Archive: any list homepages and if anyone else wants it, just ask! I'm sure I'll say yes.
Archive Date: February 10, 2000
Category: Pre-TPM
Disclaimer: If only we could bid on them on ebay... but... I guess I'd be broke as a joke. Don't own em, Lucas has no idea this is being written and probably never will. I'll never make any money off this story so blah blah blah. :-)
Feedback: This is kind of different from anything else I've done so I'd really appreicate feedback of any and all kinds! Enjoy!
Notes: This story was inspired by Igor Stravinsky's The Firebird Suite as interpreted in Walt Disney's Fantasia 2000. (Which is pretty ironic considering Disney and the whole slash twist I put on it. Ah well.... eat your heart out, Mickey!)
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M slash. A pretty happy story all around.

It is cold. So cold the trees are shivering. They've lost their blanket of leaves, standing naked to the harsh bitter snow and ice. I now know why my Master and I were sent here. Three weeks ago, when we arrived, I had no idea. The weather was brisk; some would even say pleasant. Each day grew colder. Now, the planet is dying. Through meditation I have learned we are to save it. I've yet to learn how.

-Excerpt from the journal of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan

Like a droplet of water, quivering with indecision before it falls, Obi-Wan Kenobi hesitated.

"Don't think, Padawan, feel."

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn pushed himself from the bone bending stance of the fifth lesson in Jedi lightsaber techniques and stood erect. His apprentice sighed and righted himself dutifully.

"I am sorry, Master. It did not seem right."

Qui-Gon looked sideways at his Padawan. "Didn't seem right." He stepped closer to the young man who had been in his charge for over a decade. A long finger extended, pointing first at the other's heart, then at his head. "In here, or in here?"

Obi-Wan looked down, ashamed. He, of all people, should know that obeying the heart, instincts of the will of the Force, led him down far brighter paths than that of his head.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, backing slightly away and dropping has hand. "You must remember that the Force will never guide you wrong. Trust in it as your greatest ally and your truest friend."

The stubborn Padawan lifted blue-green eyes and connected them with his Master's blue-gray ones. An impish smile passed his lips, not deterred by the rumbling storm clouds rushing in above. "But Master," he intoned, swinging his lightsaber this way and that in a playful challenge. "I thought you were my greatest ally and truest friend."

Qui-Gon looked warily at the clouds assembling for nature's battle and gave his apprentice a thin smile. "Be that as it may, my Padawan. We must get indoors before this storm breaks."

"That was the worst storm yet, Master."

Obi-Wan peered out at the frosted meadow beyond their cabin, wondering if there was anything left of the forest beyond. Bare trees hardly stood, their trunks frozen, roots rotting from the inside. Most had fallen, unwilling to stand up to the cruel bitterness of this unlikely winter. They were trees of a temperate climate, enduring this natural holocaust with expected derision. Rotted wooden corpses lay flaccid in the fallen snow, buried by the fresh arsenal of this latest ambush.

"I imagine there is over six feet of snow in the deepest bank," the older Jedi replied from his meditation pose in the middle of the cabin floor. "We must shovel outside the door before it freezes over, Padawan."

Obi-Wan watched him for a long moment. How noble and right his Master looked in that pose. Long, graceful limbs folded beneath him, rendering him far more nimble than one would suspect. Obi-Wan remembered when Qui-Gon had first taken him as an apprentice. How gangly and uncoordinated his own long limbs had been. Now, he was filling out, as Qui-Gon said he would.

Your body will one day catch up with your maturity, wisdom and courage, young Obi-Wan.

Now, at what was probably his full height, Obi-Wan was tall but wished to be taller, as his Master was. He was broad, but not quite as broad as Qui-Gon. Strong, but hoped to become stronger. Craved to be all the things his Master was so that one day perhaps Qui-Gon would see him as a man, not the boy he used to be.

Perhaps one day.

"I am ready, Padawan. I am quite certain you will freeze to death should you join me in those clothes."

A quick shake of the head sent all thoughts tumbling from Obi-Wan's conscience. He looked down at his oft-worn uniform of a beige tunic and matching pants, then smiled surreptitiously as he studied Qui-Gon's more practical attire: snow boots and a thermal suit with a fur-lined hood. He held a shovel in each hand.

The two Jedi shoveled for hours, watching as the sky went from the angry gray of a post-winter storm to the muted blues and purples evident of the approaching dusk. Sweat tinged both Master and Padawan's brow, stinging their frozen faces with a burning warmth.

As the two whittled the snow down to nothing outside their cabin, drifts began to grow larger and larger as they piled the unwanted precipitation atop. Finally, the younger Jedi spoke.

"The planet is surely dying, Master." His breath was short, surfacing in white puffs against the frigid air. "We are the only two living sentients left here. I know we are to save it, but the Force does not tell me how."

