. Bonds of Choice #14 Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series by HiperBunny (message 2 of 4) +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Obi-Wan was careful to invite Rigger to join them for dinner, but he and Corubia declined simultaneously. The other Padawans needed no further hints. Jenji and Swed accompanied Obi-Wan back to his quarters and took turns in his shower while he began putting together a hearty meal for them all. When Qui-Gon showed up to join them, Obi-Wan was glad he'd thought to make enough for an army. His master looked ready to eat a whole bantha. Raw. Without salt. Obi-Wan was glad to set his friends and master down to something more tasty than unseasoned bantha. Grilled steaks, three different veggies and an ice cream dessert were the fruits of his labors, an offering he was much gratified to watch disappear with all due haste. For himself, he discovered he was not as hungry as he thought he should have been. On the way to the kitchen for the dessert plates, he checked himself for fever, but found nothing amiss. He shrugged his lack of appetite off and returned to the table, smiling acceptance towards the compliments of his guests. Qui-Gon gave him a couple of sharp looks and eventually asked him why he was merely playing in his dessert, rather than eating it. "I don't know, Master. I just ... don't feel like ice cream, I guess," Obi-Wan sighed. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he put his hand to his forehead again. "Well, how about I dial up some benburi for you? I think that was on the caterer today ... " Qui-Gon stood to go to the kitchen. "No thank you, Master," Obi-Wan faintly replied. Qui-Gon turned back, concerned. "Obi-Wan? Do you not feel well?" "No, I don't suppose I do ... " just then, the light seemed to increase a thousandfold, and Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut with a moan. "Obi! Bro!" Swed's hands closed around his wrist, seeking the pulse there. "Obi, what's wrong?" "Light ... hurts ... " Obi-Wan flinched away from the sound of his own voice, pained by the excess volume. Strong, large hands closed around the back of his head and the pain eased off. A very soft voice whispered in his ear. "Padawan, you must remain calm. This is the final phase of a Potential manifestation. It is perfectly natural, if not altogether pleasant. We're doing what we can to ease it for you. I need you to center, let go of any touch you have on the Force, even the most instinctive ones, if you can. It will gentle the phase, Koatel." Obi-Wan obeyed, pulling his awareness down into the very core of his being. He let go the flows of Force energy that he naturally integrated into his everyday existence, released the touch on the minds of his companions, the power that fueled his reflexes and suddenly felt blind, deaf and dumb. "Master?" "Shh, it passes. Just a few moments more. Shh. Just be still. It's worth it, I promise." Obi-Wan obeyed, letting himself hover in that state of sensory deprivation that was living without contact to the Force. Reduced to the input from his own body, Obi-Wan was staggered by the two-dimensionality of his perceptions. It was as if someone had switched off the universe's color, and given him ear plugs and a numbing agent to boot. He whimpered, feeling as if reality had twisted and left him on the outside. Calm hands touched him, his skin, voices he could barely recognize murmured words of assurance. They might have been ghosts. He couldn't feel them within himself, through the Force. *Oh please, please, no ... * he squeezed his eyes shut, denying this thing that was happening to him. Everything receded and he drifted far, far away. After an indeterminate period, Qui-Gon said, "Open your eyes, Padawan." Obi-Wan obeyed, slowly letting his vision come back on line. He was laying down on the floor beside the table, his friends and master kneeling around him. They had pulled his tunics off and his boots had gone as well. He could see the traces of energy flux in the room, where they seemed to have drained or channeled a vast amount of the Force through themselves. With a start, he realized they had channeled it off of him. "What happened?" he rasped. "Growth spurt," Swed grinned at him. Obi-Wan shook his head, confused. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, surprised at the utter lack of ill effects. He felt calm, alert, energized, ready to face the world. "What?" he asked again. "Well, you tell me, Padawan. If you'd reached out through the Force to touch, say, Corubia's mind yesterday, how far could you have reached to her?" Qui-Gon asked, helping Obi-Wan to his feet. "Um, couple of levels, maybe half a wing across. Not too far. I was pushing my limits on Reptha, subvocalizing to you down that canyon," Obi-Wan replied. "And where is Corubia now?" Jenji pressed. "Umm ... " Obi-Wan stretched a tendril of thought out towards her, found her a few levels up and on the other side of the Temple. "Good skies above!" "How far, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked again. "Maybe a few city blocks, half a mile ... something like that ... " Obi-Wan murmured, awed. "You just gained ... well, power in the Force. Just raw strength, not the finesse or technique you need to use it. You're going to feel like you did when you were a teenager and growing like a sprout," Qui-Gon smiled. "You've been building up to this for a little while. It's part of the reason why I wanted you living with me, just now. Congratulations, your Potential isn't just potential anymore." Swed shrugged. "Growth spurt." Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes again. "So, what does that mean, in the practical sense?" "We work on your control, refine your use and gauge again, make sure you're comfortable with it, then ... nothing. It just happens." Qui-Gon shrugged. "You'll feel a little awkward for a couple of days, might find some strange things happening around you, like heightened precognition or unintentional levitation ... but it'll settle into you. Or you to it, either way." "So, you're telling me I'm thirteen again," Obi-Wan summarized. "Just for a couple of days," Jenji assured him. "Stay out of my sculpture shop." Obi-Wan looked them over, searching for any signs of worry or anxiety. They were all totally relaxed, unconcerned that he might be ill or damaged in any way. That calm within them all was what sealed it for him. "Okay, well ... I guess I'd better do the dishes, then." Qui-Gon patted his hand. "Remember what I said about control? Don't touch the dishes, Padawan. Don't touch anything." Obi-Wan groaned then turned his attention to the crockery. Jenji and Swed snickered their good-byes and scooted out of there, before they could be requisitioned to assist. Obi-Wan sat on the kitchen counter and began the long process of Force-manipulated cleaning. Qui-Gon sat on the counter opposite him, catching dishes when Obi-Wan's control wavered and giving gentle reminders as his student found himself and became more centered within his new abilities. By the time everything was put away, Obi-Wan was flat tired. He excused himself to meditate and bed, glad to relax his control once more. He was surprised to discover that it was a little easier to ground and center himself for meditation, that clarity came with less exertion, and the release of emotion was much more smooth and far-reaching. He thought on these things as he curled up for sleep. *What else will I be better at, now? How much of me has changed?* But it had been a trying day, and sleep was as ready for him as he was for it. ******************* Qui-Gon observed the training room ceiling with something like amazement. *Well. Guess I'd better step up my personal training again.* Obi-Wan came to help his master up. "Sorry. Didn't mean to throw you that hard." "You'll have to practice your control again, refine your abilities to match the strength you now command, Padawan. Begin the Urabra exercises in one-eighth time." Qui-Gon walked slowly out of the ring and knelt, keeping his breathing steady. Obi-Wan had indeed gained strength, and rapidly. It was one of the odder traits in the Jedi, these sudden gains in the Force. Like growth spurts in adolescent humans, it often put the subject at odds with their own training and the strength to which they had become accustomed. Obi-Wan centered himself and began the open-hand exercises, a set number of each punch and block thrown in slow motion. The strength and line were at the same levels as if he were actually fighting, but each movement was slowed to a fraction of the lightning quickness that he was capable of, even without enhancing his reflex and speed through Force-control. When he came to the end of the set, he bowed to Qui-Gon. "Good. Sertara, one-eighth." Qui-Gon observed each kick and block with a critical eye. Oddest thing about training a Jedi, one must slow them down to the point of ineffectiveness to be absolutely certain they had a grip on their lessons. Otherwise, they might accidentally 'cheat', using instinctive skills and short-cuts. It was all well and good to change the routine once it had been learned, innovate, even improvise in an area of expertise, but only after the forms and functions were completely mastered could such a thing be allowed. "Mornin', Quigs." "Mornin', Kourt." Qui-Gon did not take his eyes from his student as his friend settled in beside him. "Spoke to the Council this morning," Kourt informed him. "I'm not at all surprised. They'll run you into the ground if you stick around much longer." "I'm working on setting us up with an assignment that should take us well and truly out of their reach for some time," Kourt replied. "Don't start dragging me and mine into your schemes, Kourt. I have a lot on my mind already," Qui-Gon warned. Kourt snorted at that. "You're in up to your chin already with this whole Torlamin issue. That's what I came to tell you about. They asked about the Left Hand." Qui-Gon