.                        Snow and Cinder
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 3 of 5)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


It seems we're done for the day then.  Silently I help put away
the yokes and buckets.  The snow is swirling strongly now, and
the day has almost turned to night from the deep cloud cover.  We
go back inside his house and shed our boots, coats, gloves and
scarves, creating little puddles on the floor from melted snow.

He is quite obviously a bit peeved at me still and I find his
continued silence maddening.  As he starts to putter around his
house, obviously preparing to clean up and change, I realize I've
overstayed any welcome I might have had.  I've warmed up enough
so I reach for my coat.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks harshly, removing his
shirt before the fire.

I struggle for calm.  Deep, clear water.  "I'm returning to my
ship.  I wouldn't want to burden you any longer, I've stayed
enough as it is.  I thank you for your hospitality."

He just stands there and grins devilishly and I realize he's
quite a handsome man, even with that nose.  Lean and whipcord
strong, about my height and build, actually.  His hair is spiky
short and if he'd had a braid he could have passed for a
Padawan.  He's still grinning, not saying a word, and I frown.

"What?"  I finally ask, for obviously he knows something I do
not.

"You know, for a Jedi, you are pretty stupid.  Don't you hear
that?"

Now I'm pissed and I don't bother trying to release it into the
Force.  "Hear what?  What are you talking about?"

He shakes his head in mock sadness.  "The wind, Jedi.  It's a
storm.  Hit a little early, but within the next few minutes it'll
be a white-out.  No one's going anywhere for at least a day,
maybe two.  Why do you think we were working so hard to gather
the sap today?"

As soon as he says it I can hear it... I can feel it.  My despair
has been such that I couldn't even hear the Force tell me about
this storm, and because of that I feel even worse.  What a fool I
am...for loving you, for coming here, for...

It must show on my face for his grin turns into a frown and he
shakes his head.  "You Jedi.  You need a whole new line in your
damned code about guilt.  You take on the whole fucking universe
of guilt.  I'm gonna go get a shower."

Saying that he quickly finishes stripping off his clothes and
saunters to the back of the house where his small, primitive
'fresher is.  I can't help but follow him with my eyes and
immediately blush for doing so.  Yes, he is an attractive man.

But he's not YOU!  I let myself slide to the floor next to the
tightly shuttered window and just wallow in it.  Guilt, yes, and
anger, and frustration and a whole host of other negative
emotions.  As I have been taught, as YOU taught me, I fold up
into a meditative posture and try to examine all my feelings, try
to release them into the Force.  Is my host right?  Am I taking
on the entire universe of guilt?

Needless to say, a meditative trance doesn't come to me and
eventually I sigh and stand up.  Methos comes out of the back
room at that moment, a towel low around his hips, his hair still
wet.  He rummages around in a bureau and throws me some clothing.

"You and I are close enough in size, you should be able to wear
my stuff.  Here.  You'll want to go get cleaned up.  There's a
clean towel next to the shower.  Sorry the water's not very
hot...my water heater works on solar power which you might have
noticed isn't particularly abundant at the moment."

I nod my thanks and strip.  He's right, my clothes are grimy from
sweat and slush.  Clean clothes would be a blessing, as would a
clean body.  I put my dirty tunics in a pile by the fireplace and
turn to walk to the 'fresher - and I feel eyes on me.  I turn,
but he's doing something at the sink.  Maybe I imagined it.

A little shower cubicle and nothing but tepid water - luxury
compared to what we've had to deal with in the past, eh, Master? 
I wash hurriedly and  dry, then realize I've left my borrowed
pants in the main room, so wrap my towel around myself and
return.

There's warmth and good smells now, a dinner of some kind that
Methos has put together.  As I don the borrowed pants, I realize
the wind is really howling now, battering at the windows and
door.  None of it gets through the sturdy stone walls though,
this place was made to last against just this kind of storm. 
Suddenly I realize that I'm thinking of you, of how much you'd
like this place, this house, even this storm, and I shove these
thoughts away again and swallow against the lump in my throat.

