put it up down there.' It was considered absolutely gauche for a Padawan with a Master to let his hair loose. It took him a few minutes to even find where he'd stashed the long pins. Carefully, he pulled the tawny locks up as simply as possible, savagely wishing he could chop it all off, except for the braid. When he'd finished , the heavy mass was twisted into a tail and piled on the back of his head. He just refused to even attempt the usual elaborate styles without a proper dresser. He glanced at himself in the mirror. It look a bit , well, peasanty, but would have to do.

He glared at the makeup. A lick or two here, a little kohl around the wide eyes, a brush of colour on his lips...

No, no, no, no, no. His skin was so bronzed from being outdoors!! It made him look like a painted tavern harlot. He scrubbed the colour away, leaving only his eyes ringed delicately as possible. It still made him grimace.

A lurch meant they had landed. Oh, he had taken too long!! His stomach fluttering with panic, he yanked the first solid pale silken robe over his head and struggled to pull it down over his shoulders.

A horrible, wrenching rip and the back seam of the robe tore open. Obi-Wan gasped and stood still, staring at the filmy over-robes in terror. Maybe he could hide it under the cloak? He wriggled a little more and it tore across his chest. It was supposed to fall below his instep, but hung just above his ankles. What in all the ghods had happened to it! The twin outer robes were merely decorative and whisper-thin. He couldn't go out like this!!

His eyes blurred for a moment. All his other formal clothing was in the transport cases. His Master would be coming to fetch him any second. He stood there, shaking. Then his face set and he pulled the torn robe off his body. His hair tumbled out of it's pins and he cursed, pulling them out and tossing them onto the dressing table. Just then the ship's comlink in the room buzzed.

He went back to the dresser and got out his best cream-coloured tunic and leggings. Once dressed, he glanced down at the high-soled sandals and shrugged, sitting down to pull on his boots.

He pulled his hair back into a neat tail, then turned to consider the heavy silken traveling robe. It's gaudy brocade was...he groaned, then a sly smile spread across his face. He turned it inside out to display the plain brown silk lining. Slinging it over his shoulders, he took a long breath and looked at himself in the mirror. Horrible, peasant class, and utterly right, it would do until he could get to the transport cases and a proper dresser. Determined chin thrust out, he squared his shoulders and strode out of the room.

Unconsciously, as they descended the ramp into Coruscant's controlled climate, he tucked his hands into the sleeves.