The silence after the question seemed as long as the silence that had preceded it. Qui-Gon heaved an exaggerated sigh, then sat heavily on the freshly cleaned step of their cabin. He still did not speak and Obi-Wan faltered, finally opting to abandon his shovel and take a seat beside his Master.

As his apprentice settled beside him, Qui-Gon pondered his response. The truth was, he did not have one. It was getting far too dangerous for himself and his Padawan to stay. The Force was not providing answers. They were talented Jedi, yes, but not so talented as to conquer Mother Nature.

Qui-Gon dipped his head, and Obi-Wan wondered if he was aware that he still had not spoken. The Padawan resigned himself to a non-answer, inclining his head in turn and connecting his temple to his Master's.

If Qui-Gon was surprised by this sudden gesture of affection, he did not show it. He simply sighed, long and low in his throat.

A drop of perspiration from each Jedi's forehead slid toward each other as if drawn by an unseen force, mingling for a moment like old lovers in a crowded room. Then, as suddenly as the dual globules had appeared, the now-singular drop began its rapid descent to the frozen ground, landing in a forgotten patch of snow on the step below.

Qui-Gon questioned whether he was awake or in slumber when the snow patch began to shift and move, morphing into something quite different from what it had previously been. Obi-Wan shuffled beside his Master, bringing Qui-Gon quickly crashing into the realization that yes, this was indeed reality.

The former snow patch formed iridescent wings, so luminous they put the famed Ralina butterfly of Endor to shame. Shimmering blue-gold in the deepening twilight, they hovered for a moment before folding into themselves with the grace of a dancer.

When the now-cocoon moved again, legs unfolded and gave way to a tiny body covered with flesh so white it was virtually translucent. The body gave way to arms and a head; a face so angelic it appeared mythical.

The Jedi Master blinked hard. Obi-Wan shifted again at his side, unknowingly gripping the older man's forearm with steel fingers.

"What is it, Master?"

The resplendent being was fully complete and simply hovered before them, her wings folded and hidden by waterfalls of thick flaxen hair that cascaded down her back. The hair was longer than she was, rivers of gold reaching almost to the ground and dwarfing her tiny body.

Obi-Wan continued before Qui-Gon could reply. "A fairy? An angel perhaps?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, indicating that he did not know. Putting a gentle smile across his strong features, he spoke, voice low and soothing. "Who are you?"

He was loathe to stand, afraid that his extreme height would frighten the peculiar being that barely occupied three feet and some inches of space.

The being smiled and the sky grew brighter, muted shades of gray and purple giving way to the silver and lavender of their brilliant counterpart hues. "I am Sha'Tilana." With the announcement of her name, several deadened flower beds adjacent to the cabin gave birth to new buds.

Obi-Wan gasped. "Master, she will bring life to this desolate place!"

"No."

Both the Master and the mystical being spoke, their voices blending together as alto and baritone. Qui-Gon did stand now, and Sha'Tilana simply floated higher into the air to remain level with him. Obi-Wan rose as well, unsure of what to do beyond his Master's command.

Qui-Gon spoke first.

"Sha'Tilana. The Giver of Life."

The being inclined her head. "Yes, Master Jedi."

"What is your purpose if not to give this dying place life?"

The tiny woman floated further away, grace too small a word for the lucidity of her movements. She raised a tiny arm and gestured to the dying forest beyond the overflowing snowbanks. "The Force brings me to you to guide this mission."

The wings beyond golden hair fluttered to life, sending shards of iridescent embers showering around her. Each movement she made brightened the surrounding atmosphere; through the snow sporadic shoots of green sprung forth, bursting triumphantly through the frozen ground, reaching desperately for the waning sun.

Before either Jedi could speak again, the mystical being laughed, a melodious sound that echoed like bells off the mountains standing majestically beyond the ebbing forest. Her wings fluttered furiously and she dipped forward, turning in a graceful somersault and drifting delicately around both human men. She circled them until she faced them once more, trailing wispy flumes of effervescent sparkle behind her that surrounded the Jedi like an incandescent harness.

"You must meditate, good Jedi. The answers you seek will come."

Obi-Wan seemed loathe to speak, but the tumult was relentless inside him. He shifted restlessly beside his Master, ideas, complaints, inconsistencies sifting through his mind.

Speak, Padawan, the elder Jedi commanded him through their bond in the Force.

A blush reddened the younger man's cheeks. He could feel the frustration radiating off of his Master and wondered if the being before them could sense it as well. Sparkling, opaque wisps still lingered in the air among them, refusing to disappear as their very nature demanded. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to reach out and touch one, to feel the warmth they surely emanated despite the frigid air surrounding them.

