"Obi-Wan, you're over-reacting."

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks, took a deep breath, and turned
around. "With all due respect, master, I think I'm reacting as well
as can be expected, given the circumstances." He could sense
passersby glancing at them, raising eyebrows in ill-mannered curiosity,
but he determinedly ignored them and held his head high. His injured
hand throbbed with dull pain, but he ignored that too.

And damn Qui-Gon for obviously fighting a smile when he replied.
"Of course...I'd forgotten that you, young padawan, are the sole
arbiter of correct behavior. Forgive me."

Mother of all... "You were there, master, you heard what was said!"
he exploded. A passing Wookiee stopped, looked at them inquisitively.
"What are you staring at?" Obi-Wan snapped, and flinched when the
Wookiee growled at him ferociously in response. "Uh, sorry," he
said sheepishly. Next time, skip over the part where you antagonize
someone who could snap you like a twig, he told himself, Jedi powers
or no. The Wookiee grumbled and lumbered off; Obi-Wan sighed in
relief and looked back at his master.

Qui-Gon was barely managing to restrain his laughter.

That did it. "I'm leaving," Obi-Wan said with as much dignity as
he could muster. He turned on his heel and headed in the direction
of the landing bay where their ship was docked, brown cloak billowing
behind him. With any luck, he could convince Captain Malandro to
take off before Qui-Gon got there. Sure, he'd pay for it later, but at
that point it was a risk he was willing to take.

Maybe I wouldn't be quite so angry, he reflected as he stormed
through the streets of D'luth, cradling his hand against his chest,
if it all hadn't hit so close to the mark. Or if Qui-Gon hadn't been
there. Or if I'd just given in and struck the little bugger down --

No. He stopped in mid-stride, causing a native to nearly bump into
him, and he muttered a distracted apology. That way lies the dark
side, he told himself. You did the right thing. You know it and Master
Qui-Gon knows it.

Nonetheless, it rankled.

As he continued through the winding streets, dodging other pedestrians
and hovercars, he ran through the events in his mind, knowing he shouldn't
be dwelling on it, but unable to resist. He and his master had just finished
mediating a dispute between a local landowner and his tenants -- the tenants
believed the landowner had the regional government on his payroll, and
they had called on the Jedi to intervene -- and were enjoying a well-deserved
meal at a local eating establishment.

The eatery was alive with local color, its long, gleaming metal tables
packed to the gills with D'luthians and a menagerie of other races, from
Wookiees to Rodians to Zeltrons, all gibbering in various languages, their
roars and clicks and squeaks drifting up into the air, bouncing off the
expansive skylights that let in the strong D'luthian sun. Even though
Obi-Wan and his master had to speak loudly to each other over the din
in order to be heard, the running commentary from the D'luthian at the
next table was all too audible.

"Didn't know Jedi came that pretty," the furred creature said to his
companions. His elongated snout twitched in amusement and released
a wet snort. "Looks like a good little boy, eh? Does just what his
master tells him, in more ways than one, I'll bet."

"Don't," Qui-Gon said quietly, before Obi-Wan had even spoken.

His master was staring pointedly at Obi-Wan's fist; Obi-Wan looked
down, realized he had a death grip on his glass, so tight that his
knuckles were bone white. "But master --" He could feel the anger
welling up inside of him, a simmering heat in danger of exploding
into a conflagration of rage, and he tried desperately to keep it
from igniting.

"Boy that pretty should be selling his goods, not squandering it as a
*Jedi,*" the D'luthian said in a tone that communicated all too clearly
what he thought of Jedi Knights. "What a waste!" His table mates
burst into malicious laughter and he puffed up with pride.

"Ignore him, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said firmly. "Find your center, take
hold of your feelings. This fellow is not worth the trouble."

Once again Obi-Wan tried to obey, but the D'luthian's shrill voice cut
through his concentration with the heat and precision of a lightsaber.
"Bends over when he's told, eh? Bends over and asks for more. Good
little puppy dog."

