My master has often said that life is made up of Moments... singular instants in time that -- for better or worse -- never come again. From childhood on, Jedi are taught to center their minds, to live in the Moment. Over my years as Qui-Gon's apprentice this discipline has become second nature to me, and for this I am intensely grateful, because this Moment -- our first kiss -- is one I want to experience to the fullest. As his head dips toward mine and my eyelids fall shut, I take his training to heart as never before and slip deeply into the Moment, allowing each individual sensation to wash over me in waves.

First I feel the moist heat of his breath drifting across the fresh wetness on my lips. They'd gone suddenly dry when I'd fallen victim to an unexpected and unannounced jump to hyperspace and stumbled against him, and was immediately enfolded in his protective and steadying embrace. I think it was the quick flash of my tongue as much as the plea in my eyes and way my body eagerly molded to his that drove him to finally take this long-awaited step to making us lovers in body as well as mind and spirit. The way his deep blue eyes darkened with desire... but I digress. I won't allow even that beautiful memory to distract me from this Moment, not when I can feel the gentle rasp of his facial hair against my skin.

His close-cropped moustache whispers sensuously across my upper lip, then the sandy-gray beard brushes my chin. How often have I watched him carefully groom the neat lines of both, wondering how much of the emerging gray was my fault, and how much was the Council's? And, more recently, wondering at the shape of that long-hidden jawline and what it would feel like under my lips? I shiver with anticipation, knowing that I will soon have my answer.

The Moment shifts again as his lips touch mine. One of mine, actually... the lower one, now caught between his in a gentle sucking grip that draws a low moan from the back of my throat. Through rapidly thinning shields, I can sense his delight at the sound, tickling along the edge of our bond like a flash of brightness against the backdrop of barely-banked flames.

His tongue flicks out and up in a teasing lick against my upper lip as he lifts his head, and I whimper softly at the loss of contact. Unfisting my hands from his tunic, I reach up and tangle them instead in long, silky hair and tug gently. He resists and I open my eyes hesitantly, suddenly afraid of seeing doubt or remorse reflected on that beloved face. Instead I find a look of such tenderness that for a moment I forget to breath. There are no second thoughts in his eyes... he has no intention of stopping what we've begun, just of pausing long enough for me to realize not only how much he wants me -- pressed this closely together, that would be difficult to miss -- but also how much he loves me.

As I lose myself in the depths of his eyes, long fingers drift up my braid and cup my cheek. Then his thumb brushes against my still-parted lips, breaking the spell, and I nip at the soft pad, then grin up at him, message received... and answered.

A soft gasp... an answering smile...and then his head dips again. And this time when our lips meet the flames are no longer banked, and we both catch fire... willingly and joyfully.