Title: Masquerade – Oya
Author: Oncidium
Archive: M_A and my own site. Others please ask.
Category: PWP
Pairing: Qui/Obi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Summary: Third in PWP series.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me; they belong to George Lucas. I just like to play with them and will try and return them in somewhat the condition in which they were found. No money was made.
Feedback: Makes my day! ( hellsmouth@sympatico.ca)
Notes: While a woman generally plays Oya, as the Loa is female, in this case I am going to take artistic liscence and make it male J Thanks again to my Master for the speedy beta and support!

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Oya - Whirling cloth tears through the worlds. Oya, wild dancer on death' s edge, the ancestors rise to your call as the jangling beat of bata guides your feet.

The bonfire reached high into the night sky, its flickering orange glow reflecting off the glistening faces and bodies of the dancers.

The white garments, in sharp relief against flawless dark skin, created an almost ethereal effect. Women, in long, flowing skirts and blouses; men, in loose fitting pants and shirts, moved like spirits in the night, drawn to the flame and seduced by it. Some wore their dark hair obscured by ornate white wrappings, while others wore it free and flowing, dotted with white shells. Stars in a pitch sky. Qui-Gon moved as one of them, taller and paler than the rest, but no less beautiful in his abandonment to the drums that drove them.

The drummers, hidden by the dense, shadowed trees that surrounded the dancers hit a relentless beat on their bata. Tonight was the festival of the Loa, Oya, and it was hungry for their energy.

Qui-Gon came to take part in the ritual for the Spirit of the Hurricane in hope of banishing some of the increasingly possessive thoughts about his Padawan. Now that he had had a taste of the young man, the barest glimmer of his sweetness, he couldn't get enough. Even though such relationships were forbidden for the Jedi, he wanted more. He was obsessed with his need to bend and mould the young man to his new design. To possess, penetrate and share in the very light of his soul. The more he tried to purge these thoughts from his mind, the more they haunted him because, above all, he wanted Obi-Wan to love him as much as he was loved.

He moved in time with the worshippers as they danced in a large, clockwise circle around the fire, each one whirling and gyrating in imitation of the fierce storms that sometimes ravaged the small planet of Vau'Karreh.

From time to time, a dancer would fall to the ground, wracked by the possession of a spirit. The others would be careful to give wide berth to the body that convulsed violently in communication with the dead.

Qui-Gon felt his tension lessening as he moved with agility and grace equal to his smaller companions'. Encompassed and enflamed by them, he melded into the energy they created; becoming one with the frantic cyclone.

He felt, rather than heard; the drummers pick up the beat to an almost impossible level. The grainy dirt beneath his bare feet was now damp with the perspiration dripping from his and the other dancers' bodies. He looked up to see the dancer who would represent Oya appear at the edge of the clearing.

Long strips of sand-coloured cloth covered the face and body of the Loa Incarnate, but the Force signature was unmistakeable.

With a shout, Oya whirled into the throng and began to dance in a seemingly random pattern, moving counter clockwise against the dancers. As he danced and spun at a pace even more frantic than the others, worshipers would reach out and snare the strips of cloth as they twirled out from his body, pulling them away and revealing the lithe boy underneath.

Slender limbs were exposed, ankles and wrists highlighted with broad seas shell bands and the lightly oiled body slipped from the grip of the reaching hands, allowing no one to gain purchase of the sun kissed skin as it was revealed.

Qui-Gon felt his mouth grow dry and his manhood hard as bit by bit his apprentice was stripped the concealing cloth. Rosy nipples pebbled and peaked as the night air gusted against them for the first time. The restless light of the fire highlighted the taut muscles of his well-defined abdomen as they moved under soft skin.

Each time Oya came close to Qui-Gon, he seemed to move instinctively away from him, teasing and skipping lightly just beyond his reach. As each strip was torn from the costume of the embodiment of the Loa, the dance slowed some from it's frenetic pace, calming as the storm dissipated.

The dance came to a stop and Qui-Gon saw his apprentice finish his last circuit wearing on the wide seashell bands and two last strips of cloth, and one, a breechclout and one, almost transparent, still covered his face. The young man came to a stop in front of him, falling to his knees and his arms stretched out, palm up, in supplicating submission.

For a while both men regarded each other as if neither wanted to break the tableau, the dying fire painting their sweat-soaked bodies with deeper hues of orange and red. Their chests rose and fell almost simultaneously with their panting breath and the musky smell of arousal hung thick in the air while each one waited silently for a decision to be made. Finally, Qui-Gon couldn't stand it anymore, he was caught up in his own inner gale where one clear conclusion kept surfacing. He needed Obi-Wan, like green growing things need water, and he would take whatever the young man was willing to give.

Slowly, and with great reverence, he pulled the last strip free to reveal his Padawan's beautiful face. Stormy eyes looked at him defiantly, daring him to take the next step, even if it went against everything he was taught to believe. There was something else buried in the grey-green depths of Obi-Wan eyes, hidden from the rest of the world under the mask of the Jedi Order. Longing was there and still something deeper.

Qui-Gon gasped as he finally allowed himself to see what neither would acknowledge. In his apprentice's eyes he saw the love that mirrored his own. The storm had been subdued, but was far from defeated.

Feed the Muse!