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As yet another of the planet's well-to-do citizens gave his arse a squeeze, Obi-Wan wondered if all the native cultures in the system incorporated sex acts into their political transitions. There were two other inhabited planets in the system, but aside from general information about them, he hadn't had time to do further research, and it was possible their records were less than complete as well.
The mission was going well, he supposed. No outbreaks of violence, no bloodshed so far during the complex transition of power from one rival party to another, and even the most fiery-tempered of the politicians had managed to keep their cool once they had been reassured that their views were not being ignored. He and Qui-Gon had mediated seemingly endless talks leading up to this day of change, but all of the locals did seem to honestly wish for a peaceful transfer of power. The one thing they'd been unanimous about, following the barely-contained chaos of their half-solar-year election process, had been their commitment to prevent civil war. Their attitude had actually been rather refreshing, though the talks and compromises had not been easy or straightforward once they'd gotten beyond their basic desire for peace. The final run-offs during the election process, and the negotiations covering all of the pending legislation that had been caught up in the previous year's party turmoil had been incredibly lengthy, tense and complicated. That was what had prompted the planet's senate to request both observation and mediation from the Jedi Temple to make sure they got through it all without tipping the planet into war, so Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had spent quite a bit of time here making sure that nothing had been overlooked.
He sighed as another set of hands rubbed up and down his flanks. At least the weather was warm. He'd been preparing himself for weather as chilling as the past few days winds had been, but a favorable warm front had moved through the capital city overnight, bringing with it enough of a rainstorm to clean the plascrete streets and break the colder overcast temperatures. The morning sunrise had been beautiful, shining light tinting the streaks of clouds retreating to the horizon as he and Qui-Gon had begun their final day of enacting the ritual archetypes.
Somehow the mission briefing hadn't been completely specific about this facet of local culture. It had mentioned that the transition of power included a form of public passion-play symbolizing the end of the previous cycle and the beginning of the new one, based on the periodic conjunctive traverse of this solar system through the Liu Tariliac asteroid cloud when it occurred near the planet's solar solstice, which happened once every eighteen of its solar years... but no other details.
Luckily, he and Qui-Gon had managed to piece enough together from the planet's historical records that when they had been separately approached by the inbound and outbound political parties to become their representatives for the transitional ceremonies, they'd at least had some inkling of what they might be getting themselves into before they accepted the responsibilities of the avatar roles.
The outgoing party's archetype-avatar was to be privately confronted by all of the minority parties, and then publicly vanquished by the incoming party's archetype-avatar, formally bringing the half-year-long election process to a close. This was a cathartic transfer of power, allowing the constituents of the other thirty or so minority parties to achieve closure on any issues they might have with the outgoing party, and to set the stage for the minority parties' work with the winning party whose leadership would guide policy for the next eighteen years of their senatorial governing body.
At the end of most of the planet's cycles, the outbound parties' representative would have been one of the most powerful politicians, who would have represented all of the good the party had accomplished during its time in power. This cycle, however, had been marked by corruption and duplicity at the highest levels of the leading party for the past few solar years, and immediately prior to the half-year of their election process, other members of the leading party had staged a coup. They had tossed out many of their higher-ranking members, and that had in turn triggered what had either been a widespread suicide pact by poison or a series of as-yet-unsolved murders or some combination of both among the innermost circles of the party; extensive investigations into those deaths had not yielded definitive answers. The new leadership of the party had put together a respectable election roster and had even won a scant few of the senate seats they had held previously, but the new party leadership did not wish to be too closely associated with the old leadership, so the party's committees had been in a conundrum even back at the start of the election cycle about who they would select as their ceremonial representative for the archetype play.
