The Temple gardens were enveloped by darkness and silence, which was not broken even by Coruscant’s heavy traffic. The sky was clouded and just a shaft of moonlight lightened the path between bushes and trees.
 
It was a beautiful place, peaceful and full of Living Force, but still unable to bring serenity to Obi-Wan Kenobi’s tormented soul.
 
The Jedi Master should feel happy and satisfied, for things could not go better for himself and the Order.
 
The Sith had been destroyed once and for all more than a year before and the veil of darkness Palpatine had created had vanished, allowing the Jedi to foresee a luminous future stretching in front of the Order.
 
The Clone Wars had ended with the capture of the Separatist leaders and the Republic was slowly but surely recovering from the devastation and the destruction.
 
Anakin had finally overcome his anger and impulsivity to become the great Jedi Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had always thought he could and would be. He had taken his first Padawan two months before and was now learning in the hard way how difficult it was to teach calm and control to a young, hyperactive child.
 
Yes, Obi-Wan should have been happy, but he was not.
 
He had never felt more miserable, not even in the aftermath of Qui-Gon’s death, when he had blamed and reprimanded himself for not having been fast enough, and for having left his master alone.
 
Obi-Wan knew very well the reason of his torment.
 
It had a name.
 
Senator and Vice-Chancellor Amidala.
 
Padmé.
Amidala, with her devotion to the Republic, her razor-sharp mind, skilled diplomacy and incredible courage.
 
Padmé, with her sunny laugh, bright brown eyes, shining chestnut hair and the smooth skin that begged to be stroked and caressed.
 
Even now Obi-Wan’s hands twitched with the desire to touch her, and he folded them inside the sleeves of his robe, resolutely ignoring their shaking.
 
He was in love with Padmé Amidala.
 
No, being in love presupposed the possibility one could fall out of love, but it was not Obi-Wan’s case.
 
He loved Padmé with all the depth and the intent of a man who had always committed everything he was in what he believed in — and that was where the problem lay, the reason he had spent part of the last few nights walking the deserted halls of the Temple.
 
Had it been just a passing infatuation, Obi-Wan would have not minded it. Granted, he was a Jedi, but he was also a man, with all his senses in perfect health. Being devoted to a life of sacrifices for a greater good did not mean he had stopped feeling. Physical attraction was an integral part of being human, and controlling it was a test for every Jedi, a test he had always passed since the day he and Siri Tachi had decided to break their affair, more than twenty years before.
 
Yes, physical attraction was something Obi-Wan could control well, but it had been different with Padmé.
 
The alarm bells had never rung and by the time he had become aware of his feelings, it was already late, too late.
 
In retrospect, Obi-Wan believed everything had started on Naboo, fourteen years ago.
 
It had happened during another moon-lit night, in a garden similar to the one he was prowling now.
He had gone there seeking reprieve from his loss, his pain and his guilt. He had gone there to find solace in the Living Force, somehow hoping to feel the essence of his beloved, just-dead master, but instead he had found comfort in the arms of fourteen year old girl.
 
That night Obi-Wan had cried all his grief against the fabric of Padmé’s dress, as they had both forgotten their roles of Queen and her Jedi protector, to be just two youths forced to grow up before their time by recent events.
 
They had held and soothed each other and when they had finally parted, Obi-Wan had felt exhausted but at peace, his turbulent emotions released into the Force and into his tears.
 
The next day he had seen Padmé at the victory celebration held in Theed, and they had fallen back into their roles as if nothing had happened, with no shame or discomfort— but with a better understanding of each other.
 
In the following years, after Padmé had moved to Coruscant to fulfil her duty as Senator, she and Obi-Wan had met several times, mostly during public receptions held by the Senate and where the Jedi were required to attend. They had talked, laughed, even danced together, as their friendship developed and he had felt no danger in their relationship. The Force had never given him any warning, not even after Geonosis, when he had been so impressed with her resourcefulness in the arena and by her courage in the subsequent battle.
 
No, Obi-Wan thought shaking his head, he had never seen it coming, probably because he had always been too concentrated on other matters, on more important things, to pay attention to what was happening to him, to how Padmé was slowly sliding under his skin.
 
First of all, there had been Anakin. Obi-Wan had promised Qui-Gon he would train the boy, and he had done just that, throwing himself –- body, mind and heart – into the task.
 
Anakin had been reputed to be the Chosen One, announced by and ancient Jedi prophecy, and young Knight Kenobi had been aware of the difficult path in front of him. The boy had been powerful, but scarred and moulded by the previous life he had led on his home planet. He had not been one of the initiates, grown up in the Temple and taught to behave as Jedi since their days in the crèche. Anakin had brought with him an additional emotional baggage Obi-Wan had had to deal with —he, a young man who had passed from the status of Padawan to Master within a couple of days.
 
