Author's Note: A continuation of Show Me Those Moves. Quin-Fer one-shot, not all that slashy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, nor am I making any profit from this egregiously non-canonical use of the characters. But I am having fun.
I take a good look at him and try to release my feelings into the Force. Getting turned on is not going to help my combat style. And Master Vos's offer of a quick sparring session is an honor; he's a full Jedi, well-respected for his prowess even if his techniques make the Council a little nervous: the reigning bad boy of the Jedi Order.
I heard someone say once that Anakin Skywalker was going to give him some competition for the title, but I don't think so. Skywalker has a burning passion for justice that consumes him, the way some men are consumed by an illicit love affair; it's pure and contagious and unavoidably dangerous. Master Vos isn't like that. Master Vos walks the line, sometimes crosses it, sometimes regrets it. Skywalker is wrong sometimes -- okay, a lot -- but he always does what he thinks is the right thing. Master Vos occasionally does what he knows is the wrong thing. He's a little tortured about it, but he also has a good time.
I can feel his appreciation as we spar, even though he keeps it tamped down -- out of respect for me, or maybe for Siri -- and I add a little flourish as I meet his latest lightsaber thrust, maybe just the tiniest bit drunk with the need to impress him.
If that's what I need, I'm getting it in spades.
He grins at me, teeth white against his dark skin, and says, "I can see Master Tachi has been teaching you well."
I mostly spar with Master Drallig when I'm on Coruscant, because he's the best and he's generous enough to let me, but I don't tell Master Vos that.
Instead I say, politely, "She's a good teacher."
"I'll bet she is," Master Vos says, and I can tell he's thinking of something other than lightsaber training, although I'm not absolutely certain that it's what I'm thinking of. I'm a teenage Padawan; sometimes my thoughts get on this one track that it's hard to get them out of.
I use his momentary distraction -- maybe he is thinking what I'm thinking, after all -- to catch him off balance and land a light stroke with my lightsaber on his arm, barely grazing with the tingling practice blade before he swipes my blow out and down.
It's a feint, I see that -- but not in time to save myself. He takes a step forward while keeping control of my blade, pushing it out to the side with his stronger, more muscular arm, and hooks his right foot behind mine. I try to disentangle, but I'm not fast enough; I go down, hard, and end up starting into his dark eyes as he kneels over me.
"Not bad," he says, but I can't help feeling that it's terrible.
"I hardly lasted three minutes," I say.
A wicked grin crinkles the corners of Master Vos's eyes. "Well, you're young," he said. "I hear that often happens with boys your age."
I frown at him, not sure whether the double-entendre is intended. "Thank you for your instruction," I say, sitting up cautiously.
"It was my pleasure," Master Vos says. "What do you say we go get cleaned up?"
I really should stay and practice a little longer. Staying fit and honing skills are important for a Jedi. But my pride has been wounded -- I admit that, then try to release the feeling into the Force -- and I'm pretty tired, and the idea of talking with Master Vos just a little longer has its own appeal.
I should take this opportunity to learn from a Master I don't see often, I tell myself.
I get to my feet, flowing gracefully as Master Tachi has taught me, and smile my thanks at him. "That sounds good to me, Master."