The Ruins of Hope - coffee_and_wolfsbane (2025)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

"What happens now?"

The two haggard-looking Jedi knights looked down at the human child between them. They'd spent the last two hours waiting for said child to say goodbye to every local on Batuu that had helped feed and raise him since his mother had died from sickness a few years ago. It had only been a convenience to perform a midi-chlorian scan on the only child in the acceptable age-range on the smuggler planet. The convenience had turned into something more purposeful, since the child's midi-chlorian count had been higher than some senior Jedi Knights.

That, paired with the stories the other locals told, of how the child seemed to know precisely when danger was about to strike the Black Spire Outpost, had the two Knights comming back to the Temple that they'd be returning with two potential initiates, not just one.

"Now, we fly back to Coruscant, to the Temple," the female Twi'lek Knight said, the hangar door to their ship dropping slowly to the ground in an exhaled cloud of white steam.

"The two of you will be interviewed by the Creche Master once we arrive, so get some sleep on the trip back," the male Togruta Knight ordered, a bit more gruffly. The second youngling seemed to have boundless energy and questions, none of which the Knight was interested in answering after the sudden mission and the lack of sleep from flying for thirty-two hours straight.

Senari's hazel eyes blinked up at the two for a second, and then he pushed forward, entering the ship's hangar first with nothing but the patchwork clothing he wore.

"Okay, then let's go," Senari insisted, excitement buzzing in every limb as he scrambled onto the massive ship.

To his disappointment, Senari was firmly guided away from the cockpit and the lone plasma cannon, instead getting parked in a common area that had metal benches and tables welded into the ship's floor. He was unceremoniously left there, with a thin blanket and a couple of field ration bars to hold him over until they arrived at their destination.

It took Senari a few seconds of exploring to realize he wasn't alone.

There was another kid there, sitting as far away as he possibly could from the door panel that led out from the common area and to the rest of the ship.

Senari went over and hopped up onto the metal bench next to the other kid. "Hi," Senari said happily, glad that the rest of the flight wasn't going to be alone and boring. He could feel the ship beginning to rumble and shake, and his stomach did little flips of excitement.

The other kid had dark hair, dark eyes, and looked really, really tired. When Senari sat down next to him, he tried to press closer into the wall he was next to. "....hello," the kid mumbled, almost too quietly to hear over the engines beginning to heat up.

"You're the other kid the Jedi picked up?" Senari asked, switching his focus from the interior of the ship to the other occupant.

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, where the other kid wasn't going to say anything else.

Senari didn't mind. He filled the silence himself easily, his legs swinging in the air. "I guess we're both going to the Jedi Temple then. I hope we both make it. I've never been in a space ship before, or off-world, but I watched the ships fly in and take off whenever I could," Senari chattered, turning around on the bench to press his face and hands against the port window to watch them take off. The ship around them jerked a little, and Senari's stomach kept doing those little flips. The ground looked wavy from the heat coming from the burning hyperfuel, and as the ship rose up into the air, Senari watched as the Black Spire Outpost got smaller and smaller. He was finally going to see space, he was leaving Batuu to do something more than spend his days running through the petrified forests, but the flips his belly was doing were getting distracting.

"Are....are you alright? You look pale," the other kid said worriedly.

Senari quickly turned away from the window, his head swimming and his stomach refusing to stop turning. The ship shuddered and jerked as it left the planet's atmosphere, and Senari clapped a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm gonna be sick," Senari managed to croak out between his fingers.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting down on the bench, heaving into a metal bucket that was between his knees. There was something warm over his shoulders—it felt like the blanket he'd been given—and he could vaguely hear the other child speaking anxiously to the two Jedi Knights. I hope they don't turn around and take me back to Batuu, Senari thought mournfully, retching pathetically into the bucket that he wasn't sure how he'd gotten. He wasn't sure what the Jedi looked at in terms of Padawans, but one that could fly through space was surely a part of the tests.

After everything seemed to be out of his stomach, Senari was curled up on the bench, cringing each time the ship bumped or shifted. The other initiate had forfeited his blanket so Senari could use it as a makeshift pillow, and he was bundled up as he shivered violently.

"Can you tell me a story?" Senari asked the other kid between chattering teeth. He'd never been this sick in his life, and with a shudder of fear, he worried that he'd somehow gotten what had killed his mother.

The other kid huffed quietly. "I don't know any stories."

"Can you make one up then? Please, it..." Senari's whimpered a bit when the ship lurched again, curling further into a ball. "...it will help me sleep," Senari insisted, cracking his hazel eyes open to see the other initiate sitting on the floor across from him, looking incredibly uncomfortable and fussing with the frayed clothing he was wearing.

There was a long time where it was just the sickening, dizzying hum of hyperspace, and Senari was about to ask again when the other kid spoke up.

"Once upon a time, there was a....lothcat."

"What was the lothcat's name?" Senari instantly asked, his eyes fluttering open again as he peered at his new friend. The other kid hadn’t introduced himself, even when Senari had asked for his name and given his own, but maybe the kid was just shy. He'd like to start training to be a Jedi having at least one friend he knew.

"Uh....Spot."

"What color was he?" Senari pressed, interest rising.

"He had...uh...he had brown fur with black streaks."

Senari cracked one eye open again to look at the other kid dubiously. "A striped lothcat named Spot?"

Dark eyes glared balefully over at him from across the ship. "Do you want the story or not?" the other kid said with a measure of exasperation that didn't belong in a child.

"I want the story, I'm sorry," Senari mumbled, pressing his fist that had a corner of the blanket wrapped around it against his mouth so he didn't speak up again. It was easier to ignore the cramping in his stomach when he was focused on something else, and he didn't want to bother the Jedi Knights even more. He hadn’t even made it to the Jedi Temple, and he already felt like he didn’t belong.

The other kid sighed, his hands twisting in his lap, but continued. "Spot had to leave his den. His family was hungry, and he had to go hunting. Spot found the trail of a pine mouse, and started to follow it away from his den. While in the forest, Spot got turned around, and he became lost. Night was falling, and the trees..."

Senari couldn't focus on the words for very long, quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of the gentle, soft voice stumbling a little over the requested made-up tale. In his head, he saw the lothcat cub, sneaking through the forest and climbing towering trees to escape and outsmart the spine-wolves that were chasing it.

The other youngling shivered a little, having given up his blanket for the Senari to use. He'd also had to take off his coat, since the other had inadvertently gotten sick on it when the ship had entered hyperspace. Left in nothing but the ragged clothing he'd been given, space was achingly cold, and he found himself wishing for something more than the thin tunics and leggings--

You are the heir to Serenno. Do not WHINE.

The youngling visibly flinched at the cruel voice in his memory, curling his arms around his knees and unable to stop his frame from trembling slightly.

The other child—Senari, the messy dark-haired kid told him—frowned in his sleep when his voice died out, so he started again, focusing on the story about the hunting lothcat finding its way back to its den, even though his audience had fallen asleep a while ago.

It was easier to focus on soothing the other child than reliving the past few weeks of his life in his nightmares.

When the Jedi Knights checked back in on the two new initiates, they weren’t surprised to see them tucked in close together. The one that had gotten sick almost immediately after take-off was curled up on the metal bench, wrapped in a blanket. The other child was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bench, his head pillowed on his thin arm. Both had been taken from their homes rather abruptly, though one was happy to go, and the other had been rescued from a horrifying fate.

“I can’t believe that he was ordered to be executed for being Force-sensitive. By his own family, no less,” the female Knight muttered under her breath, turning back towards the cockpit with a shake of her head tails. “I thought the royals of Serenno were more tolerant.”

“Just be glad that we made it in time, and thank the Force for the servant who made the distress call,” the male Togruta replied wearily, data pad in hand, typing out a message for the Jedi Temple detailing their mission's success, and the additional youngling they had found on Batuu.

The two younglings were delivered to the Creche Master, Marcus Ozan, within the next twenty-four hours. The one that had gotten space sick seemed to be cured the second solid ground was underneath his feet, and almost dragged his companion with him as he rushed through the Jedi Temple, trying to look at everything at once, before skidding to a halt in front of the waiting Jedi Master.

"Welcome to the Temple creche, younglings. I'm Master Ozan. What are your names?" Ozan greeted the two boys kindly. Ozan was an older male Nautolan, with dark green head tendrils that reached down the small of his back. Ozan had been the creche Master for the past seventeen years, after being permanently taken off active duty from a severe injury while working as a Knight. He could sense the Force brimming around the two new human boys and nearly two decades of instinct told him that these two would definitely advance and become Padawans.

To the Creche Master's amusement, the very excited youngling introduced themselves as Senari Kane. The initiate then immediately launched into his life story and how he'd ended up with the Jedi Knights, starting with who he suspected his father was, how the Hutts probably had him killed for trying to steal from them, to his mother's death, and describing the entire outpost that had raised him as a community. The hazel-eyed Senari spoke as much as the dark-eyed one remained silent, Ozan noted with rising amusement. The two boys were in the same age group, six years for their human species, though the quiet one seemed a bit underfed. Since it was difficult to confirm actual birth dates with initiates the Jedi bring in from all over the galaxy, the Temple regarded a youngling's new namedate the day they arrive at the temple. The two would share the same nameday, and would be in the same training group.

Ozan glanced behind the two boys at the Jedi who had escorted them, Senari still chattering away happily, and chuckled under his breath at the waves of exhaustion that were pouring off the two green Knights. He had a growing suspicion that Senari's voice had been a constant drone during their long flight from the Outer Rim to Coruscant.

"—and this is my friend I met on the ship. He made me feel better when I got sick after we took off, and he told me a story so I could fall asleep. Uh...he never told me his name," Senari said a bit sheepishly, looking to his side at the other boy. With a few nudges and encouraging smiles, the youngling next to Serani met the Creche Master's gaze with guarded dark eyes.

"I am Yan Dooku. I look forward to being in your care, Master Ozan," the child said with a cadence of stiff, learned formality that came from being born and raised into a cold, restricted environment. Yan bowed his head slightly, but kept the Nautolan in his sight as he tried not to tug at the hem of his tunic anxiously.

Senari frowned a bit, that weird feeling he got when someone was being dishonest coming back to him. The Knights had said it the Force calling out to him, but Senari liked Nan Ingrid's name for it—'a bantha-shit detector'—better. No, he doesn't. He’s not lying, but he’s not being honest….oh, he's trying to be nice, and he's scared. That makes more sense than Yan lying, Senari reasoned, already fond of his companion. The other youngling seemed to be as surprised at the formality as the Creche Master, though the youngling spoke out first.

"Yan's a better name than Spot, you should have used that for your story," Senari joked with a broad smile.

Yan wrinkled his nose slightly, huffing again with as much dignity as he could manage. “You’re the one that looks more like a lothcat cub,” Yan muttered back. Senari was dusty from his home world of Batuu, and was still padding comfortably around the Jedi Temple without any shoes on his feet. He had long, wavy black hair down to his shoulders, with bangs that fell into his eyes almost constantly. Yan knew, from holding it back as the space-sick kid retched, that it was softer than some of the fur throws in his home.

No, Serenno isn't my home. Mother—the Countess sentenced me to death, and I can't go back. The Temple is my home now.

Yan’s morose thoughts were interrupted when Senari's head tilted back and he laughed, and Yan's mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile at the infectious sound that lit up the halls.

Master Ozan guided the two new younglings back into the creche, where they were given a few sets of their small initiate robes and their hair was trimmed to the appropriate length for a youngling. Senari bemoaned the loss of his hair, but he was placated with the assurance that he could grow it out when he was Knighted. Ozan noticed that Yan visibly tensed when he was guided into the exam room for a medical check-up, becoming even more guarded and almost curling into himself.

After they were deemed healthy and fed, the two boys were guided to their rooms—padawans that age had a roommate, compared to the communal room the toddlers shared—and Senari spent a good thirty minutes trying to convince Master Ozan that he'd be better off paired up with Yan than with a complete stranger, standing firm outside the door to his assigned room.

"You'll still see Yan at meals, in classes, and during your free time. Unless there's another reason why you think you should room together; something you haven't told me?" Master Ozan prodded, dark black, lidless eyes gazing down at the youngling questioningly.

Senari hesitated. He didn't know what the feeling was, but he knew that if they were separated, Yan wouldn't be able to sleep. He couldn't tell the Jedi that, it didn't make sense to himself, so Sen hung his head dejectedly and his shoulders slumped forward.

"No, sir," Senari mumbled, glancing to the side and watching Yan's back disappear, the other boy following another Jedi towards the opposite end of the wing, to his assigned room without complaint. "I just wanted to thank him, for being nice when I was sick. That's all."

The partial lie felt bitter on his tongue, but the creche Master seemed to accept it without question. "Being space-sick is a common illness that even the most seasoned Jedi can get," Ozan sympathized. "Now let's introduce you to your roommate. She's a human, and her name is Jocasta Nu..."

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Yan turned thirteen the night he almost died in the Temple.

His roommate since he'd arrived at the temple, Ziarr Estevan, was his polar opposite. Yan was bookish, quiet, at the top of his class, and wholly focused on his studies and training to become a Jedi Knight. Ziarr was lazy, lacked discipline, charismatic and popular with other younglings. He found nothing wrong in using others to help his test scores or finish his homework.

But with their thirteenth year approaching, where younglings without a Jedi Master to claim them would be sent to the AgriCorps, Ziarr went through a brash episode of desperation. Ziarr had often used Yan with the facade of actual friendship, and Yan had fallen for it every time. Driven by his own loneliness, he continually offered to 'help' Zairr catch up on his work—where 'help' meant he started and finished the assignments and handed them over to Ziarr—only to be abandoned and ignored once again when his usefulness had run dry.

The two roommates were in the same Jedi Philosophy class, and in saber skills. Yan dreaded going to the training salle, where he knew he'd leave exhausted, humiliated, and covered in lightsaber burns from being on the brunt end of Ziarr's aggressive attacks. No matter how much he trained in private, Zairr always managed to get under his skin before class and it followed him to the training room. There were already whispers about Jedi Knights and Masters passing over Zairr because of his poor grades and viciousness in lightsaber training. Yan had been bullied even more by his roommate and Ziarr's friends when Master Yoda, the GrandMaster of the Jedi Order, announced he'd be taking Yan as his Padawan.

Despite the ridicule of his fellow Initiates, Yan seemed to constantly run into Senari Kane, the one that had thrown up on him in the first few minutes of them meeting. Whether it was at meal times in the cafeteria, during free time, on the rare trips they took into Coruscant's sprawling city, or in the Archives, Yan seemed to turn every corner and Senari was waiting for him. Yan thought Kane was even more outrageous than Zairr, but in a better, wholesome way. They spoke a few times, mostly Senari chattering away as Yan waited for him to run out of breath, but after they'd spoken, Yan was in a better mood...until he caught sight of Zairr harassing Senari, too. Yan became determined not to put a target on anyone else's back. He'd gotten good at avoiding Senari, though Zairr and Senari continued to butt heads and get reprimanded by the Masters for their squabbles.

Zairr wasn't able to use Yan when it came to exams, however. The most recent frantic act was when Ziarr had broken into Master Giran's office to try to get a copy of the final Jedi Philosophy exam. When he'd gotten caught, he'd blamed Yan as the mastermind behind sending him to steal the test.

"They'll forgive you, Dooku, being Yoda's Padawan and all. You should take the fall for this, to help me out. I've been your only friend since you got here; everyone else thinks you're a freak. You would't want your only friend to be sent off to the AgriCorps over this misunderstanding, would you? Everyone would know you were the one that sent me there, if I get kicked out, and they'll hate you more," Zairr had told him, with a clear threat in his tone that had made Yan shiver with fear.

With those words bouncing around in his thoughts, when Yan was questioned, he had told the Jedi Masters the truth. Ziarr was found guilty, and had been secluded to the Temple's detention room with a guard, awaiting official expulsion by the Disciplinary Council.

Yan was trying to do his evening meditations laying on his bed, alone in the room for the first time. The quiet should have been comforting, but it only made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with apprehension. The Force was elusive, tense like a chronobow string, and he was about to give up when light suddenly cut through the dark room.

Yan sat up in his bed, confusion crossing his face as he looked at his roommate standing in the doorway, alone. "Ziarr? What are you doing here? Where's your guard?" Yan asked with confusion, the blankets getting tangled in his legs as he tried to swing his legs down onto the floor.

Ziarr grinned without humor, baring his teeth, making Yan shiver. There was a match lit between his fingers—the source of the sudden glow of light. "He won't be a problem anymore. I wanted to give you a goodbye present, Dooku; for everything you've done for me."

Yan watched the lit match drop from Ziarr's fingers in slow motion, and when it hit the carpeted floor, Yan’s breath froze in his throat. There must have been some kind of accelerant soaked into the carpet, because an unnatural pillar of fire sprung up from the point of contact in less than a blink. Yan heard himself scream in terror as a wall of flame roared towards him, consuming his side of the room and steadily creeping towards him.

Yan fell to the floor in a panicked heap, blankets twisted around him, and he forced himself to get up. He couldn't get past the fire, not without getting consumed by the inferno, so his only option was to escape through the window that was behind his desk. He put his hands on the thick glass, but it didn't even crack when he used every bit of Force he could muster, fueled by panic and fear.

The smoke filling the room was making him dizzy, and he couldn't catch his breath as he coughed and coughed. He tried to slam his fists against the glass, scream for help, but it was useless. The fire would reach him before anyone else could; it was the dead of night, and no one else was awake to see Ziarr's despicable act.

Remember Master Yoda's teachings. In emotion, there is peace. In death, there is only the Force, Yan chanted in his head as foul black smoke filled the room and his senses. Even though he'd been accepted as Master Yoda's padawan, he still felt terrified at the pain that was undoubtedly approaching.

How the flames would burn and charr his skin.

Dimly, Yan heard shouting on the other side of the conflagration quickly inching towards him, out in the hall.

"You bantha-fucking piece of shit!" Yan vaguely recognized the voice as Senari Kane, the youngling that had been accepted into the Temple alongside him. There was no mistake; no other youngling or Jedi Knight had such a colorful and horridly vulgar vocabulary, something Kane was reprimanded for constantly by the Masters. Immediately following the avid cursing, Yan heard Ziarr howling in pain. "Don't start whining now, you Hutt-sucking bastard, I'm going to throttle you until you turn as fucking blue as a Twi'lek! Jocasta, get help—the Masters, anyone! Fucking MOVE, Jo, Yan's still in there—Yan? YAN!"

In death, there is only the Force, Yan thought fuzzily, curling up on the floor as he tried to crawl underneath the smoking desk to shelter himself for as long as possible. His limbs weren't working properly, and even when he reached out to the Force, a sole comfort in his last moments, it mockingly eluded him.

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he felt was the cold slap of a wet cloth hitting him in the face, and then dragging over his body.

Yan jerked and he started coughing even worse, hands clutching to whatever was laying on top of him underneath a soaking set of robes.

Senari, Yan thought, or whispered deliriously. Not safe, too much heat. G't out, Yan tried to insist, but the words wouldn't form on his tongue, and couldn't get past his swollen throat. He couldn't be sure, but the Force—that had been so maddeningly absent in his panic earlier—was suddenly embracing him, reassuring him that he was finally safe.

"It's okay, it's okay Yan, I gotchu, I gotchu," a voice chanted above him, and Yan didn't even realize he was crying until the salty tears burned his lips and his throat. Yan buried his face in the solid weight, his vision already blurring and darkening. The last thing he felt was his head thudding against the singed carpeted floor of his room, and then nothing.

A few days later, Yan woke up in the Healing Wing, with Master Yoda sitting on his hoverchair next to him.

"Rest, you will," his Master ordered, and a data pad was given to him so he could type, his throat still raw from the smoke inhalation.

What happened? Yan asked first, his memory still hazy from the pain medication and being in and out of consciousness.

"Set on fire, your room was. For a day, in the bacta tank, you were," Yoda informed him, folding his tridactyl hands overtop his wooden cane.

Yan shuddered and huddled down deeper into the blankets that were around his chin. In a sickening rush, Yan saw Ziarr's evil grin, and the match slowly falling towards the floor in his mind's eye. He tried to piece everything together, remembering the frantic yelling and absurd cursing. Senari? I heard him yelling, I think.

"Attacked your roommate, Senari did. In his attempt to subdue him, hurt Zairr badly. Put himself in danger, too, running into the flames to find you. Being punished, he is."

"What?" Yan croaked, struggling to sit up more, and despite Yoda's scowl, he forced his tongue to move. "Senari saved my life, and—and—" He couldn't continue his incredulous thoughts, his lungs protesting as he wheezed and coughed enough to see dark spots in his vision, his chest burning. Refusing to let it go, Yan turned back to the data pad in his lap, angrily typing for a few long moments before he shoved it towards his future Master with a furrowed brow.

Sen is getting punished for stopping Ziarr, after Ziarr had hurt his guard and purposefully set our room on fire, with me in it? He wanted to kill me! What was Sen supposed to do, watch me burn to death and lament to the Force about a life being lost? This isn't fair, Master! Senari shouldn't be the one being punished. He rescued me. He's the reason I'm here, and not in the Halls of Remembrance. Yes, he's impulsive and crass and irritating, but he's a good person. Regardless of who was in that room, he would have ran in to save them. That is what a Jedi would do. That should not be punished!

Yoda made an unimpressive noise as he read Yan's protest, though he patted his future Padawan's arm when frustrated tears began to well in those dark eyes. "Rules he must learn, now. Follow the Council, he must, when he reaches Knighthood. Badly hurt, he could have been, breaching the flames," Yoda explained gently. "To a juvenile detention center off world, Ziarr was sent. No longer a threat to you, the boy is."

