Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The continuous ticking of the old grandfather clock permeated the air at regular intervals; the only sound that cut through the thick, contemplative silence that filled the air inside the study. Count Dooku sat behind his polished, vintage bureau made of oak wood, reclining on the leather chair. He was nursing a crystal glass filled with expensive brandy in his hand and was tapping his fingers against its cool side restlessly. His silver hair was neatly combed back, not a single strand out of place, his beard was trimmed perfectly and there were no wrinkles in his bespoke suit. Everything about the room —the rich leather-bound books, the velvet curtains, the soft crackle of the fire— and the man it contained spoke of wealth, tradition, and discipline. Order.

And yet, reminded of his empire and all he had accomplished in his life so far, he felt restless. Recently, his feelings of unease had been quietly growing, just like the reminders of his advancing age had been getting more frequent.
The latest reports and market analysis went unread as Dooku leaned back in his leather chair, his thoughts elsewhere.

Dooku’s gaze wandered to the portrait that hung above the fireplace, a large oil painting that captured his son in the last vestiges of his youth. In it, Qui-Gon stood tall and proud in a sharply tailored suit—the last time he’d worn one, no doubt, since he abandoned every shred of corporate responsibility for his “noble” pursuits. He even had his long hair tied back in a rare display of conformity. He had had it commissioned right around the time that Qui-Gon had graduated from the most renowned business school in the country.
Dooku remembered how he’d felt in that moment, standing beside his son at his graduation, so certain that Qui-Gon would take his place at the helm of the family empire. His pride had been as boundless as his ambition for the boy.

But that was years ago.
Now, the portrait held nothing but nostalgic melancholy for him. A relic of a different past and a forgotten future, that never came into being.

Dooku sighed, swirling the cognac in his glass. His son, brilliant though he may be, would never sit at the helm of the family empire. And that, it seemed, was the end of that.

Silently cursing his aching knees, he slowly rose from his desk, glass still in his hand, and started pacing the room. It wasn’t like his son’s… unconventional interests and futuristic approaches made Dooku love him any less. But he had to admit to himself, that maybe he hadn’t been the best at showing him that.

His footsteps were muffled by the thick Persian rug beneath his feet, but the warmth of the fire only did little to ease the coldness settling in his chest. Qui-Gon’s absence had grown heavier with each passing year. Not that his son was gone, no, Qui-Gon was very much alive. But he might as well have been a world away.
Where had he gone wrong?

Stepping closer to the fireplace, the Count stared up at the portrait once more, really focusing on the youthful features displaying a look of intense determination, as though he could read all he answers to his questions out of them, of he just looked closely enough.

He had given Qui-Gon every opportunity, every advantage within the realms of possibility. Elite schooling, internships with the best in the industry. And yet, his son had turned his back on it all—on him—in favour of what? Some vague pursuit of humanitarian work? Gallivanting around the globe with the Peace Corps? Wasting his brilliance on futile causes that would never amount to anything?

He shook his head in disapproval and averted his gaze, muttering to himself, “foolish boy.” Sighing, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a slow sip of the brandy, the burn of it only half as satisfying as it should have been.

In truth, Dooku had all but given up on Qui-Gon ever taking his rightful place at the head of the family business. No matter how much he had tried to guide him, shape him, Qui-Gon had always resisted. Their relationship had become strained under his efforts, where unstoppable force met immovable object.
Dooku had had to come to terms with the reality that his legacy would die with him.
He was not a man given to sentiment, but the thought of his empire crumbling into obscurity after his death left a bitter taste in his mouth. But no matter how much it hurt him to imagine his legacy crumbling to dust, he couldn’t even fathom losing his son over a difference of their opinions regarding business and economics.

He hadn't always understood Qui-Gon’s choices, but over time, he had come to realize that his son’s passion for helping others was as deeply rooted in conviction as Dooku’s drive for success. The ideals that once made Dooku frown in frustration were now the very things he found himself quietly admiring. Qui-Gon had a strength of character that could not be bent by wealth or power, and for that, Dooku respected him.

Maybe growing older had indeed made him wiser.

Leaning onto the edge of his desk, he carefully set the glass down and reached for his phone. Hs fingertips ghosted over its sleek surface, hesitating. Qui-Gon’s visits home had become infrequent, and their conversations, while civil, had lost the closeness they once shared. Dooku feared that the rift between them might never fully close.
He wasn’t willing to let that happen. And with Christmas right around the corner, he might still get a chance to rebuild the connection that had been lost.

Slowly he exhaled and dialled Qui-Gonbs number. Dooku wasn’t a man prone to sentimentality, but this holiday, this visit, felt like a turning point. Qui-Gon had always been his greatest success, even if he’d never said so aloud.
Perhaps it was time to change that.

Chapter Text

The Serenno estate was just as imposing as Obi-Wan had imagined it would be. A long driveway, flanked by tall, sculpted hedges, lead up to the grand entrance, where a set of towering double doors established the building’s aura of authority, made from burnished wood and guarded by towering columns that seemed almost temple-like.

Obi-Wan tugged at the collar of his jacket, trying to ignore the growing knot of nerves in his stomach. His breath formed soft plumes of smoke in front of his face, nose and cheeks slightly red from the cold.

Standing beside him, Qui-Gon gave him a reassuring smile. Gods, if there was anything that could make the knot in Obi-Wans chest loosen up a little, it was that smile.

“Relax”, murmured Qui-Gon, and gently squeezed his hand. “He’s stern, but not unreasonable. Just be yourself.”

Obi-Wan appreciated the sentiment, but relaxing was hard, when he was about to meet Count Dooku himself, one of the most powerful and revered business moguls in the world. Countless times he’d heard his name in classes at Coruscant Business Academy. They were preaching his strategies on company leadership and expanding your enterprise to this day, even though Dooku had been slowly retreating from the public eye. The man’s reputation preceded him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel like he was walking into an interview rather than a family holiday.