Obi-Wan had only enough time to realize that the shattering he heard
was his glass breaking in his fist; an instant later he ignited his
lightsaber, leapt up from the table, and towered over the D'luthian,
his blue blade humming inches from the native's twitching snout. Blood
welled up from the fresh gouges on his hand, but he stubbornly ignored
the pain. "Say that again, to my face this time," he ordered, tightening
his grip on the lightsaber handle, even though it sent waves of agony up
his arm. The immediate area around the table fell silent in shock and
anticipation.

Blood dripped from his hand onto the floor.

"Obi-Wan." His master's voice was like ice. "No."

The D'luthian and his friends said nothing, waiting to see what the
apprentice would do. Desperate for control, buffeted by anger and
pain, Obi-Wan reached out with his feelings and drew the Force
around him like a cloak, allowing it to soothe him, calm him, restore
his focus. Give in to anger you will not, Master Yoda's voice whispered
in his ear. Anger leads to hate, and then where will you be? Where
will we all?

Shame flooded him; he clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and then with
an iron effort of will he extinguished his saber and walked away, refusing
to look at his master as he did so. The D'luthian and friends erupted into
raucous laughter behind him, the sound of their amusement following
him out the door.

Remembering it now, Obi-Wan felt the anger well up again, the wounded
pride, and he tried desperately to cast the emotions aside, to be at peace.

But you will bend over, won't you, a snide voice said in his head. You
will bend over tonight and you will love every minute of it and beg for
more...

He shook his head in frustration, padawan braid whipping about him,
hoping to cast out the unfair thoughts, but it didn't help. Cursing under
his breath, he took stock of his surroundings, and when he saw that
their ship loomed directly ahead of him, he breathed a sigh of relief.
After he tended to his hurt hand, he would spend time in quiet meditation,
and endeavor to get his careening emotions back under control. Everything
would be all right. Until the next time he let his anger get the better of
him, anyway.

And damn it all, he hadn't even had time to finish his meal. His stomach
grumbled as a reminder.

Once on board the transport vessel, he grabbed a first aid kit from the
galley and ensconced himself in his small passenger cabin, not even
bothering to let Captain Malandro know he had returned. They had to
wait for Qui-Gon anyway, much as the temptation still lingered to take
off without him. And Obi-Wan knew his master: he'd take his time
coming back, giving Obi-Wan a chance to calm down and himself a
chance to shop for any last-minute supplies.

If I'm lucky, he'll bring me back some puppy treats, he thought bitterly.

Enough. After tending to his shredded hand with synthflesh and
bandages, he settled down on the floor and folded his legs underneath
him. Finally prepared for some much-needed and wanted mediation,
he closed his eyes and surrendered to it.

He wasn't sitting there for very long before the door slid open. "Master
Qui-Gon," he said in greeting, without opening his eyes.

"Are you still sulking?"

He opened one eye. "I'm meditating."

"I can see that. But meditation and a persistent sulk are not mutually
exclusive, as you have illustrated before."

He opened both eyes at that. "Do you not realize, master, that the
main reason I was so upset by the D'luthian's remarks is because
they were true?" he asked in exasperation.

Qui-Gon leaned against the doorjamb and quirked a brow. "Because
you're pretty? Really, padawan, vanity is not a becoming trait on
anyone, especially not a Jedi."

"Neither is being deliberately obtuse," Obi-Wan retorted.

Qui-Gon inclined his head; point taken. "Then tell me what's bothering
you," he said quietly, his voice finally sincere.

Obi-Wan rested his hands on his knees and rotated his neck until it
cracked. "Puppy dogs," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Puppy dogs," Obi-Wan continued, getting up from the floor and starting
to pace -- so much for the calming effects of meditation -- "are loyal,
obedient, faithful, and by all accounts, sickeningly adorable. You pat
puppy dogs on the head and give them a biscuit and send them on their
way."

"And...?"

"And I'm tired of people seeing me as one."

