Hiding in Jericho

     "Removing the border toll will encourage more Chipparl to cross over,
and thus enhance trade." Speaking with his usual calm, Jedi Master and favored negotiator
QuiGon Jinn  paused to sip his glass of local wine, stifling the urge to grimace; flat and bitter,
it was a far cry from his favorite Golden Alderaan vintage. "You speak first in the morning, the Chipparl would see it as a point in your favor if you bring it up for them."
     The Consul Third of the Sirran ruling body seemed to be taking the Jedi's words in,
weighing them carefully. They were a cautious people, the Sirran, much unlike their continental neighbors the Chipparl, who made a national pastime of exuberance and
risk-taking. The two peoples, branches of the same evolutionary tree, had survived their early
wars and armed truces and were now, after nearly a hundred cycles of uneasy peace, coming to the table to negotiate their first real planetary peace and trade agreement. The Republic Senate hoped that this would lead to off-planet trade and open planetary markets, making resources available to the Republic.
     "We depend on the revenue of the border toll for a great deal of our infrastructure costs."
Consul Third commented at length.
     "The Chipparl are objecting to the application of the toll, that only Chipparl are charged
for coming into Sirrana and not Sirrans returning from Chipparlo." Another
sip, and then QuiGon stiffened. It would have been scarcely noticed by many races, but the
Consul Third spoke up immediately.
     "What disturbs you, Ka'Jedi?" The honorific did not translate well
into basic but QuiGon had a good working vocabulary of Sirran'toc and knew that it spoke of him as both a warrior and a friend, a remnant of the military legacy of this people. It honored him.
     "I - excuse me a moment." Turning his back on the Consul, QuiGon
looked directly at the door that led into the spacious chamber. It was nearly hidden by flowering vines, the scent of which filled the air pleasantly. The Sirran considered growing things to be blessed and so the insides of their buildings and dwellings hosted almost as many plants as the outside.
     The door opened and a figure, wearing the cream and chocolate of a Jedi Knight, ducked
under the low archway, then straightened, face obscured by a few dangling leafy vines.
     QuiGon Jinn did not need to see his face, though. The impact of his
presence was enough. That place in his mind that rested quiescent flared to life now and he was overwhelmed by a wash of mischievous mirth and plain happiness.
     He took a half-step, recovered himself.
     "Ka'Jedi?" Consul Third sounded concerned, his two-toned nasal wheeze
tightening on the name. When QuiGon turned to him again, taking a rather large swallow of
wine, the Sirran's scales had flushed to a darker brown, indicating his worry.
     "It seems that I have an unexpected visitor." Forcing relaxation,
seeking calm, or the semblance of it, QuiGon felt ObiWan's approach, heard him greeting his
hosts and various guests as he walked. "My former apprentice, R'ta Kenobi." He gave ObiWan the rank equivalent of Knight.
     "A surprise is the greatest of all gifts." Consul Third grimaced in a
friendly fashion.
     "Often it is, and this is most welcome." Another swallow of wine and
the glass was empty, which meant he wouldn't have to drink anymore of it, thankfully. "We have not seen each other in many months. I am pleased he found a way to see me."
     "Then we will continue this discussion on the morrow. I will give your
words thought." With a wave of his upper left hand, Consul Third dismissed QuiGon, scales
paling to a cream that almost matched the Jedi's robes. "Family is as important to you as it is to us, yes?"
     "The Order is my family and ObiWan my closest relative in it." QuiGon
answered, knowing the Sirran would understand.
     ObiWan was definitely family. His meandering approach paused when his
former Master took leave of the diplomat and strode directly to him. Slowly, retaining
his dignity, but it was clear to anyone in the room who knew to look that he was not as calm as he appeared.
     "ObiWan." Stopping a few feet short of contact, he folded his arms
into his sleeves and nodded his head.
     "Master QuiGon." A nod in return, with a respectful half-bow.
     "You are a long way from the Korelian Sector."The younger man's last
mission had been as bodyguard to the legal heir of a planetary throne, disputed after his
father's death. From the two brief notes that had reached QuiGon, the danger had been serious and the threat immediate.