Obi-Wan had felt painfully inexperienced and unprepared to be a teacher so early in his life, and had worked hard to train Anakin as well as Qui-Gon had trained him—sometimes pushing himself and Anakin to their limit or being harsher than necessary.
 
Then, just when things were starting to go better with his Padawan, when the misunderstandings and clashes between them became less and less frequent, the Sith had once again stepped in the light and the Jedi had had to confront with a threat as dangerous as they had not faced in a thousand years.
 
Finally, there had been the Clone Wars and Obi-Wan had been given the rank of General of the Republic, spending three years fighting on more planets he could recall.
 
During those long, difficult years, he had seen Padmé only in holo-com and had always associated the happiness he felt when he got one of her messages to the fact it was nice to receive a communication that had nothing to do with scout reports, movements of troops and sieges. Seeing Padmè had always reminded Obi-Wan why he was fighting—for the good of the billions of people that, like her, believed in the Republic.
 
Never, ever had Obi-Wan realized or suspected he was fighting to keep her, Padmé Amidala, safe.
He had been completely blind to his feelings—until four nights before, when the unthinkable had happened.
 
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let his memory re-live those events.
 
The Senate meeting had just ended and Padmé and Obi-Wan had decided to take the longer way back to her apartment, catching the chance to take a walk in the pleasantly warm evening air.
Things were going well in the Republic, but the Jedi Council had decided to keep the more important members of the new government under protection for the time being, thus it was rare for Padmè to be allowed to take a stroll along the several pathways and passages that led to her flat. But that evening Obi-Wan had finished his duty as councillor and interplanetary negotiator sooner than predicted, and finding himself with some spare time, he had decided replace the Vice-Chancellor’s usual protector, in order to be able to spend some time with his friend while he escorted her home.
 
Once at her place, they had dinner together and then, since it was early and the Jedi on duty for the night had yet to arrive, they decided to settle on the couch to watch a  holomovie, for they were both too mentally tired to play a game of strategy as they often did.
 
Padmé’s choice fell on one of her favourites movies, a musical titled “The Red Cantina”.
 
“It is a romantic story,” she said looking at Obi-Wan with an almost embarrassed expression, perhaps thinking a Jedi Master would find the movie silly or boring.
 
Obi-Wan smiled and reassured her. “Don’t worry, Padmé, I have no prejudices against romance,” he said quietly, before teasing her a bit. “Even if I am surprised that you, Senator I-don’t-have-the-time-nor-the-inclination-for-a-relationship, like these kind of stories. As for myself, the only movies I cannot stand are those were the Jedi are showed doing impossible things, such like breathing fire or time-travelling.”
 
“Breathing fire? Why have never showed it to me?!” Padmé caught the chance to tease him back, before switching on the holovid and settling against the back of the couch.
 
The movie was very well done and Obi-Wan lost himself in the love story between a Tatooine courtesan and a Coruscant idealistic poet.
 
The two friends did not talk nor exchanged comments as they watched the movie, until a scene in which the idealist, romantic poet tried to convince the all-business courtesan to return his feelings by using the words of several well-known love songs.
 
The scene had just ended when Padmé took her eyes away from the screen and shifting on the couch, turned to face Obi-Wan.
 
“Obi-Wan?” She began, her voice very soft and with no trace of her previous merriment. “May I ask you a personal question?”
 
He looked at her and nodded. “Of course,” he answered, curious about what she wished to know. His curiosity increased as Padmé seemed to struggle to find the words to express herself. It was very rare for her to remain wordless, and Obi-Wan felt the hair on his nape stand  up in alarm. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about the whole situation.
 
Finally Padmé managed to formulate her question, making his eyes widen in surprise. “Are Jedi allowed to love?”
 
Obi-Wan shook his head. “No,” he answered, and was unsettled by the regret he could hear in his own voice.
 
“No?” she whispered. “Why?”
 
“Because attachment and possession lead to jealousy and anger, the pathways to the Dark Side.”
In the same moment Obi-Wan enunciated the precepts of the Code, he realized, for the first time in his life how wrong or at least not completely true they were.
 
Padmè, perceptive as usual, sensed his uncertainty. “You don’t look too convinced.”
 
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and said, very softly, as if he was talking with himself. “I have always believed it and tried to obey the rules dictated by the Code, but now I cannot help but question them. I know I have loved Qui-Gon as a father and I love Anakin as a son and a brother. I was and I am deeply attached to them and yet this attachment has not led me to the Dark Side. To the contrary, the affection I feel for my friends has helped me to stay true to the Light in the hardest moments during the wars, when it could have been so easy to let dark feelings such as anger and vengefulness take hold over me.”
 
Padmé nodded. “I understand—or at least I think I do. I do not pretend to know what being a Jedi really means.”
 
Silence fell between the friends, and they returned to watch the movie, but it was clear their minds were not concentrated on the story.
 