“Are you sure he’s… okay with all this?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice low and tinged with anxiety, while looking up at Qui-Gon. “With us?”

“If he didn’t disown me after I publicly questioned the morality of Sienar Fleet Systems’ CEO, he’s not going to do it now”, replied Qui-Gon, teasingly, but his smile was soft and his eyes filled with warmth as he looked down at Obi-Wan.

High vaulted ceilings with intricate stonework, polished marble floors that stretched endlessly, and a sweeping staircase that looked as though it belonged in an ancient palace. The entire space exuded elegance and power—much like the man who owned it. “My father may not always show it, but he values the things that matter most. And you, my love, matter to me”, he added, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s hairline.

Before Obi-Wan could respond, Qui-Gon had raised his free hand and sounded the door knocker, which was shaped like a dragon’s maw.

The doors swung open almost momentarily, and a basset hound came trotting towards them, circling their legs and then settling at Obi-Wan’s feet, snuggling up agains his shins. Just for a moment, he forgot his anxiety and bent down to pet the dog. “Well hello there”, he cooed, “who are you, little fellow. Qui-Gon never told me about you.”

“His name is General Grievous”, a deep and steady voice replied, coming from inside the building.

Obi-Wan straightened immediately, as if struck by lightning. How had he let himself be distracted this easily and by a dog? First impressions mattered, godsdamnit.

“Father,” Qui-Gon greeted warmly, stepping forward, his tone noticeably lighter than it usually was when speaking about his father. “It’s good to see you.” Clearly, he was putting in the effort to make this as enjoyable for everyone as possible, thought Obi-Wan. Always the diplomat, his other half.

Dooku’s sharp eyes flicked from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan, taking in the sight of his son standing beside this younger man with an intensity that made Obi-Wan’s breath catch. But instead of the coldness Obi-Wan had feared, there was a momentary softening in Dooku’s expression as he finally embraced Qui-Gon with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Qui-Gon”, Dooku replied, a hint of warmth hidden beneath the polished steel that was his voice, “it’s been too long. Thank you for coming.”

A lot went unsaid during those fleeting seconds of their embrace, but Obi-Wan had no time to dwell on that, because as soon as they parted, Dooku’s gaze settled back onto him. The full weight of those piercing brown eyes was almost enough to make Obi-Wan step back, but he held his ground, determined to make a good first impression. Or second impression, if you counted his quick liaison with the canine department. This was important—not just for Qui-Gon, but for the future they were building together.

“And this must be the young man you’ve told me about,” Dooku said, his tone neutral.
Obi-Wan straightened, offering a respectful nod. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, sir. It’s an honour to meet you.”

For a long moment, Dooku simply studied him, as if assessing every aspect of his very being.
Obi-Wan fought the urge to fidget under the scrutiny, knowing that this meeting mattered far more than any business pitch he’d ever given.
Dooku’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the younger man couldn’t tell if it was from suspicion or simply curiosity.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi. I recognize the name,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re in the graduate program at CBA, are you not? Business administration, with a focus on strategy.”
Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Dooku to know such details about him and his life. Had Qui-Gon been filling him in?

“That’s correct, sir,” he replied, careful to keep his voice steady.
Dooku’s lips quirked in the barest hint of a smile. “Good. Qui-Gon mentioned you were ambitious. I see he wasn’t exaggerating.”

Obi-Wan quietly released a breath of relief he hadn’t even realised he was holding in and allowed himself a polite smile. Before he could respond, Dooku’s attention turned back to his son, his expression shifting slightly.

“Qui-Gon, I trust your work has been keeping you well,” Dooku said, his tone calm but weighted with an undercurrent of something more. “You’ve been missed.”

Qui-Gon smiled, his demeanour seemed relaxed in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t quite expected based on the stories of their past relationship he had been told. There was a quiet understanding between father and son, as if years of tension had settled into a comfortable distance that neither one of them needed to force. “I’ve been doing what I can, where it’s needed,” Qui-Gon said simply. “You know how I am.”

“Yes,” Dooku replied, with a sigh that held a trace of both exasperation and affection. “That I certainly do.”

Obi-Wan glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken history that lingered in the air. This was already going better than he had expected, although that didn’t keep him from continuing to be anxious. He was still waiting for a catch, waiting for the other shoe to drop and a screaming match to break out. But none of that appeared to be happening in the near future.

He had heard bits and pieces from Qui-Gon about their differences—how Dooku had wanted his son to take over the family business, and how Qui-Gon had chosen a different path, one that took him far from the corporate world. They had talked many times about the rift in their relationship and how it had hurt Qui-Gon. And yet, despite all of that, there was a deep respect that seemed to run beneath their words now.

At his ankles, General Grievous whined and turned to strut back inside, crossing the marble floor in the entry hall.

“Well, I believe our furry friend means to tell us that it is rather cold outside and you should come join us for tea inside”, said Dooku abruptly and gestured for them to enter the estate.

*

As soon as they had entered, Obi-Wan felt as though he was being enveloped by the quiet grandeur of the entrance hall: The space was vast and it ceilings seemingly stretched endlessly above their heads, shaped into elegant arches. The glow of the glistening crystal chandeliers illuminated the room and everything in it with warm, indirect lighting.
The floor beneath their feet was polished marble, smooth and pristine, reflecting the soft golden light. Along the walls, tall columns framed large windows through which one could watch the light of day slowly fade into dusk. Everything in the hall seemed to speak of old money, careful curation, and restrained power—the kind that didn’t need to boast.

Dooku’s footsteps echoed in the silence, the sound steady and unhurried, and he barely glanced back as he led them deeper into the estate.

After a sort walk across the hall, they stopped at a set of double doors, made from the same burnished wood as the entrance. Dooku pushed them open and revealed the living room beyond.

