Archive: Yes
Archive Date: September 20, 2000
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm.
Feedback: is always appreciated
Notes: I'm a little late getting this one put together and sent off en masse,
but better late than never (I hope!)
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: G - NC17
Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was written/posted.
Each piece is a segment within the same universe, but they are not in
any sort of order. Each piece stands alone (iow-there are no "cliffhangers").
The snapshots will run the gamut from G to NC17. Some may be several
pages long, some only a couple of paragraphs; some will contain smut,
many will not; they will be different styles with different voices.
June 02, 2000
Obi-Wan scratched the small bump behind his ear in annoyance. Master Yoda had refused to allow the initiates to use any of the seagrass lotion to ease their slynfly bites, insisting that ignoring the slight irritation was good training.
Slight irritation, indeed, thought Obi-Wan as he scratched harder, slapping away another of the biting insects from his cheek. Considering Master Yoda's decidedly blue hue, he rather suspected that the small master had made the declaration after using up their meagre supply to ease his own bites. The slynflies seemed to prefer the wrinkled green skin to any sported by the various species of initiates involved in this exercise of survival in nature.
They seemed to be leaving Master Yoda alone now though and Obi-Wan wondered how long the ancient Jedi would be able to keep his Force barrier erected. It had been a day and a half already and the venerable master was looking decidedly shaky. Obi-Wan might have said pale, but he thought that was probably due to the lotion.
A rumbling noise interrupted their pre-dinner meditations and the initiates all looked up into the sky. A small black spot stained the azure sky, growing quickly larger, the colour fading to red as it got closer. The transport landed unceremoniously several yards to their left and four Jedi Knights poured from the ship as the hatch opened, lightsabers raised.
Rushing over to the small camp, they surrounded the ancient master and his cluster of initiates, scanning the woods around them.
"We came as soon as we got your message, Master Yoda. Where's the emergency?"
June 03, 2000
The water lapped at his skin, like the gliding touch of a lover. Rising slowly as he walked, covering ankle, then shin, then knees, then thighs and hips.
A soft breeze kissed him, peaking his nipples and raising goosebumps along his arms and down his back.
Tipping his neck, he bared his face to the silver touch of moonbeams. With his head tilted back his braid tickled down past his shoulder blade, the end of it brushing the top of his bottom.
Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his body, sliding fingers over shoulders and along the bones below his neck. He let one hand brush each nipple as it crossed his chest to slide around his ribs, the other tested the mettle of the muscles in his abdomen before coming to rest just above the water on his hip.
He held himself firmly.
If his master were here, this is how Qui-Gon would hold him.
June 04, 2000
I close my eyes, letting the fall of hot water from the shower soothe the aches of a long day from my back. Obi-Wan's fingers comb through my beard and moustache, the tips gently massaging the skin of my face.
Heat from his body warms me.
It grows cold as he steps away, but he returns quickly, the sharp snip of steel on steel warning me. I stand still as he trims the hair on my face.
Even with my eyes closed I can see the deep furrow between his eyes as he concentrates. The groove has grown deeper as he has grown older. I doubt he is even aware that he does it.
I have a fantasy where I lean forward and kiss his forehead, licking away that furrow between his eyes.
But then how would he concentrate without it?
And so I save my kisses and my licks for other grooves.
June 05, 2000
The dining hall was silent.
With the exception of the bang and clatter coming from the masters' table. At the other end of the room, huddled together at a low table, a group of initiates watched, wide-eyed, as Master Yoda swung his gimer stick, hitting the table in front of him yet again.
"Food fit for consumption, this is not. Try to poison me they will? Hrrrmmm. Work it will not." His plate flew across the room, propelled against the opposing wall with a loud crash. Every head in the dining hall turned to watch as the orange and fuchsia mash slowly slid down the wall.
With the exception of one. Little Obi-Wan Kenobi picked up his own tray and walked steadily past all the tables separating the initiates' table from the masters' table. Past the padawans and the knights he walked, ignoring the heads that swivelled towards him, not appearing to hear the whispers that followed in his wake.
Coming to a stop next to Master Yoda, he reached up to put his tray on the table and pulled a chair over. Climbing into it, he turned to the old master. He reached over, patting the three-fingered claw with his own small hand.
"It okay, Masser Yody. Share mine - it lots of good."
June 06, 2000
"Padawan?"