     "Prince J'Hama was crowned three days ago at dawn. A condition of the
treaty he signed with the factions was that I - 'The Jedi' -" He grinned swiftly, "-get the
heck off their planet. Laughter danced in his grey-green eyes.
     "And leave the Prince unprotected, of course." Knowing that this was
not the case, QuiGon allowed himself a small smile.
     "Indeed not." The cultured voice sounded of royalty, one of the
reasons ObiWan often received such assignments. He fit in well with courts and kings.
"Unbeknownst to Prince J'Hama, his newest secretary - chosen for him by his advisory board - is Master D'Tomo himself. The Prince will be protected and the treaty is safe."
     QuiGon knew that Master D'Tomo was one of only two Jedi that had been
born on that planet, and had been living there for the past two years as a trade
consultant, waiting until he was needed. The planet was an important one because of its strategic location and the Senate needed that government stable at all costs. ObiWan's presence had been as much a distraction as
protection for the Prince.
     "And you are here." Dropping his voice to a more intimate tone, QuiGon
tugged at the link between them, teasingly.
     "And I am here." The younger Jedi agreed, husky now. "For twelve hours
only, my master. I am due on Riserva Tull two days hence, charged with locating and
capturing a band of terrorists."
     "Twelve hours only. How did you manage to fit me in?"
     As one the two men turned and began walking toward the door. Greetings
were made and leave-takings spoken, all fifteen Consuls making it a point to speak to
their Jedi negotiator.
     "I bribed my pilot." A silver laugh ran along the link like a flame.
"No, really. I'm taking a spacer because of the rush and he's been having problems with his
recreational delivery system..."
     "His RDS? And you agreed to repair it for him?" With a snort QuiGon
gave his opinion on that. An RDS was a complex interactive holoprogram built for a single
purpose; to provide its owner with sexual relief in whatever form they desired. Opening the door, QuiGon ducked low to pass beneath it, brilliant purple flower petals tickling his nose.
     "I offered. If  he could push the hyperdrive enough to get me a layover here. It's amazing what he convinced that engine to do."
     "Would early arrival benefit your mission?" The Order and the Code had
to come first.
     "As I judge it, no. The terrorists have ceased their attacks to date
and what passes for planetary government is still bickering about whether I should catch the or not. It seems to me there's something else going on there, but arriving early isn't going to
get them to make up their minds faster."
     "But you are here without Council's approval." A touch of weary
sadness tinged the words, but no condemnation.
     "They would never have approved, Master." Side-by-side, strolling
through a narrow hall lined with large windows that filled it with the darkening blue light of
the planet's class-G star. ObiWan touched QuiGon's hand with his own and his master grasped it, held it tightly.
     "I know." The older man sighed. "I fear the risk you take."
     "The risk *we* take." The correction was soft. Through the link emotions ran unchecked, things that had never and would never be put into words.
     The sadness dominated. That they were not allowed to be together, or
even supposed to want to. Anger at the unfairness of it, the expectation that Jedi live
alone, with no close connection to any individual. QuiGon's disgust with a Council so bound with tradition that it was strangling itself and the Order it governed.
     During the last few years of ObiWan's apprenticeship, when he had been
more than a Padawan but less than a Knight, both had been aware of their feelings for
one another, and the fact that they were returned. After they faced and defeated the Sith
together, denying those feelings felt akin to a slow death. But Jedi did not form romantic
entanglements with other Jedi. It was considered distracting, the potential bond would be overpowering and leave them open to the Dark Side through a number of avenues; passion, lust, fear, jealousy.
     "It's the right path for us." ObiWan stated as they turned a corner
and QuiGon led him to another low door.
     "I know."
     Well did he know, having resisted it for so long. When loneliness and
desire had finally won out over reason and control, it had been the single most powerful
experience of his life. Sexually active since the age of fifteen, encouraged, as all Jedi were, to
ease his body and keep it healthy - and reproduce, if possible - he had never felt anything close to what ObiWan made him feel. Sometimes he even thought the Council correct in their stance; it *was* overwhelming and it could become an obsession, if he or ObiWan allowed it to.