General Grievous slipped past their ankles and rushed in ahead of them, jumping onto one of the two the large leather sofas facing each other and rolling intro a ball, one of his large floppy ears hanging over the edge of the couch. Between them stood a coffee table made of glass, in stark, modern, contrast to the rest of the wooden furniture. Its surface reflected the flickering firelight.
large fireplace, its mantel intricately carved with symbols that hinted at Dooku's aristocratic heritage. A soft fire crackled within, filling the room with a gentle warmth and the scent of burning wood.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and modern volumes alike, their spines meticulously arranged. Obi-Wan thought he recognised a couple of first editions of famous business almanacs.

But what really caught his eye was the enormous Christmas tree

"Please, make yourselves comfortable”, Dooku gestured toward the seating area with a graceful sweep of his hand.

Obi-Wan felt a curious blend of awe and discomfort as he stepped onto the Persian rug in the middle of the room that probably cost as much as his entire tuition. Everything was so perfectly curated, he couldn’t imagine living here to be actually comfortable. In his home, there had been signs of the people living there all over the place.

Qui-Gon didn’t appear to be sharing Obi-Wan’s reservations. On the contrary: He took a seat on one of the sofas as though he had done so a thousand times before, leaning back with a calm, unhurried grace that suggested familiarity. Obi-Wan followed, though more tentatively, settling in beside him, and wondered whether this placed had looked the same when Qui-Gon had still been living here.

Dooku, however, did not sit immediately. Instead, he moved toward a cabinet along the far wall, retrieving a decanter of dark, amber liquid and a few crystal glasses. He poured with practiced precision, handing a glass first to Qui-Gon, then to Obi-Wan, before finally seating himself in a high-backed chair opposite them. His eyes, though calm, held a certain intensity as they settled on Obi-Wan once more, the weight of his scrutiny palpable.

"I trust the journey wasn’t too taxing," Dooku said, his tone polite but distant, as if discussing the weather at a business meeting rather than talking to a family member during a holiday. #

Obi-Wan nodded, though his mind was still reeling from the sheer grandeur of the estate. "No, not at all. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

Dooku’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as if assessing not just the words, but the man who spoke them. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible smile, he nodded. "Of course.”

Though the room was warm and inviting, Obi-Wan could still feel the underlying weight of expectation that filled the air. He was in Dooku's world now, and though the count was gracious, it was clear that the rules here were his.

The man truly had an imposing presence. Obi-Wam tried to eye him inconspicuously while he shifted in his seat and lifted the crystal tumbler to his limps, taking a sip and letting the rich, smoky flavour fill his mouth, but it did little to calm the nerves still fluttering in his chest.

To his right, Qui-Gon leaned back against the cushions, sipping his drink with the kind of relaxed grace that only someone deeply familiar with their surroundings could muster. It was clear that, despite their differences, this estate was still home to him in a way that Obi-Wan hadn’t fully realised.

Apparently able to read him like a book, Qui-Gon placed one of his large and slender hands on Obi-Wan’s thigh, squeezing it very lightly as if in reassurance.

Dooku, now seated across from them, set his glass down on the small table beside him. He steepled his fingers in his lap, eyes settling on Obi-Wan once more. “Tell me, Obi-Wan,” he began, his voice smooth, almost conversational, but laced with the formality of a man accustomed to being in control. “What led you to pursue business administration? I understand it’s a field that requires a certain degree of ambition.”
Obi-Wan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. He had expected polite small talk or perhaps more direct inquiries about his relationship with Qui-Gon.

This, however, felt like a test and almost had him regressing to his younger self, applying for his first internship.

“Well,” Obi-Wan began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve always been drawn to the idea of strategy. Of seeing the bigger picture. Business allows for that in a way that appeals to me—the idea of creating something, building it from the ground up, while also navigating the complexities of a larger system. It’s… both a challenge and an art form, in a way.”

Dooku’s brow lifted slightly, and though his expression remained largely unreadable, there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “An art form?” he repeated, as though testing the phrase. He leaned forward, just enough to suggest that Obi-Wan’s words had piqued his curiosity. “Most people view business as purely transactional. I’m intrigued by your perspective.”
Obi-Wan felt a small swell of relief that he hadn’t fumbled his answer. “I think it can be more than that,” he continued, gaining a bit more confidence. “It’s about understanding people, predicting movements, and making decisions that have long-term impact. Every action creates ripples—both in business and in life. It’s about finding the balance between success and integrity.”

Dooku regarded him thoughtfully, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest of his chair. “Interesting,” he mused, his voice low. “And yet, from what I understand, Qui-Gon’s path does not exactly follow those same ambitions.” He turned to look at his son, a faint smile touching his lips. “Though he’s always been more of a... free spirit.”
Qui-Gon chuckled, taking the comment in stride. “You could say that,” he agreed, his tone light. “I prefer to focus on the people rather than the system, to stay in the here and now. Every day, life brings you new chances for triumph or defeat. And if you pass its tests, that doesn't make you a great businessman. It makes you human.”

A couple moments of silence passed, before anyone spoke again. One could’ve cut the air with a knife. “An admirable pursuit, to be sure,” Dooku said at last, though there was a subtle edge to his words. He turned back to Obi-Wan. “So, tell me, Obi-Wan. How do you reconcile those differences between the two of you? It seems you both come from… very different worlds.”

Obi-Wan’s heart gave a nervous flutter at the question, but he knew it was one that had to be answered directly. It might have sounded like polite inquiry, but they had now arrived at the core of what their acquaintance was about. Dooku was making sure that Obi-Wan fully realised what it meant to be involved with his son. A man, who had rejected his father’s ways many years ago and he was still somehow protective of his heart. Dooku, a business tycoon made of steel and ice, was looking out for his own. Maybe there was a soft core beneath the cold exterior.