Obi-Wan was acutely aware of her presence at his side, and of her inner agitation, which was washing over his shields. He felt the sudden desire to take Padmé in his arms and ask her what was wrong, but he repressed it as inappropriate.
 
“Obi-Wan?” her voice intruded into his thoughts.
 
“Yes?”
 
“Have you ever been in love?”
 
This time he could not prevent his mouth from falling open in stupor. Of all the questions she could ask… and why was she now so interested in such things?
 
Obi-Wan cleared his throat and was about to answer “once” when the Force suddenly shrieked around him and, like in a sort of divine enlightenment, the truth was revealed to him. The blindness in his heart and mind fell away as he realized the real nature of his feelings for the beautiful young woman sitting silent at his side.
 
It was not just friendship what he felt for her.
 
He loved her, with the same, absolute commitment he had for the Jedi Order.
 
It was incredible.
 
It was amazing.
 
It was terrible.
 
Obi-Wan felt the irrational impulse to bolt from the divan and run away, but he knew it would be useless, for he could not escape what he carried into his heart.
 
“Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?” Padmé’s voice was full of concern as she hesitantly touched his arm.
 
He raised his scared eyes and met her own stricken gaze.
 
He did not speak and she did not ask more questions, as they looked at each other and everything seemed to fall in place. He now knew why she had questioned him—and the real reason behind her self-proclaimed lack of interest in a long-standing relationship—while she was aware of why he could not answer her with words.
 
They stared at each other as the Force whirled around them. As Obi-Wan tried to listen to its will, to know what he had to do, but he found no guidance.
 
They kept on staring at each other, their hearts pounding in their chests, their breath hurried, their faces slowly leaning closer until their lips touched.
 
Obi-Wan was startled by the gentle contact, it was like being snapped out the trance-like state he had fallen into.
 
He pulled his head back, but Padmé did not let him retreat. Her delicate yet strong hands rose to cup his face as she pressed her soft, demanding lips against his own.
 
Obi-Wan’s mind was a whirl of confusion. This could not be happening! This could not happen, but his body seemed to have a will of its own. His lips parted without volition and Padmé’s tongue entered his mouth, tasting and discovering him.
 
He moaned, trying to pull back and this time she let him go, but not completely,  for her disturbing, skilled lips started to cover his face and neck with tiny, affectionate kisses and light nips.
 
Obi-Wan wanted to tell her to stop, wanted to move away and break the hold she had on him, but he could not. His body was not obeying to him as it relished in those unknown, forbidden touches and sensations.
 
Padmé did not appear to be put off by his passivity; to the contrary, she seemed to exactly know why he was behaving like this, so much he thought his shields had slipped and he was now broadcasting.
 
“I know it looks so sudden Obi-Wan,” Padmé whispered against his neck as her hands caressed his shoulders and back, perhaps trying to relax him, “but I love you. I have loved you for so long… perhaps since that night on Naboo…and now, at long last, you are in my arms again.”
 
She hugged him, as Obi-Wan shook his head to clear his mind. “You don’t understand,” he finally managed to say with a voice he barely recognized as his own. “I cannot do this. It is wrong.”
 
“No, it is not. Love is never wrong. You said so before.”
 
Padmé resumed kissing his neck as her maddening hands slid along his flanks to slip beneath the layers of his clothes to caress the skin of his chest and brush against a nipple.
 
“Padmé!” Obi-Wan cried out as his body almost surged up from the couch in shock and pleasure.
 
“Yes, my love? Tell me what you like.”
 
Her sultry voice caused a shiver to run along his spine and he used all of his considerable will power to bring his body and emotions under control. Obi-Wan raised his hands and gripped her wrists, pulling them away from his chest and keeping her at bay.
 
“Padmé,” he said, in the firmest tone he could muster, “You have to stop. I don’t know how long I can go on. My control is slipping.”
 
Padmé smiled wickedly. “Well, that’s the point of seduction. Let it go, Obi-Wan. I know you love me…” she paused for a moment, watching him closely and he nodded, seeing no point in denying the truth. “Let me show you how I feel—and show me the passion I know you are capable of.” She freed one of her hands and lowered it, trailing it along his thigh, before pressing it gently against his crotch and swollen manhood.
 
Obi-Wan moaned as if in agony.
 
Away. He had to go away before it was too late.
 
His body was becoming hungrier and desperate for the touches it had never felt and he knew he would not resist much longer to the urges she was stirring in him—but it was something he would not, could not let happen.
 
With a supreme effort, Obi-Wan removed her hands from his body, stood up and stepped back, putting some distance between them.
 
Padmé looked up at him, confusion and fear of rejection duelling in her gaze.
 
“I cannot do it Padmé,” he said gently. “Please, understand me, I cannot break the Code more than I have already done. Forgive me for the distress I am causing you, but I cannot permit this to progress further. I am Jedi and I cannot allow myself to lose my control in this way.”
 