"Out here, Master."
"Yes, I can see that. I was wondering why?"
"The moon."
"The moon?"
"Yes, Master. It is my first."
"Surely you've seen a moon before."
"I've seen pictures. And the Garden of Trees has simulated moonlight."
"But as Coruscant's lights never fade, there is no moon. But what about the trips the initiates go on?"
"I know that some of the planets we visited had moons, but we always managed to visit them in a moonless phase."
"So this is your first."
"Yes, Master."
Silence for some time.
"So what do you think, Padawan?"
"It changes how everything looks."
"It does indeed."
"It is beautiful, Master."
"Yes, it is."
June 07, 2000
Obi-Wan glared at Qui-Gon, though his mood seemed to be having little effect on his master. He doubted the man even knew he was uphappy.
"Would a kiss help?" Qui-Gon's query proved him wrong, which only made him all the more grumpy.
"I do not believe it is possible," replied Obi-Wan. He knew he sounded like a child, but really, at this moment, he did not care.
"What's not possible? The kiss or you finding a better mood this mission?"
"Both. Neither. Does it matter?"
They sat quietly for some time after that. The fire's snapping and crackling the only other sound aside from the high pitched whine that was always present on Flinsia. Finally Obi-Wan, no longer able to stand the sound unbroken, spoke.
"I wish we were back on Drun'til."
"You hated Drun'til!"
"Perhaps, but at least the frogs would have eaten these thrice-cursed flies."
June 08, 2000
The taste of silver honey bursts through my mouth: sweet with a hint of wildness. I lick my lips and then my fingers, not wishing to miss even the smallest amount.
"You really should try this," I tell my master before taking another bite of honey-soaked bread. He leans over and slowly licks my lips; tongue pointed and pressed against one corner of my mouth and my eyes close in anticipation. He traces my lips, dipping between them briefly before ending where he started. I open my eyes to watch as he licks his own lips.
"You're right," he says softly, eyes on my mouth, "tastes very good, one might even say addictive."
June 09, 2000
Obi-Wan had lost track of the number of times he and his master had made love.
They made love under the stars and in their bed. Dozens of missions witnessed their joining. Rain, snow, ice, sunshine, heat, cold - the climate could not dampen their enthusiasm.
What they never had was the luxury of time. At any moment they could be called to attend the council, an emergency meeting while on a mission, the resumption of negotiations previously deemed fatally stalled.
Today that changed. Today was the second day of the first vacation they had taken since becoming lovers. There would be no interruptions. For five days whatever they chose to do, they could do uninterrupted.
The first day they slept. Awakened by his master at first light, as was the man's wont, Obi-Wan mulishly refused to budge. He declared a holiday from meditation, from breaking his fast, from routine. In short, he refused the dawn.
His master pleaded. He cajoled. Demanded. And in the end, joined him in the big bed and slept until evening meal, two hours longer than Obi-Wan himself.
Now Obi-Wan stretched, his muscles limber and well rested. He walked from the fresher to the large chair his master had settled into, book slipping from the long fingers as he dozed. Pulling the tome from his master's lap, Obi-Wan let it drop carelessly to the floor. It landed with a soft thud and his master stirred.
The blue eyes opened and trailed slowly up Obi-Wan's body, lingering below his belly where his penis curled toward his navel. Obi-Wan felt his breath grow short under his master's scrutiny. His belly tightened and his penis twitched. By the time Qui-Gon's eyes met his own, Obi-Wan's face was hot and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin.
"I thought you wanted to sleep."
"That was yesterday."
"And when is it my turn to decide what we will do?" Qui-Gon's casual words were belied by his hands holding onto the arms of his chair, the knuckles growing slowly white.
"Not today."
"We only have five days, Padawan, and we have already slept away one of them."
"While my plans do involve the bed most prominently, I can assure you, Master, that more sleep is not my intention."
A low growl signalled his master's patience with their banter was at an end. Even so, Obi-Wan was caught off guard when his wrists were grabbed and he was pulled forward, causing him to tumble into his master's lap.
Qui-Gon wrapped one arm around his back, hand curling possessively around his side, pressing their erections together. Qui-Gon's other hand wrapped into Obi-Wan's braid, pulling him forward and holding him in place as his lips were ravaged by a wild kiss. Obi-Wan's own arms slid around his master's neck, and he pulled himself even closer, rubbing his naked flesh against the soft linen of his master's clothes.