The stubborn, hot tears leaked out from the corners of Yan's eyes. The flames should have acted faster, consumed him before Senari realized what was going on. He couldn't save himself again, even when he had Force training and accepted to be apprentice of the GrandMaster of the Order. Someone else had to do it, someone risked their lives to help him, and they were being punished for it—

Yan felt something snap in his thoughts at the cold realization, and with a burst of the Force, the tablet in his lap went sailing across the room. It slammed against the wall and the screen cracked and splintered in a loud bang. Tears of shame quickly overflowed his earlier tears of frustration at the outburst, and Yan knew he was making pathetic, choked noises as he sobbed bitterly, his head cradled into his hands. All he could see in his head was Senari Kane hanging from a rope over a stone wall, his lifeless body swaying in the breeze. The logical part of his head wasn't working right, and couldn't discern reality from the past. He couldn't realize that Senari's punishment wasn't going to be death, not like the maid that had been kind enough to try to protect him on Serenno.

Yan knew he should receive a lecture on anger, and the danger such violent emotions had, but Yoda merely continued to pat his shoulder comfortingly with his tridactyl hand until the tears slowed, and his ragged sobs had tapered off. He was overwhelmed and tired, ready to pass out again from the waves of exhaustion that swept over him as soon as the storm of potent frustration and anger had left him.

Yoda's clawed hand summoned over a healer, and as more pain medicine pushed through his veins, Yan nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion alone. Yoda used the Force to draw the blankets back up around Yan's shoulders, and he slumped down against the pillow, the last of his outburst pouring out. "Relieved I am, you are still with us. Sorry you have lost a friend, I am."

Yan didn't need the broken data pad, as something hotter than anger seized his tongue, burning past the sharp pain in his throat. "Ziarr was never my friend."

Yan stayed in the Healing Wing for another night, and was released the next day with strict orders to continue his breathing exercises and a light duty order for training.

He spent most of his first day outside the Healing Wing giving his account of what had happened to the Council, though he was overly careful to avoid repeating what he'd overheard Senari shouting out in the hall. He didn't want to cause even more reasons why Senari was punished. When questioned about what he remembered happening outside his burning room, Yan only expressing his deep gratitude that a fellow youngling had stepped in and subdued Ziarr.

When he left the Council chambers, Yan heard through whispers that Senari had knocked Ziarr out cold with one punch to his face, breaking his nose and fracturing an eye socket in a single swing. Other, more ridiculous rumors spread that Senari used the Dark side of the Force to control Ziarr and the flames.

Yan believed the punch story more than the Dark side nonsense.

The damage to Yan's dorm room had been extensive, and all of Yan's belongings—the few things he had bought on a Jedi Padawan's meager credit allowance, and as a natural minimalist, he had even less than the usual Initiate—had been turned to ash and ruined. He was most upset over the data pad that had all his holonovels stored on it. Padawans had to be moved around until the hall's reconstruction was finished, and when Yan was given his new dorm assignment, he was shocked to find out it was Senari Kane.

Is this some sort of punishment? Yan thought balefully, holding his new, stiff set of Padawan robes in his hands as he balked outside the shut door panel. He'd tried to convince Master Yoda he could just move in with him then; Padawans stayed in the dorms until they were fourteen, then were moved into their Masters' apartments, but sometimes they were moved early due to special circumstances.

But Yoda had declined his feeble request, chiding him and saying that creating bonds with his fellow creche mates was an important part of his journey to become a Jedi. Yan’s thoughts whirled as to why he’d been assigned to Kane’s room as he hesitated outside the door. He tried to take a steadying breath, politely knocking first, then stepped in.

The lights were already mostly off, save for a lamp on the empty desk, and Yan didn't spot Senari at first. His new roommate—and the one that had saved his life—was already curled up in bed, facing the wall, back to the room. Yan wasn't much of a talker anyway, and the air was heavy with awkwardness, making his sore throat even tighter.

I just have to get through the night, and I can worry about apologizing to him tomorrow, Yan told himself, swallowing thickly as he shut the door panel. He wasn't quite sure what he should apologize for, but he could sense the other boy's exhaustion. If Yan had been able to defend himself, Senari wouldn't have been forced to save him and wouldn't have gotten punished.

He tried to be as quiet as possible as he put his tabards in the dresser and changed into his night robe. The lamp on the desk automatically dimmed and shut off as the curfew hour chimed. When he shuffled underneath the blankets, the darkness was another foreboding weight pressing down onto his chest. He'd always slept with a nightlight on, something Ziarr had tormented him endlessly over. He'd already gotten Senari in trouble by needing to be rescued, he could go without a nightlight. Yan tried to breathe and settle into a light meditation so he could fall asleep, even though his chest ached.

Yan wasn’t sure if hours or minutes passed, but he couldn’t rest. There was a lot of shuffling on the other side of the room. Blankets being adjusted, a pillow getting hit and fluffed a few times. Then Senari grumbled and sighed under his breath angrily.

Yan saw his roommate sit up in bed, then pad over to falter at the desk. Something clutched at Yan's stomach, and then he blinked when a gentle indigo light started to glow. Senari had turned on a small light that was shaped like a popular slime neko character that was on his desk, and the other youngling was biting his lower lip as he looked over at the other.

Yan was surprised when Senari’s hesitant voice cut through the semi-darkness.

"Can I sleep in your bed with you?" Senari asked without preamble, making Yan blink quickly with surprise. Out of everything he thought Senari was going to say, asking to sleep next to him was the last thing he was expecting. Before Yan could say anything, Senari hastily kept going. "I just—I sleep better if I'm cuddling someone, and Jo never minded because she was always cold and the blankets were too thin. I won't do anything weird, and I know you're probably mad at me, or you might think it's strange or against the Jedi Code, but I can't sleep because I keep seeing the fire when I close my eyes—"

"I'm not—" Yan's voice cracked, and he winced a little as his throat still protested any kind of speaking. He coughed a few times, and tried again. "I'm not mad at you," Yan finished on a rasp, like that was the most important thing to make clear. Senari had saved his life; anger towards the other initiate was the last thing he was feeling. Instead of trying to explain, and hurting himself even more, Yan nudged over on the mattress until his own back hit the wall to give Senari some room, and awkwardly patted the space next to him with a hand. He felt Senari's relief in the Force, a sudden jolt that he hadn’t expected tingling through his entire body. When was I able to sense him? Yan wondered, but the trail of thought was quickly abandoned as his roommate shuffled in place next to the desk and threw him a hesitant smile, one that made his dimples show.

Senari came over slowly, blanket and pillow in tow, giving Yan time to back out if he wanted. He climbed into the bed without much grace, making it bounce slightly under his weight. Yan felt his face heat up as Senari scooted in close instead of laying down on the open spot Yan had made for him. Sen wound his arms around Yan's shoulders and tucked the top of Yan's head underneath his chin, snuggling against the other boy. Sen hummed with sleepy happiness, already close to drifting off once he was comfortable. He was drained from spending most of his day repeatedly going over what he’d done when he saw Ziarr leaving the room with the flames sparking to life and casting him in an angry red glow to the Jedi Masters and the Disciplinary Council that oversaw younglings.

Senari stood in the Council chambers next to Master Ozan, still damp from being underneath the soaking, soot-covered cloak. He hadn’t fully remembered the insults he’d screamed as he slammed his outstretched arm into Ziarr’s chest and knocked him to the ground, but Sen knew it had been some of his best as he watched the footage play between him, Master Ozan, and the Jedi Council. On the recording, he barely heard the panicked cry over Ziarr's own howls of pain as Senari unleashed a flurry of blows on his smug face, but once he realized that Yan was still alive, he watched himself shout at Jocasta to run for the Masters.

Senari knew the exact moment that he’d felt Yan give up. His face on the recording visibly paled, and he’d stood in the doorway, rooted in place and watched the fire spiral closer to Yan’s crumpled form while he sensed Yan struggle to release his fear of pain and death to the Force.

At that point, Senari had snapped.

He’d never ran so fast in his damn life. He'd bolted for the nearest fountain, dunking his hooded cloak in it. Senari had flown back towards the raging inferno, underneath the sopping wet cloth. He'd barreled through the flames, covering Yan's unconscious body with his own.

Senari turned his attention to Master Ozan as the creche master began to address the Council. "As you can see from the security footage, Masters, young Senari acted bravely, albeit with his usual...eagerness," Ozan drawled with a heavy skeptical glance at the youngling who had caused his tentacles to go prematurely grey over the last few years when the video looped, and Senari's cursing cut through at a lower volume again.

"His actions were brave, yes, but his lack of restraint and the violence he displayed is concerning. He fractured Estevan's arm and gave him several contusions to his face," one of the Council members noted mildly. "Perhaps the youngling would like to explain his reasons for acting impulsively and with such rage."

Senari's teeth ground together, and Master Ozan put a heavy hand on his shoulder. He felt like he could explain himself a thousand times, but the Council would always find some fault in his reasons.

If he was going to be punished, he just wanted it over with. "The Force was uneasy, and I couldn't sleep. So I was walking through the hall when I heard the Force panic, and it was coming from Yan's room. When I got there, Estevan was standing in front of his room. He didn't even notice me, he was too busy watching Yan burn to death with the most twisted look on his pinched womp-rat face—"

The hand on his shoulder tightened comfortingly, and Senari took in a deep breath, trying to steady his voice and release the sudden rise of anger to the Force in front of the entire Council and the Creche Master. "I didn't know if he was going to hurt anyone else, and he was fighting back, so I subdued him. I told Jocasta to get help, and I knew by the time any Masters arrived, it would be too late for Yan. I don't regret my actions. I am a Jedi; when I was given my robes, I promised myself that I would rather die trying to help than live watching someone else get hurt," Senari said firmly, conviction and truth ringing out in the Force around him.

Senari didn't share the fact that the Force had whispered urgently to him when he'd been curled over Yan, guiding him to reach out with his own life force and let a bit of it flow into the unconscious boy, keeping the boy alive until they could both be rescued. It had triggered something else, and even in the Council's chambers, he could feel that Yan was suspended in a bacta tank in the Healing Wing, still unconscious.

One of the Masters that had responded to Jocasta Nu's shouts for help, a human man in his mid-fifties, looked at him curiously as Master Ozan addressed the members of the Council again.

"It's clear from the events that led to Ziarr Estevan's expulsion and his retaliation that the Force was at work when it roused young Senari from his room. I suggest that he undergoes a series of guided meditations with myself, to reflect on his impulsive emotions and to resolve them," Master Ozan said, and Senari tried not to groan audibly. Considering he could have been expelled for attacking another initiate--even though the initiate was already expelled, and had hurt his sentinel guard and tried to kill Yan—meditations with Master Ozan wasn't the worst punishment he could be given. At least Yan's alive, Senari thought with a flutter of relief in his chest.

"D'ya mind if Spot stays on? I can turn it off if it bothers you," he murmured, knowing that Yan wanted the soft periwinkle nightlight left on. If Sen framed it like he was the one that needed it, the stubborn youngling would be more reluctant to turn it off.

It was another thing that had pissed Sen off to no end; Ziarr had felt no shame in making fun of his roommate when it got him a round of laughs from his squad of followers. Sen had gotten plenty of cleaning duty punishments for going off on the asshole when he overheard Ziarr talking about Yan that way, when he saw how Yan tried to forgive the prick, and he was so lonely, he’d seek out any sort of companionship. It made Sen’s heart ache fiercely, but he could never seem to get the dark-haired, dark eyed boy to talk to him. Yan had the tendency to avoid him like the plague, despite how much Senari tried to get their schedules to line up.

To be fair, the first day they met, Sen had thrown up all over Yan. But after a few years, Senari couldn't shake that feeling he'd done something more than get sick on him as a child that caused Yan to avoid him so much.

Yan shook his head against Senari's chest, the tension easing out of him bit by bit. The soft purple light was soothing as the feeling of warmth surrounding him, his hands tucked into the space between his body and Sen. After a while of listening to Senari's steady breathing, and his heartbeat thudding against his cheek, Yan's lips parted.

"Thank you for saving me," Yan whispered into Sen.

Senari didn't answer, but his arms curled around Yan tighter, hugging him close.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Over the next few tendays, Yan and Senari slowly became friendly with each other.

Slow was a subjective term for the two. Senari had launched head-first into the new roommate assignment, wanting to train together, eat together, study together, and even meditate together with Yan, a constant upbeat shadow. The dark-eyed thirteen year old was more apprehensive, but Senari could sense in the Force that it didn't come from a place of callousness or dislike.

Yan Dooku was just an awkward, overly-formal soul who took his place in the Jedi Order as an Initiate profoundly seriously. Senari's favorite joke was that Yan was an eighty-year-old Master trapped in the body of a teenager, and it got him scowled at by Yan on a daily basis.

One day after his astromech class had ended, Senari was bubbling with the effort it took to walk slowly back towards the dorms, going into their room as calmly as he could without giving away the big news. Yan had already finished his homework--he kept a week ahead of assignments, something that always baffled Sen—and was reading from a data pad at his desk. His bed was always neatly made as soon as he left it well before dawn, and was only for sleeping, never for lounging.

"Senari, welcome back," Yan greeted him with his refined accent, something that Sen couldn't help but enjoy and tease his roommate about. After living with Yan for over a month, it was clear that their upbringing was vastly different. Yan, who had been born on the dignified and wild planet Serenno to the most powerful House on the planet, had impeccable manners and was the model student. Sen had grown up on a dusty outpost on Batuu, and was what Master Ozan called a 'free spirit'—something Sen suspected was more of a frustrated insult than a characterization of his personality. The two couldn't have been more opposite each other, but Sen was happier with Yan than when he'd been rooming with Jocasta. "Would you join me to practice saber forms in the salle this evening?"

Senari knew why Yan was asking, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. A few of the Jedis that were looking to claim a Padawan would often gather in the training salle after dinner to informally scope out the potential, and Sen felt a rush of warmth go through him. Yan was so worried that he wouldn't find a Jedi to teach him, and was practically canvassing Sen to any Jedi that would stop for more than two seconds and listen to him. He's just being nice because you're his friend, Sen reminded himself as he squished down hope that it was due to something more. He'd already recognized pretty early that he was developing feelings for his roommate that weren't allowed, and Jocasta had already listened to his worries and consoled him several times.

"Nah, I'm good," Sen brushed him off as he slung his outer robes off his shoulders, dumping them on the floor next to his bed. He hopped onto the still-messy blankets and kicked his boots off, letting them thunk down over the end of the bed. He snickered underneath his breath as Yan used the Force to lift the rumpled brown fabric into the air and place the clothing in the hamper in the corner of the room.

"Senari, our final Selection Ceremony is a few cycles away," Yan fretted, setting the data pad aside and wringing his hands together with clear anxiety.

Sen couldn't help but notice that whenever Yan was talking about something Sen should worried about, he always included himself. Yan shouldn't be fussing over the staryear; he was already chosen by Yoda. But he still said our final Selection Ceremony, like Yan had a chance of being sent to the AgriCorps. It made Sen feel even more fuzzy in his stomach and head.

"Oh, is it? I hadn't noticed," Sen commented airily, because he knew it would make his roommate frown at him. If Yan gets sent to the AgriCorps, I'll eat my own boots, he snorted in his thoughts.

Yan's mouth turned downwards, and Sen's plan nearly failed at it. "I asked Knight Tadesu and Master Vogt to watch us spar. Once they see what you can do, how strong you are in the Force, they'll--"

Sen bit back another smile and reached for his own data pad and stylus, two of the three things he kept in good condition because he drew with them. "They can watch all they want, but it won't change anything," Senari murmured with a thick layer of mystery in his tone, even twitching his brows at his roommate.

Yan's frown deepened, the gears churning in his thoughts. "Won't change anything? You don't mean that, Senari, what..."

He couldn't hold back anymore; Yan was too easy to tease, and Senari's patience was at its end. He grinned broadly, his hand going to the little tuft of hair that was behind his right ear, where the braid would begin to grow. "They can't claim a Padawan that already has a Master," Senari emphasized with a ripple of sheer joy flowing through the Force.

Yan's dark eyes widened with surprise, and then he gave Senari one of his rare smiles, the one that lit up his entire face and made his dark amber gaze sparkle. "Senari, that's wonderful. Who is it?" Yan asked.

Sen wrinkled his nose a little, slumping against the pillows. "A Senior Padawan teacher, Master Tho-Mas Drei. He was one of the Jedi that helped put out the fire in your old room. He's a little boring, I think, but it's better than being shipped off to the AgriCorps. Jo and a couple of the other Initiates were going to sneak out tonight to celebrate and hang out. You wanna come?" Sen asked as casually as he could, but his tone sounded too eager to his own ears.

A soft flush spread across Yan's cheeks, and he shifted in his chair, turning the data pad back on. "Uh...I appreciate the invitation, but I think I'll pass," Yan mumbled. He wasn't sure why Senari kept inviting him to hang out with the other Initiates. Ever since Zairr had been kicked out of the Order, the group of followers that he'd gathered had been making a point to show who they thought was responsible. Senari wasn't in that circle, but he wasn't exactly making things easier. Yan appreciated that he wasn't completely alone anymore, though he had no clue what Senari got out of spending time with him. Senari refused to let Yan help him with his classwork, and besides sparring together, Senari didn't ask Yan to do anything except be in his company.

After being used by Zairr for most of his life at the temple, the difference was jarring to Yan.

Senari tried to hide it, but Yan felt the sting of disappointment through the Force before Senari shielded better. Why would he be disappointed that I'm not coming? Yan wondered, wasting time by staring at the same screen on his data pad for a while without reading anything. Senari had put his headphones on and was drawing, something he did most evenings to unwind. Every time he saw Senari engrossed in what he was creating, his hazel eyes half-lidded and a bit glassy from his focus, Yan had the urge to ask to see what was being sketched onto the data pad.

Suddenly, those hazel eyes were gazing back at him, and Yan flushed darker as he realized he'd been caught rudely staring. "I—I'm sorry—"

Sen pulled the headphones down around his neck and arched a brow. "Do you want to look?" Senari asked, patting a spot on his unkempt bed. "It's gotta be more exciting than whatever boring holonovel you're reading," Sen teased.

"My novels aren't boring," Yan muttered a little indignantly, but he obediently slid out of his chair and sat down on the edge of Senari's bed. He moved his legs up, their shoulders pressed against each other, and his curiosity overtook his embarrassment. Yan leaned over a bit more to see what Senari was drawing, and he was met with a detailed sketch of the gardens in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Yan instantly recognized it as the secluded area Senari liked to escape to, with a waterfall coming down from the seven-story ceiling that emptied into the middle of a deep pool. The narrow end of the oval basin continued as a stream that cut through the gardens. The shore of the pool was surrounded by moss-covered boulders and oversized ferns that led into a hidden patch of grass dotted with small flowers. It felt like he was staring at the gardens through a window, the colors dark and the lighting of the piece showed Coruscant's constant glow, even during the night.

"This is amazing," Yan blurted out with clear shock, and he instantly felt more heat flood into his face. The first thing he did was act like he was expecting Senari to be horrible, and he stumbled over his words. "I didn't mean that I thought you'd be bad, but I wasn't expecting—you're very good, you have a natural talent, Senari," Yan ended lamely, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear in shame.

Senari didn't take his words to heart, though, laughing his infectious laugh good-naturedly as he settled back against the pillows and got comfortable. Yan, not wanting to be even more awkward, leaned back too, looking up at Senari with dark, sheepish eyes. "The data pad is nice, but I want to try canvas and oil paints eventually. It's expensive as Sith hells, though," Senari complained, exiting out of the project with a few quick taps. The screen was then filled with dozens of in-progress works, and Yan could have sworn that a few of them were familiar profiles.

"If this is what you can do with a data pad, maybe you missed your calling," Yan murmured, and somehow he found the side of his head resting comfortably against Senari's shoulder. Senari was always warm, and since that first night, they'd always shared a bed once curfew hit and Sen tore himself away from his drawing tablet. Yan hadn't needed to banish the fear that gripped him from his experience earlier in life, because every night Senari asked if it was okay, and every night Yan scooted over to make room for the other boy.

And Yan knew that if he said no, if he hesitated, Senari wouldn't push him on it. The slime nightlight always stayed on, and Senari had never spoken a single word about it, only asking if Yan had any batteries for it when they needed replaced and he couldn't find any. His nightmares had decreased significantly, too, since rooming with Senari, despite almost burning to death.

I wonder if it's because I can sense that he would never hurt me, Yan thought idly, his blinks getting longer and more frequent as he watched the stylus between Senari's fingers dart over the data pad with fluent, confident strokes. He'd do this for anyone, though, it's just how Sen is...

After a half hour of working on a new sketch, Sen glanced over at the sound of gentle breathing. Yan had fallen asleep on his shoulder, pressed against his side, and even though his neck was killing him, and his back was twinging from the awkward angle his spine was bent in, he refused to move.

You idiot, Sen sighed balefully at himself. Yan's startled praise had shot right through his heart, making him glow with pride that he rarely felt. He didn't care that he was going to miss the party; Jocasta was only going because her crush would be there, and Sen would much rather spend the night with Yan than with a bunch of other Initiates that didn't genuinely like him.