The newly elected party had been in a different situation but shared a similar conundrum. Historically, the winning party would usually have held forth their most promising, most charismatic leader, or one of his or her grown children, to represent all they hoped to accomplish during their cycle in power, one who was well-liked by many of the minority parties and who could be counted upon to foster personal admiration and cooperation among the minority senators. However, as part of their platform this election, the winning party had stated unequivocally their intent to lead with more openness and egalitarian negotiations, rather than continuing the historical pattern of senatorial mechanics tied closely with personal charisma and behind-the-scenes dealings. The public had spoken with their votes during the numerous run-off elections, and so one of the actual party leaders as a symbolic personification of the party was definitely out of fashion at the moment, since it might hearken back too closely to the former senate president and his associates who had been so susceptible to corruption and bribery before the coup and their mysterious deaths.
On the surface it all sounded so reasonable, so rational. And it didn't for one moment sound like it could result in Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon being paraded separately through the capital city's streets, near-naked and well-oiled, swept along by the murmurs of the crowd toward public combat and sex.
Obi-Wan shook his head, nearly imperceptibly, took a deep breath and brought his mind back to the conscious present. He and his master always seemed to get into the strangest situations on missions, but this one was setting a whole new standard. He wondered if his impending knighthood would mean more or less of this sort of thing.
They hadn't been allowed to see each other for the past few days, as each had had ceremonial duties with both the party they were representing today and with the representatives of the other minority parties. Obi-Wan's days and nights had mostly been rather dull sit-and-be-seen, presiding over standard meet-and-greets, bestowing the banners of the minority senators' new offices and accepting their symbolic gifts of food, music, and oddly enough, massage and what could only be called cuddling, though it hadn't gone farther than that. Obi-Wan had tried to reach out through the Force each day to his master whenever he had time to meditate privately, but there had not been much time allowed to him for that, and over the past few days and nights, Qui-Gon's usual steady, strong presence had been increasingly distracted, his thought-voice disjointed and thready, difficult to connect with. He had not sounded as though he were in undue distress, however, so Obi-Wan had done his best to stay calm.
He was doing his best to stay calm now, but he had to admit that he wasn't being entirely successful. The crowd's murmuring tone was rising as he neared the arena, and they sounded... more than anticipatory... more like... hungry.
There was a roar from inside, just as he neared the main entrance where one more of the party he was representing waited to escort him inside. He only caught a glimpse of the two large projected images on either side of the entrance, which competed for the crowd's attention, but a glimpse was enough. One side showed himself, walking up the steps to the entrance, and the other... the other showed Qui-Gon standing on a raised platform wearing nearly nothing, muscles taut and flexing, one arm working as he brought himself off, head tipped back toward the heavens as he found his release.
Caught a bit off-balance, Obi-Wan let himself be led inside as the ritual phrases sang out through the projection systems all along streets behind him, "And thus the past gives itself, to all of us, to our world and to our people, and thus the past has given of itself."
The entrance hall and the tunnel-like passage to the arena's center passed by him in a blur. He took a few deep breaths. Conscious presence in the now was more elusive than it should have been. The party representative pressed a staff into his hand, He took another breath, and another. That was better. But suddenly the arena opened out before him, and he walked into the light alone, greeted by a groundswell of noise from the crowd.
"The future arrives! The future arrives to do battle!"
Qui-Gon stood near a second raised platform, this one topped with pillar-bench where a set of highly stylized binders were displayed. He leaned heavily on a staff, and the hollows under his eyes were worrisome.
Now, don't fret, Padawan. It's only that I haven't had much sleep. The past's avatar must lose this contest, you know, and so they guarantee it.
Master?
I'm fine, Obi-Wan. Just tired, and my reflexes will likely be slower than you expect. Shall we begin?
Obi-Wan strode toward Qui-Gon, staff held at the ready, as he watched his master move a small distance away from the platform. The short-cropped grass was pleasantly soft under his feet, and as he closed the distance between them, Qui-Gon took the first pose of one of their basic intermediate sparring routines. As he did so, the roar of the crowd, the chants and the cheers, fell away to near-silence. Obi-Wan found himself glad that the locals weren't familiar with their usual training routines, so there was no need to improvise anything unexpected from the start of this. He took the responding pose, watched as Qui-Gon took a deep breath, took one of his own, and then attacked.