Making a small sound in the back of his throat, he opened his mouth wider, inviting further invasion. Qui-Gon spoke, the words unintelligible but the sound of them rumbled into Obi-Wan's mouth, making his whole body quiver as it felt like a jolt of electricity travelling along his skin.
He could feel the soft velvet of the chair against his knees; the weave of Qui-Gon's leggings pressed against his inner thighs, marking the soft flesh. Qui-Gon's tunic, worn soft by hundreds of washings, nonetheless scratched roughly over his chest, against his nipples.
Pressing closer still, Obi-Wan rolled his hips in tight, little circles. His erection ground against Qui-Gon's, their bodies separated by the cloth of leggings and tunic and it made him all the more frantic.
His master's hands slid to his hips, staying his movements.
"I thought you wanted to go slowly."
Obi-Wan shook his head and his master's hands loosened, allowing him to resume his rocking.
"I want to make love to you, knowing that we will not be interrupted." He kissed his master, taking Qui-Gon's lower lip between his teeth and nibbling gently.
"I want to make love to you and know that we can do it all over again in a minute. In an hour. In a day." He moved to his master's neck, nipping and licking the warm flesh, revelling the in the taste of his master's skin.
"Most of all I want to show you how you make me feel. I want to demonstrate what your body does to mine, over and over and over again." Gripping his master's shoulders tightly, Obi-Wan arched his back, pressing his penis against Qui-Gon's.
His master's hands guided his rocking now and Obi-Wan let go, let himself lose his grip on his surroundings, on reality. He knew only the pleasure of making love to this man - his master - his lover - his Qui-Gon - his.
One of Qui-Gon's hands slipped from his hip and curled around his bottom. A blunt thumb pressed against his opening and Obi-Wan moaned as it penetrated him. He rocked back onto the digit, surging forward again to rub against the hardness there. His grip on his master's shoulder's tightened as he rocked, suspended between the two sensations, moving ever faster, lost to everything but the explosion that built within him.
Obi-Wan rocked faster, gasping for air, reaching for his release.
"Come for me." His master's words were whisper-soft, felt more than heard. They were exactly what he needed; the push he'd been seeking to tumble him over the edge; the trigger to ignite the fire of his orgasm.
He came silently, body clenching and arching. A shudder moved through him, followed by another, and then a third. For a moment his spirit touched Qui-Gon's and they merged, soaring sweetly together.
Crashing back into his own body he collapsed against his master, quivering within the safety of Qui-Gon's arms.
They sat like that for a long time.
For as long as they wanted.
June 10, 2000
I watch the young man sitting by the Master Jedi's side. So serious. He is composed, eyes tracking each speaker, his face free of emotion. Like his elder.
They project an aura of concern and honesty, good will. I do believe they negotiate here in good faith, but I can not help but wonder what manner of treaty such emotionless negotiators can build for us.
How can the boy with the earnest eyes and calm face understand the passions that drive my people? Does the elder know the lengths we would go to for the protection of our children?
I look again into the young Jedi's face. His features remain attentive, impassive. I realise that he is watching his companion's hands as the man speaks, focussing on them with great intensity. Perhaps the Jedi are what they appear. Perhaps not. Perhaps the plain visages are merely masks that hide passions to rival our own.
June 11, 2000
It is cold, damp and windy and we cannot light a fire. In the distance a beast howls as rain begins to fall. A few moments later the wail resumes, closer this time to the pitiful half-shelter of the tree we huddle beneath.
My padawan moves closer, his head resting upon my shoulder, his arm slipping about my waist to draw us together.
A jagged bolt of lightning splits the sky and the rain falls harder, the drops fat and sharp and chilling as they land.
I am content.
June 12, 2000
Qui-Gon sat back with a long sigh. It felt good to be sitting in the familiar chair, with the soft scent of dark earth and green plants permeating the air. It felt good to be home.
Obi-Wan came into the room, a stoneware bowl full of steaming, fragrant water in his hands.
"You don't have to do that, Padawan," Qui-Gon told him softly as Obi-Wan set the bowl on the floor next to the chair and knelt at his master's feet. The softly scented steam wafted up, gently bathing Qui-Gon's face.