Padmé’s eyes widened in understanding as she realized what he had said in between the lines. “You mean…you mean you have never been with a woman?”
 
 “No,” he shook his head. “I have never been with anyone. The life of a Jedi is full of sacrifices.”
 
Padmé lowered her head, and when she raised it again, contrition had replaced passion on her lovely face.
 
She stood up and stepped closer to him, murmuring softly, “Please, don’t go Obi-Wan. I did not imagine this and I will not touch you again if you don’t want. Please forgive me, I-”
 
She never completed the line for her feet got tangled in his discarded robe, which had slipped down to the carpet when he had brusquely risen, and she tripped over it. Padmé fell forward against Obi-Wan, whose reflexes were, for once, not quick enough to catch her. She slid down along his waist and when her breasts pressed against his pelvis, Obi-Wan over-stimulated body broke down, and he climaxed with a surprised and agonized cry.
 
He fell to his knees, breathing hard, shaken to his core.
 
Padmé’s arms surrounded him and he felt the desire to lower his head on her shoulder and rest, but the cooling, damp spot in his clothing reminded him what had just happened.
 
Shame assaulted him, making him inwardly cringe.
 
What had he done?
 
As if it was not serious enough he had broken the Code, he had now lost his control in the basest of ways, and in front of one of the most important persons in his life.
 
“Obi-Wan…” Padmé began, but he pulled away from her, shaking his head and begging her with his eyes to say nothing.
 
She understood, and the only noise Obi-Wan could hear as he picked up his robe, rose to his feet and walked staggering out of her house was the sound of his hurried, laboured breath.
 
 
Obi-Wan returned to the present, noticing with disgust that his body had reacted to the memories of Padmé’s kissed and touches.
 
“I am behaving like an adolescent with a crush,” he muttered. “I have been doing it for the past few days.”
 
No matter how upset he was for the discovery of his true feelings for Padmè: the mere thought of her was enough to make his heart pound, his breath quicken and his flesh harden.
 
He shook his head in anger, and wondered what Qui-Gon would think if he saw him now. He would certainly be so disappointed. 
 
Obi-Wan sighed and released his emotions into the Force, finding some reprieve from his anguish. However he knew it would not last long, for the problem would resurface.
 
Obi-Wan was aware that sooner or later he would have to return to Padmé to apologize for his behaviour that night and for not answering her messages, but he was afraid of how he would react in her presence. What if is body betrayed him again?
 
"Would it be so bad, Obi-Wan?”
 
The voice, coming from behind his back, was familiar, despite the fact he had not heard it in fourteen years. It was the voice he had often hoped to hear during his most difficult moments.
It was Qui-Gon’s voice, and Obi-Wan knew with absolute certainty he had not imagined it.
He turned slowly around and found himself face to face with the faint, slightly transparent and glowing blue form of his late master.
 
Obi-Wan grinned. A few years before, he had read a book about the Ancient Order of the Whills, people who were said to have mastered the power to retain their consciousness and even their physical forms when becoming one with the Force. The path to immortality was said to be long and hard, but he was not surprised to discover his headstrong master had been able to complete it.
 
“Master,” he said, with joy and respect.
 
“Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You have changed very much along the years, but the kindness in your eyes and soul is the same.”
 
Obi-Wan felt a lump form in his throat and swallowed hard.
 
There were so many things he wanted to say to his old mentor, so many memories he wanted to share, but he was only able to ask, “Why are you here, Master?” Implicit in his words there was also another question, why did you not come before?
 
Qui-Gon answered to both, with his calm, warm voice. “The moment was not yet right, Obi-Wan. I returned from the netherworld four years ago, but the only one I have been able to commune with before this evening is Yoda. I have always wished to return to you, Padawan, and now your distress has helped me to find my way to you. I have come to see if I can help you, since you are not able to resolve the matter by yourself. Perhaps it might do good to you to talk about it with me.”
 
Obi-Wan blushed and rubbed his beard. Yes, talking about it was a wise idea, but still it was so embarrassing to do it with his former teacher. He had always tried to be true to Qui-Gon’s teachings, but he knew he had left his master down more than once and-
 
“You have never disappointed me, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon interrupted his thoughts. “I have watched you along the years and you have made me proud for how you have faced and passed the many trials life has put in front of you. You have trained Anakin to become a great Knight; you have played a very important role in the Clone Wars and in the unravelling of Palpatine’s plans and you are now helping the Republic return to its former splendour. You are really the wise and great Knight I thought you would one day become—a master worth to be listed among the greatest Jedi in the history of the Order.”
 
“I don’t deserve such praises, Master,” Obi-Wan commented, his voice low and self-deprecating. “I have broken the Code, many a time.”
 