Qui-Gon stepped into the room, and the door whooshed shut behind
him. He folded his arms over his chest. "Do you truly believe that
is how others see you?"

"Isn't it?" Obi-Wan countered. "That D'luthian was just one example.
I freely follow you and am mindful of you as an apprentice to a master,
but I'm tired of also being regarded as your...house boy."

"House boy?" Qui-Gon said, and his lips twitched in a way that looked
suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

"The choice of words could be better, but you know exactly what I mean,"
Obi-Wan bit out, already regretting the conversation, but having no choice
other than to forge ahead. "As if in addition to my apprentice duties, you
also keep me around to...service you." He glanced at his master, then
away again, embarrassed, cursing himself.

"Do you believe that's why I 'keep you around,' as you put it?" Qui-Gon
asked mildly.

"Of course not," Obi-Wan said without hesitation.

"Then, as far as I can see, there is no real problem here. You understand
that you are much more than however others might perceive you, and you
must also understand that any erroneous perceptions of you held by those
others are irrelevant to who you are. The only conflict here is the one
within yourself. One which needs to be resolved as soon as possible."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, biting back another retort. Intellectually,
he knew his master was right. But that didn't stop the anger or the
humiliation --

"You really are upset about this, aren't you?" Qui-Gon's voice held
a glimmer of frustration. "What do you need, Obi-Wan, a reminder
that while you may be my apprentice, in other ways we are nonetheless
equals, completely?"

"No," Obi-Wan said immediately, but his heart started pounding a little
bit faster.

Qui-Gon walked toward him slowly, deliberately, and his deep blue
eyes glittered suddenly with arousal. "I'm not sure I believe you,"
he said.

His master was directly in front of him now, and Obi-Wan could smell
the other man's familiar scent of sweat and soap and something deeper,
could see every line etched on his well-worn face. Their eyes met; Obi-
Wan drew in a ragged breath that sounded unnaturally loud to his own
ears. He opened his mouth to say something, anything --

-- and was cut off by Qui-Gon's lips on his own, searing, all-consuming.
Obi-Wan fought off the shock and opened his mouth eagerly, taking the
other man's tongue in to tangle with his own, tasting the honeyed tang
of D'luthian ale as he deepened the kiss.

And then without warning he was slammed against the wall, Qui-Gon's
body leaning against his with persistent, heavy weight. He could feel
the other man's rock-hard erection pressed against his stomach. "What--"
he whispered in surprise, tearing his lips away to speak.

Qui-Gon didn't answer; instead he unfastened Obi-Wan's belt and
let it fall to the floor, then slipped his hands inside Obi-Wan's shirt,
finding the nipples, pinching them in unison. Obi-Wan gasped, bit
down on his lower lip as Qui-Gon continued to knead his nipples in
a slow, maddening rhythm. He closed his eyes, opened them again
and stifled a sound of protest when his master withdrew his fingers.
He watched as Qui-Gon knelt before him and pulled his pants down in
one smooth motion; Obi-Wan's hips twitched of their own volition.
His cock was exposed, red and rigid in the harsh light of the chamber,
and aching for release.

Obi-Wan let down all his mental shields, allowing his master to sense
completely his wanting, his need, his impatience. Qui-Gon flinched,
but recovered quickly and smiled up at him. "Patience, Obi-Wan," he
said, taking Obi-Wan's cock in his hand, stroking it gently. Obi-Wan
swallowed a groan. "Always so impatient..." And then he took his
apprentice's shaft into his mouth.

Obi-Wan groaned audibly this time, his head falling back against
the wall, his eyes raised to the ceiling. Qui-Gon was sucking him
in earnest now, his tongue running up and down Obi-Wan's shaft,
his teeth grazing but not biting, and by all that was holy it felt so
damn good... So hot, and wet, and tight, and hot, and gods it was
*hot*... Obi-Wan shrugged out of his shirt, tossed it onto the floor,
and leaned back against the wall once more, the metal cool against
his inflamed skin, and all the time Qui-Gon didn't break the rhythm,
didn't cease his strong suction, even took advantage of Obi-Wan's
movement to wrap his arms around his apprentice's waist and clutch
his behind, driving Obi-Wan ever deeper into his mouth.