"It is my pleasure, Master." Obi-Wan looked up into his eyes, lips curved into a soft smile. He was humming softly as he turned to his task, fingers moving to the buckles of Qui-Gon's boots.
Qui-Gon watched as his padawan worked, the capable hands methodically undoing his buckles and easing the boots from his feet. Ever since Obi-Wan had been required to perform this service for Qui-Gon on Rin'ylat Prime, it had become a ritual they performed whenever they returned to the Temple.
Qui-Gon would sit while Obi-Wan washed his feet, symbolically washing the mission away, cleansing both of them.
While he always told Obi-Wan it wasn't necessary, not wishing to add to his Padawan's post-mission duties, he very much enjoyed the ritual. A Jedi's life could be a lonely one and this small act always reminded him that he wasn't alone, that he had a home and a family in his padawan.
June 13, 2000
I kneel at my master's feet, running my hands lightly up and down his legs, from his knees to his ankles and back again. I let the Force dance lightly along my fingertips, imparting tiny pieces of myself with the touch.
I never dreamed I could take such pleasure from such a simple and, some might say, servile act. But several years ago on Rin'ylat Prime I had to perform this duty during the course of our mission in order to be accepted by the negotiating teams. In the end we returned from that mission, bloodied and defeated and I washed my master's feet, telling him I was removing the failure from our souls. It seemed to give him some solace and I began to do it at each return to the temple.
I have refined the ritual over the years.
In Bugrei on Simil I found the heavy stoneware bowl we now use and I added herbs to the water after Master Yaddle caught me in her garden on evening, meditating in the midst of the sweet-smelling suka. She insisted on teaching me the mores of the various herbs found in her small patch of greenery.
I hum as I work - a tune of my own composition, grown over the years from a few simple bars into a complex melody that reflects our life together.
He tells me every time that I need not perform this duty and I always reply that it is my pleasure. And it is. But it is also so much more than that. It is my touchstone, my talisman - as much a part of my life with my master as my lightsaber.
June 14, 2000
His hands are gentle, but they don't tickle as he takes one foot into his lap and then the other. He cups his hands, filling them with water, trickling it over each foot and rubbing the soothing, wet warmth in.
I watch him as he works, his braid falling forward to brush against my calf. My ankles, the soles of my feet and each toe - all are touched in this ritual of homecoming.
His kiss signals its end.
June 15, 2000
His feet are beautiful. Long, like so much of him, but not wide. I always take my time, wetting each part of them, anointing heel and toe, ankle and sole. I can feel the tension leave his body as I caress his feet and my own body eases.
We are home. We are safe. We are together. I bend and kiss the top of each foot; my task is complete.
June 16, 2000
Step. Swing. Pull. Step. Swing. Pull.
I ignore the muscles that scream at me to stop. I don't worry about the salgrain that lies in my wake. My job is to cut it.
I stop a moment, leaning on my scythe. I take a long swig of water from my skin, looking out over the grain I have yet to cut. I can only just see over the tops of the dark blue grain. It shifts in the wind like some great lumbering beast and though I have been cutting for three days, I still cannot see the end of the far fields.
I wipe the sweat from my face with my sleeve and pick up my scythe once more. My body protests, but I ignore it and centre myself, beginning again the rhythm my waking hours have become.
Step. Swing. Pull. Step. Swing. Pull.
June 17, 2000
I hold his length in my hand.
Soft, growing harder, surging to fill the tunnel of my fingers closed around my palm.
So eager.
So hot.
I pump slowly, relishing the feeling.
Relishing the power.
I did this to him.
I brought his penis from flaccid organ to full, pulsating hardness.
It is my touch that brings those small needy moans to his throat.
I set the pace. I control his pleasure. He will come when I choose it.
Here, at this moment, I am the master.
June 18, 2000
His touch is like a brand upon my skin, bringing me to hardness with a swiftness that belies my advancing years. He slides his hand so slowly along my phallus, each glide is pure torture.
I know I am making noises, but am helpless to stop them. My body is his to play upon as he sees fit. My control is in his hands, as is my pleasure.
I feel as if I were some wet behind the ears padawan with his first lover.
June 19, 2000
"What do you think it is?" Obi-Wan asked his friend t'Lanut. He poked cautiously at the round, black object, looking as if he expected it to poke him back.
"What do you think it is, Obi-Wan? I can see plainly that it's a rock."