Bracing himself, Obi-Wan laid his hand on top of Qui-Gon’s still resting on his thigh and laced their fingers together. It felt warm and grounding in his grasp.

“Yes, we do come from different worlds,” he admitted. “But I think that’s part of what makes our relationship strong.” Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Qui-Gon has a way of seeing the world that inspires people,” he said.
“He believes in doing what’s right, in helping those who need it. And that kind of conviction… it’s not something you find every day. It’s something I admire.”
He paused for a second to mull over his words and then continued, “To me, Qui-Gon is balance. His way of seeing the world reminds me that success isn’t just about ambition or strategy, but about the impact we have on others. In a way, he’s taught me to look beyond the numbers and the business models, to see the people behind them.”

That had gotten very deep very fast, Obi-Wan thought. He hoped he hadn’t laid it on too thick.

Dooku was silent for a moment, his gaze flickering between the two of them. Then, slowly, he nodded, as if coming to a decision.
“Well said,” Dooku murmured, his voice carrying a note of approval. “It seems you’ve chosen wisely, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon’s smile broadened, he disentangled his hand from Obi-Wan’s and slipped it around his waist instead, in a casual gesture of affection that seemed to ease most of Obi-Wan’s tension. “I think so too.”

Dooku studied them both for a moment longer before a rare smile ghosted across his lips. “Then welcome, Obi-Wan. I trust you’ll find your place here soon enough.”
Abruptly, he stood and straightened his suit. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a second, I expect dinner will be ready shortly and I’d like to check up on that. I trust you’ll both join me in the dining room.”, he said, and promptly left the room, purpose in his stride even now.

Obi-Wan was still frozen in his seat, not quite believing, that he’d somehow managed to not make a horrific fool of himself. Qui-Gon however seemed to be in a jovial mood, pulling him close and kissing his cheek.

“See? I told you he’d come round”, he murmured and Obi-Wan could practically hear the grin on his lips, “I mean I can’t blame him. How could anyone ever resist you?”

If the conversation with Dooku and the brandy hadn’t been enough to make him blush, Qui-Gon’s words certainly managed to.

Obi-Wan smiled, his heart swelling with affection and turned his head to look at his beloved. “Thank you,” he said quietely. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

And then Qui-Gon was kissing him, gently at first, his lips brushing against Obi-Wan's with a tenderness that made Obi-Wan’s heart race. Qui-Gon’s arm around his waist was grounding him the, keeping him steady and he dared to sink deeper into the kiss, letting the tension from earlier slip away.

When they finally pulled apart, Obi-Wan felt breathless. Qui-Gon grinned at him, eyes sparkling with warmth and affection, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh softly, feeling a sense of ease settle into his bones. He felt like a teenager doing something forbidden, as if Qui-Gon hat snuck him into his bedroom secretly and Dooku would come knocking at any time and catch them redhanded.

“I think we should make this a habit,” Qui-Gon teased, his voice low, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Obi-Wan’s face. “Winning over my father with your charm, followed by celebratory kisses.”
Obi-Wan chuckled, resting his forehead against Qui-Gon’s for a moment. “Well, as long as it works, I’m not going to argue.”

*
“So, Obi-Wan,” Dooku’s voice cut through the soft clinking of silverware, drawing Obi-Wan’s attention. The count’s eyes were sharp, though not unfriendly. “I trust your studies at Coruscant Business Academy have been rigorous?”

The scent of the food—a delicate soup with hints of truffle and herbs—filled the room, and Obi-Wan tried to relax. He paused for a moment, lowering his spoon carefully. This was the kind of question he had expected, though it still caught him slightly off guard. “Yes, quite,” he replied, his voice steady but respectful. “The program is challenging, but I’ve found it deeply rewarding. It’s given me a solid foundation in strategic analysis and leadership.”

Dooku nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip from his glass. “Good. The Academy has a reputation for producing some of the finest minds in business. I expect they’ve trained you well in how to navigate… complex situations.”

There was a subtle weight to Dooku’s words, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel that the conversation had shifted into something more than idle dinner talk. He could sense Dooku testing him again, probing to see how he handled pressure.

“Yes, they have,” Obi-Wan said carefully, his voice measured. “But I’ve found that real-world experience often provides lessons that can’t be taught in a classroom. Understanding people—whether in business or otherwise—requires more than just theory.”
Dooku’s lips curled slightly, the ghost of a smile touching his face. “Quite right.” He set his glass down, his gaze steady on Obi-Wan. “And I imagine Qui-Gon’s influence has exposed you to a different perspective as well.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, who raised an amused eyebrow. “You could say that,” Obi-Wan replied, feeling more confident now. “Qui-Gon has a way of reminding me that there’s more to life than corporate structures and profit margins. His work with humanitarian causes has shown me how interconnected everything is—people, communities, economies. It’s all part of the same system, even if they seem worlds apart.”

“I can imagine”, Dooku replied, “Qui-Gon has always been one to challenge convention, even when it comes to his own family.”

There was a brief pause, and Qui-Gon leaned back slightly in his chair, his tone light but with an undercurrent of affection. “You mean, I’ve always been the one to drive you mad.”

Dooku’s eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement. “Yes, there’s that as well.”

Obi-Wan smiled at the brief exchange and continued eating.

As the next course was served, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Qui-Gon shared a few stories from his latest work in humanitarian outreach, which prompted Dooku to make a few dry, though not unkind, remarks about his son’s idealism. Obi-Wan found himself relaxing more, allowing the gentle rhythm of the conversation to carry him along. The tension he’d felt earlier began to fade as Dooku continued to engage him in subtle but respectful conversation, asking about his studies, his career plans, and his interests outside of business.

At one point, Dooku mentioned a recent merger his company had overseen, and Obi-Wan felt a spark of curiosity. He had read about it in the business reports—an impressive strategic move that had made waves across the financial sector.