Yan's dark lashes were casting delicate, thin shadows across his cheeks as Coruscant's sun dipped closer the sprawling horizon, and Senari felt his chest ache. It was nearly impossible to focus on drawing when Yan was snuggled against him like this, and he let the tablet power down from inactivity as he gazed at the boy asleep on his shoulder. He lifted his hand with the stylus balanced between his fingers, and he gently brushed Yan's soft cheek with the back of one finger. The other boy sighed without making a sound and nuzzled into the touch with a tiny movement, and his breath was light and warm against the back of Sen's hand.

Senari swallowed hard and he let his hand fall down onto his lap, leaning his head back against the wall. He couldn't keep telling himself that he saw Yan as his best friend, and that was why he wanted to spend every moment with him. All the Initiates had gotten the 'your bodies are starting to change' and 'attachment is forbidden for Jedi' lecture, but Sen's had been different than the other human boys. Healer Aether Ruzea had been factual and blunt that Sen wasn't fully human, but a subspecies that was common along the Outer Rim territories. The Healer had given Sen a few data files he could read over if he had any other questions, as well as instructions about what to do when he presented. He hadn't paid much attention after he was told he was even more different than all the other Padawans. He wouldn't have to worry about that until he was older, at least, but the confusion—and the tinge of fear—wasn't helping his emotions settle the few times he managed to meditate. He had a serious crush on his roommate, but he wanted to become a Jedi, too.

He wanted to fight at Yan's side, protecting the galaxy together. He saw it so clearly, the Force showing him little flashes of the future, where they were Knights on missions at each other's side. The Force wouldn't lie to him, but the Masters clearly laid down the rules about emotions and attachment. Sen groaned in his thoughts as he closed his eyes, trying not to disturb the sleeping Padawan on his shoulder. I'm so fucked.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Yan and Senari were both moved into their respective Masters' quarters when they turned fourteen. In a dash of self-deprecation, Yan honestly believed that once they had stopped being roommates, Senari would stop wanting to spend time with him because it had been convenient to be friends. He was pleasantly shocked, and confused, when Senari kept wanting to spar with him, study with him—though Senari never really studied, he drew or bugged Yan—and even spend his evenings with Yan.

When living together, the daily chores were divided amongst the Master and the Padawan. Since Yoda was GrandMaster of the Order, most of the cleaning was taken care of by service droids, but Yan didn't mind doing laundry. He found the menial tasks to be calming, where he could switch his body to autopilot and let his thoughts wander as he cleaned. Senari had complained that his Jedi Master became so engrossed in his own research that he forgot to eat, and Yan found himself making dinner for four on a nightly basis. It wasn't something that was a bother; he enjoyed cooking, and it meant that Senari was over at Master Yoda's quarters most evenings to dine with them, help Yan wash dishes, and bring Master Drei's portion back to the other Jedi's apartment.

Every time Senari rolled up his sleeves to start filling the sink with hot water, his forearms getting stronger, muscles becoming corded, from the more intense saber training they were doing, Yan felt his stomach flutter weirdly, and he fell into awkward periods of long silence or mumbled answers as Senari chatted happily, unaware of Yan's predicament and confusion.

One night fairly early into their apprenticeship, Yan had made a large pot of hearty stew, with cubed meat, root vegetables, and two loaves of fresh bread. Yoda was still in Council with the other Jedi Masters, and Senari hadn't shown up for the meal, so Yan had eaten alone in the uncomfortable silence, going so far as to turn on the holoscreen during his meal for some kind of background noise.

He'd already separated the leftovers into individual portions in the silent apartment, glancing towards the door every few minutes as he started on the dishes. He hadn't seen Senari in a few days, not even in their classes. He'd foolishly been looking forward to showing off the lightsaber hilt he'd created earlier that week. Yoda had even been impressed with the design, and when he'd ignited it, the crystal had revealed a vibrant cyan blade.

Did I do something to upset him? Yan fretted, washing the same clean cup for the past few minutes as he racked his brain to try to come up with the offending thing he'd done that had made his friend avoid him.

Yan jolted in place when the door panel to the apartment slammed open, the cup slipping from his wet hands. The ceramic mug fell against the bottom of the sink and shattered into jagged pieces with a loud crack, and Yan felt his heart leap into his throat. He whirled around to see Senari panting in the entrance to the kitchen, gripping the side of the wall with one hand, haggard and utterly disheveled.

"What in the damn Force Senari—" Yan started to hiss, using an extremely rare curse as his heart pounded against his sternum.

Senari ignored his scolding, striding over with dark bruises underneath his bloodshot hazel eyes and grabbed Yan by his shoulders in an iron hold. "I need you to pick a number between one and one hundred," Senari said with as much seriousness as Yan had ever heard come from the hazel-eyed Padawan.

"You want me to what?" Yan repeated sharply, taking in how Senari looked like he hadn't slept in days, dark black hair sticking up, and his tabards were wrinkled and obviously hadn't been changed for a while. "You look terrible. Are you drunk?" Yan questioned with growing concern, trying to grab Senari's chin with his thumb and forefinger to see if his pupils were dilated and uneven.

Senari jerked his chin away from Yan's grip with a frustrated noise bursting out from his throat. "I'm not fucking drunk, Yan! I haven't slept in three days and this is literally driving me insane and I just need you to pick a fucking number," Senari bit back, shaking Yan's shoulders a little with emphasis.

Yan nearly threw his soapy hands in the air, but he swallowed his own protests. He'd find out what the Sith hells was going on with his friend later, maybe when Senari was under observation in the Healing Wing and wasn't acting like a maniac. "Fine, fine, I hear you, keep your braid on. I pick—I pick eighty-three," Yan muttered, a blush rising in his face the longer Senari held his shoulders so tightly, barely a few inches between them.

Senari's brow furrowed deeply as he thought, and it took him a few more minutes than usual to recall the exact design that Yan had chosen in his mind. He'd come up with so fucking many over the past three days, they were all blurring together in a congealed blob. Not a single one of them felt right, until Yan had spoken.

It was like Yan had just told the other Padawan the ancient Jed'hai secrets to unlock the full Light of the Force. Senari bent in even closer and pressed his forehead against Yan's, a shudder going down Senari's entire body that Yan felt reverberate through his own frame. Yan had to accept most of the other's weight to keep Senari from slumping down onto the floor, shock ringing through him. Should I call for Master Yoda? Or—or a healer? he fretted again, his arms winding underneath Senari's shoulders as the other apprentice leaned more against him, their chests and hips melding together.

"Eighty-three. Of course. Thank you, Yan," Senari mumbled on a heavy sigh, his hazel eyes fluttering closed for a few moment with palpable relief. Senari's left hand, his fingertips and the heel of his palm stained black with charcoal or ink or whatever he had been drawing with, rose up and cupped Yan's cheek, warm and almost feverish. His thumb dragged down the corner of Yan's mouth, leaving a dark grey smudge behind on the side of his chin.

Yan's bottom lip was tugged on gently, and his mouth parted automatically as his stomach leapt up to join his heart in his throat. He could feel Senari's shaky breath ghosting across his skin, and their noses were bumping together softly. Yan could sense Senari's discombobulation through the Force, and his overwhelming exhaustion. Whatever Senari had been doing, it had taken a harsh toll on the apprentice. An abrupt surge of warmth filled Yan's chest as he realized that in Senari's time of dire need, he'd turned to him, above anyone else he knew.

But the moment Yan's traitorous brain registered how close their bodies and their faces were, and how he actually wanted to press a little bit more against the other Padawan, Senari had already snapped out of the brief state of dormancy. A fervent light sparked back in his green and brown eyes as they bored into Yan's dark hues, and Yan could sense a sudden rise of hunger coming from Senari when those earth and forest eyes flicked down to gaze at his parted mouth.

For one wild second, Yan thought Senari would tilt his head forward the last inch that was between them and kiss him. His breath caught in his throat, thoughts spinning wildly. He knew that the other Initiates had already kissed long before they had been made Padawans, but this would be Yan's first. He'd tried to be a good Jedi, to release those feelings of longing to the Force, but his dreams betrayed him. They showed him images eerily similar to this moment, including the Padawan that was staring slightly up at him—wait, up? When did I get taller than Senari? Yan thought with a rush of distracted shivers. His head was bent down so their foreheads could press together more comfortably, he was definitely getting taller than his friend.

But the other apprentice merely stared into his dark eyes for a split second with burning intensity before Senari's tongue dashed across his lips to dampen them. Yan could have sworn he felt the tiniest brush against his own mouth, but he couldn't be sure. "I'll come by later," Senari promised, voice shot through with gravel. He squeezed Yan's face between his hands, his thumbs stroking over Yan's cheekbones almost lovingly before Senari whirled out almost as fast as he'd entered.

The door panel slid open and then shut again, and Yan was left in the kitchen alone, more disheveled than Senari had been when he'd burst in. Yan's quivering hand covered his mouth, and he sagged against the sink as he tried not to shake. What in the Sith hells was that? he gasped in his thoughts, desperately ignoring the sudden hardness that had emerged underneath his Padawan robes when Senari had leaned against him, and looked at him with such fervor. I should...I should meditate, before Master Yoda comes back. Usually he was open with his Master about issues that were bothering him, but what had just occurred in the kitchen—and how he was a bit...deflated that he hadn't been kissed—was something Yan didn't want anyone else to know about.

Senari Kane was going to be Tho-Mas Drei's first, and last, Padawan.

When Senari had faced down the Disciplinary Council after nearly throttling another child and running straight into a burning room with nothing but a soaking robe to protect him, Drei had been impressed with the youngling's resolve. The explanation—I promised myself that I would rather die trying to help than live watching someone else get hurt—had sent a shudder down Drei's spine, the Force ringing out with utter truth and conviction coming from such a young soul.

It hadn't been a practiced line, something rehearsed to ensure he wasn't punished. It had come from the youngling's heart, and it had spoken to Drei enough to keep tabs on the Initiate.

There had been other choices that would have fit Drei's own personality and methods far better, but after Kane's display of heroism and bravery, Drei lamented that it would be a loss to have Kane sent to the AgriCorps without reaching his full potential. So he'd offered to train Kane after the youngling's punishment had been completed, and the youngling hadn't complained about his additional meditations and community service once.

Living with a willful Padawan had been an adjustment in itself. Drei was sure that Kane never stopped talking, even in his sleep. When his Padawan tried to study, the few times he actually did during the week, he was talking to himself in his room, trying to work out ways to remember important information. Drei had been forced to petition to reinforce Senari's walls with soundproof coating so he wasn't driven to madness within the first two weeks. On top of the constant noise, his Padawan refused to adhere to the curfew, staying up until the dark hours of the early morning and sleeping in as late as he could get away with.

Drei hadn't heard anything from Senari's room for a few hours, which was alarming. His apprentice had been wholly consumed with constructing his lightsaber after he'd retrieved the kyber crystal that would power it, but after three days, Senari hadn't been able to decide on a design. His Padawan was highly gifted in the classical art of drawing and sketching, and Drei had looked the other way when Senari had skipped a few days of classes. A lightsaber was a Jedi's most important possession, and he remembered his own distress when trying to create one. Senari had asked Drei multiple times what his thoughts were on the dozens upon dozens of designs he'd sketched, but Drei had gently, and firmly, insisted that Senari had to decide for himself what he wanted his saber to reflect about himself.

Drei hesitated in front of Senari's room. He had established when Senari had moved into his apartments that his Padawan's room was his own personal space, and Drei wouldn't intrude on that privacy unless there was an emergency. While not hearing a single curse or laugh in six hours isn't an emergency, he can't maintain this obsessive fervency without physical repercussions, Drei reasoned, entering the override code and poking his head inside. He's drank enough caff to kill a mudhorn these past few days, and he needs to sleep or he'll end up in a bacta tank.

Drei's brows rose up into his hair as he saw the utter wreckage; Senari's room was always in a state of untidiness, but this looked like a hurricane had blown through. Crumpled sheets of tracing paper covered the floor, the desk, and even Senari's bed. His Padawan seemed to finally have fallen asleep, curled up on his side on the wrong end of the bed and snoring with his mouth open.

A finished silver and black lightsaber hilt was underneath his hand, and Drei's brow ticked up again as he saw how long it was, though Senari never mentioned wanting to wield a dual-sided saber. It was easily twice the length of a standard issue, and he noticed Senari's initial in Galactic Basic etched into the bottom of the hilt in an embellished claim. Drei couldn’t count how many times he’d already had to lecture his apprentice on the Jedi Code of limited possessions and humility. Senari didn’t brag often, despite his natural talent in the arts and in the Force, but he had a bad habit of being possessive over material objects that were given to him. Drei suspected it came from being raised on Batuu, where Senari didn't have much besides patchwork clothing.

The tracing that it was modeled after was plastered underneath Senari's cheek. Curiosity nudged Drei to lean down to examine what he could see, and he could make out an #83 scribbled in the corner of the page. There was another note underneath the number going down the side in Senari's hasty and barely legible penmanship; Yan chose this one.

Drei sighed as quietly as he could without waking his Padawan, unfolding a blanket with the Force and covering Senari's unconscious frame with it. He'd have to sweeten Master Lorne about excusing Senari's absence in saber practice again for the morning, but it wasn't like he was going to indulge in the Alderaanian wine himself.

Drei turned down the lights in his Padawan's room and lowered the window shade. He’d have a droid leave cold breakfast in the kitchen, since he was certain Senari would wake up more ravenous than usual. He paused in the doorway as his apprentice stirred on the unkempt bed.

"M'ster?" Senari mumbled, his dark lids blinking open sleepily, rubbing one eye with the heel of an ink-stained palm. "I finished it," he reported with as much pride as he could manage, tucking the saber hilt further into his chest, pressing it flush against his heart with his other hand.

Drei smiled gently down at the exhausted boy. "I saw, Padawan. It looks impressive, and I'm eager to see it put to good use in the training salle. Now rest," Drei commanded, and he used a ripple of the Force to encourage his apprentice to fall back asleep. Drei was originally going to return to his research in the archives, but instead chose to prepare tea and meditate in the living room. He was going to enjoy the sole day of peace and quiet while his Padawan caught up on sleep as much as he could.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

When the Initiates graduated to Padawans at the Temple, the older age groups began to study and test out advances katas to focus on a single lightsaber form they would master in the future. Their first lesson took place in the main training salle, the expansive room where the Padawan Selection Ceremony was hosted each year. The massive space had a domed ceiling, with arched open-air windows that seamlessly flowed out into the courtyard entrance to The Room of a Thousand Fountains. It could comfortably fit over a hundred occupants, and an area in front of the duel floor had been littered with rows of comfortable meditation mats. A handful of other Padawans had been gathered to sit on the floor, all chattering with excitement about the start of their intensive training, all eager to display their newly-crafted lightsaber. Yan had begun to tower over the other apprentices, so he chose to sit in the back of the small group, alone. Jocasta Nu and Sifo-Dyas, two Padawans Yan had become friendly with, had been assigned to the afternoon training class. Given his severe dislike of mornings, Senari had probably smuggled his way into the afternoon class, as well, Yan thought as he folded his legs underneath him and tried not to look out of place.

Or maybe not, Yan realized as he caught sight of messy, short black hair and perpetually disheveled robes almost tumbling into the salle. With a flutter in his stomach, Yan managed a wane smile as his friend plopped down next to him on a training mat in the back of the group. They hadn’t spoken since Senari had burst into Master Yoda’s apartments a few days before, and Yan felt his cheeks heat up slightly as Senari’s knee and shoulder bumped against his own.

“Hey,” Senari greeted him with a lopsided smile, looking much more rested and considerably less feral. There was a new jade green bead woven into his black Padawan braid, announcing he’d gotten his first kyber crystal and survived what the apprentices had nicknamed the 'baby trial'. Yan had a similar one at the end of his braid, though he had chosen a cyan bead that matched his new saber color. It was taboo to ask what a Padawan saw in the caves where the crystals formed, but Yan could picture Senari telling whatever had appeared to him to get lost and move out of his way, but with more colorful, abrasive language.

"I'm surprised you're conscious," Yan murmured with a brow lifting up. "You looked like you'd inhaled every version of Spice known to Coruscant."

"Honestly, if I'd had access to it, I might have tried a bit just to get some clarity," Sen snorted, digging in his robes for a second before he proudly handed over his newly-constructed lightsaber to the other Padawan. "I was trying to get this done as soon as possible."

Yan had barely held Sen's lightsaber for a few seconds before Senari was pestering him for his thoughts, shoulder bumping against his a few times as Sen shifted, unable to hold still. “What do you think?” Senari asked, practically vibrating on the floor from his contained excitement.

“It’s so heavy,” Yan muttered, turning it over in his hands. His thumb brushed against the etching he recognized on the base; it was Senari's mark he put on all his sketches and drawings. Yan's dark eyes flicked over to Senari, humor shining deep in them as the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You were supposed to build a saber hilt, not a club. It's barbaric,” he scowled, but he knew Senari could feel his teasing through the Force as he lightly knocked the heavy saber against Senari's kneecap in a practice swing. As gently as he did it, the metal made a resounding thud against Senari's knee.

Senari made a fake sound of pain as his leg was tapped, huffing a breath out through his nose. "You can't complain about it too much, you chose it," Senari pointed out with a brief grin. At Yan's quizzical look, Senari's hazel eyes dipped down to the floor of the training salle for a second. "I couldn't decide on a design for my lightsaber. Master Drei told me to take as much time as I needed, but after a couple of days, I narrowed it down to about a hundred sketches. I hit a block, and I just couldn't decide which one was me. So that was when I came to see you, because you know me best," Senari mumbled, a rush of shyness blitzing through him as made a little gesturing motion towards Yan with his hand.

Yan's cheeks began to turn a light pink at the admission, something he could sense ran deeper than the surface truth of the words. Senari’s bizarre behavior, and request—pick a number between one and one hundred, asked with severe intensity—made more sense now than it had in the moment. Yan’s face burned a little more as Senari’s head tilted to the side, his glimmering hazel eyes going to Yan’s waist and lingering there. Senari insisted on getting to look at Yan's lightsaber, though Yan was a bit reluctant, despite his internal eagerness to show his friend what he’d built. While Sen held up Yan’s saber and oohed and ahhed over it, and for some reason, Yan blushed harder as Senari teased him about the curved hilt.

“A curved handle has been used in weaponry since ancient times. I wanted to honor the warriors that came before us,” Yan mumbled, a wave of self-consciousness barreling over him. But as soon as Senari's Force signature brushed against his, confident and warm, he relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him.

He's such an old soul, and such a dork, and so stupid-cute, Sen groaned in his head as Yan dejectedly looked down at the training mat he was sitting on. “It looks very regal. It suits you,” Senari complimented as they exchanged weapons, sabers going back to their respective owners. He tried his hardest to rein in his teasing, but it was too easy to prod Yan when the Padawan blushed at nearly everything he said if it included an eyebrow wiggle or any kind of prolonged eye contact. Sen tried to convince himself that it was just Yan's personality, but the Padawan was overly formal and stoic with the other apprentices they were friends with, and seemed to blush and stumble over his words only for Sen.

That realization didn't help Sen's quickly evolving feelings, something he'd known about since they were roommates after Yan had almost been killed. Not wanting to get in trouble, and not seeking a way to make Yan feel even more awkward around him, Sen had become fairly proficient at consistently shielding from everyone else, out of habit, especially when he was next to Yan. He'd confided in Jocasta a few times, when the feelings nearly overwhelmed him and he felt like he'd explode if he didn't get some things off his chest. Sen desperately wanted to tell the center of his affection, but for now, he was happy being Yan's friend and the closeness they had at the moment.

Yan didn't get a chance to reply to the compliment; Master Lorne strode to the center of the training salle and called for the assembled Padawans' attention. There was a line of Masters and Senior Knights—including Master Yoda—that were waiting with an air of peace that excited the Padawans even more. The group almost fell silent immediately, and Sen leaned back on his palms, one knee propped up, the other purposefully nestled against the side of Yan's thigh. He internally cheered when Yan didn't shift away, though out of the corner of Sen's eyes, he could see the pink on Yan's cheeks deepening a shade or two.

Master Lorne explained that the different saber forms would be shown, starting with Shii-Cho, the first. Master Lorne would defend, and then attack, against the Master, showing the Padawans the strengths and weaknesses of the saber form. At the end, the Padawans could register for the classes that pertained to the form they wanted to advance in.

An apprentice shifted in front of them, blocking Senari's view, and he used it as an excuse to lean futher towards Yan, their shoulders pressed together so he could see. He was getting taller, which he was happy about, but the small kid that had tended to him when he was space-sick always seemed to be hovering over him, looking down at him, the more they grew.

The Padawans watched with rapt attention as the different forms were demonstrated for them. Knight Bolan, a female Nautolan, went first as a master of Form I. The katas of Shii-Cho were the first Padawans learned, since it was a simplistic and traditional form that focused on disarming an armed opponent. It was also useful against multiple enemies, and the Padawans whispered excitedly as a few training droids joined Master Lorne's side, and Knight Bolan was able to remove the droids' weapons with minimal injury to the machines. The philosophy behind Shii-Cho was to defeat an opponent with as minimal injury to the other as possible, where laid true victory for a Jedi. Yan thought it was an honorable goal, but found the motions too easily to predict.

Then, once the droid parts had been cleared from the training floor, Master Lorne introduced a Jedi the Padawans had only seen in passing before, but knew by reputation and rumors.

Master Ivan was a human male, looked close to eighty years old, and had to be the scariest Jedi in the Order. He was tall and lithe, his piercing cerulean gaze half-blind from a massive injury that cut down from his brow, through his right eye, and onto his cheek. The Master handed off a blackened L-shaped cane and the blood red cape clasped around his shoulders to an assisting Senior Knight before joining Master Lorne in the middle of the salle. Soft whispering picked up as most of the Padawans lost interest and began conversing under their breath with friends. A single frightening glare from Ivan's scarred face left the training salle deafened in silence.