Qui-Gon hadn't exaggerated about slower reflexes than usual. To the untrained eye it would likely have been barely noticeable, but to Obi-Wan, it was obvious that his master was exhausted. Their staffs clattered against one another, strong clacks that echoed oddly across the quiet arena, the crowd now bearing silent witness.
Suddenly one of the clacks sounded off, and Obi-Wan pulled his next strike's force, but something about it still felt wrong. His eyes found his master's, and Qui-Gon moved to block the next blow before Obi-Wan had decided where to place it. He understood... he struck hard at the staff where Qui-Gon blocked too far out from his body, and felt his staff splinter the blocking one, carrying through to thump against the grass. Qui-Gon stepped backward in not quite a stumble, the ends of his staff held in each hand now, falling back into another defensive posture.
The crowd murmured as one, "Thus the future breaks the hold of the past on the present."
Obi-Wan advanced, more carefully now as the familiar routine was no longer an option, and began his next round of attacks, including not only his staff but also his feet, kicking out to block Qui-Gon's short staves and eventually sending each of them flying.
The crowd began to murmur again, louder this time. "Thus the past is disarmed. Thus the past is defenseless."
Qui-Gon rubbed his forearms where Obi-Wan had gotten a few strong kicks in, as he retreated again, bringing his arms up in preparation for Obi-Wan's next move. Obi-Wan twirled his staff a bit, posing for the crowd's benefit and giving them both a moment to breath.
Master? You're ready to be taken down now?
Yes, padawan. Avoid the knees if you can.
You're sure, master?
Qui-Gon answered only with a sigh and the very direct look that had always meant 'don't make me repeat myself, youngling.'
Obi-Wan nodded once, and then attacked. He struck a few times with the staff directly, overcoming the reach of Qui-Gon's arms and legs, and then planting one end of the staff into the ground and using it as a lever to launch his weight at Qui-Gon foot-first, at chest level. Qui-Gon moved to block with his forearms too slowly, and Obi-Wan took the advantage to land, then turn and sweep his staff in a quick, low circle, pulling Qui-Gon's feet from under him and sending him backward onto the grass with a hard thump.
Obi-Wan didn't wait for his master to regain his breath, instead taking the few steps necessary to reach the binders from the raised pillar-bench and then coming back to Qui-Gon from behind as he moved to rise. Dropping his staff to the ground beside him, Obi-Wan reached around and with some effort managed one of the basic wrestling choke-holds he'd learned all those years ago. He didn't squeeze so hard as to press hard against Qui-Gon's throat to close off his airway, but neither did he hold so loosely as to allow escape. He spoke aloud for the first time since entering the arena. "Do you yield to wearing the binders, or shall I force your unconsciousness to put them on?"
Qui-Gon answered, his voice slightly hoarse, simply "I yield."
Obi-Wan stroked his hand down over Qui-Gon's left shoulder to his wrist, bringing the binder around with his other hand to close it snugly against his master's lower forearm. He placed one of the halves of Qui-Gon's staff horizontally against Qui-Gon's back, bending Qui-Gon's elbow around it and forward just above waist-level, and then clasped Qui-Gon's right shoulder, squeezing it gently, before running his hand down his arm to bend the elbow around the staff. He closed the second binder around Qui-Gon's right forearm, and tightened the chain between the binders so that there was little give, trapping Qui-Gon's fists on either side just above his waist, his elbows bent around the staff behind his back.
They each took a few deep breaths as Qui-Gon pushed and pulled a bit at his bonds. As Obi-Wan stood, the crowd erupted in a roar of foot-stomping and chanting, but Obi-Wan's concentration was elsewhere.
All right, master?
"Thus is the past captured by the future! Thus is the past bound to its time!! Thus does the past answer to the present!! Thus the past is forced to yield!!"
Fine, padawan.