“I found that merger fascinating,” he commented, leaning forward slightly. “The way you navigated the regulatory hurdles, especially with the competing stakeholders involved, was masterful. I’ve been studying it as part of my coursework.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Is that so? What aspect of the merger caught your attention?”

Fuck. Now he had piqued the other man’s attention and actually had to say something clever about a subject, Dooku was an expert at. And he had no one to blame but himself and that big mouth of his. Okay. This was fine. He could do this. This was the same thing as raising his hand in class to voice his opinion.

Obi-Wan hesitated only for a second before diving in. “The timing, mostly. You managed to push the deal through right as a key piece of legislation was being finalised. It was as if you anticipated the outcome and positioned your company to benefit before anyone else had even considered the implications. That kind of foresight is impressive.”

Dooku seemed to regard him with newfound interest, a glimmer of approval in his gaze. “Anticipation, Mr. Kenobi, is the key to any successful venture”, he said.

Obi-Wan nodded, absorbing the lesson. “I agree. The challenge, of course, is ensuring that you have enough information to make those decisions without overextending yourself.”

Dooku leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in a way that suggested Obi-Wan had hit on something significant. “Precisely.”

Qui-Gon watched the exchange with a bemused smile, clearly pleased that his father and Obi-Wan had found some common ground.

By the time dessert was served Obi-Wan he felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Dooku’s approval wasn’t easily earned, but Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that he had made a good impression. Maybe even gained the older man’s respect.

As they finished the meal, Dooku stood once more, his manner as composed as ever. “This has been… enlightening,” he said, his voice carrying a note of finality, but also approval. “I look forward to seeing how you continue to develop, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stood as well, grateful for the opportunity. “Thank you, Count Dooku. I appreciate your hospitality.”

Dooku nodded, then turned to Qui-Gon. “I trust you’ll stay the night. The guest quarters are prepared.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Of course.”

Basically brimming with relief and excitement, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
Qui-Gon grinned in return, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You survived,” he said playfully, leaning in to kiss Obi-Wan’s temple.

“Barely,” Obi-Wan murmured, but a smile was tugging at his lips. “But I think… he likes me.”
Qui-Gon chuckled, pulling him closer. “He does. And if you keep impressing him like that, he’ll be trying to recruit you to run the business empire by the end of the year.”

Obi-Wan laughed softly, but part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that Qui-Gon might not be entirely wrong.

Chapter Text

After dinner, the mood in the estate had calmed down and shifted into something quieter and more intimate.

The last candles in the grand dining room were flickering down to their wicks. All plates had been cleared, and Dooku had excused himself briefly to handle a matter of business. Now, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon found themselves in the drawing room once again, enjoying the cozy crackle of the fireplace. Obi-Wan sat on the couch, one leg tucked under him, holding a glass of wine. He gazed at the fire, lost in thought, his earlier nerves from meeting Dooku for the first time mostly gone. Qui-Gon had settled down beside him, close but not quite touching, his broad frame fully at ease.
For a while, neither of them spoke. A comfortable silence stretched between them, one that didn’t need to be filled with words.

Eventually, Qui-Gon leaned over, his elbow resting on the back of the couch as he watched Obi-Wan, his blue eyes studying him in the dim light. "You’ve been quiet since dinner," he said, his voice low and soothing, a soft rumble in the otherwise still room. "Is everything alright?"
Obi-Wan turned to look at him, a smile on his lips. "I’m fine," he said and looked down away again, swirling the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Just… thinking."
"About what?" Qui-Gon asked, his tone gentle.
Obi-Wan hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "About how surreal this all feels. I never imagined spending Christmas in a place like this," he admitted, gesturing around the luxurious room. "I mean, look at this estate. It's beautiful, but it’s so different from what I’m used to.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, his gaze softening with understanding. "I know it can feel… overwhelming," he said, reaching out to place his hand over Obi-Wan’s, warm and reassuring. "But you’ve handled everything so well today. You fit in here more than you think.”

Obi-Wan looked down at their hands, a smile tugging at his lips again. "I guess I just don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of your father," he confessed, his voice quieter now. "I respect him, even if I don’t always agree with him. I want him to respect me, too, for your sake as well.”

Qui-Gon smiled back, his thumb brushing gently across the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. "He does, I’m sure of it" he said reassuringly. "You impressed him tonight, even if he didn’t show it in the most obvious way.”

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly. "Impressed is a strong word.”

"No," Qui-Gon insisted, leaning in a little closer, his voice gaining a more serious edge. "You were thoughtful, honest, and poised. My father may not express his feelings directly, but I know him well enough to see when he’s impressed by someone. And trust me, Obi-Wan, he respects you.”

The warmth and conviction in Qui-Gon’s voice made Obi-Wan feel a little more at ease. He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through Qui-Gon’s, holding on to him in silent gratitude.

Qui-Gon smiled at him, the firelight casting a soft glow over his features. "You’re part of this now," he said. "This family, this life—you belong here, with me.”

Obi-Wan’s breath hitched at the words. He had known, that being with Qui-Gon meant stepping into a world vastly different from his own. They were rather different people after all, with different backgrounds, an age gap, and oftentimes different world views. But Obi-Wan felt that his life was all the richer for it. That despite their differences, they had so much to learn from and continued to bring out the best in each other.
Hearing those words made it all feel more real, more tangible. He wasn’t just an outsider looking in anymore; he was part of something bigger, something that included Qui-Gon and, in some small way, Dooku as well. Meeting your partner’s parents was a big step.

"Come here," Qui-Gon murmured, tugging Obi-Wan closer until their bodies were pressed together on the couch, the warmth of Qui-Gon’s chest against his back. Obi-Wan relaxed into him, resting his head against Qui-Gon’s broad shoulder, the tension slowly easing from his body.