As Master Lorne and Master Ivan bowed to each other and faced each other in the first stance, Yan felt his breath still in his chest when the duel began. Makashi was designed to be used one-on-one against another saber, and each time the two weapons crashed together, Yan's heart leapt in his chest. Yan had always been drawn to the elegance of Makashi. It had fallen out of popularity over the last few generations of younglings and Padawans, and Master Ivan hadn't had a student in the saber form in over twenty years.

It didn't stop the Jedi from maintaining his own abilities, and the graceful way Master Ivan flowed around the training Master's attacks had Yan's body itching to recreate the efficient movements with his own saber. Each strike was controlled and purposeful, and Yan could only hope that he looked as half as dignified as Master Ivan when he was that age. He didn't voice his thoughts, because he knew that Senari would call him an old man in a Padawan's body again. He felt Senari's hazel eyes watching him as he clapped with a little too much enthusiasm when the Makashi demonstration was over, and Master Ivan bowed again in a formal sweep of his dark burgundy cape.

Form III, Soresu, was the most popular by far, as it had been for the past few decades. Yan understood the appeal; the tight controlled movements reserved the Jedi's energy and exhausting the opponent, and adapted to multiple attacks as they appeared. When Master Lorne and Master Fenilah finished their demonstration, the majority of the Padawans were already planning on joining Master Fenilah's lessons.

Master Yoda was next, and as the Grandmaster hobbled forward, Master Lorne gave a brief overview of Form IV Ataru's strenghts, especially when it came to the user's agility and natural movements. It was an aggressive form, aimed to finish a fight as quickly as possible with a flurry of blows meant to overwhelm an unsuspecting opponent for a swift victory. If Soresu was the calm in the eye of a storm, then Ataru was the thunder and lightning shaking the ground. Though Ataru had to incorporate the defensive forms of Soresu, it mainly focused on attack. As Yan watched his own Jedi Master leap around in the theatrics of Ataru, Yan couldn’t help but internally laugh at how ridiculous it looked, Yoda's small frame bouncing this way and that above Master Lorne's head, his tiny saber a green ribbon-shaped blur in the air.

Senari, however, was utterly riveted, his eyes refusing to move away from Master Yoda's form that darted around like the Grandmaster was a fraction of his actual age. He could barely keep track of the movements, and he found himself leaning forward, a hand unknowingly gripping Yan's knee. There was a wildness to the form, something Sen knew in his gut he was meant to do.

The remaining forms were demonstrated, and after another hour, Master Lorne dismissed the Padawans for a short break to eat lunch. He encouraged them to reflect on what form they wanted to use, and when they returned, the Padawans would be divided and begin training in the Form of their choice.

Yan and Senari, both wanting to get away from the crowded cafeteria, went to the Temple gardens for the reprieve. They headed towards the waterfall that was hidden towards the back of the gardens, with a packed lunch that Yan had made earlier. After they'd eaten, there was still a bit of time before they had to go back to the training salle.

"What are you going to practice? Soresu, like the rest of the Order?" Senari asked, his outer robes cast aside, laying down on the surface of a massive rock at the base of the pond. Yan was sitting with his legs crossed on the soft grass, leaning his back up against the boulder Senari was perched on.

"No, I'm going to ask Master Ivan to teach me Form II," Yan murmured.

"Makashi, huh? I could have guessed. You didn't blink the entire time it was being demonstrated," Senari teased, propping his chin on his folded arms, gazing down at the other Padawan. “I can’t wait to start Ataru with Yoda,” Sen hummed.

Yan tilted his head up and glared at his friend in disbelief. “Seriously? Your arms are going to fall off if you perform those acrobatics holding that tree limb you made,” Yan snorted, idly picking long dandelions and weaving them together into a circular crown with his fingers. He’d made several as a child on Serenno, and it was probably the single happy memory he had of his biological parents; being in the mansion’s garden with his mother, and hearing her laugh as she placed the too-big flower crown on his head. His father, while busy reading a data pad, had been watching the two from a garden chair in comfortable, almost fond silence. It was one of Yan's earliest memories, and he was sure he couldn't have been older than two or three in it. Then again, that had been around the same time his father was drawn away even more by his work off-world, and his mother had brought in—

The Force twinged with sadness and pain around Yan, and Senari stretched a hand down and he playfully tugged on Yan's Padawan braid, drawing Yan away from his memories and back to the present. Senari cast out a gentle nudge against Yan's Force signature, soothing away whatever had caused Yan to become tense. “Climbing and jumping was all I did when I was a kid on Batuu. You’re just worried I’ll end up talking like Yoda.”

Yan groaned, leaning his head back against the rock’s warm side, the half-finished circlet resting in his lap. He scowled up at the other Padawan that was hanging off the edge of the boulder. “Force, Sen, anything but that. I’ve already started hearing it in my dreams,” Yan grumbled.

Senari’s heart and stomach fluttered at the nickname that he’d answered to for years. It wasn't anything special, just the first syllable of his name, but this was Yan's first time using it after literal years of being formal with his friend. He swallowed a little, and to hide the sudden blush that spread rapidly across his cheeks, Senari rolled onto his back, gazing up at the sky. The sun was warm on his face, and the gardens had a noise pollution filter that drowned out the sound of the constant stream of air traffic going through Coruscant’s most populated area. He'd found the secluded area of the Temple gardens when he'd been a youngling, and it was his usual spot to go when he wanted to be alone, or if he needed to think. Now, he liked to think of it as their secret spot.

“I’ll just have to find a sparring partner that can keep up with me,” Senari murmured on a dramatic sigh, folding his hands on his stomach as he tried to fight the wave of longing that was lapping at him. He was dying to hear it again, maybe even whispered to him under Yan's breath in his ear, or against his mouth, but it was something that would only happen in his dreams.

Senari heard Yan snort below him with as much dignity as he could muster while still making the sound. “You couldn’t wear me out if you tried.”

A shudder went through Sen’s body, and he knew for a fact that Yan had no idea how…how stupidly hot he just sounded. Senari bit his lip, closing his eyes and putting up a few more shields around his mind in case there was someone else close to them in the gardens. He already spent too much time in the shower, thinking about the boy he was in love with in a way that was as far from the Jedi Code as it could get. The temptation to act on his feelings had become more intense over the last few months, especially when he and Yan sparring together, but the Force was urging him to be patient.

I don’t want to be patient, I want to know if he feels even a TINY bit the same way, Senari groaned in his own mind. He was honest with himself enough to acknowledged that a part of him was choosing Ataru to have an excuse to see Master Yoda—and, more importantly, his Padawan, Yan Dooku—more. Choosing the same style as Yan would rouse his Master’s suspicion, though; Senari had a hard time keeping his voice down when he was too deep in his own fantasies to realize he was moaning Yan’s name in the shower. Master Drei had already lectured him a few times on the dangers of forming attachments. When Yan had researched it himself and started asking about the Council’s original reason for banning marriage and relationships among the Jedi ranks, he’d gotten stone-walled by every Master he aggressively approached.

A shadow suddenly appeared, and Senari found himself blinking up at Yan, who was leaning over him and blocking out part of the sky. Something soft and sweet-smelling was placed on Senari's face, and the dandelion crown tickled his nose, making his face scrunch up a little. He pulled the circlet down away from his eyes to rest it on his chest, meeting Yan's dark gaze. Sen's mouth parted slightly as desire rose in him sharply, wrenching control away from every other sense he had. He'd dreamed of something like this—to be fair, he dreamed about Yan a lot—with Yan looming over him and then kissing him senseless. Sen had grown up in the Black Spire Outpost, where filters were nonexistent around the coarse natives, so he knew more about sex than the average padawan. But Sen's fantasies about Yan were an even mix of innocent and sweet, and lewd.

The sound of the waterfall around them jerked Senari back to reality. He was glad that Jedi robes were thick enough to hide the result of teenage hormones going rampant, and he knew the sight of Yan leaning over him was going to be haunting him as he tried to sleep later that night—and in the foreseeable future each time he showered. Senari always felt guilty about it, but it was better than letting it fester inside of him and explode later.

Yan smiled down at him with a tenderness that Senari had never witnessed before, the sun hitting his hair and making it glow with dark chestnut highlights. Yan's Padawan braid, adorned with the traditional yellow bead first, the one he received when Master Yoda first accepted him as a Padawan, swung down and brushed against Sen's cheek. Senari had to stop his hand from lifting up to catch it between his fingers and stroke over it, like he'd imagined doing several times the longer it became, and the more beads were added.

"With Ataru and your club, there won't be an opponent in the galaxy that could best you," Yan teased him.

Senari's hazel eyes widening slightly, and his lungs forgot to do their job and fill with air. I. Am. So. Fucked, Sen breathed in his mind.

The flower crown that Yan had put on Senari's face was kept on his desk, less than an arm's reach away from Sen's bed in his room, until the leaves had curled and dried and the flowers had wilted into brown husks.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Shortly after Senari and Yan's sixteenth name day, during saber practice, Sen was more exuberant than his usual cheerful self. He'd gotten reprimanded by training Master Lorne over twice the usual daily amount, and he was covered in mild lightsaber burns from head to toe by the time they were dismissed for the day. He was still brimming with energy, chattering the entire walk back to Yan and Master Yoda's apartment, but it wasn't until they were inside that he told Yan the news he'd received from Master Drei earlier that morning.

"I'm going on my first mission," Sen told his friend, leaning against the kitchen counter with his robes down around his waist, applying little dabs of bacta to the bright red surface burns on his chest and stomach as Yan prepared tea.

Yan paused for a moment, unsure of why his stomach suddenly clenched and his heartbeat sped up. It definitely didn't have anything to do with how his dark eyes kept wanting to wander over to Senari's bare chest that was unabashedly on display as Sen rubbed bacta gel on his training wounds. So that's why he's been so excited today, Yan thought to himself, setting out a tray of crackers and cookies for Sen to dig into with his tea. "Oh? Where are you going?" Yan asked. He tried to quell the worry that bubbled up; most first missions were nicknamed as 'milk runs'; missions that weren't life-threatening, but encouraged the Padawan to begin thinking and acting as a team with their Jedi Master. Yan had already had his own first mission, though it was on Coruscant, attending a diplomatic peace conference alongside Master Yoda. He'd barely spent a day away from the Jedi Temple, but when he'd returned, Senari, Jocasta, and Sifo-Dyas had all had interrogated him for hours about it.

"Nal Hutta, in four days." Sen winced a little as he applied bacta to a particularly deep burn, one he'd gotten from Yan because he'd been too busy watching Yan's body twist in the elegant motions of Makashi to realize how close the glowing blue saber had been to him. He was treating himself a little slower than he usually would if he was alone, in a vain attempt to get Yan to notice how Ataru training was giving his muscles a trim, tight definition, phasing him out of the awkward lankiness of puberty and into the frame of a man, of a Jedi. He had abs now, dammit, and he always tried to get Yan to spar with him in hand-to-hand combat to show off a little, despite Master Lorne's scolding when he did.

Nal Hutta? Yan felt his stomach twist even more at the information, his thoughts whirling. The planet was a massive swamp, where the Hutts were the native species and everyone else on the filthy bog was either a wanted outlaw or an escaped convict. It wasn't the most deadly place for an apprentice to go for their first mission, but it was still dangerous. Yan could sense Senari's excitement about it, infectious and bright in the Force, but all Yan could feel in his chest was concern. Master Drei wouldn't accept a mission he thought was too intense for their first mission, Yan tried to convince himself, but he couldn't get over the nervousness. It wasn't even his own mission, but he didn't want anything to happen to Sen.

Senari didn't get an answer from his friend after a few moments of silence and the sound of the kettle heating up on the stove. Sen glanced over to see Yan fussing with the mugs, then the plate of snacks, then the collar of his own robes, his brow deeply furrowed. They were all indicators that Yan was anxious, and Senari tried to catch Yan's dark gaze. "What's with that look? I'm not gone yet," Senari teased, pulling his robes back up over his shoulders and wrapping the obi back around his stomach.

Not wanting to give his anxieties a bigger foothold, Yan huffed out a sigh underneath his breath. "I'm worried Master Drei's going to leave you at a spaceport in a box with a sign free to any home but mine if you keep getting in trouble," he muttered, nudging Sen's shoulder with his own.

Senari cackled in that infectious, hysterical laughter, and Yan couldn't resist the smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth.

Over the next few days, the two were inseparable, parting only when it was time for curfew or training with their respective Jedi Masters. The night before Senari and Master Drei were scheduled to leave for Nal Hutta, Yan was up late. He'd asked to borrow the data pad containing Sen's mission briefing to read it over himself, and he couldn't count how many times he'd poured over the few pages of information. Senari and Master Drei were only going to be staking out the Hutts' massive palace, watching for a weapon shipment that had been stolen last cycle. A standard observe from afar, then report back to the Council mission, with strict orders not to engage any hostiles or threats unless they had to defend themselves.

Yan laid the data pad down on his desk with his stomach still in knots. He didn't doubt that Sen would be good in an actual fight; he was the most skilled saber fighter in their training class, and his deep connection to the Force let him deflect blaster bolts better than some Knights. Yan couldn't place where the veil of uneasiness that clung to him stemmed from.

He was about to turn the data pad back on when his comm buzzed on his desk, with a message from Senari.

>>Yan, r u asleep?

How could I answer the message if I was? Yan thought with a visible cringe at Sen's lack of grammar. He quickly sent back his reply, wondering if Sen was laying wide awake, same as him. >>No, not yet. Why are you still up? Their flight to Nal Hutta left early in the morning, even for Yan's standards, and Sen had told Yan earlier that evening that he was going to try to go to bed at a decent, human hour to be ready for his first mission.

The response was almost immediate, like Sen was holding his comm and waiting for Yan's message. >>can't sleep--too excited for tomorrow

Yan's teeth dug into his bottom lip. It was a few minutes before he sent his next reply, trying to work up the courage, and convince himself that he was only being a good friend. >>If you're having trouble sleeping, do you want to sleep over in my room? You'd have to be quiet, and sneak past our Masters. His stomach fluttered as he waited, nervously making sure his comm was on the vibrate setting. They were Padawans now, surely Senari wouldn't want to do something that they did as younglings—

When Yan's comm buzzed again, he almost dropped it trying to bring it close to his face so he could read it. >>r u sure? don't want 2 bother u

>>I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure. I'll meet you at the door, Yan sent with excitement and nervousness mixing inside his chest.

>>k good, cuz I'm already here

Yan stared at his comm for a split second in disbelief before snorting out a quiet laugh through his nose. He padded as quickly as he dared out of his room, through the common area, and to the entryway. When the door panel slid open, Senari was waiting for him, and had his pillow under one arm and his comm in his other hand. The broad smile that met Yan had his heart thudding faster behind his sternum. Sen opened his mouth, probably to say something loudly with his usual excitement, and Yan shushed him sharply by clapping a palm over Sen's open jaw.

"You're not supposed to be here, so be quiet," Yan hissed in a whisper with a good dose of exasperation. "For someone who's snuck out of the Temple on a weekly basis, you should know better. Come on, get inside before we get caught." He reached out to grab Senari's wrist, all but dragging the other Padawan in with a paranoid sweep of the deserted hall behind them. Yan was able to take an actual breath when he got his smuggled guest into his bedroom and the door panel whirred shut without alerting his Master.

Yan had to tell himself to let go of his friend's wrist, and started to go through his closet to get extra blankets.

"I would have thought you'd be tired of me by now, but I'm glad you offered to let me spend the night," Senari murmured, his voice pitched low.

A blush heated up the back of Yan's neck and the tips of his ears as he passed off the armful of covers, dark gaze skittering away from those hazel eyes like a spooked tauntaun. He'd gotten spoiled over the last few days, spending nearly every waking moment with Senari. "I don't think I could ever get tired of you," Yan admitted, pointedly ignoring the tiny flare of heat when Senari's fingers brushed down his arms as the other Padawan accepted the heap of blankets.

For once, Sen didn't have a teasing comment or playful quip to shoot back at Yan. Senari's teeth nipped at his lower lip, the words ringing with honesty through the Force. It was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to Yan in the first place; the Padawan didn't lie, and his words always lined up with his actions.

Yan slipped back into bed while Senari created a comfortable pile on the floor next to his bed. Yan turned off the overhead lights, and they both fell silent.

Yan could hear Senari fidgeting on the floor with discomfort, and he shifted over on the bed, patting the mattress. "Here," Yan murmured.

Senari didn't hesitate in climbing up next to him, getting under the blanket, and for a few moments they laid side by side, facing each other, looking at each other in the gentle glow of Spot—the slime neko nightlight Senari had insisted Yan take when they were moved out of their joint room.

After a while, Sen dampened his lips and whispered, the soft blue light making his hazel eyes glow an iridescent green. "I'm nervous about Nal Hutta."

Yan's chest ached with the words, the Force pulsing with his own worry and longing. He wanted to let Senari know that he wasn't alone, that Yan was nervous, too. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, and it's not following the Jedi code, but I'm scared you won't come back. It would hurt too much to lose you, Yan lamented in his head, the words refusing to move past his throat.

But he didn't want to feed into those negative thoughts, for with wrong thoughts, came wrong actions, so he chose to be reassuring instead. Senari's palm was resting in front of his face, and Yan hesitantly reached out to touch his fingertips against Sen's hand. "It will be alright, Sen. Master Drei wouldn't take you on a mission he thought was beyond your abilities," Yan insisted softly.

Senari shivered underneath the covers at the contact, their fingers linking together. "I know, I know. But a lot could go wrong. Master Drei didn't have to take me as a Padawan, but he still did, even after the disciplinary Council wanted to expel me. I don't want to disappoint him."

Yan tried to smile. "You may butt heads with him a lot Sen, but you've never disappointed your Master."

Senari squeezed his hand back appreciatively. "Thank you."

Yan closed his eyes, their hands still touching even as Sen shifted to lay on his back, and then his side, then his stomach, and then his back again. Yan tried to meditate to help drift off to sleep, but Senari's agitation and frustration was blocking him, radiating through the Force and affecting his own meditation.

"Damn it, I'm supposed to get a lot of rest," Sen muttered underneath his breath with irritation, scowling fiercely as he flopped onto his back again, glaring angrily at the ceiling.

"What's wrong?" Yan asked softly, and the concern in his friend's voice tore at Senari's willpower.

"Uh..." Senari laughed a little awkwardly underneath his breath, his gaze skittering down away from Yan's dark eyes. "I, ah...usually most nights, so I can get to sleep, I...y'know..." He slipped his palm free from Yan's fingers and made a little gesture down towards his hips, not quite meeting Yan's eyes as he laughed sheepishly again. "I jerk off to feel more relaxed."

Yan blinked a few times, the embarrassment coming from Sen warming the air between them. "You what?" he asked, not fully understanding, brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

Senari's eyes widened a fraction, and his mouth opened without saying anything for a split second.

What?

Oh.

Oh, boy.

Don't you do it, Senari Kane. Just excuse yourself, get up, go to the refresher and take care of it, then lie awake until it's time to get ready, Senari commanded, but his mouth moved on its own, his tongue having to dampen his lips again as he was drawn back to Yan's dark almond-shaped eyes.

"So, uh...y'know how you sometimes wake up and you're hard? Down there?" Sen prompted, gesturing with a little tilt of his chin down at Yan's hips, hidden by the blanket and Yan's night robe.

"Yes," Yan responded with polite crispness, though he felt heat blooming in his own cheeks at the topic of conversation. When it first happened, I thought there was something medically wrong with me. I wanted to go to the Healers, much to Master Yoda's amusement, Yan thought with an internal cringe. The Healers had informed him that it was an expected biological response in human males, and the best way to get past it was to meditate until his body was back to normal. "I was instructed to meditate until the problem went away."

"Sure, meditating can make it go away, but that doesn't help the...the ache. Jerking off...ah, touching myself relieves that ache, and it's usually the only thing that gets me tired enough to actually sleep through the night," Senari mumbled, his face turned to look at Yan fully while he was on his back, his teeth digging into his lower lip briefly. Don't you fucking do it, Kane. Just go to the refresher and don't drag Yan into your—your weird urges, Senari scolded himself harshly, though he knew the urges weren't weird, but natural, despite everything the Jedi had taught him.

But Yan was gazing at him with his warm dark brown eyes, less than a foot away from him, and Senari could sense Yan's earnest desire to want to make him feel better, to comfort him through the Force. The looming mission was wearing on Senari's resolve; Padawans and Jedis alike died all the time on missions, and he knew he'd regret it if he didn't try to get his affection across to Yan before he left.

Not wanting to make Yan feel like he didn’t have a choice, Sen tried to give his friend an out. "I can go to the 'fresher…but honestly, it would be awkward to do it in there. My knees get really shaky halfway through, and I'm used to laying down like this. I won't, though, if you say so," Sen whispered, the words burning on his tongue in warning. What in the Sith hells are you doing? He doesn't want to watch you jack off, idiot, you're in his bed! It was one thing to pine after his friend, it was an entirely different thing to do something illicit in his friend's bed, when Yan was clearly ignorant about the meaning behind such a private act. The tentative curiosity and blooming warmth Senari was getting through the Force wasn’t helping his resolve, either.