Qui-Gon lowered to sit on the grass, gesturing the other man to do the same. Then he smiled and murmured, “I know you have broken it, Obi-Wan, but it is not necessarily a wrong thing.”
 
Obi-Wan’s raised his lowered head. “What?”
 
“Think about it, Padawan. You are berating yourself because you feel, because you love, because you have attachments. But, as you said to Padmé, it brought no evil to you. Instead, I believe your open affection helped Anakin to overcome his difficult past. How do you think he would have reacted, he a boy used to his mother’s love, had he been trusted in the care of a cold, emotionless master? Someone unable or unwilling to understand the boy and give him what he needed?”
 
Qui-Gon paused for a moment, giving Obi-Wan the time to ponder his questions, before he continued. “It was your love that made the difference, Padawan. It made the difference with Anakin as it did with me.”
 
He smiled at Obi-Wan’s surprised look and explained. “What do you think would have become of me if you had not entered my life as a boy? It was your care, your affection that helped me to recover from the pain caused by Xanatos’ turn and death, and by Thal’s loss. So no, Obi-Wan, in my eyes, your breaking the Code was not wrong—it was necessary.”
 
There a long moment of silence then the Jedi master spoke another time, his tone almost pleading. “You have learned to live with an open heart, Obi-Wan. A great, compassionate, generous heart. Do not suffocate it now.”
 
Obi-Wan rubbed his beard distractedly as he pondered his master’s words. Qui-Gon was right and yet…yet he could not convince himself what he was feeling was not wrong.
“Do you remember Siri, Master?” He asked, but did not wait for an answer. “Do you remember how you told me to give her up, to let go of my love for her? My heart broke that day, and yet you insisted there was no other solution, for I could not go against the Code and the Council was not going to change the rules for Siri and I. Now instead, you are encouraging me to follow my heart, no matter where it will take me. So tell me why, Master? What has changed?”
 
Qui-Gon folded his arms in the sleeves of his robe and answered. “Everything has changed. The Republic has changed. The Jedi have changed. You have changed. Twenty years ago you were a rough crystal, full of promise but still far away from reaching your true potential. Your love for Siri was right, but the moment was wrong. Both of you still had to grow up and mature, and I felt you would have both regretted leaving the Jedi, for as Yoda told you, there was no way you could be together and remain in the Order. Now things are different. You are a grown man, with much more elements and experience on which to base your decision. You might feel like your emotions are pulling you here and there, but if you search inside yourself, Obi-Wan, you will see you are not prey to them. You are in control and this is not the obsessive attachment so dreaded by the Jedi. As for the Code, I have seen the future, Padawan. What Yoda could not, would not change twenty years ago, he will change this time. He will change it for you, because of you and with you.”
 
Qui-Gon fell silent, as Obi-Wan mulled over his master’s last words. He trusted Qui-Gon’s wisdom, knew he was right, for Yoda had already made some comments about the Code and the need to update it, but still he found difficult to let go of many of the convictions that had ruled and shaped his life. Perhaps he was too old for such a change…
 
Loving a woman, loving Padmé as she deserved to be loved was not an easy task. He had never been in a real relationship, for his love for Siri had exploded in the same, sudden way. He had not the slightest idea of what it would involve. He was emotionally immature, inexperienced—how could ever give her what she needed?
 
“She has known you since she was a girl and you were a young man. You have been friends for years and you have allowed her to see certain sides of your personality you do not show to others. She does not expect you to change. She loves you for what you are.” Qui-Gon smiled and added, “Go to her, Padawan.”
 
“Now?”
 
“Yes. Don’t spend another night torturing yourself.”
 
“But-”
 
“Go, Obi-Wan. You will tell me I was right the next time we see each other.”
 
Obi-Wan could not help but grin at his master’s smug expression. “Then you will be back?”
 
“Of course. I have missed you, Padawan. I wish to spend more time with you.”
 
“Will you teach me the Ancient Order of the Whills’ precepts and techniques?”
 
“It will be my pleasure, but we need to start your training soon, Master Kenobi, for the pathway to immortality is long and hard, especially for someone who still has to completely understand the Living Force.”
 
Obi-Wan smiled at his master’s gentle teasing, then watched as Qui-Gon bowed his head in salute and disappeared.
 
He stared for several moments at the empty space where is master had been sitting, then he stood up and directed to the garden exit.
 
He first walked slowly, without a real purpose, but after a while his strides became longer and more confident.
 
Qui-Gon had been right.
 
There was nothing wrong in his love for Padmé, nor in its physical manifestations.
 
Obi-Wan now knew – well, he had always known it, but he had forgotten it – that he would not turn to the Dark Side because he loved.
 
His love was not a weakness, a fault, but a source of strength.
 
Love was passion, yes, but also serenity for there was nothing calmer and peaceful than a fulfilled heart and soul.
 
Love was possession, but was also the desire to give.
 