We eat mostly in silence, but not strained silence.  He
apparently respects my need for quiet, either that or he's just a
very uncommunicative man.  Maybe both.  After dinner, I help him
clean up and we sit by the fire with more of his brew.  After
some time, I hear a voice talking, as if from far away.  What a
shock to realize it's mine.

"...didn't want a Padawan.  But I convinced him, finally, and he
took me on.  I thought, I thought we had a good bond, I've loved
him since I figured out what love is.  Every time I find out
about another kind of love, I find that I already feel it for
him.  And then we got sent to that little mudball, to those
damned Trade flunkies...but it was the kid that really got me. 
He stood there, just stood there before the whole be-damned
Council and took the kid as his Padawan learner!  I wanted to
yell, to scream at him, and he just shut himself away from me. 
Told me where to go and what to do which I did like the good
little Padawan he wants me to be...

There's something in my eyes.  It burns and stings and it's
causing my nose to fill up too.  

"You know, what we fought, it was a Sith.  Ugly bastard too. 
Looked a bit Zabrakian but who the Hell knows?  I cut the thing
in half and watched it fall into the melting pit and felt nothing
but glee, until I remembered what it did to my Master."  Damn.  I
wish I could clear my eyes.  "And when I went to him, he thought
he was dying. Well, I did too.  And you know what he said to me? 
Promise me you'll train the boy!  Fuck the boy!  And fuck him,
too!  Why couldn't... oh, why..."

Oh shit, oh shit, I'm crying, that's what's in my eyes, that's
why I can't go on.  I'm shaking too, and I feel hot, maybe I'm
sick, I don't know, Master, where are you, why aren't you here to
help me?

Someone is holding me now, tightly, rubbing my back and my head
just the way you always used to do when I felt bad or was sick. 
Warm skin under my fingers that I hold on to, as I wail out my
anguish and desperation.  There's a soft voice in my ear, and
warm breath on my hair.

"That's it, kid, just let it out.  Sometimes you godda just
scream, you can't let it ALL go into the Force, whatever the hell
that is..."

So I do.  After a while, though, you run out of tears I guess.  I
cough a bit against the crap in my throat and I'm handed a
tissue. I realize I'm laying on the floor in front of the fire,
and there's a warm, comforting body holding me tightly.  Methos. 
He must be getting tired of having a sobbing Jedi around.

I wipe my face off and blow my nose and realize I really should
pull away, but it feels so nice.  I want to be comforted, and
he's apparently willing to comfort.  "Thanks," I murmur into his
chest.

He shrugs a bit, but doesn't let go and for that I'm thankful. 
"All in a day's work, Jedi.  I don't mind, you needed help, I can
help.  I guess Duncan's been rubbing off on me."

I pull back enough to look into his face.  "Who's Duncan?"

"Heh.  Somebody you'll never meet," he replies, then looks into
my eyes.

Big mistake.  How can someone so young have such old eyes?  They
look right through me, see right into my brain and my breath
hitches in my chest.  I've only seen one pair of eyes that
intense, and they're deep, dark blue.

But Methos' eyes aren't.  And he doesn't have a beard either, so
touching his face is far different than touching yours, Master. 
And kissing him would feel different than I would expect kissing
you would be like.  If you ever would kiss me.  Which apparently
you're not willing to do.  But Methos is.

His lips are very soft. 

And his body is hard, tough, and curiously smooth at the same
time.  No scars, not like me.  He traces every scar on my upper
body, and I have quite a few; he kisses several of them too,
before looking back into my eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks me, very quietly.  

I take a deep breath and do something I haven't done since
Naboo.  I consult the Force, check within myself to see if I am
on the right course.  Much to my surprise, the Force responds to
me at once, and the answer is 'yes'.  I reach up and pull his
lips back down to mine.

The fire is close at my back, but is nothing compared to the heat
that pours out of his kisses and into me, into my mouth, pooling
in my groin.  Where that molten desire gathers my body grows
taunt with need, nipples into rough pebbles, cock into needy
stone.  I'm moaning, all this emotion of want and desire and,
yes, passion, flooding me, my senses.  I'm not channeling it out
into the Force, not releasing it or stepping away.  It's filling
me up, filling the aching, empty place where you usually are. 
This is a fire of linen, of silk and satin, so hot, so quick and
I've been so, so cold without you, Master.