"With respect, Sha'Tilana," Obi-Wan finally said, bowing slightly with his words, "Master Qui-Gon and I have spent the better part of each day meditating on our purpose in this mission. The answers have not come."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly and gave a slight, regal nod, confirming his Padawan's statement. Sha'Tilana nodded as well, illustrious tresses flowing with even the slightest of movements.

"Of course you have, good Jedi," she ratified, pushing forward with palpitating wings and drawing closer to the men. She spoke softly, delicately, nary a trace of criticism in her honeyed voice. "Tonight, as you return yourself to the will of the Force, you must not concentrate on these failing lands, or the purpose for your presence here. You must surrender yourself inward, turn thoughts to your heart, to your soul, to your very being."

Sha'Tilana reached out both hands, one brushing Qui-Gon's left temple, the other at Obi-Wan's right. Though her translucent flesh hardly touched either one, their heads leaned forth, until they were joined at the brow as they had been but moments earlier.

The being fluttered back, lifting her arms and twirling gracefully until she vanished behind the curtain of golden hair. The plaits turned to liquid gold, flowing and arching in the stiff breeze that suddenly greeted them, before bursting with shards of light into several flaxen drops that vacillated several moments before dropping elegantly to the frozen ground.

Where the golden drops fell, the earth opened up, suckling at the warm aplomb of nourishment like a babe to a mothers breast. Boughs of resplendent green and gold manifested in it's place, carrying with them a whisper on the wind.

...Surrender to the heart, good Jedi. You yourselves are the givers of life...

Caustic shivers crept through Obi-Wan's body like unwanted interlopers. He'd stopped attempts to fight them off hours ago. Meditation had never been so arduous. He found himself struggling against what he knew to be his own surrender to the Force. He searched anywhere, everywhere, for other desires of the heart, for other needs to be the exigency of his very soul.

But there were no other needs, no other covet quite like this one. This all-consuming hunger to his essence, the very thing that was the crutch of his existence.

It could not be denied. He could not be denied. Not tonight.

If Qui-Gon Jinn was surprised to suddenly find his apprentice so close the younger was practically upon him, the Jedi Master did not show it. He simply shook himself out of his meditative trance and lifted large hands, placing them on the others shoulders and pressing firmly. Sinewy muscles beneath the thin fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic tensed at the contact.

A soft "oh" escaped the younger's lips.

Obi-Wan looked around. It was as though he wasn't even aware of traveling the few yards across the cabin floor to be this near his Master. He was simply there.

"Master," Obi-Wan breathed, a whisper of air crossing thick, parted lips and brushing across Qui-Gon's cheek. "I--I was meditating and..."

The young man stopped, reddening slightly. He dipped his head down, hands intertwining in his lap. Qui-Gon chuckled lightly, following his Padawan's hands with his eyes and lingering there -- for a few moments -- before drawing his own eyes back to Obi-Wan's face.

"Did you find the answer, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked gently, lifting one hand from the younger man's shoulder and bringing a finger beneath his clefted chin, drawing his face up to meet the Master's. Softer, he asked, "what does your heart seek?"

The answer was not linguistic, nor did it travel through their Force bond. The young man simply leaned forward, a possession keening in his eyes unlike any the elder had ever seen. Lips crashed onto lips, a kiss that spoke more than any mere words could convey.

Qui-Gon was knocked breathless at first, sucking in a lungful of air on instinct as his Padawan savagely attacked him, throwing lean, lithe body atop broad, muscled one, bowling them both nearly completely backward. When the Jedi Master felt Obi-Wan's tongue slip into his mouth, he regained clarity -- as much clarity as one sane man would be expected to have in a moment such as this -- and kissed back.

A groan slipped from one man's mouth into the others, neither aware of who bestowed and who received the sentiment. Qui-Gon relaxed against the precious weight of his apprentice, taking immense amounts of pleasure from the tiniest of gestures: long, thin fingers and callused palms combing through the silver mane atop his head and massaging his scalp, the smooth planes of the young, lean body atop his, writhing in maniacal pleasure.

The evidence of both men's arousal was driving Qui-Gon's mind into a complete haze. After a while, every other part of his body seemed to go numb, every nerve ending of pleasure centering in the region just below his hips. He clawed at Obi-Wan's tunics madly, managing to get the fabric below muscled shoulders before tearing it in his obsession.

The young man laughed and sat up, straddling his Master's waist as he lifted the ruined tunic from his chest. With the help of the Force, the Padawan hurriedly undressed himself and his lover, stretching his naked body against the one he'd admired for so long from afar.

Yes, it was as he predicted. They fit just right.

Starting slower this time, Qui-Gon took the lead, leaning over his charge and capturing the swollen, raw lips with his own. He moved downward from there, tongue and teeth exploring every part of the uncharted territory that was the beautiful physique of his apprentice-- his love-- his Obi-Wan.