Obi-Wan took hold of Qui-Gon's left shoulder and the staff at his back, and helped Qui-Gon stand, pushing him toward the pillar-bench. As he neared it, he spotted the small chest sitting just beyond it; he'd known it would be there. He made a bit of a show of manhandling Qui-Gon to his knees, lifting him up and leaning his chest across the bench, holding him in that position using the staff across his back, arranging his hair to bare his broad shoulders, and then reaching to open the chest. Inside, as he'd demanded, was the bottle of good-quality lubricant, and as the ceremony had demanded, the dark handled coil of knotted hard leather strips. Obi-Wan's hand halted mid-reach, and he took a breath to steady himself before bringing both items out of the chest. He sat the bottle of lube next to Qui-Gon's knee, and took the dark handle into his hand. It looked more wicked than he'd expected; though it the tails were fairly short, there seemed to be an awful lot of them. He raised it above his head as he stood behind his bound and kneeling master, and the crowd's roar became deafening.
Now, Obi-Wan.
He brought his arm down, and the only sound he heard was the leather against Qui-Gon's shoulder. He raised his arm again, striking once, twice more. Qui-Gon's skin was pink where the knots had struck, and he was flinching a bit with every touch of the leather. He paused.
Are you all right?
The intensity is not unexpected. Tied those knots myself, padawan. Continue.
Obi-Wan laid down nine more strokes, concentrating on Qui-Gon's shoulders and doing his best to avoid the backs of his arms where the muscles bunched and clenched against their bonds. He paused again, and as he flexed his back as much as he could, Qui-Gon let out a heaving sigh that was almost a groan.
Obi-Wan paused, reaching out with his free hand to stroke down Qui-Gon's flank, resting his palm against his upper thigh. Qui-Gon's head tipped forward, hair spilling down on either side to cover his face from the crowd's view, baring his neck.
Yes.
He laid six more strokes down, this time across Qui-Gon's rump and upper thighs, which quivered under the blows. The crowd roared as he stepped back, taking the tails in his free hand as he raised both above his head, then bringing them down to walk around the pillar-bench to crouch down face to face with his master. He carded his fingers through the cascade of hair, bringing one finger to raise Qui-Gon's chin, noting a few beads of sweat on his brow. He rubbed his thumb gently across his master's lips, which formed into a kiss against the pad of his thumb, and then a small half-smile.
Obi-Wan nodded once with a small smile of his own, which he hoped at least obscured his own uncertainties. "Open."
Qui-Gon's lips parted, and Obi-Wan placed the dark handle between his teeth.
Don't drop it, Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon's eye's half-closed, as he tried to stifle his moan.
That's my line, padawan.
Not today it isn't, master. I mean it... don't drop it.
Yes, Obi-Wan.
Desire slithered down to the base Obi-Wan's spine and coiled there. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all. He reached for the bottle of lube, standing and moving back behind Qui-Gon to crouch on the edge of the platform. He flipped open the bottle, coating his hand generously and stroking along his own length, rising to the occasion as he centered himself and opened his mind to his desire.
His master was beautiful, and it was an undeniable and unaccustomed rush to see him so pliant before him. Obi-Wan swirled his hand up and down his cock, bringing himself to full hardness, relishing the warmth of the afternoon sunlight on his skin as well as the idea of making his master wait momentarily.
He coated his hand again, trailing fingers along Qui-Gon's cleft as he tapped one foot inside Qui-Gon's thighs, reminding him to spread himself wider. When Qui-Gon hesitated Obi-Wan sat the bottle of lube down and reached out with that hand to squeeze his arse where a deep pink stripe marked him, thumb digging into a tender spot, and Qui-Gon lost his hesitation.
Obi-Wan went exploring with his fingertips, working the lube in where it would be needed most, but he soon found that Qui-Gon would not need as much preparation as he'd expected. Whatever activities had been on the vanquished avatar's schedule just prior to this encounter in the arena, his muscles were warm and almost loose, ready and waiting for him. Obi-Wan slipped in two fingers and met only token resistance, then added a third, pulling a groan from Qui-Gon. He stroked Qui-Gon's flank with his free hand, scissoring his fingers to be sure Qui-Gon was ready. He took hold of the staff anchoring Qui-Gon's elbows with his free hand and then added the fourth finger, watching the pink stripes and spots across Qui-Gon's shoulders dance as he flexed against his bonds, shuddering as Obi-Wan found his most sensitive places.