And he's being careful with me, for some reason.  As if I were an
unblooded child in his arms, as if he is deflowering something
sacred.  I groan into his mouth, try to say I'm not a virgin but
he's shushing me, saying the time for words has passed and he is
right, so right that I push over on top of him, wordlessly
expressing all the craving he has sparked within me.

His hair is soft in my hands as I cradle his head, holding him
for kisses.  His fingers are making long treks up and down my
spine, teasing groans and pleas as he draws circles in the small
of my back.  I'm undulating, pressing into him, seeking the right
touch, the sweet caress, knowing it isn't best like this but not
wanting to stop and make it better.

Finally it is Methos who makes things right, gently turning me
onto my side and stilling my thrusting.  "Here, or would you
prefer the bed, Jedi?" he smiles at me.

"Here, here, I need..." but he is gone away and I fall onto my
stomach, face buried in my arms, eyes itching, cock so hard I'm
near screaming for release.  "Don't do this to me, please..." I
am appalled to hear myself whimper.

Something soft hits my head and I look up.  A pillow.  Methos is
kneeling beside me again, a bottle of oil in one hand.  "Turn
over," he invites, and I'm all to happy to obey, settling the
pillow under my head, tucking my arms under it, watching what he
does to me.  His eyes promise that it will be something worth
remembering.

The fire has died down somewhat, making the light a warm, red
glow that tints his pale skin, an amazingly erotic effect.  His
long fingers are touching me, shoulders, chest, tease the navel,
quick journey back up to stroke and pinch my nipples.  I have the
odd sensation that I can now accurately imagine what a harp feels
like in the hands of a master player, for he is surely a master
in this.  I don't know if the sounds I'm making could be
construed as music, but they are heartfelt and joyous.  I should
be touching, reciprocating, but he seems to enjoy what he does. 
I make no move to interrupt.  He leans down to kiss my mouth,
jaw, throat, traveling all over the scarred and uncherished
planes that are my body.  His kisses make me holy.

Soon he is pulling my pants off of me, freeing my body to his
observation and exploration.  My breath is harsh and my heartbeat
is loud in my ears.  The snap and hiss upon the hearth make me
feel like a willing participant in some pagan rite.  When he
touches the insides of my thighs, I loose the civilized part of
my brain, the better portion of my Jedi reserve and howl like an
animal, arching up towards him.  My skin is burning, which is not
strange considering that a red-skinned firesprite is making love
to me.  His mouth is on my cock, kissing and lapping, an insolent
smirk indicating he well knows the madness his touches are
creating within me.  When he swallows me, letting his throat
constrict around my shaft, I lose all memory of peace.  This is
nothing like the tender pettings and reserved couplings I have
known with my partners at the Temple.  This is Passion and for
the life of me I don't know how I've lived so long without it.

I've lost control of myself.  I'm babbling my need and desire to
Methos, the Malkavian, my deamon-lover who has stripped me of all
serenity and calm.  No, not stripped, I've thrown it away quite
joyfully and have no plans to hunt for it anytime soon.  He has
let me slip from his mouth and is coating me with oil.  I can't
still my hips, I'm thrusting towards his slick fingers.  That
smile is still on his lips, he knows what is happening within me
and he's guiding me, protecting me along this journey.  My face
is wet, no one is telling me to hold back, control myself, be
serene.  There is no frozen pond of Jedi reserve hanging like a
stone, an accusation in my mind because you are not here,
Master.  It is I, your Padawan, alone, careening on this
dangerous course.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

He's naked now, straddling my hips, guiding me towards that
tight, hot channel.  It is a baptism of sorts, a cleansing and
renewal as I am drawn upwards, my hips rising up to meet what he
so willingly offers.  Now he is not smiling.  His mouth is open,
his eyes are closed, and his panting breath makes his chest rise
and fall, quickly.  I reach to touch, find his hands, arms,
chest, try to catalog and memorize this experience.  It is
happening too fast, too fast.  Quick, flashy, ephemeral,
inexplicable as most miracles are.  I am proud that I am not
trying to run away from it.  I am exultant that I am embracing
it, turning to it, holding it to me tightly and am not afraid.  I
think I say this out loud because he is whispering 'I know I know
I know' and I really think he does.

