Although few beings that lived in the wider worlds beyond the
Jedi Temples understood it, life as a Jedi was more than being a
guardian or a negotiator. They viewed it as a mingled patchwork of
lifeforms co-existing, rather than as the single society that it
was, one with its own conventions and norms, their own history. Most
did not look beyond the mystery of the Jedi ways to see them truly.
Most knew that Jedi were beyond such concepts of being attracted
only to aesthetic beauty and never realized that it did not make
them beyond appreciating it.
The long, smooth line of pale skin, the ripple of firm muscle
beneath it. The fluidity of movement, the heavy body between his
legs as they shifted together, warm hands shaping him, holding him
as he was penetrated and there was beauty in this that would be
visible to any who might have watched, whether or not they were
Jedi.
But there was nothing, nothing he cherished more than watching
serene blue eyes shift, flaring for the briefest of seconds into the
wild, unrestrained flames that licked beneath the surface in the
moment just before they closed in pleasure. A flash, nothing more,
never more, in which control ceased to exist and in that moment he
was beauty in and of itself.
He never wished for it to last longer. It was a beautiful only in
its brevity and were he to see it at any other time, it would be a
horror, an atrocity, and he would know his Master was no longer
within them, would have been gutted out into a shell by that inner
flame and there would be nothing left of him but darkness.
But at this moment, stroking the sweat-slicked skin of Qui-Gon's
back and soothing him back, Obi-Wan thought of nothing but its
beauty, and loved him.
-finis-
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