Despite the warmth flooding his face, and Sen's palpable embarrassment, Yan truly wanted Senari to feel better. "You can take care of it here. It won't bother me, truly," Yan assured his friend with a slight nod when Senari gave him a questioning twitch of his brow, though the words were a little more breathy than he meant them to be. This was a normal part of being friends, right? Helping them feel better? Surely he doesn't want me to watch him do...this, Yan reasoned, and he let his eyes fall shut as he tried to refocus on his meditative breathing for sleep.

Before Senari could think himself back to his senses, Sen licked his lips again as he pushed the blankets down below his waist, parting his robe with hasty fingers. Yan had closed his eyes, which made it a little easier to pull his swiftly-growing arousal out from his night robe without further arguing with himself. Senari's teeth dug back into his bottom lip as he struggled not to audibly moan, only a soft whimper escaping him as he began to stroke himself, slowly at first. He wasn't sure if he wanted Yan to keep his eyes closed, or to look at him again, caught between wanting more and feeling guilty over having such little willpower.

Yan wasn't sure if he was supposed to shift, or turn on his other side to give Senari privacy, but he couldn't move as he heard a soft whine, and a delicate, rhythmic wet sound. Against his will, Yan's eyes cracked open, and his breath froze in his chest as he watched Senari's fist curl around himself and move up and down his hardened shaft. Oh... Yan felt himself harden, too, heat pooling in his lower stomach as Sen's hand moved faster bit by bit. He knew he was staring, and it had to be inappropriate, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Yan nearly bit off the tip of his tongue when his gaze eventually jerked back to Senari's face, and Sen's hazel eyes were trained on him. Before he could get a stammered apology out, Senari's eyes flicked over to the door panel, as though he was making sure it was shut, before they returned to Yan.

"It's okay if you're hard, too. You can take care of yourself with me," Senari whispered, his voice barely audible and huskier. "It'll feel good."

"I haven't...before," Yan admitted, his own voice cracking a little as he tried not to think about how, with the blankets pushed down, Senari could see his own night robe tenting in front of his hips from his reaction. He felt Senari's pleasure through the Force, licking up and down his spine the more Sen stroked. That heat, along with Sen's encouraging words, drove Yan to reach down and pull himself free, too.

Laying on his side facing Senari, Yan mimicked Senari's movements, tugging on himself with unpracticed, hesitant motions. It did feel good, that sensation growing sharply the more he did it, and Yan couldn't look away from Sen's hand. He could sense in the Force—something that shouldn't be so potent around them right now, based on the Jedi teachings that banned this sort of touch—that Sen was enjoying his mesmerized gaze, it was causing him more pleasure and excitement, and soon the room was filled with their combined panting, staying as quiet as possible.

Senari's hazel eyes were getting more of a workout than his hand was.

His wide, unblinking gaze was darting between Yan's face, flushed and bathed in the gentle blue haze of the nightlight, and Yan's hand working his shaft. He couldn't decide which was more alluring, both sights getting burned into Sen's memory, but ultimately his hormones demanded he watch Yan's palm stroke himself. A bolt of pure lust went straight through Sen when he caught Yan's eyes riveted on his own hand, and Sen slowed down his strokes as Yan fumbled to mimic his up-and-down pumping.

It was the most erotic thing Senari had ever seen, watching Yan discover what he liked, what felt best and how hard he needed to grip himself to make him shudder and cause the mattress to quiver underneath them. Each time Yan reached the upper half of his arousal, his hand curled towards his body, which could only mean Yan's shaft had a natural bend to it—Fuck, Senari groaned in his thoughts, his own shaft leaking out drops of clear excitement over his fingers, desire pulsing through him in a rapid wave. His free hand was twisted in the sheets next to him, clinging to them in a desperate hope that if both hands were occupied, he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to reach out towards Yan.

The more he listened to Yan’s sounds of desire, muffled from how hard Yan was biting his lower lip, the more Senari knew he’d fail. Sen's knees were already getting the telltale wobbly feeling, and his skin itched to connect with Yan.

Senari unclenched his hand from the sheets, and his fingertips wound around Yan's padawan braid. The soft, fine hair sent shivers up Sen's arm, and it was almost long enough to wrap around his fist. He groaned when Yan leaned his head into the touch, singed amber eyes glassy, pupils blown wide, and cheeks stained with warmth.

Being the inexperienced one of the two, Yan reached his peak first. Feeling Senari's pleasure alongside his own was too much for him to handle, and Yan's shaft pulsed in his grip as the pressure became unbearable. The tipping point was when Senari extended a hand towards him and his braid was given a gentle tug. With a shaky gasp, molten waves gushed from the tip of his shaft, coating his hand and—to Yan's utter embarrassment—Senari's bare hip and stomach. The climax left him breathless, the air punched out of his chest as pleasure made Yan's vision blur.

Again, Yan couldn't get an apology out for making a mess on Sen.

Senari gasped, his hazel eyes flaring widely as Yan lost control and spilled himself. The majority of Yan's orgasm coated Sen's flesh, spattering all over his stomach and his own aching shaft. Feeling the thick veils of white slick up his shaft as he pumped his fist had Senari hurtling towards his own climax, Yan’s pleasure rebounding through him. He worked his hand faster along himself, the wet sound from Yan’s pleasure getting all over his shaft made his knees quake together.

Sen hadn’t let himself be vocal the entire time, not wanting to shock Yan. He'd already imagined the things he would say to make Yan blush and feel wanted, wondering if Yan liked sweet words better or dirty talk, but all of it went out the window the moment Yan let out the cutest gasp, dark eyes wide from pleasure, and came over the both of them.

When Senari's orgasm began to rise up, he was helpless, the words tumbling from his lips without thought. “Oh fuck, Yan, you’re so hot—that's it, cover me baby—you made such a mess on me, you came all over me and I love it. Fuck--oh fuck I’m so close—” Senari moaned, the head of his arousal throbbing, his hand moving frantically as he lost himself in Yan’s dark eyes. Combined with holding Yan's Padawan braid, it didn’t take long for him to add his own spend onto the mess on his stomach, coming so hard dots appeared in his vision.

They laid side by side, panting heavily as their bodies slowed down. Senari rolled onto his side towards Yan, unfazed by the mess on his stomach and between them. He hadn't let Yan's braid slide through his fingers, keeping hold of it like it was the most precious thing in the world--which was only partially true, the braid was attached to the most precious thing in the world to him.

Yan blushed hotly when Senari’s words reverberated through him, his eyes dipping down to the covers for a second before he bashfully looked back into Senari's intense gaze. He was trembling, his jumbled thoughts worrying that he’d somehow done something wrong, despite Sen’s husky praise a few moments earlier, and the evidence of their combined pleasure heady in the air.

What...now? Yan thought self-consciously. He hadn't helped Senari at all, he'd gotten distracted by his own body. Would Sen want to go back to his own room, now that the bed was dirty? Would he be upset?

To Yan’s shock, Senari didn’t get angry, but reached for him and drew him in close. He tucked Yan underneath his chin, the same way they’d slept together in the same bed when they’d been roommates. Their Force signatures sought the other at the same time, melding and entwined together, the lingering dregs of pleasure coating them both.

It almost felt like when Senari had saved his life, Yan realized. He’d been able to sense Sen with sharp acuity since that night, and Sen must have poured some of his own Life Force into him. It was something that was taboo, since it could lead to Force signatures becoming attached to the other. Such bonds were possessive, needy things, and utterly forbidden by the Jedi Code. Senari had only been twelve when it happened, and he could have hurt himself gravely doing it. Tears nearly flooded Yan’s eyes at the realization, that Senari had valued him so much he'd put his own life at risk for him. As Yan's Padawan braid was stroked, he buried his face in Sen’s chest and a few silent tears dripped down his face. He felt Senari's cheek press against the top of his head, his fingers rubbing through the soft black hair at the nape of his neck.

Everything around them faded until it was just the pure, white bliss of the Force singing between them.

Yan began to shiver a little from the cooling slick, and Senari used the Force to call over a cloth into his waiting hand. He wiped them both down, hushing when Yan tried to protest weakly that he could do it himself. Once they were both cleaned as best Senari could do in the dark, he pulled the blankets back up, an arm wrapping around Yan's shoulders.

They didn't speak, the warmth of their bodies and their Force signatures saying more than words ever could. Senari fell asleep almost immediately, curled around Yan like another blanket, but Yan remained awake. He stayed up, listening to Sen breathe evenly, buried against Sen's chest.

The two only got a few hours of sleep before Senari and Master Drei's departure was scheduled for that morning. Yan and Senari said their goodbyes to each other in the privacy of Yan's still-dark room. Yan was the one that initiated an embrace, and they held each other for a while until time was an irritating barrier. It was something they hadn't wanted to do in the temple's crowded port, in front of other Masters and Padawans. They only hugged, and Senari had pressed a chaste, warm kiss to the side of Yan's cheek. Yan could feel his body start to react just from being that close to Sen again. He'd burned a vibrant shade of red when Senari noticed his reaction trapped between them, and it worsened when Sen whispered a husky promise to help him take care of it when he returned from his mission.

Yan hadn't walked Senari to the hangar; his eyes were mostly focused on his own feet as Senari chatted briefly with Master Yoda in the kitchen, playing off the sleep over as Sen only having dropped by early to bid Yan farewell before he headed to the hangar. He barely could look at his friend as Senari waved goodbye to him, robes perpetually rumpled and beaded braid frizzy. When Sen left to meet up with his Jedi Master, Yan had retreated back to his room without breakfast, unable to look at his bed without feeling his face bloom with heat.

Yan was restless the remaining time he had before his own day started. Even a cup of his favorite tea hadn't helped the anxiety that was twisting in his stomach and around his chest. If he was being completely honest with himself, when it came time for him to head to the salle for Makashi training that same morning, Yan was a bit apprehensive going through the temple after what happened between himself and Senari. He was positive there was a massive sign that everyone he passed could read, one that spelled out I broke the Jedi Code in neon lights above his head.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts, Yan was actually late for practice with Master Ivan. He'd been dedicated to the lessons since they began, always arriving early, and staying later than their scheduled time slot in the salle, and his lack of focus didn't stop there.

Barely twenty minutes into training, Master Ivan's rough, heavily accented voice cut through the empty training room.

"Stop."

Yan instantly halted the kata he was in the middle of performing, freezing in place with his lightsaber humming parallel to the floor, his dominant arm outstretched. He didn't move, but his head bowed slightly, breathing unsteady and his heart pounding behind his sternum. He already knew the mistake that the Jedi Master was about to correct, and the shame at his failure burned even hotter than what had been distracting his thoughts.

Master Ivan rose up from the bench where he'd been observing, one gnarled hand gripping his black thornwood cane tightly. "Your shoulders have dropped again," Master Ivan growled accusingly, the worn end of his cane rapping against the offending body part on Yan.

Underneath the cane, Yan's muscles instantly straightened, correcting the improper set of his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Master," Yan mumbled, still unable to raise his earth-toned eyes up off the floor.

"Bah. I don't want your apologies," Master Ivan scoffed, looming above the Padawan. The recessed, darkened skin that went down through his whitened right eye, paired with the two hairline raised scars that curled down to the corner of his mouth made the old Jedi Master even more frightening than his abrasive demeanor and height. "I want to know why you're suddenly failing rudimentary warm-ups you perfected weeks ago, youngling."

Yan's head hung on his shoulders, his lightsaber feeling heavier than normal in his hand. He didn't have the words, unwilling to endanger Senari with his own feelings of guilt.

Master Ivan sighed wearily, resting both of his palms on the top of his jeweled cane. "We'll continue today's training in my room. Come," Ivan ordered with a wave of his rugged palm.

Shocked by the sudden request, Yan dropped out of the kata form, his hands twisting around his saber hilt in front of him as the cyan blade powered down. "We will? Is the space big enough for katas?" Yan asked hesitantly.

Ivan snorted a laugh through his long, thin nose. "Katas won't do any good with a mind so clouded," Ivan muttered, tapping a finger between Yan's dark eyes. Master Ivan left the training salle with a speed and grace that didn't befit his age, and he didn't bother looking back over his shoulder to see if the Padawan was following him.

Master Ivan lived close to the training salle per his own request. He often oversaw the senior Padawan training to assist Master Lorne, and he wasn't going to feel any younger traveling across half of Coruscant to get there. His rooms were smaller than a seasoned Master would normally be assigned. Inside the studio was a tiny kitchenette with an even smaller table crammed into the corner, the standard issued bed, and a wide closet built into the wall. A meditation cushion was in the middle of the studio, facing what Yan believed was east. There wasn't even a holoscreen, the only technology in the room being a comm link that was resting across from the single bed on a nightstand.

Yan dutifully took Master Ivan's burgundy cape and hung it up when the Master pulled it from his shoulders. The material was thick and luxurious; the outside of the cape was black and treated to be waterproof, with a dark red interior satin lining. The two broaches that secured it around Master Ivan's shoulders were brass, tarnished from age, each engraved with the symbol of the Jedi Order.

Master Ivan leaned his cane against the wall and sat down at the table wordlessly as Yan took over the duty of making them tea. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but Yan was nervous all the same. Once tea was poured and served, and Yan was sitting down opposite of him, Ivan spoke.

"Tell me what has your mind distracted, youngling," Ivan commanded with his natural brusqueness.

The familiar term warmed Yan's chest, despite the anxiety gripping his thoughts. Master Ivan called nearly everyone else in the Temple youngling, no matter their age or rank. He was the oldest human Jedi in the Order, and Yan suspected that he was far older than his outward appearance suggested. "I...I cannot speak of it, Master," Yan evaded, holding the mug of tea between his hands so he didn't pick at his own robes. He was sure it was a fine brand, but when he took a drink, he couldn't taste anything. I won't incriminate Sen and get him into trouble. He looked so happy last night as he slept...and it felt good...but the Jedi Code strictly forbids attachment, and I miss him so much it hurts. That is definitely attachment, I am—I am in love with him, Yan thought with an internal gasp as tears threatened to form in his dark eyes. He quickly scrubbed his cheeks with a heel of his palm, embarrassed at his behavior in front of a Jedi Master he revered.

Ivan grimaced unpleasantly at the vague answer, the Padawan's fear of punishment keeping his worries close to his heart. "You'll find no Council ears here, youngling," he growled out with a pointed glare. "I am too old and too tired to mince words like the bloody Senate. This is about your little saeta being gone, hmm?" Ivan guessed with pinpoint accuracy.

Well, it hadn't truly been an intuitive guess. Kane's first mission was all the youngling had been able to talk about for the past five days, and the teaching Masters were worse gossipers than Mon Calamari wives.

Saeta? Yan repeated with a confused tone in his head. He'd never heard the term before, but he assumed Master Ivan was referring to Senari from the knowing look, and his own blush spreading across his face. Yan nodded, teeth worrying his lower lip as he stroked the side of the teacup with his fingers. "Yes, Master. He's on his first mission with Master Drei."

"Where was he assigned?" Ivan asked, bringing his mug of tea up to his scarred mouth and sipping. It was too sweet for his own taste, but he drank it anyway.

"They left for Nal Hutta this morning," Yan replied, trying his best not to let his mind wander to memories of what occurred the night before in his room, on his bed.

"Lords of Light, nothing good comes from that wretched planet," Ivan spat. "The Hutts are a damn pox on the galaxy. It was one of the oversized slugs that gave me this," he said menacingly, with a gesture to his whitened right eye, the left azure one less severe and brimming with mischief.

Yan tried not to smile, but the corner of his mouth tugged upwards at the comment. Master Ivan claimed daily that a different creature or nemesis gave him the disfigurement and handicap. Last training practice, Ivan had sworn up and down the subpar food in the commissary was what had robbed him of half his sight. The week before that, it had been a rabid mudhorn.

"First missions can be daunting to a youngling, but most are eager for the challenge. What's gotten you so worked up over it, it affects your training?" Master Ivan asked with a white brow arching up over his good eye.

At the Master's quirked brow, Yan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his tea utterly forgotten as his fears began to boil inside his throat, nearly burning him from the inside. "Senari claimed that his first mission's details were to observe from a distance, and it's only for a tenday, but he's not just a magnet for trouble, he's a homing beacon for it," Yan continued with a delicate scowl. "Plenty of apprentices haven't come back from missions despite being at their Jedi Masters' side, and Senari is reckless and confident. He'll want to prove himself, and I'm—I'm afraid he won't come back."

Ivan snorted again. Saying that youngling is a beacon for trouble is putting it mildly, the old Master thought with a dry chuckle. Youngling Kane was the bane of many Masters' classes, and most couldn't understand the close kinship between Kane and the youngling currently at his table. The two were polar opposites, in personality and upbringing. Some speculated that it was another case of a charismatic, lazy 'friend' taking advantage of Dooku's loneliness. One glance at Kane's bantha-shit grades put a stop to that rumor.

"Your saeta may be unruly, but he's not stupid. Drei will keep him leashed to prevent any catastrophe on their first mission. This isn't a friendly worry, is it?" Master Ivan prodded without blinking. He could sense it went far deeper than that; the youngling was projecting his thoughts quite loudly and without any sort of proper shield, giving Ivan—and whoever else he stumbled across that day—a clear picture of exactly what was upsetting him. Ivan was glad that he always picked the earliest training spot on the salle's schedule; to his knowledge, no one else was in the salle that early in the morning. The chance that another Jedi or Padawan had seen what Dooku was projecting was nonexistent. It made handling Dooku's emotions much easier for the old Master.

How did he know? Yan swallowed thickly, feeling like Master Ivan's cerulean and opaque white gaze was flaying him open, exposing his guilt. The words were flooding out before Yan noticed he was talking.

"It's not, Master. I think I've loved him for some time. I—I know it's against the Jedi Code for a reason, Master Ivan, but I couldn't stop it. I tried to be a good Jedi and release the emotions to the Force, but they wouldn't go away. I didn't know who I could talk to, and I tried not to think about it but he's gone and it hurts so much! Master Yoda is an excellent teacher, but I'm terrified if I told him about it, he might forbid me from seeing Senari again. Or even worse, I would get expelled from the Order, along with Sen. He doesn't deserve to be punished because of me—"

Ivan held up a scarred hand to halt the youngling's sudden flow of admissions. The emotional anguish he'd expected, but the youngling was speaking as if the other Palawan's absence caused him acute physical pain. There was only one reason for that, one that Ivan knew the Council would try to eradicate as soon as they caught a whisper of it. "Calm yourself, youngling. And no, I didn't read your mind, I didn't have to. You were projecting; I could sense your shame and guilt before you reached the salle this morning. Has Master Yoda taught you shielding?"

"Uh...no," Yan admitted. He knew some of the other Padawans, including Sen, had been taught it or learned themselves. Yan hadn't feel the need to hide anything from his Master, until last night.

Master Ivan's frown deepened. He can't go about the Temple, broadcasting his newly-discovered desire for the other youngling. Lords of Light, I'm too old for this shit. But I'll be damned if I lose my only Makashi student in decades to a gaggle of stuck-up prudes. "Until I'm confident in your shielding abilities, our lessons will begin here. I'll guide you in building your mental sheilds for an hour, and then we'll progress to the salle for Makashi."

Yan's jaw popped open, his mouth falling in a surprised o at Master Ivan's words. "You aren't reporting me to the Council? The Jedi Code--"

"I know the Code, youngling, you don't need to preach it to me," Ivan snapped out with a fierce glower, and Yan's protests instantly died out. "The Council is not what it used to be. We were true guardians when I was on active duty. Now the Jedi are nothing but lap dogs for the Senate to flaunt and whistle at, and it was the Council's decisions that led us down this path of idleness," Ivan hissed. "We take more children from their families than we need for our ranks, and don't train them all. Then we give those selected children weapons, and tell them it's against the Code to feel emotions, to care for their brethren. It's a Sith-damned disgrace."

With his own Jedi Master being the head of the Council, hearing such venom spoken against the Jedi Council startled Yan. His shock was clear on his face, because the old Jedi laughed darkly at him.

"The Council is fully aware of my distain towards their 'modern teachings'. What's the worst they can do to me? Force me to retire?" Ivan snorted.

Part of what Master Ivan had said was something Yan could admit to himself that he agreed with. The Jedi had saved him from death, and he'd spent every second of his waking hours to ensure he could repay them by becoming a Jedi as well. If he hadn't been selected to be a Padawan, he would have been utterly lost if he'd gotten kicked out of a second home.

Master Ivan sighed heavily, and suddenly looked his age of being nearly two hundred, though he looked to be in his late seventies by human standards. His parents had both been Knights, strong in the Force, and it had caused him to age slower than his fellow human Jedi. Ivan preferred the rumor that Death refused to claim him because it was terrified of him. "I'm not walking these old bones to the training salle twice in a day. You're dismissed until our next session, youngling. But first I'll help you put up some basic shields in your mind."

Yan nodded to show he understood, but he couldn't help the question that burst out of him next. He was still reeling from the fact that he wasn't getting sent to the Council, or that Master Ivan was actually helping him hide the fact that he was in love with another Padawan. "You don't think it's wrong, that I am—attached?"

Ivan's cerulean and misty eyes snapped up and bored into Yan's dark ones, and he instantly regretted the question, his throat tightening. When Master Ivan spoke, his voice was low and rough, as though each word pained him. "When you are at war, youngling, the only thing that keeps you alive is love. Not a lightsaber, or a blaster, or foolish ideals about serenity and peace. Love is the only thing you will fight for, and one day, you will fully understand these words."

War? The Republic isn't at war, we're in a time of peace, Yan thought dubiously, but he didn't press the topic. "Yes, Master. If I may ask one last thing...what does saeta mean? Is it friend, in your native language?" Yan asked curiously.