Now he is moving above me and I move below him, pushing and
striving, making good use of the gift I have been given.  The
light is glinting on our sweat-gilded flesh, tiny rubies
glittering upon us.  I trail my fingers down his flat belly,
trailing paths down his moist skin, seizing upon his tumescent
penis, stroking with all the eager will that he displays in his
use of my own shaft in that hot, tight channel.  He's so
beautiful, Master, all narrow lines and wild cries, hips bucking,
claiming and offering all at once.  Too beautiful, I can't hold
back and have no will to try.  My orgasm spills out of me as do
my gasping words as I call him the fire, my flame.

***** 

The Malkavian sleeps well into the morning, a warm comfort beside
me in his bed.  I am restless, though, and pent up by the howling
storm outside.  The little room we share is far too small for
proper exercise, even if it were unfurnished.  As it is, there is
little for me to do as I wait for my de facto lover to arise. 
Eventually I drift towards the dataset and decide to see if
anyone has attempted to contact me in the last couple of days.

I manage a patch through to my shipboard computer, despite the
weather's attempt to thwart me.  To my surprise, there are two
messages, both from Coruscant.  One is from Master Yoda, under
the heading of 'Urgent', a word I have never associated with that
venerated master.  The other is from the Council and post-marked
some few hours before Master Yoda's.  My hand trembles as I
consider what lies before me.

Master, you obviously did not consider what an awful position you
put your Padawan into these last weeks.  You cast me aside before
my Trials, an action that, by tradition, should have cast me from
the Jedi for all time.  The only thing that saved me was the fact
that you were acting in defiance of the Council when you put me
aside.  That, and the fact that you were mortally wounded before
the Council could take your actions under advisement.

Then, my beloved Master, you did not die.

It is one thing for a Padawan to be without a master, if the case
is one where said master has passed on.  Quite another for a
Padawan to be unmastered while his 'master' yet lives.  None will
take a student on under those circumstances.  At least, no one
has in all the years the Jedi have existed.  When I was a child
you nearly destroyed my life by putting me aside, by shoving me
away at every turn.  Then, it was a painful letdown.  Now, again,
you have nearly destroyed me by your actions.  It is nothing less
than the basest betrayal on your part, o my beloved Master. 
Here, on the very razor's edge of my lifetime's fulfillment, you
have come near to denying me the only thing I ever strove for,
other than your love.  You have nearly denied me my rightful
place as a Jedi Knight.  

I left your bedside full of hurt and anger, a deep, dark
bitterness in my soul that I could not come to terms with. 
Finally, all that has been burned away from me through weeping,
through pain and through passion.  Now there is within me the
peace and serenity I have long sought, the balance I had lost.  I
did not find it in meditation or contemplation.  I found it in
the arms of a willing, caring lover.  Does that surprise you,
Master, that I could find peace and serenity in something other
than the Force?  You should try it sometime.  It is an amazing
catharsis.  Now, there is only one thing left in me, of all the
things I carried away from Naboo when I left you there.  The
knowledge that I have been done a grave injustice.

It is the work of the Jedi to see that justice is done.

My lover is stirring in his bed.  I look at my messages but do
not open them.  Something in me does not want to face this news
alone, whatever it may be. But now there is another upon who's
strength I may safely draw, if only for this little time. 
Whatever is in these letters, there is one I may go to, where
comfort can be had without a price.  That gives me the strength
of will to continue.

I open Yoda's letter first, out of sheer perversity.

***   Obi-Wan,

Try to explain, I shall, what the Council has done.  Qui-Gon's
petition was deemed to be sincere and heartfelt.  His plea has
been granted.  For all that I fear the training of young
Skywalker, the Council, his training will arrange.  Decided we
have not, who's Padawan you will be.  Your feelings on this first
must be known, before decisions can be made.  For a certainty,
and by the declaration of the Jedi Council, Anakin Skywalker,
Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan is NOT.

