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Obi-Wan watched the dancers as they spun and twirled in the fading evening light, the system's binary stars casting strange shadows on the performers as they made their strange leaps and jumps over the dozen or so fires. They celebrated their planet’s newfound peace in the dance, moving from partner to partner, from clan to clan to proclaim their unity.
The Jedi had been on the outer rim planet for thirty-five days, helping delegate between warring clans and hoping to bring the planet into the Republic. The long winded negotiations between warring tribes had been rocky at the best of times, and outright deadly at others. Between Qui-Gon’s level headed negotiating and Master Dooku’s firm control of the situation, they had finally found the balance that the planet so desperately needed.
The dancer’s delicate tumbles and moves reminded Obi-Wan of the kata forms, elegant but strong motions, deadly in the right hands. He wondered what it would feel like, to move so freely to music, just for enjoyment and celebration, without a weapon in his hands. What would it feel like to twist and turn with a partner, to move as one so beautifully, so effortlessly?
“Why don’t you dance with them, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon sat beside Obi-Wan, breaking him away from his thoughts.
“Dancing hardly seems appropriate for a Jedi.” Obi-Wan answered, trying to shield his true feelings, the desire he held close.
Truthfully, he did want to join in the celebrations, but after Obi-Wan’s chocolate and sugar fueled stunt flying four months prior, he had been reluctant to participate in anything his Master could see as un-Jedilike. The incident had put a strain on his already tense relationship with his Master for weeks and both Padawans had been required to attend extra flight lessons as punishment. During those classes, Obi-Wan vowed that he would never drag Qui-Gon down to his level again.
“Ah, but hasn’t Master Yoda often told us that it is important to embrace new cultures and to take any opportunity to learn that we can?” Qui-Gon countered, leaning close to Obi-Wan’s side, his warmth chasing away the chill that had crept into Obi-Wan’s core.
Obi-Wan flushed at the lingering contact, his mind dragging up the other memories of his name day, of the caramel sweet kiss and warm comfort. Obi-Wan had yet to come to understand what they had ment, or decide if he had misunderstood what had happened in those brief moments completely.
“I don’t think this counts, Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan chuckled, the sound hollow in his chest. He was reluctant to give in to his desires, worried about the consequences to Qui-Gon and himself would have to endure if Dooku found out, no matter what Yoda had encouraged them to do on new planets.
“Of course it counts,” Qui-Gon pushed closer closer, a soft smile playing on his lips, “And you deserve it for what you have done for these people. If you didn’t step in this morning, we would still be negotiating.”
“That's not true, you and our Master had things well in hand. I could have ruined everything speaking out of turn like I did.” Obi-Wan was unable to suppress his shutter at the memory of the morning’s events. The clan’s leaders had firm rules about their subordinates and juniors speaking out of turn or without permission and Obi-Wan had destroyed every single one of them in less than ten words. They had been lucky that the clan leaders had seen all three Jedi as outsiders, and therefore equals.
Qui-Gon sighed, exasperated, “That is a lie, Obi-Wan, and you know it. You might not believe it, but you do know it. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have done what you did and my legs would still be stuck under that tiny excuse for a table. I’m going to have bruises for weeks.”
Obi-Wan chuckled at the image. The planet's people averaged just shorter than Obi-Wan in height, and their accommodations had been built to match. Obi-Wan had found the short negotiation table a slight nuisance at worst, but Qui-Gon’s height meant the other Padawan had spent the days with his knees firmly pressed against the hardwood, unable to even stretch forward as accidentally bumping any of the other delegates would have been taken with great offence. Dooku hadn’t fared much better until he had claimed his age made it difficult to endure and had been brought a separate stool and writing pad.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered as he stood, holding out a hand, “I would really like to dance with you. Would you please join me? And I have it on good authority our Master has already retired for the evening.”
Unable to continue to refuse the offered hand, Obi-Wan finally relented and placed his hand in Qui-Gon’s. It was hard for the Padawan to fully understand the safety he felt as the large hand completely encased his and he was led into the fray.
Unlike the other dancers, who quickly and effortlessly passed from partner to partner, always in motion, Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan close, leading him through the crowd twisting and swirling as if they were born to it.
The music changed, increasing in tempo from the ceremonial beat that had played all evening to something that flooded his every soul, bright and rhythmic. Qui-Gon changed their steps, moving even closer. From a distance, Obi-Wan wondered if they would appear as one point of light, only to be revealed as two people perfectly in sync as the observer moved closer. As if they were binary stars, always spiraling around each other, pulling ever closer, making the other brighter.
Obi-Wan lost track of how many times they had lept and spun around the fires, lost in the feeling of Qui-Gon’s arms and soft smiles. It was a feeling he wanted to hold on to, even as the fires burned low and many of the last of the revelers had long gone to bed.
Obi-Wan’s heart sank as the music began to fade and the final spin ended with Obi-Wan wrapped in Qui-Gon’s arms.
Qui-Gon chuckled, “You have ash on your nose.”
“I must look ridiculous.” Obi-Wan frowned, pulling away to scrub at the smudge with his inner tunic, worried his dirty robes would just make it worse. Gentle hands moved his tunic away from his face, deftly wiping away what Obi-Wan had further smeared there.
Qui-Gon leaned close and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but hold his breath as a small, delicate kiss was placed on his nose.
“You look absolutely radiant.”