"I'm telling you, I saw it move." Obi-Wan moved a little closer and poked a little harder, growing braver as the black object, the diameter of a lightsaber, remained unchanged.
"So why are you poking it?"
"I want to see if it'll move again." t'Lanut crowded next to him and both boys squatted to get a closer look.
"Poke it again," suggested t'Lanut. Obi-Wan did. The rock-like object retained its rock-like qualities. "Harder."
Obi-Wan poked again, harder this time. This time the rock did move, jumping slightly and making a snapping noise. Both boys leapt to their feet, shrieking and tripping over each other as they scrambled back up the slight hill and ran into the forest as if there were Sith behind them.
A wheezing sound filled the quiet forest.
"Aren't you ever going to grow tired of that?"
"Grow tired of it, I will not. Good for initiates, running is."
June 20, 2000
"The ground is hard."
"That's not all that is hard."
"Something's poking me in the back."
"Something is poking me in the stomach."
"Is that thunder I hear?"
"It is the sound of my heart beating."
"I don't think I can breathe."
"I too am left breathless by you, my love."
"You're heavy."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a distinct knack for ruining the mood, padawan?"
June 21, 2000
It is the night of Tam-amsum and all around us is the pounding rhythm of sex. The plants, the beasts, the people, driven by the tides of the seven moons arising in conjunction. I can feel it stir within me, making me hard and eager to join in the pile of writhing bodies next to me.
But we are here to witness, not participate. As always.
I'm not quite sure why it always winds up this way. Certainly we strive to be our best, but in the end we are still beings - human in the case of my padawan and myself. We are as tempted by our bodies as those we guard and protect and yet it is only when we fail and give in to temptation that notice is taken. It seems odd, wrong somehow to expect one's peacekeepers to be beyond the stuff of mere mortals, for when all is said and done, that is all we are.
I look across the clearing to my padawan. Obi-Wan looks up as if he has felt the weight of my gaze and his mouth quirks into that funny little half-smile of his that means he finds something amusing. I can't help but wonder if he has divined my thoughts and knows me to be as affected by the convergence of the moons as the planet itself.
I return his smile and settle my cloak more firmly about me, releasing my tensions into the Force and picking up again the mantle of my duty.
June 22, 2000
I am nervous as I watch him close his eyes. I can feel him sinking into a light meditation, opening himself to the Force. He has stripped down to his undertunic and leggings, his feet, hands and head are bare and unadorned. The flicker of light from the torches we hold dances over him.
He is still for so long that I begin to worry that he had changed his mind, that he will not perform the Tagsgrill - the dance of welcome to the season of light and life.
I was a little surprised when he agreed in the first place. He's a good dancer, has learnt many steps from me, accepting the lessons as he always does - with good humour and concentration, determined to master all that I have to teach him. But he has never excelled at it the way he excels at 'saber fighting and the katas. He had never enjoyed performing the dances in public, the necessity of knowing the steps for political reasons.
But he was asked and so the duty fell to him to perform, to bless the people in the coming season. His dance would make or break us as negotiators of peace in this place where nature was supreme. When he asked the priestess what the steps were she told him that the planet would tell him - the wind would teach his feet and the trees would educate his heart to hear the rhythm of the earth.
Finally he begins, body moving as sinuously as I have ever seen. He dances to a beat that only he can hear, the music coming to him on the Force. I have never seen him like this. His body moves in such a way that it is not long before I believe that I too can hear the music that moves him. And as the other's in the circle around him begin to sway, I know that I am not the only one who hears it.
June 23, 2000
I cannot blink.
My nose itches and I scratch it carefully.
I cannot blink.
My eyes are locked with those of my master's latest rescue project.
I cannot blink.
It's been over an hour and I need the bathroom and my stomach rumbles hungrily.
I cannot blink.
If I look away, this cursed biyal will see it as a sign of submission and I won't have a moment's peace.
I cannot blink.
I am rendered immobile by a pathetic stray no larger than a loaf of bread.
I cannot blink.
I feel the biyal's surety - it will not look away, it will not blink and I will eventually be forced by my own body to break the stare.
I cannot blink.
I begin to devise excuses in my head and I try them aloud to see how they sound, and perhaps to scare the biyal into looking away. "Of course I didn't leave the balcony door open, Master. But he was a very smart biyal - he must have figured it out on his own and wandered off."