For a long time, they sat like that, quietly holding each other in the soft glow of the fire. Both of them cherished this moment of stillness, a pause in the rush of the day’s events, where nothing else mattered except the two of them, together. Outside, snow continued to fall in thick flakes, blanketing the estate’s grounds.

After a while, Dooku reappeared in the doorway, his footsteps quiet as he entered the room. He paused, taking in the sight of his son and Obi-Wan curled up on the couch, and for a moment, his usually impassive face softened.
"I trust you’re both comfortable?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet but carrying no harshness.

Obi-Wan jumped and straightened slightly, but Qui-Gon didn’t let him pull away completely.
"Very much so, thank you," Obi-Wan said, offering Dooku a respectful nod. He felt the knot in his belly returning with a twinge of embarrassment, but then again if Qui-Gon didn’t seem to mind, why should he?

Dooku moved to sit in a nearby armchair, glancing at the fire as he folded his hands in his lap.
"I’ll join you for a nightcap, if you don’t mind," Dooku said after a pause, his tone almost casual. "I find it’s best to end a long day with a moment of reflection.”

Qui-Gon smiled, his arm still resting around Obi-Wan, keeping him close. "Of course, Father."
And so they sat together, the three of them, sharing the quiet warmth of the fire on Christmas Eve, the silence filled with unspoken understanding and a sense of something deeper than mere family ties. It was a moment of finding peace and belonging in the most unexpected of places.

The fire had almost burned down, when Dooku and finally also Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon retreated to their rooms for a good night’s rest.
When they finally reached the door to their bedroom, Qui-Gon opened it with a gentle push, allowing Obi-Wan to step inside first. The room was as elegant as the rest of the estate, with a large bed draped in soft linens and a tall window offering a view of the snow-covered landscape.

While Qui-Gon closed the door behind him, Obi-Wan stepped in front of the large window and watched the snowflakes dancing in the darkness, while he eased his own tie and jacket off and tossed it to the side.

Qui-Gon closed the distance between them, hugging his beloved from behind. Obi-Wan leaned back into the embrace, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar comfort of Qui-Gon’s warmth.
"It’s been a good day," Qui-Gon murmured against Obi-Wan’s ear, his voice a soothing rumble. "But I’m glad to have you all to myself now."
Obi-Wan smiled, turning his head slightly to press a soft kiss to Qui-Gon’s jaw. "Me too," he whispered.

Twisting out of Qui-Gon’s arms in order to face him, he slowly lifted his hands to the other man’s tie and took it between his thumb and pointer finger. “Let me help you with that?”, Obi-Wan asked, his intonation dithering on the edge between question and statement.

He lightly tugged on the tie, asking Qui-Gon wordlessly to step even closer and he obliged.

Obi-Wan would’ve been lying if he’d claimed that this was easy going for him, pretending that this was perfectly casual when really his insides were reaching for Qui-Gon just like Tantalus was reaching for the fruit around him. Maybe he’d had too much wine, but he ached to show his gratitude about being let into his life like that. He wanted to show Qui-Gon that he realised and appreciated what it meant that he’d taken him into his childhood home and introduced him to his father. This felt like the next step within their relationship and Obi-Wan craved phyical closeness to match the emotional proximity. Only he was the one not allowing himself to indulge just yet, not to touch and go the rest of the way. He’d do this right.

Almost reverently he let his fingertips glide over the fabric, before starting to undo the tie. As he was pulling the end back up through the loop of the Windsor knot, Obi-Wan’s eyes briefly flickered upwards and met Qui-Gon’s. Even if their gazes crossed for a mere second, it was enough to make Obi-Wan shiver with anticipation.

Qui-Gons’s cheeks were slightly flushed from the whisky he’d been drinking and his skin was hot against Obi-Wan’s fingers as they brushed against it lightly, while he was separating the knot.
Now having both ends of the tie in one of his hands, he placed his free one on Qui-Gon’s chest and slowly let it glide upwards to the point where the edge of his pristine collar met soft skin, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of the dress shirt. Finally, he placed his hand on the other man’s neck and traced his jawline with his thumb, taking note of the way Qui-Gon’s beard softly scratched his fingertip.

Allowing himself to look up at Qui-Gon, taking in how unguarded and flushed he looked, made Obi-Wan unconsciously bite his bottom lip.
“You looked so handsome in your suit today”, he murmured”, “but I still think I’d prefer you without it.”

Qui-Gon chuckled quietly, the deep sound sending a pleasant shiver through Obi-Wan. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice a rich, warm rumble.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in, kissing Qui-Gon, who let out a quiet sigh at the contact, his hands finding Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together.

Their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss, the desire they both had for each other obvious but still moving in tandem with careful tenderness.

Qui-Gon’s hands slid up Obi-Wan’s back, his fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt as he deepened their kiss. Obi-Wan responded in kind, tossing the tie to the side and wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck as their lips moved together, the room around them fading away.

There was a languidness to their movements, a sense of savouring the moment. Obi-Wan’s hands found their way to the buttons of Qui-Gon’s shirt, and with slow, deliberate motions, he began undoing them, one by one, as he kissed him. Qui-Gon let out a low, appreciative sound, his own hands sliding under the hem of Obi-Wan’s shirt, fingers brushing against the warm skin beneath.

As the last button came undone, Obi-Wan pushed the shirt open, letting it fall off Qui-Gon’s broad shoulders. His hands splayed across Qui-Gon’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his fingertips. The touch made something stir deep inside him, and he pressed closer, kissing Qui-Gon with a renewed urgency.

Gently, Qui-Gon started guiding him towards the bed, walking slowly backwards step by step while keeping Obi-Wan close, making him follow him until the back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress.

Roaming hands found the hem of Obi-Wan’s dress shirt and pulled it out of his hands, resulting in a soft gasp resulting from the cold air hitting his skin. Qui-Gon made use of the element of surprise and when skin met skin he could almost feel the electricity on his fingertips connecting with Obi-Wan’s sides and the muscles contracting on his back as he touched him.

