Date: 09 Mar 2000
Archive: ASC/EM, No Warning, elsewhere by permission only
Notes: For Greywolf.

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It began when Spock cha'Sarek was eight years old. He remembered it with a
Vulcan's memory, clearly and sharply. The Jedi had been on-planet for
his aunt T'Pau's ascendance to Eldest Mother of the House of Surak, and
he, the eldest child of his generation, had attended the ceremony.

The Jedi had impressed him. They were human, both of them, but quiet
and serene; they dressed appropriately for Vulcan's desert heat; they
did not drink too much at the reception afterwards. In a way, however,
they frightened him--he could *feel* their presence in the room, feel
the disturbance in the air around them. Carefully, he examined the
fear, controlled it, and made use of it: keeping a wary watch on the
Jedi as they moved purposefully towards his parents.

"Impossible," he heard his father say. "There are no Vulcan Jedi."
This was the truth. Vulcans, natural espers with a deep connection to
their world and their desert, had never yet produced a child
Force-sensitive enough for Jedi training. They were healers and
scientists, musicians and explorers, and respected as such: they were
not Jedi. Never Jedi.

"Spock is half-human," his mother said, "and my father was a Jedi."

Two days later, Spock touched the face of his betrothed for the last
time, severing the new link between them. And when the Jedi left
Vulcan, they took the son of Sarek with them, the first of his father's
race with a midichlorian count worth considering.

Spock applied himself at the Jedi Academy, working hard to catch up with
the other children his age. His training on Vulcan helped--he had
survived the kahs wan, he knew several forms of armed and unarmed
combat, and he was intelligent and motivated.

When he was eleven years old, he saluted his opponent after lightsaber
training and turned to find a pair of blue eyes regarding him calmly.
The blue eyes belonged to the tallest human he had ever encountered, and
he swallowed and tilted his head back as far as he dared, taking in a
strong body, narrow waist, broad shoulders, beard--

"Hello, young initiate."

"Greetings," he replied.

"I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn."

"I am honored, Master Jinn."

The eyes seemed to smile at him, but the face remained impassive.
"Young initiate, I am searching for a padawan."

"Yes, Master Jinn."

"Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Master Jinn."

And that was how it started, or at any rate, how Spock cha'Sarek
remembered it, when he was no longer Spock cha'Sarek to any but himself,
when even his Master called him Skon-jai Kal.

* * *

Naked, Spock twirled his braid between his fingers and studied his
Master. Qui-Gon Jinn was sleeping, one large hand resting on his chest,
moving with the rise and fall of his breathing. The chronometer chimed
softly in the dark, and Qui-Gon shifted in his sleep. Spock controlled
a smile and reached out along their training bond to feel the flow of
his Master's dreams.

He knew already what he would find.

He was Jedi, thanks to his human blood, but he was also Vulcan. The
non-Force-enhanced Vulcan esper abilities had given him telepathic
and empathic gifts, and while some of the same shielding techniques
applied as for Force-given abilities, he still sometimes had problems.
He'd touch someone, and everything they were feeling would hit him,
hard.

Two weeks ago, his Master stood behind him to correct his posture, and
suddenly Spock felt it: desire, shockingly new desire, transmitted
through Qui-Gon's gentle touch on his hand. He knew that it was as
surprising to his Master as to himself, and he knew that Qui-Gon did not
know that Spock knew.

Nervously, Spock ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, and down his
long padawan braid. The dream had started.

Qui-Gon shifted, and moaned softly. Spock could see his penis hardening
through the sleep pants, and could hear the quickening of breath--and,
just on the edge of Vulcan hearing, the throb of a heartbeat, a little
too fast.

There was something so vulnerable about his Master in that moment, that
Spock shook off his fear and walked towards the bed. For two weeks, he
had meditated on his desire and on his Master's desire. For two weeks,
he had considered his options: ignoring it, controlling it, discussing
it, acting on it. For two weeks, he had watched his Master control
himself in silence, and lose himself in dreams.

Tonight, he would act, for both of them.

He slid into the bed, moving his hand over the hardness of Qui-Gon's
penis. "Master," he whispered, and watched blue eyes snap open in the
darkness.

"Skon-jai--"

Spock silenced his Master with a kiss, and after a moment, felt the
older man respond, felt strong arms come up and around him, felt his own
hardness pressed against skin and fabric. He tore at the cloth,
stripping his Master as quickly as he could, running quick knowing
fingers over cooler human flesh, feeling the heat of desire building in
the body that was beneath him and over him.

"Yes," he said, as one firm hand wrapped around his penis, stroking him
until he shook with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was husky, and his blue eyes almost black in
the darkness. "Padawan, are you sure?"

"Tela'at, a," Spock answered, in the language of his childhood: Elder,
yes.

"Skon-jai," his Master whispered, and called sweetoil to his hand before
rolling Spock onto his side.

Shuddering at the pain and pleasure of sex, Spock cha'Sarek arched his
back and cried out as his Master entered him; and as he felt the shaking
of Qui-Gon's body and his own orgasm seized him, he shattered.

Afterwards, he lay quietly by his Master's side, thinking. Not quite
meditating, but thinking--thinking that Skon-jai Kal, who was Jedi and
who his Master loved, and Spock cha'Sarek, who was Vulcan and had never
known love, were at last one: Skon-jai's heart open and naked for the
reading of it; Spock's heart meditative and logical, but open now,
waiting now only for a sign that it was welcome.

"Skon-jai," Qui-Gon said, stroking one hand gently over his padawan's
skin, unsticking the sweat-soaked braid from the side of Spock's neck.
Then, quick as the beat of a Vulcan heart, he dropped a kiss on one
elegantly pointed ear. "My Skon-jai. My Spock."

Skon-jai Kal turned to his Master and allowed himself to smile. "Yes,
my Master. Yours."

---

The End.