Obi-Wan placed his hands on Qui-Gon's head, his fingers wrapping
in the other man's coarse hair, and gently began to pump his hips
forward in time to the rhythm Qui-Gon was setting with his mouth.
His cock felt as if it would burst, engorged beyond reason, every
nerve ending dancing with heat and electricity conjured by lips,
teeth, tongue. The blood pounded in his cock and in his head
and in his heart, roared in his ears, came to a boil when Qui-Gon
took his balls in one hand, keeping the other firmly in place on his
apprentice's behind. Qui-Gon squeezed gently at that sensitive sac,
and Obi-Wan moaned loudly, jerking his hips harder, the sweat
pouring down his chest and slicking his back.

Through the Force he could feel Qui-Gon's passion, his desire
for him, and he returned it tenfold, losing himself in heat and
sweet pressure, giving himself over to his master's ministrations,
mindful of nothing but nearly agonizing pleasure as he hurtled
closer and closer to complete and utter surrender.

"Qui-Gon," he whispered, and his master responded by moving his
hand from Obi-Wan's balls to his shaft, stroking him in time with
his mouth, his thumb pressing firmly against the underside of his
length, doubling his assault on Obi-Wan's senses.

The strong, hot, wet suction, the unyielding pressure of his master's
hand, the sweet friction as he thrust himself into Qui-Gon's mouth
again and again...Obi-Wan gasped, breathing hard, looking down
at Qui-Gon now, watching his lover as he sucked on him ardently,
eyes closed in concentration, and the sight of Qui-Gon devoting
himself to him completely, coupled with the incredible sensation
of his cock captured by Qui-Gon's mouth, sent him -- finally and
yet all too soon -- headlong into oblivion.

"Qui-Gon!" he screamed as he came, the cry torn from his throat
as he gushed hot liquid into his lover's mouth, hips pumping
frantically, uncontrollably, again and again and again and he
thought he was going to die, nothing could go on for this long,
oh gods gods gods and then finally it was over, he could breathe,
barely, and his legs turned to rubber and he fell to the floor and
he huddled there as he gasped for breath and whispered his master's
name over and over and over and

"Obi-Wan, are you okay?" he heard Qui-Gon ask in concern.

Obi-Wan turned over with an effort, saw his master sitting beside
him, one hand on Obi-Wan's hip, brow furrowed with worry. He
grinned, still panting. "I don't think I've ever felt better in my entire
life," he said truthfully. He reached out to tug at Qui-Gon's arm,
pulling the other man down to him, and their lips met in a soft,
tender kiss, Obi-Wan tasting himself on the other man's tongue.

"In that case," Qui-Gon said when their lips parted, "can we move
this to the bed? My knees aren't what they used to be."

Obi-Wan let out a short laugh. "But of course, wise and venerable
sir," he said sardonically. "We wouldn't want to wear out those old
bones of yours."

"Says the young man who couldn't move a moment ago," Qui-Gon
riposted.

Obi-Wan scratched his head. The man had a point. "Well, you know
us puppy dogs, we bounce back quickly," he said lightly.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice held a measure of affection and warning
all at once. He clasped Obi-Wan's head with his hands, forced him to
meet his eyes, light blue on dark. "No more of that."

Obi-Wan hesitated, then nodded, willing to set the matter aside, at
least for now. He got to his feet and helped Qui-Gon up as well, but
instead of leading him to the small bunk in the corner of the room,
he pushed the other man gently against the wall he himself had recently
occupied.

"What are you doing?" Qui-Gon asked in amusement.

"Your knees may be weak," Obi-Wan replied, sinking down and reaching
for the waistband of Qui-Gon's pants, "but fortunately, mine work just
fine."

end.