However, he didn’t grant himself a lot of time to savour the feeling of smooth skin. There was still too much fabric separating them, and the buttons of Obi-Wan’s shirt had him fumbling, trying to open them.

Watching him, Obi-Wan chuckled and stilled his hands with his own, before letting go and simply tugging the shirt up and over his head before tossing it to the side.
The sight of him made Qui-Gon’s breath catch in his throat.

For a moment, the taller man was compelled to do no more than admire the way Obi-Wan’s body moved, pale, freckled skin moving elegantly over muscles and bones stretching and showing off their definition. When he was looking at Qui-Gon again, Obi-Wan’s hair was mussed and sticking up at odd angles. He was also looking at Qui-Gon expectantly, his lips slightly parted, breath shallow and cheeks flushed. He looked glorious.

Obi-Wan reached up, sinking his fingers into Qui-Gon’s hair, revelling in the feel of the soft strands between his fingers, before he held on tight and used them to pull Qui-Gon into a bruising kiss. Qui-Gon groaned, hooking his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist so their bodies were flush against each other. More, more, more, his mind was saying.

Obi-Wan however had been so focused on their passionate kiss, that the motion came as a surprise, and he lost his footing. Maybe his head had already been spinning with want, too. He fell against Qui-Gon, who lost his balance himself, and they both dropped onto the bed together, still entwined with each other.

Both of them chuckled, gasping for air. Qui-Gon then started planting kisses along Obi-Wan’s jaw before he scraped his teeth across Obi-Wan’s it, biting down along his neck. Obi-Wan moaned, when Qui-Gon bit down over his pulse and sucked, and he barely had his wits about him enough, to wonder whether it would leave a mark.

Then they were kissing again, sweet and filthy, and Qui-Gon grinned when he felt Obi-Wan’s hands frame his cheeks, reeling him in closer. By now, Obi-Wan was straddling him, knees planted into the mattress at Qui-Gon’s sides. So he grabbed him by his hips and pulled him down while arching his back.

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut then, as he whined and revelled in the sensation. He rolled his hips, seeking that friction, and Qui-Gon sunk into his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust like a passionate dance.

But it simply wasn’t close enough. Stupidly, Obi-Wan’s hands fumbled at Qui-Gon’s belt and the clasp of his pants, trying to open them and succeeding finally. Together, they wrangled the trousers off of Qui-Gon, before doing it all over again with Obi-Wan’s.

With Obi-Wan finally settled back down in his lap, Qui-Gon stopped, stunned and breathless at the sight before him. Obi-Wan was luminous against the dark of the room behind him. Qui-Gon’s mouth went dry and his heart hammered in his chest.

They locked eyes as Qui-Gon slipped his arms around Obi-Wan’s back and pulled him down, flush on top of him, naked chest to naked chest. The heat was enticing and grounding at the same time. Both of them were painfully hard at this point.

“I want-“, Obi-Wan breathed, unable to fully form a sentence but he really doesn’t have to.
“I know," Qui-Gon said softly. "Obi-Wan, I know.”

He slowly stroked Obi-Wan’s spine from top to bottom, feeling each of the vertebrae, but stopping just above his ass. The goosebumps that erupted across Obi-Wan’s skin spoke of a billion nerve endings being set alight.

“Tell me what you want”, Qui-Gon murmurs, as he grips Obi-Wan’s hips with both hands.
Tentatively, Obi-Wan takes one of Qui-Gon’s hands into his own and lifts it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. He plants a kiss on the center of his palm, before taking the pointer finger between his lips and engulfing it in the heat of his mouth, sucking on it.

Qui-Gon’s breath hitched as he watched, unable to tear away his gaze even if he wanted to.

Obi-Wan dropped his hand again, as he settled in between Qui-Gon’s thighs, who struggled to keep his composure as he felt Obi-Wan’s breath on his tip.

Qui-Gon clasped a hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s head, fingers deliberately tangling in the copper hair that had been growing out recently.

“Fuck, Obi-“, he gasped and his eyes fluttered close for a moment, as Obi-Wan slowly took him into his mouth, working his hands on the rest of his shaft and balls.

The reaction spurred Obi-Wan on to go faster, taking Qui-Gon in even deeper with each moan.

When Obi-Wan looked up at the other man between his lashes, he gut a chance to enjoy the look of pure lust and pleasure that was plastered across his face. The moon’s light caught in the tiny sheen of sweat coating his brow and illuminated his features.

Seemingly a second later and an eternity at the same time, Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan back up to him and engaged him in a hot kiss. His gratitude was palpable as their tongues danced sloppily but neither of them cared much. All that mattered was them, together.

Qui-Gon finally reached down between them, taking both of them into his large palm and stroking languidly. Obi-Wan groaned quietly at the contact and hid his face between Qui-Gon’s jaw and his shoulder. He smelled wonderfully of tea and aftershave, and at this point of his natural musk.

Neither of them had much left to give, the experiences of the past day so intense and exhausting that sharing such an intimate moment was enough to push both of them over the edge.

So Qui-Gon continued to stroke both of them together, whispering sweet nothings at Obi-Wan until he could feel him tensing up in his embrace, breath coming ragged and at uneven intervals.
Speeding up more, he dragged his free hand down over Obi-Wan’s back once more up to his bottom and gripped it tightly, massaging it.

That was enough to turn both of them into panting, moaning messes before they sank back into the mattress next to each other, spent.

After the intensity of their closeness, the room was filled with a peaceful, comforting quiet. The soft glow of the moonlight through the window cast gentle shadows across the bed, and the warmth of their shared body heat settled between them like a second blanket.

Obi-Wan lay on his side, his arm draped over Qui-Gon’s chest, fingers lazily tracing idle patterns along his skin. His head rested on the crook of Qui-Gon’s shoulder, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt safe, natural—like they belonged exactly there.