Love was…love was Padmé.
 
Obi-Wan smiled and ran out of the gardens, somehow aware Qui-Gon was looking at him with an indulgent smile.
 
 
Obi-Wan’s newfound confidence faltered as he waited for Padmé to open the door.
 
His hands were sweating, and he was tormenting his beard. He felt like a teenager, and in some way he was one, for some of his emotions were new now at thirty-nine as they had been when he was a boy.
 
It was in that moment, as he waited and hoped, that Obi-Wan realized another fault in the Jedi Code, something the Council should address.
 
It was wrong to teach the Jedi to get rid of their emotions, because emotions have the bad habit to return and haunt you when you are unprepared to cope with them. Perhaps it would be better if the trainees were taught to experience their emotions, to understand them before releasing them into the Force. Had he learned to know himself better when he was younger, he would not be in such agitation now.
 
The door slid open and Padmé appeared on the threshold, clad only with a pink nightgown and a creamy-white satin robe. Her long curly hair was loose on her shoulders, and she looked beautiful—but also tired and nervous.
 
There were dark shadows under her eyes, a sure sign she had not slept well recently, and her arms were tightly folded, as if she was hugging herself.
 
“Obi-Wan.” He could sense all the curiosity, hope, fear and longing she put in his whispered name.
 
“Padmé,” he murmured back, “forgive the late hour, but there is something I need to tell you. May I come in?”
 
She nodded wordlessly and moved aside, letting him in.
 
Obi-Wan walked to the living room and stopped at its centre. He turned to face Padmé and gestured to the couch. “Please sit down.”
 
He perceived her anxiety followed by the her resolution to be strong and he realized she believed he had come to visit to leave her for good.
 
Unable to bear her pain a moment more, he sent her a wave of reassurance and felt gratified when her eyes brightened with love.
 
Obi-Wan smiled gently at her, then folded his arms in the sleeves of his robe. He looked like he was about to give a report to the Council, and cringed at how tense he looked, but truly he felt everything but relaxed.
 
“Padmé,” he began, looking at her in earnest his voice soft and low, “first of all I must apologize for my uncivilized behaviour the other night, and for the pain I caused you.”
 
She opened her mouth to say something but he stopped her by raising his hand.
 
“Please, let me finish. This is already difficult for me.” Her eyes widened and he rushed to complete the line. “It is difficult because everything is so new to me.”
 
He took a deep breath and continued, “Padmé, I love you. I love you with the certainty and the commitment of a thirty-nine year old Jedi Master who has always known what he wanted in his life. I know you are and always will be the only woman I love like this.”
 
Obi-Wan’s heart rejoiced at the radiant expression appeared on Padmé’s lovely face, and he continued. “However, as much as I am certain of my feelings, I am unsure of how to manifest them. As I have told you, I have never…you know. All my previous experience with a woman can be summarized in a few kisses and brief caresses.”
 
He was aware he was blushing, but found no amusement or pity on Padmé’s face, just understanding and love.
 
She stood up and crossed the brief distance separating them, stepping in front of him and loosely embracing his waist. He imitated her, wrapping her back with his arms.
 
“Obi-Wan,” she said, looking up at his face. “You must not be afraid of your emotions or of your reactions to me. You cannot imagine what it means to me to know you have chosen me to give your love to. I have loved you for years and I have never dared to hope one day you would reciprocate my love. You are a Jedi, a Master, and I thought you unreachable. I considered myself lucky because a great man like you-- and I am not referring to your accomplishments as a diplomat and commander, but you,  your inner greatness— had given his friendship to me. And then the other night happened. I had not predicted or planned to ask you those questions; I did it spurred by the movie we were watching…and I saw all my dreams become reality.” Padmé smiled, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. “Your behaviour was everything but uncivilized. I found it…endearing. Intoxicating.”
 
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow at her choice of words, and her smile became impudent.
 
“Have you any idea of how heady it is to know the man you love is still…untouched?”
 
He shook his head and blushed, as his body stirred under her hungry look.
 
“I have always scowled when I heard men make the same comment about women, but now I cannot help but feel proud to be your first.”
 
“My first and my only,” Obi-Wan declared, tightening his embrace.
 
“Yes, I know. I feel honoured by it, Obi-Wan.” Padmé blinked back her tears. “I wish you could be my first too, but I cannot turn back the time. However I know you will be my last.” Her eyes burned with her promise.
 
Obi-Wan smiled and commented, “Well, in this case I think it is good one of us has some experience to share with the other.”
 
Padmé laughed throatily, sending a shiver along his back.
 
“Oh yes, that’s true.”
 
She stepped back from him and he was about to let his arms fall at his sides when she took his hand in hers and tugged it, as she looked toward the open door of her bedroom. “Do you want to try now?”
 
Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment. Would it not be better to go slow? To “court” each other for a while? To learn how to be comfortable in each other arms?
 