     For now they had balance, carefully maintained. Their link lay dormant
as they kept distance and civility between them. They hid it well, there had been no
suspicious probes from the Council and they still shared the same assigned quarters on Coruscant that had been thiers when they were master and padawan, even when they happened to be on-planet at the same time.
     But when they were together - when there was no one to see, or hear or feel them - they
were, QuiGon admitted to himself, more than slightly crazed. Perhaps it was always knowing that this could be the last time...

     Inside the room. Bed a pallet on the floor, ceiling so low that QuiGon
sat right away, pulling ObiWan down with him.
     "Force, I've missed you." Cradled that gently smirking face in both
hands, vaguely missing the swing of a padawan braid but enjoying the heaviness of chin-length
red-gold silk...and the taste of ObiWan as QuiGon smothered what was clearly going to be an
impudent response with his lips and tongue.
     Frantic fingers danced over his clothes, the younger man moaning into
his mouth as he was kissed hard, possessively, determined to strip the older as quickly as
possible. And quick it was - almost before QuiGon was aware of it ObiWan was pulling away, hands tearing at his own clothing, then the slender, silken body tackled his, pushing him down, and he allowed the passion to surge, to take him, just for a moment.
     But to lose control was to lose everything. They were Jedi - if they broadcast this, flung it
out into the ether of the Force, someone somewhere would certainly catch it. Study it, interpret it: and then their secret would be known. Shame would follow, and
sanctions, and misery.
     So, control. With an effort, possible only because of decades spent controlling himself in
every circumstance imaginable, he regrouped. Drew the passion in, leashed it.
     Rolled ObiWan over, straddled the backs of strong thighs, held him
down, kissing the rippling, sweat-sheened shoulders, feasting on arched neck and spine.
     "This, Obi, this way?" He gasped the question, got the answer he expected.
     "Yes, Qui, *more*."
     More, more, always more, always ObiWan wanted more, and whenever he
could QuiGon gave it, joyously and passionately. Later they would make love again, slow
and sweet, but the first joining after a separation was always wild and hungry.
     Preparation took long moments, control tested to the limits. Sometimes
QuiGon wondered if it was as hard for other Jedi, if they longed for their partners and lovers the way he ached for his. A bone-deep perpetual ache that only eased when ObiWan was
near, when the master knew he could reach out and touch him whenever he chose.
     They had never discussed it but he felt that ObiWan suffered the same pain, and sometimes cursed the Council and the traditions that kept them apart.
     But not now. Living in the moment, as he had struggled to teach this student, QuiGon
used the oil he kept by the bed - for his hands and feet - and first two fingers and then three to
loosen the tight passage. He could have used the Force, had used it in the past, when they were both too desperate to wait, but given the chance he preferred to touch - to use his body, his hands, to make his lover ready for him.
     Bucking up against him, thighs quivering with tension, ObiWan moaned repeatedly. His
hands clenched the blankets to either side and he muscles of his butt clenched and released
rhythmically as he tried to draw the three fingers in deeper. QuiGon ducked his head and licked around the digits, sucking at reddened skin, drawing a near-shriek of
pleasure and the moans became words again.
     "Please, Qui, enough, enough!"
     Knowing well that he did not mean he'd had enough, QuiGon used his free hand to pump
his own cock several times, slicking it, bringing it to full and painful hardness, then he sat back on his knees and used both hands to pull ObiWan's hips back.
     "Are you ready, Obi?" Always ask, always had to ask, to be sure. Never take him, or this,
for granted. His voice was so harsh he wondered that the words could be understood, the effort to shield them was mounting and he knew it was about to get worse.
     "Please, Qui." ObiWan's voice, low and sweet, pleaded. "Please."
     Given permission, QuiGon rose again, hands spreading the cheeks of ObiWan's butt wide,
and thrust home smoothly. In and in, until he groin pressed firmly to ObiWan's ass and the
younger man howled with delight, the link between them bursting into full awareness, their minds laid open to each other.
     "More!" The shout drove QuiGon to thrust, and thrust again, the rhythm instinctive,
automatic, ingrained in muscle memory from more than a decade of fighting and training together. Thrust and parry, thrust and lunge, both took their turns as they
translated the dance of battle into the dance of love.