He withdrew his hand, and tugged a bit on the staff intending to bring Qui-Gon closer to the edge of the platform, and Qui-Gon kneeled up to reposition his chest across the bench. He bent again, and the curtain of his hair obscured his face, falling to intertwine with the dark knotted tails across one cheek. He took a deep breath, matched by Obi-Wan's, and then relaxed against his bonds.
Obi-Wan stepped forward, and placed himself against Qui-Gon's entrance. He still held the staff across his master's back in one hand, steadying them both, and gripped Qui-Gon's hip with his other. The crowd let out a cacophony of stomping and shouting that washed over them like waves as Obi-Wan slowly buried himself in his master. He began to thrust, and Qui-Gon met him halfway.
Warm, welcoming, slick, tight... but with each wave of sound sweeping across the arena, Obi-Wan could feel his tight core of desire slipping, uncoiling. He gripped the staff tighter, pulling against Qui-Gon's arms to bring him back against his thrusts as he sped up, slapped his other hand against Qui-Gon's flank when he didn't meet one of his thrusts in exact tandem... in, out, in, out, hips snapping neatly but almost without his conscious thought... Obi-Wan groaned his frustration.
This wasn't right.
He slowed, running his hand gently across Qui-Gon's side and taking his upper arm as he paused completely, buried balls-deep and holding there. His master's sides were heaving, and there was a glisten of sweat in the middle of his lower back. He clasped Qui-Gon's arms and gently raised him up so his chest no longer rested on the bench, bending his own upper body down to wrap his arms around his master's shoulders. They simply breathed, together, and Obi-Wan watched as Qui-Gon's fists slowly unclenched in their bonds.
Obi-Wan reached down and lengthened the chain between the binders, and then gently bent Qui-Gon's arms just a bit further to slide the staff which pinned his elbows out and off to one side, dropping it to the grass beside the platform. He massaged Qui-Gon's arms gently, slowly, bending over him to reach down from the reddened shoulders to his chest, sweeping his hands along his biceps, his forearms down to the binders, then entwining his fingers between his master's.
He relaxed, simply being in the moment, skin on skin, breathing together with Qui-Gon. He smiled. The dark handle was still clenched between his teeth. Obi-Wan's cock twitched, a warm rush of arousal returning and bringing a humming sigh out of Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan straightened, standing behind his kneeling master at the edge of the bench platform, facing the crowd but not paying the concerned murmurs any mind. He placed his hands just outside of the angry marks on Qui-Gon's shoulders. He would be true to himself and their bond, and let the locals make of it what they would.
Turn for me, Qui-Gon.
He pulled out, and together they turned Qui-Gon, his rear perched on the edge of the bench and his cock flagging a bit. Obi-Wan made a show of looking him over from head to foot, and this show was not for the crowd. He smiled appreciatively.
"Touch me."
Qui-Gon answered with a smile of his own, and the jingle of the chain connecting his binders as his hands reached out to caress Obi-Wan, dancing across his skin, wrapping around his cock, sliding up his abdomen and chest to stroke down one side of his neck, straight back to his cock.
The crowd was silent.
Obi-Wan practically purred, and Qui-Gon had returned to full arousal. Obi-Wan caught his hands between his own, lengthened the chain between the binders further, and placed Qui-Gon's hands on either side of his thighs on the bench, steadying him as he spread his thighs once more, lifting one of his legs to balance his foot against the bench. Obi-Wan positioned himself and waited until Qui-Gon met his gaze.
I wanted to see you.
I know.
Obi-Wan managed two words to the silent arena as he entered Qui-Gon again. "You're mine."
Qui-Gon tipped his head back and moaned long and low, past his teeth, still clenched around the dark handle. Obi-Wan caught his head with one hand, fingers tangling in his hair, holding the back of his neck as he matched him with a groan of his own.