He looked at Padmé’s pink-red cheeks and heaving breasts and understood she did not wish to wait—and neither did he.
 
So he bowed his head in agreement and let her guide him toward her bed chamber.
 
 
Once in the bedroom, Obi-Wan let go of Padmé’s hand and stood there, rigid, willing and yet reticent. He wanted to be with her, to physically express his feelings for her, but he was also afraid to lose his control to let the tide of his emotions carry him in some uncharted territory. It was so difficult to ignore the teachings of a whole life.
 
Padmé sensed his discomfort and raised a hand to touch his cheek.
 
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel like doing it, Obi-Wan. We can just lay down and sleep together; get used to the feel of each other.”
 
Obi-Wan’s mood lightened and he nodded. “I would like that very much.”
 
“Perfect.” She beamed at him and went to throw back the covers from the unused side of the bed. The she returned to her side of the mattress, dropped her robe on a low stool and slid under the blankets with a naturalness he could not help but envy.
 
Strengthening his resolve, Obi-Wan sat on a chair and pulled off his boots, then started to remove his clothes. Robe, belt, tunic, trousers, socks: each item was accurately folded and put over the chair. He hesitated with his hands at the fastening of his brown undertunic, then decided to shed it too and remain clad only in his underwear.
 
As he walked to the bed, Obi-Wan was acutely aware of Padmé’s eyes fixed on his bare chest and for the first time in his life he wondered about his looks. He had always considered his body like a tool, an instrument he used to serve the will of the Force and accomplish the tasks set in front of him. He trained hard to keep his muscles and reflexes honed, but he had never considered how attractive his body could be or not. He was not tall as Qui-Gon, or powerfully built like Mace Windu. He was slender, lithe, compact. And also, he was starting to age; his hair was going grey at the temples, while Padmé still looked as young and fresh as when he had first seen her.
 
She seemed to read his mind, because she murmured, “You are very handsome, Obi-Wan. Those Jedi uniforms don’t do you justice.”
 
Obi-Wan blushed for the umpteenth time, out of embarrassment but also out of pleasure. The woman he loved found him attractive and it helped to quiet some of his inner doubts.
 
He got into bed, enjoying the strange, sensual feel of rich silk caressing his skin, and adjusted the pillow under his head, before turning his face to smile at Padmé.
 
She leaned closer to give him a chaste kiss on his cheek and switched off the light.
 
“Good night, Obi-Wan.”
 
“Good night, Padmé.”
 
Silence fell in the moonlight-bathed room and Obi-Wan was about to enter the light meditative state usually preceding his sleep, when Padmè rolled on her side and whispered, “Obi-Wan?”
 
“Yes?” he answered, without opening his eyes.
 
“May I hold you?”
 
“Yes, you may,” he answered, turning his head to meet her luminous gaze. They had embraced many times, and the idea of having Padmé near as he slept was appealing.
 
She smiled and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist.
 
The quiet mood he had fallen into disappeared at once. The scent of her hair, the feel of her silky skin against his own, her breath fanning the hair on his chest—everything contributed to make him restless and wide awake. Warmth spread from where their bodies touched to his groin, and his heartbeat quickened.
 
Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat when Padmé’s hand started to caress his belly. His muscles quivered under her touch and he moved his legs and shifted his weight, not knowing if it was an attempt to get away from her touch, or if he was trying to get closer.
 
“Obi-Wan?” Padmé’s voice, a mere whisper against his neck, almost startled him.
 
“Yes?”
 
“Obi-Wan. I am sorry, love…but I don’t think I can stand to be near you and just sleep. I need you too much.”
 
Need. That was the feeling burning inside him, making him restless and anxious. Need. He needed her too.
 
“I understand,” he answered, and this time he really did. His arms rose to embrace her and he added, “Teach me, Padmé. Teach me to give you what you need.”
 
 Padmé scooted up along his body until her face hovered over his. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Obi-Wan closed his eyes as her lips descended on his own.
 
The kiss started very sweet, just a brushing of lips, but soon Obi-Wan felt the need to open them, and let Padmé inside him. He moaned low in his throat as her tongue explored his mouth, and he tentatively reciprocated her moves.
 
He had always been a fast learner and soon he was taking as much as he gave, lost in the pleasure of their tongues duelling and mating with each other.
 
When they finally separated, they were both breathing hard, but Obi-Wan had just a moment to recover before Padmé started to cover his body with open mouthed kisses. Neck, shoulders, chest belly: her skilled mouth trailed a damp path across his skin, stimulating nerve endings he did not even know he had.
 
His control had completely slipped and he was now at her mercy—and happy to be so.
 
Obi-Wan moaned and groaned and then cried out as Padmé removed his shorts. She threw back the covers and sat at his side, looking down at his bare form. He flushed in embarrassment as he caught her studying his erection and he fought the absurd desire to cover himself. He knew there was nothing wrong in it. This was what males and females had done since the night of times. There was no reason to be ashamed.
 