nodded. "And here they promised not to meddle. Obi-Wan, do that last set again, mind your knees." "Qui-Gon! Did you hear me?" "Yes, Kourt. Left Hand. You, me, Torlamin. When?" "I'm not certain it's time to take such drastic measures," Kourt hedged. "Mmm. Of course you aren't, now that you've spent some time working with Corubia. You're starting to see things in her student, worry about the effects it would have on her. Mmm. I sense much fear in you," Qui-Gon snorted and ducked just in time to avoid the smack Kourt aimed at the back of his head. "Damnit, Kourt, can't you see I'm working, here?" "Sorry. But you're right." "Of course I am. Obi-Wan, good. Do Sebereah. Start at speed, then do it again at speed and a half. Kourt, watch this with me. I'm not sure he's going to make it through," Qui-Gon had his doubts that Kourt was quite up to training another Padawan just now. It was a mystery as to how Kourt had gotten his rank in the first place, with his bent for philosophy and dirty dealings, both at once. Qui-Gon couldn't imagine the Council giving him a child to train. He was still a little surprised at the fact that Kourt was given Corubia. Not that the Council's first choice had been a great one for the girl. Obi-Wan was moving swiftly through a tumbling routine, full of acrobatics and very few combat skills. He came to the end of the routine, paced the perimeter of the ring once and began again. His first series of tumbling passes went by in clean, strong lines. He entered into the second, more dancelike passage and Qui-Gon returned to his companion. "You would test her further?" "Of course I would." "Tell me when and how. I still think the outcome will be the same." "I'll let you know," Kourt assured him. Just then both of them cupped their hands before them, catching Obi-Wan before he hit the mats. The Padawan had put too much Force into a backflip and missed his rotation. Kourt grinned sheepishly at Qui-Gon, lowered his hands and dissipated the energy with which he had protected the other master's apprentice. "Old habits die hard," he explained. "They're good habits to have," Qui-Gon forgave, lowering his student to the ground. He gave Kourt a reconsidering look. *Hm. I could be wrong about that teaching thing ... * "Obi-Wan, come and sit. Watch." Qui-Gon took the starting position for Sebereah, the Form of the Fading Blossom. Most of the advanced physical routines had such irritatingly poetic names that Qui-Gon simply used the Old Standard translations and tried not to think about it. There was no good reason, to his mind, for dressing the exercises up with nice titles. Falling Crane, The Dagger Parts the Wind, Waterfall Kisses the Lilly, they did nothing to fool the beings who used them. Any Jedi worth his salt knew and knew well that the spirit must be in balance, for all things. If war was one part of the Jedi life, so then must be beauty, art, music, poetry. That blending must occur within the Jedi himself, where titles and pretensions meant nothing. Might as well call them Concerto For Mayhem and Bloodbath, for all words did. Qui-Gon entered into the passage that had felled Obi-Wan, executed it acceptably and continued. He knew he was being watched, not only by Obi-Wan and Kourt, but by the other Jedi in the room. The younger knights looked on him with something like awe, that a man his age should still move with such devastating quickness and refined technique. Ah well, nothing to be done for it and it would only get worse before it got better. It was more a surprise to Qui-Gon that at sixty-five, he felt no aches, no pains, no signs of age anywhere in his body. It worried him, some nights, probably more deeply than such pains would. Aging was natural, for what he was. This perpetual youth, however ... He ended the routine facing his Padawan and friend. *Well, there's an argument for eternal youth, anyway.* Obi-Wan was flushed from exertion, color high, breathing just a little elevated. *Looks like he's just been well-fucked.* Not a bad idea, that. Qui-Gon had made plans to leave all future physical interaction to Obi-Wan's discretion, but perhaps that was a miscalculation. The younger man seemed not to have a wanton bone in his body, for all that he set Qui-Gon's pulse racing at odd moments of the day. *Of course, he has to crack the Masterly façade every time he wants some ... * "So was the problem the flip or the Force technique?" Qui-Gon inquired. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm off balance in about three different ways right now ... " Obi-Wan began, then stopped. "I'm sorry, Master." Qui-Gon quirked and eyebrow. "Are you sure you're feeling well?" "Yes, Master. I just feel like I've grown four inches in all directions," Obi-Wan sighed "Yes, I remember it well. Does it make you feel any better to know that I believe you're handling it with more grace than I did?" Qui-Gon smiled. "Same here," Kourt supplied. "Yes, Master. Though I'm not sure it actually helps," Obi-Wan shrugged sheepishly. "Also, I've been working on a variation of Sebereah that has a different tumbling pass there. I guess I lost my focus." "Hmm. So you were doing perfectly well, as far as the variation is concerned ... " Qui-Gon mused. "Then thought I should have been doing better, or something different ... or something," Obi-Wan sighed. "Do you see how this could be a problem in a combat situation?" Qui-Gon pressed. "Of course, Master." "Don't roll your eyes at me, Padawan." "Yes, Master." *Note to self, grab his tongue the next time he sticks it out.