Master Ivan rose up from his seat and gestured for Yan to join him on the meditation mat in the small common area. There was never one last question from Yan, but that was what caused Ivan to be fond of the youngling, the constant search for knowledge. "To me, it doesn't. But to another on my home world, it could," Ivan murmured ambiguously. "I'll tell you more about its origins when you're knighted."

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

For the next tenday, Yan threw himself into his studies and training. He started having tea more often with Master Ivan, usually on the same days they had Makashi practice after Yan had showered and cleaned up from katas and drills. He would read to the old Jedi sometimes, or discuss what he was studying in his advanced classes. He especially enjoyed listening to the terrifying stories Master Ivan told when he had been a Knight, though gave Yan no hints on how he'd partially lost his sight. Foolishly, Yan wondered if this was what having an actual father was like, but he kept that thought hidden from even Master Ivan.

Outside of training and lessons, he did his best not to linger on the mission status projection in the main lobby of the Temple.

But when the return day for Senari and Master Drei came and went, and they didn't show at the spaceport, Yan became unbearably anxious. He asked Jocasta and Sifo-Dyas if they had heard from Sen, but both of the other Padawans were in the dark about Sen's mission as much as he was.

"Extended, their mission was. Complications, they ran into. Your worry, release to the Force, you should," Master Yoda had chided him when he went to his Master to question Yoda over the delayed return.

For the first time in three years, Yan didn't do as his Master instructed. After ensuring his shields were firmly in place, he laid in his bed on his side, hand resting on the spot that Senari had slept on. He missed Senari so much, tears gathered on his black lashes, and his breath hitched in his chest.

Serenno will not tolerate your weakness, boy, a cruel voice hissed at him. Yan flinched away from the unwelcome memory of the 'tutor' his mother had hired, a cruel, violent man that had promised to fix Yan's inability to control the Force.

Instead, he thought about Sen.

His mind easily pictured Senari laying on his back in that exact spot, night robe shoved up to his chest, blankets around his thighs, stroking himself rapidly as he moaned.

Yan's body hardened from the memory, and he slid his hand between the folds of his night robe, his hips curling into his hand. He wondered if Sen would have taken his hand and put it on his body, if Yan had tried to reach out and be the one stroking Sen. Yan thought about how it would feel if Senari had been touching him, gripping him and pumping as he whispered those Force-damned things in Yan's ear.

Yan bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood as he suddenly came, ruining his night robe. It didn't feel half as good as it had when Senari had been next to him, and as his heartbeat slowed down, Yan let some of his tears fall into his pillow as guilt ate at him again. His feelings went against the Jedi Code, what he'd dedicated his life to. He owed the Jedi everything, and he was betraying them with emotions that refused to leave, no matter how much he meditated.

But while the Jedi had saved him from death, Senari had been the one that taught Yan how to actually live over the years. He'd shown Yan beauty in the art he created, and joy in things he never would have found on his own.

Hugging a pillow to his chest, Yan buried his face against the mattress and tried to sleep, despite the turmoil in his thoughts.

Each night that passed with Senari still away on his first mission was filled with anxiety and restlessness. Yan barely slept, though he didn't let it show in his studies or training. He tried not to succumb to his emotions, but in the dark, it was easy to pretend that Sen was laying down next to him, and his memories supplied the rest. Almost immediately after he reached his peak, guilt and shame would rise up almost as swiftly, and he'd struggle to release those to the Force, as well. He thought distance between him and Sen would help ease the hold his emotions had on him, and he was terribly wrong. It only made the longing worse, the weight on his chest becoming heavier with each passing day.

But then Senari arrived back on Coruscant, safe, if not a little beat up. Gossip traveled fast in the Temple, and apparently, Sen and Master Drei had been spotted by a Hutt's lookout and had barely fought their way off Nal Hutta. Even though he was relieved Senari was back, Yan couldn't bring himself to see him. He hadn't resolved his own feelings, and if he was near Sen, it would be that much harder to let go. Shamefully, like a coward, he hid in his room, only going out for his classes and Makashi training with Master Ivan.

Jocasta Nu and Sifo-Dyas refused to get involved between the two friends, and Yan’s instincts told him that Jocasta, at least, suspected why he and Senari weren’t attached at the hip anymore. He still meditated during any free time he had, fighting the persisting emotions and the need that overwhelmed him most nights.

After an entire cycle of successful avoidance, though, Yan unknowingly walked straight into a trap.

Senari was, admittedly, a lot more than hurt that Yan hadn't been the first one he saw when he got back from Nal Hutta with Master Drei. What was supposed to be a watch-and-report deal had rapidly devolved into a run-for-your-Force-loving-life deal. Even with his natural Force abilities for sensing when danger was coming, he and his Master still received a few blaster clips to their arms.

And when Senari had gotten to the Temple's spaceport, Jocasta and Sifo-Dyas had been there to welcome him back.

To his shock, Yan was nowhere to be found.

Senari had hoped that Yan was waiting for him in their secret spot in the Temple gardens, for a more private reunion. He'd promised to have dinner with Jo and Sifo later to tell them about the mission, and he'd rushed to the gardens, heart pounding from eagerness.

He'd gone to the waterfall pool and found the secluded area empty.

It was more torturous than being shot at by the Hutts' goons. Senari couldn't figure out what had changed in the short time he'd been gone. From the embrace that Yan had initiated before they left—and what they'd shared the night before—Senari was certain Yan felt the same way towards him. But it was obvious, after days of Sen trying to get Yan alone, or even in the same room as him, Yan was painstakingly avoiding him.

That cut Senari deeper than a durasteel blade.

Senari wasn't one to wallow in his own misery; he decided late one night that he'd take the confrontation to Yan, in the one place Yan was guaranteed to be in the early hours of the morning. Sen didn't sleep, too wired and upset to get any sort of rest.

Senari got to the training salle an hour before Yan typically showed up, and he waited.

Yan was annoyingly punctual, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned on the first set of lights in the salle, noticing he wasn't the first one there. His heart leapt up into his throat, and his dark eyes instantly skittered away from his friend.

"We need to talk," Senari declared flatly, arms crossed. He was posted against the wall, still mostly in shadow with only one set of lights activated. As soon as he looked at Yan, tension leapt between them, the Force crackling and snapping as their fragile bond tried to connect them.

Yan uncomfortably pulled off his dark earth-toned outer robe, his motions stiff. He folded it neatly and placed it in its usual spot on the end of a bench, still refusing to turn towards the other Padawan. "There is nothing to talk about," Yan muttered.

Nothing to talk about? He's serious. Senari’s brow ticked up incredulously. "Really? Then I just imagined you’ve been avoiding me since I got back?" Sen countered, pushing off from the wall and stalking over with his brow set low over his hazel eyes.

Yan knew being near Senari was a bad idea. His entire plan of avoidance was based on the fact that he recognized Sen was his weakness. Yan didn’t have the energy or willpower to push Sen away, and his gaze stayed rooted on the floor as Senari stopped right in front of him.

“Yan. Don’t run away. Talk to me,” Senari insisted, his tone going from irate to confused in one deep breath. Don't get angry. Getting angry will only make things worse. I want to understand what he's feeling, not accuse him of anything, Sen reminded himself with a sharp nip to his tongue. He took in a few more steadying breaths. Yan looked so tired, like he hadn't slept a single hour the entire time Sen was gone, and it made Senari want to hold him and offer his shoulder, or his lap, as a pillow. Focus, Sen. “I'm confused, Yan. And frankly, hurt. I've been gone for two tendays and you didn't even bother to see if I was alright. I thought you felt the same way I did. The night before I left—"

“Cannot happen again. Will not happen again,” Yan interrupted rudely, a first for the descendant from Serenno's richest bloodline. He intended to sound firm, resolute, but his voice betrayed him and cracked. Yan turned his head away, his throat tight and tongue wooden. He didn’t want Senari to witness his shame, his weakness as tears clung to his lashes.

Yan couldn’t stop the way his stomach fluttered when Senari grabbed his chin and forced his head to move, so Yan had no choice but to meet those bright hazel eyes.

Senari stared at him without blinking, and Yan bit the inside of his cheek when he sensed Senari’s Force signature curling around him, a comforting weight he thought he’d never feel again. Yan had to restrain himself from reaching out his own Force signature, a physical pain going through his body like trying to endure a cramped muscle without stretching it when he didn't connect with that familiar, brilliant light.

“You don’t mean that,” Sen accused him softly, calling him out on the lie. He didn’t let go of Yan’s chin, and his thumb began to stroke over the corner of Yan’s trembling bottom lip. Yan could feel his shame—at trying to lie to Sen, at his inability to let go of his emotions, at what he did at night—burning across his face.

“Yan. I missed you so much,” Senari murmured huskily, leaning in even closer. Senari’s other hand found Yan’s Padawan braid, stroking down the woven hair before tucking it safely behind Yan’s ear.

He says my name like it’s the most precious thing in the world, Yan thought with a renewed shudder. Each time Senari said it, Yan felt more like himself than he ever did at the frigid castle he was born in.

Their mouths were less than a breath away from connecting when Yan managed to find his voice again. “Please,” Yan whispered brokenly. He wasn’t sure what he pleaded for, but Senari froze all the same. “I’m trying to be a good Jedi. I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back. And—and I was even more afraid of what would happen when you did. This is wrong,” Yan whispered, the torment clear on his dignified features and shining in his near-black eyes. Even as he protested, his hands lifted and clung to the front of Senari’s robes, his fingers twisting in the tan fabric like Senari was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

The thumb lingering on the corner of Yan’s mouth traveled sideways, brushing against the lower curve with purpose. At Yan’s last whisper, Senari’s eyes flashed dangerously, and they narrowed accusingly. “You don’t mean that,” Sen repeated with utter conviction, fingers that had caressed his braid winding around the back of Yan’s neck, digging in.

“The Code—” Yan tried again feebly, his chin dipping down a fraction of an inch. It was barely perceptible, but it was all the permission Senari needed.

“Fuck the Code,” Sen growled.

Their Force signatures collided and tangled with each other a millisecond before their mouths fused together. Yan's lips instantly parted underneath Sen's insistent tongue with a soft whimper, and he moaned as his senses were overwhelmed by Senari. When he'd lay awake at night, fighting the images his desire created for him, he imagined Sen gently taking his face in his hands and kissing him softly, tenderly, showing him that the love he felt wasn't bad.

The reality was far more intense, and far better than anything Yan's imagination could come up with.

Sen kissed like he sparred and trained, taking no quarter, showing Yan no mercy as Sen explored every warm inch of his mouth with a tongue that was wickedly agile. On instinct, Yan latched onto Sen's tongue and sucked on it when it pushed in, a shudder of lust going straight to his hips as Senari groaned into his mouth, his grip on the back of Yan's neck tightening.

Yan didn't even realize he was being moved until the back of his knees hit the long bench. He stumbled, legs buckling, falling onto the hard wood with no amount of grace. The breath was knocked out of Yan from the sudden push, and Senari refused to let their mouths unlock. Sen was right there with him, and nimbly climbed onto Yan's lap. He pushed Yan’s shoulders against the wall, hovering above him as his knees settled on either side of Yan's legs. Sen’s weight pressed down into Yan’s hips, and Yan whimpered audibly as his mouth was claimed, the kiss deepening even more as Sen changed the angle of their heads with practiced hands.

"Force, you've no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Sen growled against his lips, hands roaming and touching everything he could reach; Yan's jaw, his soft black hair, his shoulders, down to his chest that was hidden by the annoyingly-thick training robes Yan insisted on wearing. Sen nipped at the soft bottom lip, fighting the urge to rock his hips into Yan's abdomen. Yan's mouth was so much better than what Sen had fantasized about; it parted so greedily, taking the barest hint of pressure along the seam before Yan opened for him. The stuttered noises the other Padawan was making had Senari grinning fiercely. "You taste so. Fucking. Sweet. Let me back in, baby, open up for me," Senari crooned, punctuating his words with scattered kisses across Yan’s sharp cheek and jaw, before reclaiming his mouth with a hungry growl.

Another shudder rocked through Yan's frame, his jaw moving and his lips parting again without any conscious thought. Then Senari was urging Yan's tongue to extend out, drawing on it and teasing it with his own tongue. The slick feeling of Sen’s tongue gliding across his own had Yan dizzy, his entire body getting hot underneath his exercise tunics. His body had reacted almost immediately, too, and Yan could feel Senari’s arousal pressing against his stomach through their robes.

Yan’s hands were still gripping the front of Senari’s tunics, and he moved them to hold onto Sen's hips. Yan moaned as they flexed in his palms, and he was the one that guided Sen to arch his clothed hardness into him, their panting and the sound of their kiss the only thing echoing in the training salle.

It was almost terrifying, seeing all the walls he'd painstakingly built up over the time Senari was gone on his first mission crumble into dust and laid to waste over a simple kiss, something most Padawans had clumsily done long before his age. It was exhilarating at the same time, freeing, his iron resolve getting stripped away by the one he loved.

"That's it, baby," Sen encouraged on a husky groan. Shit, it's been too long—I couldn't do anything on the mission because we were camping out in the swamp on Nal Hutta, and Yan is actually kissing me back, he wants me, I can feel it! Just the pressure of their cocks rubbing together had Senari shaking and ready to explode, the clothing only heightening his excitement because he could only imagine what it would feel like if they were naked—

"Yan—Yan, if we don't slow down a bit, I'm going to—" Senari began to rasp out, but he didn't stop himself, pulling on Yan's braid and getting another sweet gasp.

"I don't want to slow down," Yan whispered stubbornly, and Sen almost lost it right there as Yan began to take over the kiss. He was a quick learner, and soon Yan was working his mouth against Sen's plush, soft lips with growing confidence and desire. Yan's kiss was slower, more thorough, feeling each swipe of his tongue against Sen's down to his toes. His head ducked down and he explored the side of Senari's throat with his lips, kissing reverently like he'd seen in holomovies he sometimes watched with Sen. Hesitantly, sweetly, Yan started to part the lapel of Senari's robes, fingertips shaking a bit as he felt the heat from Senari's skin.

Yan traced over Senari's collarbone, stroking down his sternum. Sen wore his tunics loosely, almost persistently disheveled and messy, showing more of his chest than other Padawans usually did. Yan had struggled, especially recently, not to blatantly stare at the exposed skin when Sen was training. Now it was underneath his fingers, warm and slightly damp from sweat, and it made Yan shudder. A wide inverted triangle of Sen's chest was bare to him, from his throat to right above his navel, and Yan leaned back only far enough so he could look. A fingertip brushed against one of Senari's light brown nipples, and Yan felt Sen's pleasure spike in the Force sharply. At the same time, Sen's hips jerked into his stomach, a low moan bubbling out of Sen's parted lips.

"Right there...touch me there again, Yan, please," Senari panted, hands locked around the back of Yan's neck.

Oh, he liked that, Yan thought, and he did it again, dragging the pad of his thumb back and forth over the flat nipple. Senari's head fell back, and the skin of his throat tasted like salt and honey under Yan's lips—

Abruptly, the two were bathed in a blinding glow.

All of the overhead lights in the training salle turned on at once, and Senari jerked in shock, tumbling backwards off Yan's lap and landing on his ass, hitting the floor with a shocked oomph. He scrambled to get up at the same time Yan sprung to his feet, both whirling towards the door like thieves caught in the middle of a heist.

The growl that met them wasn't reassuring.

"What a pleasant surprise. I will have two students this morning," Master Ivan drawled, jeweled cane tapping against the floor steadily as his knowing cerulean gaze froze the two guilty apprentices in place.

Yan and Senari shared a fleeting, panicked look. Even a youngling could have guessed what they'd been doing; their hair was tousled, their lips flushed and slightly puffy from the desperate kiss, and their robes were in disarray. Sith Hells, Senari's tunics were gaping open practically down to the waistband of his leggings. Getting caught by a Jedi Master in such an incriminating state was surely a one-way ticket to the AgriCorps, and Sen instinctively put himself between the old Jedi and Yan.

"Uh..." Sen began, but his usual wit failed him.

"Er..." Yan tried to add.

Just say whatever comes to mind, go on your instincts. "I'm not here to learn Makashi," Senari decided on, and at Master Ivan's arched brow, he quickly backtracked. Right, my social instincts are trash, damn it! "As great as it is, don't get me wrong, it looks very nice when you do it, Master, I just—Yan and I were--I wanted to talk to him after I got back—"

Master Ivan strode further into the salle, watching the two blushing younglings with heavy amusement. "Then you have come to help train your fellow Padawan in hand-to-hand combat. Youngling Dooku needs the practice, he is uncomfortable with close quarter fighting. He prefers to hide behind his saber, but he must know how to defend himself if he loses it. While all I hear from Lorne is how you refuse to fight fair in saber practice," Ivan said pointedly at Senari with an evil chuckle of delight. Almost daily, Lorne could be heard barking out some version of "a lightsaber is not a club and should not be used as one" or "Kane if you deck one more opponent you're on the bench for a cycle" when Senari was in saber practice.

"I don't mean to correct you twice, Master Ivan, but—" Senari began again, but his voice faltered as the Jedi stood in front of them, looming over them both with narrowed, menacing eyes. Senari audibly gulped, and the only reason he didn't adjust his tunics was because he was witnessing his life flash before his eyes. While the oldest human Jedi in the Order, and as retired as a Jedi could be, Master Ivan was no less terrifying. Sen figured if anyone was capable of murder, it was the scarred, half-blind Makashi warrior that was the stuff of creche nightmares.

I'm too old for this shit, Master Ivan grumbled to himself, a litany he'd developed over the past few years. He'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not notice the youngling's mood worsening over the past week, though Yan hadn't spoken about was causing his sour mood during their hours spent together. After his earlier confession, it wasn't a hard guess to make, with his saeta back safe, and how Yan secluded himself.

Now that the two had clearly made up, Master Ivan wasn't going to be used as a cover for the two to have their trysts. He had been young once, and he'd found a secret place within the Temple. They could, too.

Ivan used the Force to carry his cane and lightsaber over to the bench and prop it against the wall. He undid the clasp on his favorite cape and it, too, joined his belongings against the wall. Ivan crossed his arms, glaring down at the two younglings who weren't taking the out he was generously and graciously offering. "Yes, you are here for combat training. Because what other reason would two apprentices have to be in the training salle, this Force-damned early in the morning, alone?" Ivan said slowly.

Yan managed to grasp the meaning behind Master Ivan's words long before Senari. Still blushing fiercely, and unable to look Master Ivan in his cerulean and white, opaque eyes, Yan awkwardly bowed. "Thank you for offering to train both of us, Master Ivan," Yan mumbled, and he pointedly dug his heel into Senari's foot when his friend remained silent and confused.

"Ow—oh, right, thank you, Master Ivan. I'm in your care," Sen added hurriedly, wincing slightly as his toes throbbed. Senari's hazel eyes widened a little, and despite what he'd just done with Yan, Sen felt embarrassment crawling up his throat. "Uh....Master? Why're you taking off your tunics?" Sen asked, a hint of nervousness entering his tone as the older Jedi disrobed his upper half.

Ivan rolled his shoulders and cracked both of his knuckles in the opposite hand. "Because in today's lesson, your opponent will be me. If either of you can land a single hit, the lesson will be over; then you can return to your pre-training exercises," Master Ivan snorted.

Five hours later, Senari was covered in bruises and barely breathing, strewn out across the soft grass on his stomach in front of the waterfall in the Temple gardens, his face planted in the ground. When they finally left the training salle, it was well past midday, and they didn't have the energy to drag themselves to the cafeteria for lunch. Instead, they'd chosen to drag their battered bodies to their usual meet-up spot, and had promptly collapsed.

"That bastard...is a thousand years old. How the fuck...does he move like that...without crumbling to dust," Senari accused angrily, the words muffled by the grass.

Yan wasn't doing much better. He had grown used to Master Ivan's dictatorial, punishing way of teaching; but he hadn't expected them to have to face off against the Jedi. Like Master Ivan had claimed, Yan was awful at close quarters combat, and he was feeling every strike and parry the Master Jedi had delivered in his bones. "Sen, your language," Yan groaned softly. He was laying on his back, eyes closed, a few feet away from the other swearing Padawan.

"Retired, my fat Batuu ass. He didn't even break a sweat. The old man is a fucking sadist," Sen continued to grumble, each breath making his ribs scream in agony. He'd been arrogantly hopeful when Master Ivan had said that if either he or Yan managed to hit him, they'd be dismissed for the day. He'd been overflowing with hormones, desperate to get Yan alone to finally talk and for...other things.

Yan wheezed out a laugh, nearly giddy on the endorphins from training for such an extended period of time. "Your ass doesn't have an inch of fat on it," he snorted with a roll of his dark eyes.

Senari propped himself up on his elbows, even though moving at all made him want to groan, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he gazed over at Yan. "Oh, you've been looking?" Sen asked with a drawl, wagging his brows up and down and flexing his glute muscles, just to see if Yan would notice.

Yan had the decency to blush, though he didn't glance away, allowing himself to appreciate the way Sen's firm muscles strained against the thin fabric of his leggings. Yan forced his gaze to return to Senari's green and brown eyes, shimmering with amusement and affection. "It'd be hard not to," he muttered with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. Senari's Ataru training had done very nice things to the already-handsome Padawan's frame, and Yan would have to be blind not to see the changes.