Obi-Wan cried out again and thrashed on the mattress, his hand clutching the bed sheet as Padmé ran her cool fingertips along his shaft.
 
“Please…” he panted, not really knowing what he was pleading for.
 
“Soon, my love,” Padmé answered, as she let go of him to remove her nightgown.
 
Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as her flesh was revealed to him. Unblemished skin, a graceful neck, rosy-tipped firm breasts, a flat belly, the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. His hands twitched with the desire to touch her, and he did just that, running the back of his fingers along her flanks, her front, from collarbone to navel, watching in wonder as she threw back her head and her nipples hardened.
 
Obi-Wan rose to his kneel in front of Padmé, and cupped her cheeks in his calloused palms, pulling her close for a deep, demanding kiss. Then he copied her previous moves as he discovered her: brow, cheeks, chin, earlobes, neck—every bit of soft skin was explored and kissed. He moved down to her breasts and led by an impulse he gently rubbed his bearded cheeks and chin against her pale globes, causing her to cry out.
 
“Do it again, Obi-Wan,” she moaned and he obliged her, again and again, relishing in her whimpers of pleasure and in the knowledge he was able to bring such joy in his mate.
 
Obi-Wan thought he could spend the whole night just listening to Padmé’s moans, but his body had different ideas. The restlessness he had felt when she had first touched him had returned and was now stronger. He sensed he needed something, that his body craved something, but even if intellectually knew what it was, he did not know how to archive it.
 
“Padmé,” he said hoarsely, embracing her and gasping aloud at the friction caused by her belly against his hard member. “Help me…I don’t know what to do…”
 
“My poor Obi-Wan,” Padmé murmured with a tender smile, brushing back his sweaty hair with both her hands. “You need release, don’t you?”
 
“Yes…”
 
“Then come into me, my love. I am ready for you.” And before he could do anything, Padmé rose to her knees and straddled his bent legs, coming to hover over him. She looked down at his face, smiled at his burning, confused, expectant eyes, and taking hold of his erection she guided it to her opening and sank down on it.
 
Obi-Wan cried out and threw back his head as he felt his most intimate flesh being engulfed by her warmth and tightness. He had never imagined it could feel like this…
 
“You all right?” Padmé asked, cupping his cheek.
 
He nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice not to break.
 
Putting her hands on his shoulders and using them as leverage, Padmé started moving up and down over him, and the friction between their bodies caused a new bout of pleasure in him.
 
He began to pant and moan in rhythm with her movements, as his hands convulsively clutched her waist, helping and encouraging her motions.
 
It went on for several moments, until Obi-Wan felt the overwhelming desire to move, to thrust. To claim—and he decided to abandon himself to his most primal instinct.
 
He embraced Padmé and rose to his knees pressing her back against the mattress and lowering himself atop of her. Her legs surrounded his waist as her fingernails raked along his sides, silently spurring him to move.
 
Obi-Wan began to thrust, first awkwardly, then finding a rhythm that seemed to please both of them. Their moans and groans filled the room along with the sounds of bare flesh slapping against bare flesh, and they became louder and more frequent as Obi-Wan, listening to his instincts and Padmé’s pleas quickened the pace of his pumping hips.
 
The tightness in his belly increased as a tingling sensation spread in his body until the moment release claimed him and he came hard, crying out Padmé’s name, barely aware of the spasms and contractions wracking her smaller body.
 
Obi-Wan’s arms shook and he had just the time to move to the side before collapsing on the mattress, physically and emotionally exhausted. He closed his eyes, then opened them again as he felt her hand brush against his own. He moved his hand and their fingers intertwined, as he turned his head to look at his beloved.
 
“How do you feel?” Padmé whispered.
 
“I feel well,” he answered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing its back, before lowering it over his chest, near his slowing-down heart. “I feel at peace with myself. Happy. And you my love?”
 
Padmè beamed at his endearment. “I feel ecstatic, joyous. So full of energy…ready to face the whole Senate alone.”
 
“But not tonight, I hope,” he joked.
 
“No, not tonight, my love.”
 
Obi-Wan pulled Padmé back into his arms and kissed her softly. Their legs intertwined and she put her head over his chest, as one of his arms embraced her back.
 
Soon afterward Padmé fell asleep, and Obi-Wan let her quiet breath lull him into meditation and then into slumber.
 
His last conscious thought before falling asleep was of Qui-Gon and the fact his master had been right yet again.
 
Love, real love, was not weakness for a Jedi.
 
It was serenity.
 
It was completeness.
 
It was strength.
 
And Obi-Wan vowed to devote himself to convince the other Council members of it, so that one day all the Jedi would be able to feel like him.
 
Loved.