A single voice ran out from the crowd as Obi-Wan began to thrust, "Thus the past yields willingly to the desires of the future, and the future takes these gifts!"
There was a pause as the locals seemed to consider this novelty, and then Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were once again awash in a sea of noise.
Qui-Gon reached upward with his hands and swung the binders' chain over Obi-Wan's head, catching him in a hug and then clasping Obi-Wan's hips as they thrust against each other. Qui-Gon's cock slipped against Obi-Wan's abdomen, the heat and friction of skin on skin, breath meeting breath driving them to new heights. Qui-Gon lifted one leg to give him better access, wrapping it around his waist and bringing more of his strength to their joining. Sensations built and built as their bond flared and they each gave themselves over to their desires, and found their release. They clung to each other, Obi-Wan's hands at Qui-Gon's neck and shoulder, Qui-Gon's breath at his neck and hands stroking idly at his flanks.
The roar of the crowd had faded once again, this time to soft sounds which were a mix of appreciation and curiosity. Their avatars had done the unexpected, and the ceremony was not yet complete. Obi-Wan roused himself, pulling back slightly to look once more into Qui-Gon's face. Flushed, still panting, and the handle still between his teeth. Obi-Wan smiled, and untangled his hand from his master's hair.
"Give it to me."
Qui-Gon dropped the handle into his palm, and bent his head to rest his forehead against Obi-Wan's chest briefly. Obi-Wan unclasped the binders, and then pulled out, wringing one more groan from Qui-Gon.
He stepped back to leave Qui-Gon alone on the platform-bench, again grateful for the soft grass of the arena, and turned in a slow circle, raising his chin, taking deep breaths, eyes sweeping over the crowd. He turned back to Qui-Gon, who seemed a bit shaky but otherwise was collecting himself well, rubbing his wrists gently without moving from his placement on the bench and gazing at him with an unreadable expression.
Obi-Wan took one more breath, raised his arm slightly from where it hung at his side, and said simply, "Kneel."
Qui-Gon closed the distance between them with no uncertainty in his steps and, with no hesitation, took his outstretched hand, kissed it, and knelt down before him. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the crowd, and waited. At first in small clusters, and then in a broader wave that swept the arena, the crowd stood, and then knelt, silently.
Obi-Wan spoke once more, clear voice sounding across the grass and, he supposed, booming out through the projection systems outside the arena. "Thus do the gifts of the past allow the present to greet the future with surety and hope."
There was a pause, and then the leading party's themes began to play, and Obi-Wan raised Qui-Gon to his feet as the recessional carriage hovered across the grass to collect them. Obi-Wan stood silently as Qui-Gon collected the cloaks from the carriage and draped the rich senatorial-colored cloak around his shoulders. Obi-Wan tied the clasp himself, then waited for Qui-Gon to don the older, faded cloak before taking the prominent seat in front. Qui-Gon settled himself behind him on the lower seat, and then the carriage began to move. The crowd cheered wildly as they exited the arena.
In the relative darkness of the tunnel before their trip back through the streets to their respective party's staging areas, Qui-Gon spoke, softly and sleepily, "I suspect your changes to their passion-play will be talked about for cycles to come, padawan."
Obi-Wan chuckled. "Maybe they'll take to heart the lessons of their archetype-avatars today, and future transitions won't be so confrontational, master. In any case I hope they'll have less potential for violence."
Qui-Gon let out a soft chuckle, stretching out along his seat in the carriage and carefully wrapping the soft, faded cloak tighter around his shoulders. "I hope so, too." He began to relax into a meditative sleep state, but not before sending one more thought along their bond, simple and heartfelt. Thank you, Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan smiled, squinting a bit as their carriage hovered out into the street, the buildings and crowds now tinged with the fiery colors of the sunset as darkness began to fall. He gazed up to the sky, seeing the first of the Liu Tariliac meteors streaking across the upper atmosphere, and breathed once more in the conscious now, finding his center easily and comfortably. Thank you, Qui-Gon.