I love this. I love you.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he'd received the Force-induced message or sent it as Qui-Gon's strong mouth enveloped him, causing him to hiss through his teeth and arch up in sheer desperation of pleasure. It was a feeling beyond words, beyond thinking. It was, Obi-Wan decided, completely surreal.

He had meant to be the aggressor, wasn't that how this thing had started out? But this... this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. The Master was truly the Master, Qui-Gon excelling in every task he endured, this most intimate of tasks faring no different. Obi-Wan surrendered himself to his love, threading trembling fingers through the silken hair of his beloved's head. His hips arched fore and aft of their own volition, matching the rhythm Qui-Gon had created with his enchanted mouth.

Tension was building. Fast.

Fingers curled around the Master's flowing tresses, pulling and slipping through the velvety strands as a guttural cry ripped from Obi-Wan's throat and into the chilled, still air. He climaxed, more intensely than he ever had before, and, he decided, ever would again.

A sleepy confusion slipped over him. The room spun, then darkened completely.

Light kisses dotted Qui-Gon's cheeks, nose and lips, bringing him into one of the most pleasurable rouses he had ever experienced. Fluttering storm gray eyes open, he was met with the dark blue gaze of his Padawan, lust and desire coloring any other expression he may have been wearing.

The young man held a vial of oil in one hand, his Master's building erection in his other. An impish smile adorned his face.

"While this is a most pleasurable way to awaken, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, voice hardened and strangled as the other stroked his growing arousal, "I should say it's quite unusual."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Get used to it, Master," he chided, turning his lips back on the elder's face, then his collarbone, and finally his expansive chest. "Besides, I am embarrassed to have passed out on you earlier. I will make up for it."

The determination in his voice was admirable, but Qui-Gon couldn't help but chuckle. It ended in a gasp, however, as the young man's mouth circled around one tensing nipple, teasing and pulling at it with artful teeth and tongue.

"Padawan, it's okay," he gasped, breath coming between words more harshly than intended. "You don't have to..."

The expert mouth moved across the pectorals, grasping onto the neglected nipple. Qui-Gon gasped loudly as the hand below his waist worked in unison with the mouth above it. He shook his head violently. "Yes, you have to..." he recounted.

Obi-Wan smiled, resuming his work of exploring each curve and crevice of the beloved body beneath him, leaving warm trails of wet skin beneath a masterful tongue, tracking each place he'd been, marking it for further exploration at another time.

He was slow. Thorough. Qui-Gon felt completely exposed, completely at the mercy of his implacable Padawan. His manhood was rigid, purple and weeping with anticipation. It seemed hours had passed. Perhaps they had. The Jedi Master was sure he could endure no more. Finding the strength, he lifted his arms, pulling Obi-Wan up and away from him; stopping the endless torture.

"Obi-Wan...I can't..." Qui-Gon searched a chaotic, lustful mind for words. "I need..."

The dutiful Padawan retrieved the neglected vial of oil and uncorked it, searching his Master's eyes for instruction...permission. Only a tortured groan, the growl of a chained animal begging for release.

And before he knew it, Qui-Gon pounced, thrusting his beloved apprentice below him, stomach first to the floor, powerful thighs encasing the taut, lean hips and rounded buttocks beneath him. With shaking fingers, Qui-Gon uncapped the oil, quickly readying both himself and his new lover.

At his touch, Obi-Wan whimpered. Qui-Gon hesitated, then probed further, leaning forward and whispering soothing words against the young man's sweat-sheened neck. It took several more attempts, but finally Qui-Gon slipped himself inside the hot, waiting tunnel that was his beloved Padawan.

It felt so good, Qui-Gon wondered if he would explode instantly. Stilling himself for just a moment, he centered himself, running large hands across the smooth planes of Obi-Wan's golden, toned shoulders and back. The younger man whimpered again, thrusting himself back toward his Master, begging for movement.

Qui-Gon acquiesced, gripping onto the lean, sinewy hips below him. He choreographed their lovers dance, slow, languid strokes that seemed to go on for days. More time passed. Qui-Gon was sure this was the sweetest form of torture.

Finally, he groaned and shuddered, oblivious to everything but two sweat covered, writhing bodies, intertwined in the most intimate of places. The Padawan's body clutched at the Master like a desperate lover; the Master folded a callused hand around the Padawan in giving grace. Together, they climaxed, sated moans harmonizing in the hollowed wooden walls of the cabin they shared.

Neither Jedi noticed the sun creeping above the horizon outside. Neither Jedi noticed the snow trickling away, melting into rivers and streams that wound through effulgent green forests. Flowers burst forth from frozen stems, unfolding and reaching up to the glorious rays of the sun, reveling in their new found brilliance.

Inside, new lovers rested. Outside, life was given again.

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