* "Okay, let's hit the showers. Kourt, send me a note about your plans for Torlamin, okay?" Qui-Gon reached for his water bottle and headed to get cleaned up. "Will do. Sometime tonight good for you?" Kourt called. "Sure. I'll let my secretary know," Qui-Gon replied. "I already heard," Obi-Wan observed, eliciting a laugh from the two Masters. Qui-Gon stepped under a shower decidedly cooler than what he normally chose to bathe with. He kept his eyes fixed on the tiles before him when he heard Obi-Wan come into the otherwise empty facilities. *Let him choose. No pressure. Don't even look.* "So, did you have any plans for today?" "Well, Master Crowe asked me to do some research for him. I've been thinking about a visit to the archives, but I haven't had time to get down there," Obi-Wan replied. "Did he now? Well, feel free. I think I'll be tied up with Kourt most of the night," Qui-Gon said. "It's not a situation I want you involved in." "Why?" Qui-Gon took a deep breath, let it out slowly and turned to face his student. Obi-Wan gave him an openly appraising look from toes to top, before fixing him with steady eye contact. Qui-Gon fought the urge to pose. "The Council has ... given us permission to use the Left Hand technique." Obi-Wan's gaze never wavered. "What?" "It's a code for ... never mind. We'll talk about it if the time comes," Qui-Gon was suddenly unable to explain, what with those clear, guileless eyes upon him. Oh, Obi-Wan was by no means innocent, as such things are normally measured. He was no blushing virgin or unblooded trainee. He'd done his share of lying, cheating, sneaking, stealing and killing during his service to the Order. And yet ... Qui-Gon wanted to protect him from this reality a while longer. "Let it stand that we're working with Torlamin and I think your time would be best spent elsewhere." "Yes, Master." Qui-Gon turned back to his shower, grateful that the cool water lent itself to his own body control. He soaped and scrubbed, lathered up his hair, rinsed all over and was just about to turn off the water when warm breath hit his ear. "You missed a spot." "I did?" Qui-Gon started to turn around but was stopped by a strong hand on his hip. "I'll get it," Obi-Wan murmured, scrubbing along Qui-Gon's shoulderblades, down spine and across the small of his back with firm, even strokes. Innocent strokes, the attention of a dutiful Padawan to his teacher. When those same strong hands turned him to rinse, Qui-Gon went willingly where they led. The next set of firm strokes were not what generally was thought to be innocent. Qui-Gon leaned his head back against the tile, moaning. Obi-Wan's expression never changed, even as his thumb teased the most sensitive spot on the underside of Qui-Gon's cock, bringing his hips forward in a rapid succession of hard thrusts. Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan, intent on reciprocation but was denied access to his body. "I just want to watch, Qui-Gon. Let me watch you," Obi-Wan whispered, leaning in to suckle a nipple. Qui-Gon nodded, willing to give anything asked of him. And since the only thing required at this point was, apparently, that he come with all due haste, the acquiescence was just that much easier. He ran his hands over Obi-Wan's hair, brushed droplets from the longer bits in back, let his fingertips enjoy the silken expanse of throat and shoulders before simply leaning back against the tiles again and letting his student lead him were he might. One hand stroked his balls, gently heightening the pleasures given his shaft. No fancy Force-tricks, no interesting techniques with teeth and tongue. Just the steady, persistent, encouragement of Obi-Wan's hands on Qui-Gon's flesh. "Harder," Qui-Gon groaned through clenched teeth. "Just a little ... " "Mmm, yeah," Obi-Wan leaned into his strokes, rocking his body in rhythm with the touch, with Qui-Gon's thrusts. Qui-Gon drank in the vision of his love, his best friend, his student and constant companion now doing this beautiful and singularly enjoyable thing for him. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as the orgasm rolled out, closed his eyes as the pleasure, strong, rich, full of light and desires met burned all thoughts from him. The hands went away. Soft lips brushed his, a whisper, perhaps a figment of the imagination. When Qui-Gon gained the strength to raise his eyelids, he felt somewhat wounded to find he was quite alone in the showers.