     Moaning louder, humping back into each thrust, ObiWan braced on his arms, his cock
hanging down, spitting and drooling, swollen with need, but QuiGon didn't reach for it, did not
need to touch it. He kept the rhythm, pounding into his lover, unable to concentrate enough to
place his strokes carefully, but he didn't need to. ObiWan would tell him what to do when it was time.
     Time was the goal. To make it last as long as they could, the lurching, driving dance that
combined love and lust so perfectly. Time slowed to the second, each nuance sought and felt,
each stroke unique and precious, each sound sucked up hungrily.       Then muscles started to protest, arms shook with fatigue, knees cramped. They were getting close, too close, the finish was coming.
     "More, more, more..." ObiWan chanted and groaned, unable to reach to touch himself,
he'd be squashed flat by QuiGon's thrusts if he did, but he needed...

    "More, more, Qui, do it, do it!"
     With his own moan QuiGon slid his hands from the hips they held, fanning the long fingers
out over sweaty clenched skin, and simultaneously sank both big thumbs into ObiWan's ass
alongside his own cock, stretching and filling, giving that extra touch of sensation to them both, making the younger man full, too full, making him lose the rhythm and writhe, impaled on QuiGon's cock and thumbs, shuddering from the overload of sensation. He squirmed and twisted, deep animal sounds pulled from his belly, body flushed and dripping. Those
sounds settled at the base of QuiGon's spine and made him grunt spastically.
     With the hardness of his thumbs rubbing his oversensitized cock QuiGon kept pumping, hips and torso rolling with the movement, thrusting harder and deeper, knowing it was coming, anticipating the release...
     Then ObiWan came, his ass clamping down on QuiGon so tightly he was briefly in pain,
then the rippling convulsions of those interior muscles sucked his own orgasm from him and he shuddered with ObiWan, both of them silent in ecstasy, breath and thought and reason ripped from them.
     A small part of the master's mind remembered, remembered that he had to keep the shields
up, had to protect them, and it was harder than ever before. The Force wanted to share this, to share in it, and he denied it this one thing and the Force objected.
     The backlash caught him sharply, in the process of falling onto his lover, but he'd been
expecting it, this was part of the price, and he had ObiWan's arms around him and ObiWan's
mouth on his and ObiWan's body pressed to his and the pain was insignificant.
     "Master, lover, father, friend..." ObiWan whispered, petting him through the aftershocks,
the combination of pleasure and pain causing the shudders to continue for long minutes. "Qui, just Qui, always Qui, I love you."
     "Love you - too." The words were panted, short and harsh, and the mouth that covered
his own offered air and the sweetest taste in the republic - unfiltered ObiWan. It drowned out the aftertaste of Sirran wine and brought a contentment that couldn't be compared to any other sensation.
     A heaved sigh, a last gasp, and stillness descended upon them. Resting, quiet, minds
exchanging information at ten times the speed of speech, bodies languid, lethargic in the
aftermath.
     "It's more than life itself." Some great time later ObiWan found the voice to speak,
disturbing the air that hung around them.
     "It's everything." QuiGon agreed, rolling to his side with extraordinary effort and
gathering the younger man close, nuzzling his face into the crook of neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You're everything." He mumbled, the words muffled by his position
and the feeling of blasphemy that accompanied them.
     "We're everything." Clever fingers drifted through tangled grey-streaked hair, tenderly
unknotting and smoothing.
     They were. And this, in all likelihood, was why it was forbidden. When they were
together, soul-to-soul, they did not need the Order. They did not need the Council. And, most
damming, they did not need the Force.
     Only each other.
     Reason enough to damn them.
     More than reason to continue.
     There would be no sleep for the next few hours. Neither of them would dream of wasting
their precious time together in dreams when reality was so powerful. QuiGon would suffer
through his duties unrested, making peace with the Force and using it to strengthen himself, and ObiWan would probably catch up on his sleep while his clever spacer pilot flew the ship, the ship that would take him away from QuiGon, yet again.
     Until the next time.
    
 

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