Senari let himself smirk just a tiny bit, butterflies flooding his stomach. He folded his arms in front of him and rested his chin on his crossed arms, letting them settle into quiet companionship for a while before he broke the silence. "Can you tell me why you avoided me?" Sen asked softly, his teeth digging into his lower lip briefly. The sense of hurt was still sharp, still nearly took his breath away, but he focused on Yan beside him, in the grass, underneath the warmth of Coruscant's sun. "I thought I did something wrong, or I took things too far, the night before I left..."

Yan swallowed, the words lodging in his throat. As hard as it was to admit his fears, Senari deserved an explanation. He turned his head to the side so he was looking at Sen, and the heat in his face remained. "I can't deny that I have feelings for you, Sen," Yan whispered, the noise of the waterfall almost drowning out his words. "I do love you. But those feelings go against the Jedi Code. I owe the Jedi everything, Sen. They gave me a home when my own was stripped from me, and I was able to meet you through them. The love I have for you does not feel bad, but willingly betraying the Code I was raised to uphold is what feels wrong."

Senari didn't speak as Yan laid out what had tormented him, taking the time to process what he said, instead of just reacting and throwing out his own feelings. His chest felt lighter than air when Yan said those words, I do love you, and Sen itched to return the confession with another passionate, heated kiss, like the one they'd shared in the training salle before they were interrupted. They couldn't get distracted again, and this conversation needed to happen. Sen wanted to be a good Jedi, too, but his version of a good Jedi didn't include following a lot of the rules that seemed to do more harm than good.

And while Sen admired Yan's determination and loyalty, he had to challenge it a little to make sure Yan understood where Sen was coming from. "Did you ever consider that just because it goes against the Code, doesn't make it wrong?" Senari prompted. He arched a dark brow, drawing on what had first made him realize that the Code might not always be right. "Remember when the Disciplinary Council wanted to expel me, alongside Ziarr? According to the Code, I acted out of anger and fear, and they were within their rights to kick me into a field with a shovel and a plow as a parting gift. Did you agree with that decision?"

"Of course not," Yan denied instantly, scowling at the memory. "You were a hero—you saved my life, and they wanted to punish you for it. I felt terribly guilty when I heard you were in trouble, too. I even lost my temper with Yoda when he told me they were considering expelling you. I practically begged Master Ozan to defend you, because I knew he'd understand your actions, as...reckless and brave as they were."

The corner of Sen's mouth twitched upwards fondly, every inch of him becoming warm at the knowledge that Yan had broken his steeled, aloof resolve over him. "Then you can see how someone's views can be misguided when they claim they're upholding the Jedi Code," Senari pointed out smoothly. "I thought about this a lot, Yan. The Archives were hazy about details, but I think the real reason Jedi are forbidden from making attachments was to stop Force-sensitive babies from being born. The children of two Force-sensitive people lived a lot longer than average humans, almost double the usual lifetime. It was population control, but they pass it off as teachings about cutting off our emotions is what makes a good Jedi."

"Because those that have turned to the Dark side were controlled by their emotions," Yan reminded the other Padawan.

"There are plenty of Jedi that have blindly followed the Code that made mistakes," Sen shot back calmly. "I know for a fact that I won't be perfect when I'm a Knight. But I refuse to follow someone else's suspicions without experiencing it first."

Senari's hazel eyes became subdued, the usual brightness dimming as he stared down at the grass underneath them, fluttering softly in the breeze. "Nal Hutta had a lot of slaves that served the slugs. They were getting whipped, some got hurt even worse by guards. Do you know what Master Drei said, when I wanted to help free them? It wasn't our job to save them; the Council had ordered us to simply observe, and that's all we'd do." Sen shuddered, even though the sun was flooding their secret spot with its warm light. He tried not to get sucked back into the horrible memories, swallowing thickly. "I felt so sick, having a lightsaber, hearing their desperation in the Force, and doing nothing. I will not be the kind of Jedi that strictly follows orders. When we were spotted, and the guards were firing at us, the Code didn't spur me to deflect faster. It was...it was you," he whispered.

Yan's mouth opened to deny the negative view on instinct—the Code had guided the Jedi for centuries, and would continue to do so long after they were one with the Force. But he closed it after a few moments of silence, sheepishness making the back of his neck hot as Senari's words drove into his heart and made it beat faster against his sternum.

Master Ivan's words a few tendays ago echoed back at Yan. When you are at war, youngling, the only thing that keeps you alive is love. Not a lightsaber, or a blaster. Love is the only thing you will fight for...

It seemed that Senari already understood them.

"I never thought of it that way," Yan admitted, but like with Master Ivan, as soon as the words began, they flowed out without restraint. "I'm still afraid of what these feelings will cause in the future, if we're discovered by another Jedi, or the Council finds out. There's a reason we're taught strong emotions lead to the Dark side. When you left for your mission, I was terrified that you'd never come back. I was even more terrified of what I would do, to ensure you came back," he went on to admit, his voice hoarse.

Even as younglings, they were warned about how the Dark side could tempt and seduce. During the lectures, Yan had always firmly believed that if the Dark side ever appeared to him, he would have no issue resisting it. The Jedi had given him everything he wanted; purpose in life, a home, skills to defend the innocent and the helpless and himself. But when Senari had left, Yan found himself desolate. All the training he'd absorbed to release his emotions to the Force were useless, and he knew he'd accept any extended hand that appeared to him if it meant he knew Sen was alive and well.

Senari shifted across the grass so he was closer to Yan. He reached out and laid his palm on Yan's shoulder, gazing deeply into those dark amber eyes that were vulnerable and scared.

"You're afraid you'll fall," Sen whispered. Yan was so strong in the Force, there was almost no need for him to be tempted by the dangerous power the Dark side offered; Yan already had all the power he needed.

Yan couldn't speak past the sudden tightness in his throat as Senari pinpointed his most terrifying fears, but he nodded. He cupped Sen's palm on his shoulder with his own hand, squeezing it tightly and not letting go. The contact was grounding, and with Sen near, it felt like Yan would be able to face anything, even his own demons.

Sen took in a soft breath, and he gave Yan a smile that nearly blinded the other Padawan. "Okay, let's make a deal. You'll look after me, and make sure I stay in line—"

"You're already asking me to do the impossible," Yan muttered with a roll of his eyes and a thin, wane smile.

Senari kept talking as though Yan hadn't interrupted him, but his hazel eyes shone with mischief, and Yan knew his comment had been heard. "--and I'll look after you, and make sure you don't fall. As long as we have each other, nothing bad could possibly happen," Sen reasoned, grinning foolishly as Yan's smile grew a little more. Then, Sen felt shyness creep up on him, and he dampened his lips with his tongue. His palm moved from Yan's shoulder to cup the other apprentice's face, thumb stroking over Yan's angled cheekbone. He'd never said it, said it, and he wouldn't have dreamed that Yan would be the first one of the two to say the words. Sen didn't want any doubt concerning where his head—and his heart—was at.

"I love you, Yan Dooku," Senari murmured, pouring all of the affection that had been building inside him since the fire into the words.

Yan shuddered, his full name on Senari's lips more potent than any addictive substances he could ever encounter in his life. When he'd been waiting for his trial, jailed in the cellar of the castle he'd spent his entire life in, he'd discovered the Countess of Serenno had labeled him as a traitor to his own world. His name had transformed into a curse overnight. When Senari whispered it, he didn't feel like a scared child anymore, warmth blossoming in his chest.

The Force between them shifted, the fledgling bond trying to connect them again. This time, they weren't distracted by their bodies—or a near-death experience—and the bond connected their minds and Force signatures fully, glowing with Light. It had always been there, since the night of the fire, waiting for them to act on it, dormant but enduringly patient. Yan wrapped his Force signature around it, cradling it in his head with profound tenderness as he blinked away the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

I love you too, Sen, Yan thought back, and he knew Senari had heard it, because the other Padawan gasped softly...

..right before pouncing on him and hungrily connecting their mouths in an ecstatic kiss.

"From now on, no more silent treatment, even if we're pissed at each other. If something's wrong, we talk until it's figured out," Senari insisted between little pants of excitement, scattering kisses all over Yan's face.

Yan laughed breathlessly, curling his arms around Sen's shoulders. "No more silent treatment, I promise. But you can't order your elders around like that," he accused playfully.

"Elder? We're the same age, and we have the same nameday," Sen huffed.

Yan's cheeks turned a soft pink, embarrassment inching up his throat for some unknown reason. "Actually, I'm two years older than you. The, ah, maid that helped me escape lied to the Knights that picked me up. She was worried the Jedi Order wouldn't take me, if I wasn't younger," Yan admitted quietly. "I was small enough to pass for a six-year-old, but I was eight when I left Serenno."

Senari paused when he sensed Yan's mood shift in the Force, moving so he was pressed against Yan's side and not splayed out on top of him in the grass. He couldn't stand to be more than a breath away, and he kept his hand on Yan's warm cheek. "You haven't told me a lot about your home, but I can sense when you have nightmares. If you ever wanna talk about it..." Sen offered, an open door for Yan to either cross through, or politely decline. He didn't press, the waterfall filling the silence that followed Senari's comment. It wasn't hard to guess that Yan's early life as the heir to Serenno wasn't the lavish, royal lifestyle they saw on holodrama series. Yan had been conditioned early to be silent and obey, denied any sort of affection or parental love. His mother's death had been a tragedy, but Sen still had the rest of the Outpost to look after him and support him; it broke Sen's heart to think of his love being so alone as a child.

Throat tight again, Yan tried to brush away the sudden urge to cry the second time that day. The fear that Senari would find him repulsive if he knew what Yan had done was too strong to overcome. Though his soul knew it had to be healed at some point, Yan wasn't ready to have Sen face his dark past. "I...I don't want to hide things from you, Sen. But I--I'm simply not ready—please don't be mad—" The tears that he'd been fighting earlier finally slipped free from Yan's dark eyes, and Senari's thumb wiped them away with a gentleness that jut caused more to leak out.

Senari hushed him with a gentle kiss to Yan's lips, understanding immediately. He sent a wave of reassurance through their new bond. "I know, baby, it's okay. I'm not mad at you. It's okay that you're not ready to talk. I'll be right here when you are, though, alright? I'm not going anywhere," Senari encouraged, and he kissed Yan again tenderly when Yan nodded in agreement.

Senari grinned when he heard both their stomachs interrupt them with loud growls. He helped Yan up off his feet and brushed them both off. "Come on, let's find some food," Sen said, offering his hand out to the other Padawan. His stomach fluttered and his heart swelled as he felt Yan's palm slide into his grip, and their fingers laced together until they were forced to let go of each other's hand inside the Temple.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

There it is again.

An invisible pressure sporadically nudging against his back in random places; between his shoulder blades, on his left flank, at the base of his spine, up to his right shoulder, then in the middle of his back. His Padawan braid was flicked by an unseen hand, then tugged again when his eyes didn't leave the screen he was focused on.

It had started on the nape of his neck, lighter than dust and so faint, he could have easily mistaken it for the room's ambient air circulating. But the nudges became increasingly distracting, and Yan set the data pad down on the desk with a scowl, turning to glare at the Padawan lounging on the bed.

"Senari Kane, if you poke me with the Force one more time, I'm going to kick you out into the hallway," Yan growled.

His answer was an innocent flutter of dark lashes paired with a wicked grin that always made Yan blush. "This is my room," Senari pointed out. "You've been studying for hours, Yan; take a break."

A quick glance at the chrono on Sen's desk made Yan roll his dark brown eyes at the other apprentice's impatience. "It's been forty-two minutes," Yan corrected them dryly, reaching for the data pad again even as Sen let out a series of exaggerated groans in protest. If he'd been studying for his classes, he might have given in to Senari's pleading eyes and taken an extended break for what Senari wanted. When Yan concentrated hard enough on their bond, he could actually see into Sen's mind in brief flashes, catching the tail ends of thoughts or sporadic images of what Sen was picturing. In the past hour, Senari had been imagining crawling onto Yan's lap, joining him on the chair, and replacing the data pad in Yan's hands with his own warm skin.

But Yan wasn't studying for an exam. Yoda had told him for their next mission, Yan would be the one leading the negotiations, while his Master observed. A harrowing assignment for any nervous Padawan, if there were only two sides to mediate. Mor'een, the planet they were going to, had eight different tribes that were predicted to send delegates, each with different styles of body language for greeting, showing respect, dissenting, and offense. The Jedi would have an interpreter for the language, but Yan would be expected to know the body gestures to gain the Mor'eeni's trust. It didn't help that three out of the eight were on the brink of war with the other tribes, while the remaining five were split on the decision to join the Republic. Mor'een was an arid desert planet on the surface, often overlooked, but had sprawling gem and precious ore veins deep underneath the surface. There had been sightings of Hutt and Syndicate spies greedily eyeing the planet, and the Mor'eeni people weren't convinced the Republic could help protect their planet from the looming invasion.

Jocasta Nu had been visibly apologetic when she'd delivered the boxes of data pads on Mor'eeni culture and traditions from the Archives. The only advice she'd been able to offer Yan was to start with the history of the planet's natives as a foundation, and work up from there.

The mission was still a cycle away, and Yan already felt the pressure of time raking down on the back of his neck. He envied the Guardian missions Sen and Master Drei seemed to gravitate towards, the constant role of Consular wearing down on Yan's self-confidence. He knew it was a vital role Jedis had, and he never overlooked someone's negotiation skills. He just wasn't sure why he and Master Yoda were getting assigned nearly every treaty and political mission on the board each time he expressed his desire to do the opposite.

Senari's brow furrowed as Yan's anxiety pulsed out of him, making the edges of their bond twinge slightly. At first, he'd been annoying Yan as he studied because he'd been bored...and a bit horny, too. Now, it was clear that Yan was a bundle of stress, and anything he tried to retain wouldn't stick. An idea flitted across Sen's mind, a way he could help both of them relax, and he exhaled a sharp breath when Yan re-read the same block of text for the fourth time.

"You're not going to remember a damn thing if you just stare at that data pad and worry," Senari chided, swinging his legs off the bed. He moved off the rumpled covers and settled down in front of Yan's chair, crossing his legs and perching his chin in his palms, like a youngling in the creche at story-time. "Read it out loud to me; it might make more sense than repeating it in your head," Senari insisted, his expression innocent, but his green and brown eyes were gleaming with an ulterior motive.

Sen didn't blame Yan for the suspicious look that was thrown his way, but when it seemed that Sen really did mean to sit there and listen, Yan switched the data pad back on, turning the chair so that he was facing Sen on the floor. "Generations ago, the Mor'eeni tribes lived as a united clan. Their ancestors called this mega-tribe Pan'ghea, meaning 'the first.' Mor'eeni mythology claims that Pan'ghea existed in harmony for a thousand rain seasons. Their deity blessed the clan leader, Ro'Darru, and his wife, Ka'Lisha, with seven offspring that were each born during a rain season. This peace was broken when tragedy struck the clan leader's family; Ro'Darru was found dead by the first son, Ro'Tarru. Ro'Darru's seven children each blamed another for their father's death. Ka'Lisha refused to believe any of her children would murder for the position of clan leader..."

Senari was less focused on the passage Yan was reading aloud, and more on the Padawan's tone. The stiffness of anxiety and stress melted away the more Yan read to Sen, stopping occasionally to connect a piece of history to the current predicament Mor'een was facing. Sen tried to ask questions that would help Yan retain important details that were sure to come up at the treaty meeting. He knew Yan's strengths and weaknesses, and if Yan taught something he was struggling with, it helped more than rote memorization.

Yan paused as he moved on to a different data pad, and Sen decided they'd studied enough. When Senari shifted across the floor to get closer, he didn't stop until his cheek was resting comfortably on Yan's knee and he was on his knees between Yan's legs. This was a perfect moment to introduce Yan to another way they could find pleasure together, his palms sliding up to encourage the legging-clad thighs to part further for his shoulders. "Keep reading, baby," Senari purred, a twinge of smugness entering his gaze as Yan blushed, partially hidden by the data pad still in his hand.

Sen naturally gravitated towards pet names, especially when he knew it made Yan blush so fiercely. It had started in his fantasies, and though Yan complained about how un-Jedi like it was, he never asked Sen to quit. "I'm not a child, Senari," Yan had insisted, refusing to make eye contact as he stared down at their intwined fingers. Senari had hooked a finger underneath Yan's chin until those dark eyes were focused on him. "No, you're not. But I know you like it," Sen had purred with confidence.

Sen waited until Yan was reading steadily again, then his hands deftly untied the knot that kept Yan's obi secured around his waist. He pushed the loosened fabric aside, lifting up the hem of Yan’s tunics as his other hand ran up the inside of Yan’s open thigh. A sharp intake of breath sounded above Senari’s head, along with a questioning prod along their bond. The distinct tent in Yan’s leggings made Sen’s Force signature sweeten with arousal, and he stroked the outside of the fabric along the bulge for a couple spoken paragraphs.

Sen heard Yan click on the data pad to flip to the next page, and on the next caress downward, Sen hooked his fingers in the waistband of Yan’s leggings and pulled, freeing the thickening length. There was already a bead of clear excitement glistening on the swollen tip, and Senari’s mouth watered. His hand wrapped around the base and he pumped his fist lightly, grinning as he felt the blood rushing beneath the skin. Above his head, Yan’s voice broke off with a soft moan. After a few languid strokes, Yan managed to relax back in the chair and haltingly continue reading.

With his own erection throbbing with heat, Senari forgot that he had planned on teasing. The crystal pearls slipping down his knuckles were too tempting for him to ignore, and Sen’s mouth ached to know the imprint of the shaft he was touching. He shifted forward on his knees, the top of his head bumping against the back of the data pad, and Senari swept his tongue around the velvet head. A mix of salt and musk coated his senses, and he was instantly addicted, pushing forward, sucking down as much of Yan’s cock as he could.

Whatever Mor’eeni lore Yan had been reading abruptly stopped, a strangled gasp wrung out from his chest. The data pad hit Sen’s shoulder as it was dropped from surprise and the bolt of pleasure Sen felt echo through their bond, clattering to the floor. Sen internally grinned, the flare of pain quickly forgotten when Yan's fingers clutched at the arms of the chair and his hips bucked, driving his shaft deeper into Sen's throat. Yan's thighs were tense and quivering underneath Sen's hands, and Sen angled his head back so their gazes could lock together.

As soon as those dark sienna eyes met his, Senari bobbed his head, hollowing his cheeks as he began sucking with purpose. He lashed his tongue along the veins, paying special attention to the sensitive slit at the tip. Sen used a bit of the Force to help suppress his gag reflex, lust sparking like a wildfire as his throat was filled and used.

Yan was a flushed mess above him, his eyes almost entirely black from how wide his pupils were blown from desire, and his bottom lip was a dark red from how hard Yan was biting it to stifle his moans of pleasure. You taste so good, baby, Senari projected across their bond, and he groaned deep in his throat when a burst of salty excitement drooled onto his tongue at the praise.

Yan gasped in a shaky breath, his cheeks reddening further. "I—I do?" Yan asked on a stutter, swallowing thickly.

Ohhhhh fuck yes, Sen confirmed on a moan, emphasizing his words with a swirl of his tongue around the leaking head. Yan's lashes fluttered closed as Sen gave him a particularly rough suck, and Sen got Yan's attention again by scraping his teeth across the hyper-sensitive head. Eyes on me, baby. Watch me take you all the way to the hilt, Sen purred through their bond, deepthroating Yan slowly.

His hands weren't idle as his mouth worked. Senari raked his nails down the inside of Yan's thighs, then massaged the base of Yan's shaft in time with his movements. Sen guided one of Yan's hands to the back of his head, the other curling around Yan's hip to encourage him to arch into his mouth. He couldn't get enough of the taste of Yan's essence, he loved each muffled groan he brought out of his love. He felt Yan's thumb hesitantly stroke his cheek, his Padawan braid wound loosely around Yan's fist.

It was tentative at first, but after a few moments, Yan was curling his hips in a slow rhythm, pushing up while Senari glided his lips down Yan's slick cock. His saliva was dripping out of the corners of his mouth, down his chin, and the wet, sloppy noises were enough to make Sen's own cock twitch. His braid was pulled, and Sen groaned around the stiff length thrusting into his mouth.

Between his lips, Sen felt Yan's cock begin to pulse. He had a brief, evil thought to edge Yan until he was a sobbing wreck, but there'd be plenty of time for that sort of play later. Senari let his teeth drag up the entire length of Yan's cock, and a white-hot flash of pleasure barreled across their bond.

"Force, Sen—stop, stop I'm about to come!" Yan choked out, tugging at Senari's braid harder to get the other Padawan to raise his head.

A stubborn dip formed between Senari's brows, and he drew on the head quickly as Yan's frame shuddered. Yan cried out breathlessly, his other hand flying over his mouth, trying to contain his broken noises while he clutched at Sen's short, black hair. Warm jets flooded Senari's mouth as Yan's climax overtook him, and he swallowed eagerly, moaning with satisfaction. His fingers gently massaged Yan's sac, knowing the tender flesh was sensitive right as Yan finished. Yan's hips jerked at the caress, driving his cock further down Sen's throat as his shaft dripped out another wave of pleasure onto Sen's waiting tongue. That's it, give me everything, fill me up, Sen thought on a heated rush, lapping up the final dregs with half-lidded eyes, soaking up Yan's pleasure.

Senari let Yan catch his breath, the rapid panting gradually evening out as he rained soft kisses over the exposed skin he could reach. Wonder, joy, and the lingering tendrils of arousal seeped through their Force bond, and Senari basked in Yan's afterglow with pride.

It was a few moments before Yan found his voice. "Sen, that was...incredible. I didn't know you could do that. How...?" Yan finally rasped, a dark brow ticking up in question. Yan's fingers slid over Senari's long braid, thumb toying with the beads.