I cannot blink.
I am doomed and
I cannot blink.
June 24, 2000
The column of flesh before me is hard, eager. I make a slow feast of it; licking from base to tip, collecting its tastes on my tongue. Salty from his sweat at the bottom, growing sweeter as I move up the length. Lans spice and sowen honey lead me to the crown and the small, beaded drops from within his body. I lick around the tip, teasing myself, and him.
Finally I lick away the translucent drops, their flavour exploding in my mouth. I lick greedily and then press my tongue into the small slit, searching for more. I close my mouth around the hot flesh and suck until I am rewarded and his come rushes into my mouth.
The taste fills me, lingers behind though his seed is now gone. The flavour...I cannot describe it but to say it tastes like the very soul of him. My Obi-Wan.
June 25, 2000
He comes into the office where the Prefect and I are negotiating tomorrow's schedule. He holds his arm, but his face is calm. I am the only one who recognises the slight pinched white around his mouth.
He stands quietly by the door, not interrupting us, not asking for the healing he needs. Some time ago I felt the flash of pain when he sustained the break, but as he did not call out to me, I did not go to him.
I wrap the meeting up quickly and stand. The Prefect is jovial, having won the majority of concessions from me. I am, I fear, far less serene than my padawan. I can hide my worry from the Prefect, but not from myself.
Obi-Wan smiles at the bird-like being's jokes and bows politely. The Prefect finally leaves.
I slip to my knees in front of my padawan. His mask of serenity slips and his eyes grow luminous with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, Master," he says, sounding miserable. I wave my hand, silencing him. I take his arm between my palms and close my eyes, sending healing energy to mend the flesh and knit the bone. How it came to be broken can wait, first I must make him whole.
June 26, 2000
Reach. Pick. Drop.
First the endless salgrain and now bina fruit. Just as with the grain the rows are never ending, each tree fully laden with ripe fruit, their branches reaching toward the ground.
I am Jedi and I have the Force, but still my body screams at me for rest. I have long since ceased to notice pain's call to end this torture. I know it must affect him too, but like with the salgrain he goes before me, his energy seeming boundless as he climbs the trees and does his part.
No mission has ever seemed this long and never ending.
Reach. Pick. Drop.
June 27, 2000
Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on a large flat rock in the Garden of Lakes in front of the mirror lake, chin in his hands, watching glumly as the tiny ytsa flies briefly landed and took off again, leaving ripples in their wake.
He heard the taping of Master Yoda's gimer stick long before the little master pulled himself up and settled next to Obi-Wan. They sat silently for some time before the ancient master spoke.
"Problem there is."
"Everybody is sad, Master Yoda. It makes me sad too."
"Great tragedy there was. Many Jedi died to bring peace to Letmilor."
"But Master Yoda, my teachers all say there is no death there is only the Force."
"True that is. Not easy to lose friends, hmmm? Even to the Force."
"But I thought we weren't supposed to feel."
"Feelings you have. Accept them into yourself, yes? Then let them go you must."
"So it's okay if I feel sad sometimes?"
"Only if best way to feel better you also know."
"What's that, Master?"
"For sadness, hug is best," said the small master, spreading his arms. Obi-Wan threw his own arms around Master Yoda and hugged him tightly.
For the first time in several days he felt a break in the sadness that seemed to hang over the temple.
June 28, 2000
Obi-Wan tried to push away his fear, but the barred sides of their prison kept it caged along with them.
"Master," he called softly to the man kneeling next to him.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?"
"I'm scared," he admitted. He felt Master Qui-Gon shift and then he was being pulled against his master's chest into a long, fierce hug.
"Better?" asked his master, not releasing him.
"Yes, Master," he whispered, feeling warm and safe for the first time since their capture.
June 29, 2000
I love being held in his arms; folded against the powerful chest. Sometimes it is arousing, sometimes not.
Sometimes it is because I need the simple reminder of his touch, the comfort of a padawan in his master's arms.
We could never speak again, never make love again, never look into each other's eyes again and yet I would be content if I could still find myself, from time to time, being hugged by him.
June 30, 2000
I have folded him in my arms since he first became my padawan.
A parent comforting his child. A friend warming his companion. A lover clasping the other half of his soul.
I my heart, I hold him always.
End.
On to July 2000's Snapshots