Qui-Gon asks after you every day.  I assure him you are well, as
the Force tells me you are.  Words from you, a comfort to him
would be.  Though reasons for withholding your comfort from him,
surely would be understood by all.

Of your location he is unaware.  Preventing him from hunting you
is made possible by the will of the Council and a constant guard
on his person only.  Your assistance in this matter I request. 
Best to be resolved, this is, before lasting damage is done to
you both.

May the Force be with you, Master Yoda Jedi Temple at Coruscant

*** 

I close my eyes, trying to understand what this means.  If Anakin
is not to be your Padawan, something must have happened while I
was away.  Something important.  Something monumental.

The Force shifts around and through me as I read through the
message from the Council.  It is, for the most part, a
transcription of a Council session, in which you had the starring
role.  As the realization of what you have done begins to sink
in, a sense of overwhelming disbelief takes root in my heart.  It
is impossible to believe that you would have done such a thing,
so publicly, so irrefutably.  Smiling without humor to myself, I
recognize that by now I should be accustomed to you doing the
impossibly unlikely.   You are infuriating at times, Master.

I close the dataset down and return to bed.  My mind is whirling
with the knowledge of what you have done.  This is a wondrous and
powerful thing you have done, and apparently done for me.  For my
benefit.  Out of your caring for me.  I am stunned beyond belief,
in need of contact with something real, something alive, to
ground me.  I wrap myself around the bundle of life that is
Methos the Malkavian, drinking his presence through the Force,
even as I snuggle against him for warmth and comfort.

"Mornin'," he mumbles.  "You're up early."

"I just read the most amazing thing," I tell him.

"What's that?"

"My mail.  There was a letter from the Council," I tell him.

"Poor you.  Is there anything I can do to help?" He smiles, but I
sense real concern and compassion from him.  He's a good man,
Master, and I have grown to care for him in these few hours we've
spent together.

"My master has done something quite...unexpected.  Something
that..." I sigh.  The truth is, I don't really know what your
actions mean.  You are so far away from me.

"What has he done?" Methos prompts.

"He apologized."

I do not try to explain what a formal apology to the Council
entails.  Since he does not know you, it is impossible to make
him understand how incredible this is.  In my mind I can see you
clearly, kneeling before them all, those men and women you have
so often defied and stood against.  I see your long, powerful
form bowing, forehead touching the floor as you enumerate the
trespasses for which you repent.  I wonder which of your past
defiances they wished they could get such an apology for from
you.  I wonder how close Master Windu came to a coronary at
seeing you so abase yourself before them.

I wonder if you realized the words you spoke were being recorded
for all time, that I would eventually know of them, if not hear
them spoken.  You are far to cagey to have forgotten that
particular point.  I think, Master, you were speaking to me as
much as you were speaking to the Council.  

Master, are you aware that you used the word 'beautiful' four
times in your apology?  Do you know you said 'beloved' on two
different occasions, in reference to myself?  I know you know. 
It is a rare and dangerous thing for you to speak without
thought.

A very dangerous thing.  That I know all too well.

I decide to write to you, to tell you where I am; that, and the
fact that I am well, and nothing more.  That sense of injustice
is still a cold stone in my heart, but I find, on this cold
winter morning, there is something else beginning to grow there. 
I curl up into Methos' arms, begin teasing his shoulders with
light kisses, joyful nips and light touches on his ribcage.  My
heart is filled with too many things this day and I will need his
help to further purge myself, to find clarity.  One thing I will
protect from his fire, my master.  One thing I will pack in the
snow of patience and keep ready, should I find I am in need of
it.

Forgiveness.

I am no better than the Council, o my beloved master.  You have
but to ask.

****** 

--
End: Snow and Cinder ... 3/5
by HiperBunny  ChezBunny@hotmail.com
http://www.shadowynd.com/~chezbunny/index.html
MrsHamill      thamill@mgfairfax.rr.com