Sen flashed him another wicked grin. "A smuggler outpost on Batuu isn't exactly concerned with hiding adult content from the only kid running around. Only now, I can fully appreciate how to use what I saw," Senari explained, tilting his head into Yan's palm. His hazel eyes were shining with mirth and affection, and he nipped at the thumb that was caressing his cheek. His leggings were painfully tight around his groin, his arousal demanding relief. Next time, he'd be able to stroke himself as he sucked Yan off; for this first time he used his mouth, Sen had wanted to devote all of his attention to it. Seeing Yan relaxed and blissed out was almost as sweet as Yan's cries had been.

"I don't suppose you'd want to...return the favor?" Sen asked, unable to keep the hope out of his breathless tone. He visibly pouted when Yan tucked himself back into his pants, his eyes trailing down Sen's kneeling form, settling on the front of Sen's hips.

"Of course I want to," Yan murmured, his voice still husky. His tongue flashed out to dampen his lips, and he jerked his chin towards the mess of covers behind them. "But not on the floor. Up on the bed, Sen."

Senari hustled, bouncing on the bed from his eagerness to receive the same treatment. He didn't even wait for Yan to join him, already sweeping his leggings down past his knees and stripping out of his tunics. Yan's eyes were instantly drawn to the constellation of light brown freckles smattered across Senari's bare chest and shoulders. Sen threw the other Padawan his best needy look, propping himself up on his elbows. "Yan?"

But Yan didn't move from the chair.

Senari sensed the Force rise up, and the data pad lifted from the floor and returned to Yan's outstretched hand. Senari's confusion was clear on his face, dread curling in his chest as the data pad was switched back on. "Yan," Sen started to complain, his voice bordering a whine. He even dug his heels into the bed and wiggled his hips against the mattress with a desperate expression, fisting the base of his straining erection. He was so turned on from sucking Yan off, it wouldn't take much to get him to explode, too. He wouldn't dare—

"After another hour of studying," Yan stipulated with a smug shine in his dark eyes. Sen's hand was slapped away from his member and his leggings were yanked right back up his hips with a sharp pull from the Force.

Sen's frustrated cursing echoed out past his and Master Drei's quarters and out into the hall.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

"Padawan!"

At the sound of his Master's irate bark, Senari jolted out of bed. He didn't have to look at the chrono on his desk to know he was late, the offending alarm still chirping angrily. He nearly fell on his face, legs twisted in blankets, arms whirling, in his haste to get up. Sen chanted a constant stream of curses underneath his breath, his limbs feeling sluggish and his balance still wavering as he tore through his dresser to find tunics and leggings. He didn't bother messing with his hair at all, knowing each minute he was late was going to be another minute added to the lecture he'd get that evening about his punctuality.

"I know, Master, I'm sorry!" Senari yelled through the closed door to his room. He'd slept right through his first class, and well into the second morning lesson. His robes were barely on, obi halfway tied, and his lightsaber was wedged underneath his arm when he skidded out into the kitchen.

He nearly ran his Jedi Master over in his hurry to fly out of the apartment, and Tho-mas Drei had to steady him as he rocked on his feet. "Honestly Senari—Padawan, are you ill? You look pale," Master Drei questioned, his scolding halted mid-sentence as he took in how disheveled his apprentice was. Senari's eyes were glassy, and his face had the pale and flushed pallor that preceded a fever. "If you're not feeling well enough to attend classes, you should go to the Halls of Healing."

Sen waved away his Master's concerns. "I'm fine, I'm fine, just running late." So fucking late, Sen muttered the last part in his mind, cringing. He was the first to acknowledge he wasn't a morning person, but he hadn't been this terrible since he'd gotten the Corellian flu last year.

Drei sighed, shaking his head as his apprentice ducked around him and disappeared out into the hall.

Once he managed to get to the lecture hall, Senari was barely able to feign paying attention to the last half of the Intergalactic Cultures lesson, despite getting called on constantly as a penance for stumbling in late and interrupting the lecture. Even after mid-meal, he still felt like he'd never truly woken up. His head was clouded, like it was full of fog, and the lights and commotion of the cafeteria had started a headache. The only focus he really had was checking his comm every few minutes; Yan and Master Yoda had left for their big mission on Mor'een two tendays ago, and were projected to return in four long cycles. They managed to exchange long-distance messages once a day, but Sen's loneliness was sharper, on top of the rough start to his day.

"Sen, you coming?"

Senari blinked, looking up at Sifo-Dyas. "Huh? Oh, yeah, right behind you," Sen mumbled, getting up alongside his friend with most of his tray still untouched. He instantly felt dizzy the moment he stood, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. I'm just tired. All I need is a good night of sleep, and I'll be fine. After 'saber training, I can crawl back in bed, Sen told himself, the fog in his head lifting minutely at the promise of curling back up in his room. He definitely felt the beginnings of a fever creeping up his body; his skin felt like it was flushed and clammy at the same time, the noises of the Temple grating and making his teeth clench together.

For once, when Master Lorne gathered the Padawans, Sen didn't jump forward to volunteer. He remained in the back, with Sifo glancing at him curiously, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down the nape of his neck. He watched the advanced kata be performed, his stomach rolling again as he saw the airborne flip it required. Sick or not, I'm not gonna half-ass lightsaber training, Senari thought with determination, shifting his legs to the opening stance along with the rest of the apprentices.

"Master Lorne, over here!"

"I think he hit his head—"

"He's not moving—"

"Is there blood?!"

"Quiet, Padawans!" a sharp voice snapped out. Then, softer, "Senari, can you hear me?"

What...? Senari's eyes blinked open, and he was immediately stabbed by the blinding training salle lights. He groaned, shutting them tight again as he felt two hands probing at his temples. "Ow," Sen complained when they hit a tender spot on the side of his head. The floor was cold underneath him, a nice contrast to the fire that was currently sweeping over his shivering form. "What happened?" Sen asked blearily.

He heard Sifo's voice answer him, close to his left. "You passed out in the middle of katas and cracked your head on the floor. Thank the Force for your thick skull, right?"

Sen tried to wheeze out a laugh at the poor joke, but it only came out as a soft whimper.

"Senari, I'm taking you to the Healing Wing. No excuses," Master Lorne commanded, because Sen had already opened his mouth to insist that he was fine, he just needed to sleep.

The walk to the Halls of Healing was mostly a blur. He vaguely overheard his Master being commed, and then Master Lorne was helping him up off the salle floor. Sen had to use nearly every ounce of his energy not to pass out again from the waves of dizziness that overwhelmed him, leaning heavily on Master Lorne, even though each time his robes shifted against his skin, it made him want to swear in pain.

He heard Master Drei call out to him once they were through the main door, but Sen flinched when a comforting palm was placed on his shoulder, a distressed noise escaping his throat. It made the three Jedi around Senari freeze, and Sen had no clue why he'd made the sound, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. After Master Lorne gave a brief explanation to Master Drei and the assistant medic, he was checked over by Healer Aether Ruzea. The Healer seemed to know what Sen could tolerate, and touched him as little as possible during the exam. There was a bump and an open, oozing cut on the side of his head where he hit the salle floor, but that didn't explain the fever and everything else Sen was experiencing.

After he was scanned from head to toe and a blood sample was taken, Sen was guided into a private room, where some merciful soul dimmed the lights and let him curl up on the cot. His fever was spiking again, and the sensation of his sweat-damp robes clinging to his skin was too much. He managed to drag off everything but his leggings, then cocooned himself in the off-white blanket.

The Halls of Healing always made Sen nervous. He had a sharper sense of smell compared to the other younglings, and it never smelled right, the medical-grade cleaners stinging his nose and left his stomach churning like he was in hyperspace. Sen could hear his Master and the Healers talking quietly right outside the closed door, and dread began to seep into his chest. He couldn't hear them past the blood rushing in his ears, matching the thudding rhythm of his heart. I wish Yan was here, Senari thought, gnawing on his lower lip. When he'd been sick with the Corellina flu, Yan had pampered him, despite Sen insisting that he could take care of himself. Yan had made him soup to stave off the chills, took notes for him in their shared classes, and had even taken care of Sen's laundry that kept piling up, all while dealing with his own responsibilities as a Jedi Padawan. Fuck, I hope they let me go back to my room soon—

A soft knock rapped against the door, and Senari tried to sit up so he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. "C'me in," he called out.

Healer Ruzea was the only one that came into the private room, though Sen could feel his Master's Force signature hovering outside. The Healer always smelled like mint tea and jasmine, a soothing combination that helped Sen relax as it pushed away the scent of bleach. A service droid quietly beeped beside them, carrying a pitcher of water and a glass. Sen nearly cried with relief when the Healer left the lights off, and urged him to stay laying down on his side after he'd gone through the entire pitcher in a few moments.

"Your bloodwork came back, Senari," Ruzea began, sitting down in a chair and folding their hands in their lap over a white data pad. Their long ashen hair was woven in a braid, their compassionate blue eyes gazing at Sen overtop their rounded glasses. They'd dealt with the Padawan since he was a rambunctious youngling that got bruised and tossed around on a tenday basis, and knew Senari's sense of curiosity would goad him out of the pit of misery he was drenched in. "You told us when you arrived at the Temple your mother was a native of Batuu, and you weren't sure where your biological father was from. The test we just ran solved that mystery."

Senari's hazel eyes blinked a few times, the glassy sheen clearing up for a few moments. "Really? Where's he from?" Batuu would always be home for Sen, but that didn't stop him from being curious about his absentee father.

"An Outer Rim planet called Stewjon." Healer Ruzea murmured, tapping a few times on the tablet and offering it out for Senari to look at. "It's fairly isolated, and doesn't get much tourism or off-world visitors. Out of all the younglings that are accepted at the Temple, less than five percent are Stewjoni. Force-sensitives from your planet are scarce, but have the highest midichlorian count. You've actually trained with another Stewjoni a few times," Ruzea informed the Padawan, their lapis eyes crinkling fondly.

"Who?"

"Master Ivan, our sole Makashi instructor." The Healer chuckled softly at the wide-eyed look Senari displayed, surprise rippling through the Force. Ruzea had reached out to the Master as soon as the results had confirmed their suspicions, and the Jedi had given his permission to let Padawan Kane know he wasn't alone. "When you're feeling better, he's invited you to seek him out if you'd like to know more about Stewjon."

"So you know what's wrong with me?" Sen asked on a slight rasp.

"You're not sick in the traditional sense," the Healer confirmed, though they offered Senari a rueful smile. There was no easy way to break this news, and after watching after Senari for most of his Padawanship, Ruzea thought straight-forward bluntness would work better than easing the apprentice into their new diagnosis. "Do you remember when we talked about your species, when you were thirteen? About the changes that could occur alongside human puberty?"

The dread in the pit of Sen's stomach rapidly morphed into horror, his face paling visibly. "Y-yeah, but nothing happened. I didn't go through anything when I hit puberty, I didn't change," Sen insisted, his voice cracking. He hadn't read most of the information that the Healer had given to him, but from what he'd skimmed, if he hadn't presented then, he'd just be his normal self.

Ruzea raised a hand, halting the Padawan's strained protests. "Breathe, Senari. I can't imagine how distressing this is for you, Padawan, but I need you to breathe with me," Ruzea interjected, sending a wave of calm and reassurance through the Force. Once Senari took a few deep breaths, Ruzea continued. "Your hormone levels and physical symptoms all show the same thing; you've presented as a Stewjoni omega and you're going through your first heat."

Sen tried to rack his brain to come up with some reason to deny the Healer's diagnosis. Another wave of fevered warmth wash over his skin, an unforgiving reminder that against his will, his insides were changing. With the fever, dizziness reared up again, and Senari had to squeeze his eyes shut so the dark room didn't swim.

"What does it mean, being a—a Stewjoni omega?" Senari asked, swallowing thickly so his voice didn't break again. He could barely get the words out, the unspoken questions burning in his throat. Why do I feel like I'm dying? Why is my skin on fire? He didn't have the strength to look at the Healer, the rough blanket surrounding his frame making his skin itch even more.

Healer Ruzea's voice was balanced, a smooth tempo Sen could latch onto in the middle of his own storm. "A Stewjoni omega's heat is a period where their hormones drastically increase to encourage carrying and increase fertility chances. To put it simply, you've developed a secondary gender along with the one you were born as. Your physical appearance will continue to progress normally as you age; from the Archive records, Stewjoni omegas that were born male don't develop secondary sex characteristics outside the body. Heats will occur anywhere from once a year to every month; the frequency depends on your body chemistry. Before your heat worsens, we should discuss your options for hormone suppressants, scent blockers, and birth control..."

Ruzea's direct honesty was one of the reasons why Senari liked them, but the healer's explanation was sending panic through Sen's fever-addled mind. His thoughts were jumping from one horrible possibility to the next in an incoherent pattern. He'd been able to keep his attention—and his composure—by a thread, until Healer Ruzea mentioned birth control. This can't be happening. Babies. Carrying. I'm a man, I have outside man parts, and I'll be able to have babies. Can I still be a Jedi? They have to report this to the Council, right? Will I get kicked out of the Order? Do I go back to Batuu if that happens, or will I get deported to Stewjon, a planet I've never been to? I don't want to leave, I don't want to get taken away from my friends, away from Yan—oh fucking Force what will he think about this—

Senari didn't realize that he was trembling, panting in ragged, erratic gasps until he felt his entire body shaking from them. "Stop," Sen managed to choke out, his arms curling around his chest as he tried to get air in past the growing fear constricting his throat. "Stop, please stop, I can't—I can't do this, I don't want to change!" Tears of frustration leaked from hazel eyes, dripping down flushed cheeks and soaking into the rough blanket wrapped tightly around him.

The Healer's explanation halted immediately, and while they had the sense not to reach out, they still tried to soothe the apprentice vocally. Senari's Force signature was broadcasting panic and fear in sporadic bursts, his shields crumbling the more he succumbed to his emotions. Ruzea's skin prickled from the phantom warmth they could feel, how the heat's fever was sending their patient into further distress. "Padawan—"

"No! I don't want to hear anymore! Leave me alone, please, just get out!"

Healer Ruzea didn't flinch when the Padawan lashed out, verbally and with an unconscious push of the Force. The Healer was knocked out of their chair, sympathy twisting in their chest. Senari Kane had been a happy youngling, always grinning and full of energy. Seeing the bright light of Living Force hurting so badly made Aether Ruzea's heart ache, but nothing they had would help Senari then. Wordlessly, they rose up from the floor and left the private room.

Immediately, they were met with the Padawan's concerned Master, who had been hovering by an unoccupied bacta tank. "Well? How did he take the, ah...news?" Master Drei questioned.

Aether allowed themselves to cringe slightly, sliding off their silver glasses and cleaning them with a small white cloth, though there were no smudges on the glass. "Not well, Master Drei. I believe it's best to discuss the intricacies of Padawan Kane's presentation after his first heat has ended. The sudden spike of hormones has left him quite out-of-sorts," Aether murmured, trying to allow Senari as much dignity as possible.

Master Drei nodded, deferring to the medical officer's decision. "Is he well enough to travel back to our quarters?"

The Healer's cerulean eyes flicked to the door they had just closed. "I'm afraid your Padawan will have to remain in the Halls of Healing until his hormone levels return to normal. Or, their new normal," Aether determined."I'll keep you updated on his well-being, Master Drei, and comm you if his condition worsens. I would also suggest shielding your training bond while his heat runs its course," Aether added, a tad dryly as the formal Jedi Master shifted uncomfortably, his own gaze darting warily over to the Padawan's room.

Master Drei bowed slightly to the Healer, already shocked at the echoes he could feel through the training bond with his Padawan. He'll get through this, Tho-mas Drei thought with conviction. If anything, Senari is stubborn to his very core. He'll overcome this obstacle and become a fine Knight.

———————————

The urgent page on his comm in the middle of the day was unexpected.

With his only enrolled student away on a mission for the next few cycles, Master Ivan had settled into a pleasant routine of meditating, tea breaks, and reading. The aggravating chirping of a summons had interrupted his afternoon meditation, and Ivan had been sorely tempted to break the Sith-accursed thing. Whoever was contacting him knew where his quarters were located, and if it was that Sith-damned important, they'd be at his door instead of badgering him through the comm.

But when he sank back into his meditation, the Force nudged him to open his eyes, rise up from his meditative stance, and read the hasty message sent from the Halls of Healing.

Palming his cane, Ivan summoned a service droid with a few taps on his data pad in his quarters, sighing heavily under his breath. I wonder how badly the Healers have fucked this up, Ivan growled in his head. A Stewjoni Omega presenting, and one that was heavily Force-sensitive, could end up hurting themselves permanently. And while he knew the Healers at the Temple were equipped with state-of-the-art medical supplies, they'd never dealt with a confused Omega.

Instincts that Ivan thought were long dead began to rise up, a soft growl trying to form in his throat at the image of Youngling Kane, distressed and crying alone in the medical ward the Padawan tried to avoid at all costs.

"Shavit," Ivan cursed. His meditation abandoned, he set out to see the mess he'd have to clean up in the Halls of Healing.

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Senari didn't know if it was hours, or days, that he was left alone to cry out his frustrations and fear. He sobbed into the scratchy blanket until it was damp, vainly trying to reach out to the Force to help ease the increasing discomfort, but failing. With each failure came a new wave of desperation, until he was nothing but a curled-up ball of internal anguish. Healer Ruzea hadn't tried to come back into the room, probably knowing that it would only worsen Sen's distress.

Sen vaguely heard voices outside the door, but a new, irritated growl had him blinking his eyes, trying to clear the fevered haze out of his thoughts. He didn't move when the door was knocked on, and his voice was hoarse when he called out. "Who is it?"

The panel slid open, and even though the intruder stepped into the dark room, Sen instantly knew who it was. No one else in the Order was so tall, and he could hear familiar clicks of a cane striking against the floor. Master Ivan didn't take more than two strides in. A droid beeped quietly beside him, ladened down with a massive pile of blankets, a large stack of pillows, and a cooler.

"Youngling, may I approach?" Ivan rumbled. A formal request between strangers on their shared home planet, though he correctly assumed the youngling had no desire to be referred to by his new designation, or knew the significance of the words. He'd given Ruzea and Kane's Jedi Master a thorough lashing for trying to rush the youngling through life-altering talks while in the throes of his first heat.

Senari didn't understand the way the old Master's voice made something in his chest unclench, but it did, the overwhelming anxiety in his mind instantly soothed. He sat up from the ball he'd curled up in, but he kept his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His throat felt raw from all the crying, so he merely nodded.

Master Ivan moved slowly, like he was approaching a cornered animal that might try to skitter out from a corner. He stopped far enough so the youngling wouldn't feel threatened, but close enough so he would catch his scent and know he wasn't in danger. "The Healer commed me after you lashed out with the Force during their explanation," Master Ivan said brusquely, folding his hands on top of his cane. "I'm here to finish it, and guide you through your first heat. If at any point you want me to leave, I will."

Sen didn't want to think about how he'd treated the Healer. The rational part of his mind knew that Ruzea had just been trying to help, but he couldn't feel guilty over his outburst. His mind latched onto the fact that he wasn't alone, he wasn't the only one from Stewjon, instead. "Guide me? So you're the same as me?" he asked hopefully.

A white, scarred brow arched up. "You tell me."

Biting down on his lower lip, Senari tried to push through the fever that was weighing down his head. He took in a meditative breath through his nose, and something whispered to him. Alpha.

He must have said it out loud, because Master Ivan made a pleased rumble. "Very good, Senari. Before we start talking, can we get you more comfortable? The bed feels too open, and you don't feel safe so high up, hmmm? Like you can't sleep no matter how exhausted you are?"

Sen didn't think he'd ever heard Master Ivan speak gently before. As the words to his confusing emotions were spelled out like Master Ivan was reading them off a data pad, tears of relief and embarrassment leaked from Senari's hazel eyes and he nodded frantically.

Master Ivan showed Senari how to build up a nest. They dragged the thick mattress onto the floor in the corner of the room, and lined the bordering walls with pillows. Sen dragged every blanket Master Ivan had brought into the nest with him, spreading them around until they covered the bare mattress. He had another urge to cry when he discovered something hidden within the mounds of covers; it was one of Yan's robes, probably left in the training salle after saber practice with the Makashi Master. The scent on it was old, but when Sen buried his face in it, the loneliness was chased away. Master Ivan didn't say anything when Sen spent way too long breathing in Yan's scent, or when he wrapped it around a pillow and hugged the stuffed robe to his chest. The cooler full of water, chilled sweetened tea, and high-calorie snacks was placed at the end of the mattress, where Sen could reach it without having to leave the pile of blankets he was buried in.

"Better?" Ivan questioned, satisfied when Senari nodded sleepily. A cool palm pressed against Sen's warm forehead, and the Jedi Master didn't comment on the whine of relief that escaped Sen's throat. "This fever is normal, Youngling. First heats aren't as intense as the rest will be."

Senari curled the pillow covered in Yan's robe closer to him. "The Healer said some stuff about--about birth control. I don't wanna be with anyone but--"

"Hush," Master Ivan growled out, and Senari bit down on his lower lip. "I know who you see as your saeta. There's plenty of time to discuss that mess later, Youngling. Rest, now."

Senari didn't fight the Force suggestion from the old Master, letting it wash over him as he pressed his cheek against Yan's robe. I'm safe. I'm safe, and Yan is with me, and he won't let me be alone,his thoughts convinced him as he finally managed to drift off to sleep.