Chapter Text

The estate grounds were blanketed in a fresh layer of snow, pristine and untouched, save for a few trails left by boots as they made their way out of the warmth of the house. The scene was bathed in the bright glow of the morning sun, making the snow sparkle like millions of tiny crystals. Despite the chill in the air, Obi-Wan felt warm beneath his thick coat and scarf, thanks in no small part to the company beside him.

“Remind me again why we’re out here?” Obi-Wan asked with an amused smile, glancing at Qui-Gon as they walked through the snow-covered garden.

Qui-Gon grinned, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Because I promised you we’d enjoy the snow before the day ended. And because I’m still undefeated when it comes to snowball fights.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Are you?”

So far, the atmosphere in the estate’s grounds had been almost reverent — until Qui-Gon scooped up a handful of snow.

"You’re about to learn, my love," Qui-Gon said with a grin, "that experience always wins over youth."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, watching as Qui-Gon packed the snowball tightly in his hands. "Is that so?" he said, his tone light but challenging. "We’ll see about that.”

Before he could blink, Qui-Gon launched his snowball. It sailed through the air with surprising precision, smacking Obi-Wan squarely in the chest. Obi-Wan gasped, startled by the cold impact as snowflakes scattered across his coat.

"First strike!" Qui-Gon called out, laughing as he watched Obi-Wan brush the snow from his chest. The grin on his face was triumphant, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told Obi-Wan he wasn’t done yet.

"Oh, you’re going to regret that," Obi-Wan said, narrowing his eyes with a determined smile.
Crouching down, he quickly gathered his own handful of snow, forming it into a neat ball. Qui-Gon, for his part, was already preparing another. But Obi-Wan wasn’t about to wait for the next attack. With a swift motion, he threw his snowball, aiming for Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

It hit its mark perfectly, and Qui-Gon’s laughter rang out again as he shook the snow from his jacket. "Well played.”

The game was on now, and the two of them were fully engaged in their snowball skirmish. Obi-Wan, lighter on his feet, darted from one side of the tree to the other. Qui-Gon, however, held his ground, laughing heartily as he lobbed snowballs in return.

They were both breathless from the cold and their shared laughter, their cheeks flushed pink from the chilly air. Qui-Gon took a moment to catch his breath behind a marble statue before the next missile was to be expected — but the snowball didn’t come.

Peeking out from his cover, Qui-Gon wanted to assess the situation, but it was too late by then. Obi-Wan had snuck up on him and was tackling him into a pile of snow, his arms wrapped around Qui-Gon’s middle.

“It’s over, I have the high ground!”, Obi-Wan panted, grinning from ear to ear. His breath formed puffs of smoke as he exhaled, straddling Qui-Gon and holding a snowball above his head menacingly, as if he were to hit the other man in the face with it.

“You fight dirty”, Qui-Gon replied with mock exasperation.

“Do you surrender or will I need to land the final blow?”, Obi-Wan asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You know, my love”, Qui-Gon replied, and he was panting just as hard as Obi-Wan then, but there was a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, “haven’t I taught you to always keep your concentration in the here and now, where it belongs, rather than the future?”

And with that he suddenly freed himself, using his long limbs as leverage, and flipped them over, trapping Obi-Wan beneath his body.

Now their roles were reversed, but Qui-Gon easily gave up his upper hand in the snowball fight in order to bend down the rest of the way, crossing the small gap between there faces and kissing Obi-Wan in the snow.

"I win," Qui-Gon murmured with a playful smile, his breath warm against Obi-Wan’s cheek despite the cold air.
Obi-Wan, still laughing, wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s shoulders, his face flushed from the cold and the excitement. "Is that how it works? You just tackle me and declare victory?”

"Absolutely," Qui-Gon said, his voice rich with affection. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. "Unless you’d prefer to argue."

Suddenly, a third voice cut through the crisp winter air, interrupting the moment.

"You call that a snowball fight?”

Obi-Wan turned his head to see Dooku standing at the edge of the patio, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in amusement. "It seems more like a surrender to me," Dooku added, his deep voice carrying a teasing edge as he looked at the pair.

Qui-Gon chuckled, loosening his hold on Obi-Wan so both of them could get up. "Father, if you wanted to join, all you had to do was ask.”

Dooku’s lips twitched as though considering the idea, but he merely shook his head. "No, thank you. I’ll leave the childish games to you two.”

Obi-Wan smirked as he patted the snow off his coat, glancing up at Qui-Gon. "I think he’s just afraid of losing."

Dooku raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his expression. "Afraid? Hardly. I simply have no interest in unnecessary theatrics.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, pulling him close once again and pressing a kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head before letting him go. "That sounds like something someone who’s afraid of losing would say.”

To their mutual surprise, Dooku’s cool demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He looked at the snow on the ground, then back at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. For a long moment, silence hung between them.

Then, in an uncharacteristically swift motion, Dooku bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and sent it sailing toward Qui-Gon in one smooth, practiced motion.

It landed with a soft thud against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, snow scattering into the air as Obi-Wan stifled a laugh.
Qui-Gon blinked in shock for a moment before breaking into a broad grin. “Well played,” he said, shaking off the snow. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Dooku straightened, dusting his gloves off with a faintly amused smile. “One doesn’t reach my age without picking up a few tricks,” he replied. His tone might have been curt, but there was no mistaking the rare glint of mischief in his eyes.

Obi-Wan grinned, finally regaining his composure. “I think we’ve officially been outmatched.”

“Indeed,” Dooku said smoothly. “But I’d suggest you two continue your antics without dragging me further into them. I think I’ve made my point.”

With that, he turned and began walking back toward the estate, his cloak sweeping behind him. But just as he reached the threshold of the garden, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And, Obi-Wan,” Dooku added with a faint smirk, “next time, aim higher.”
Before Obi-Wan could respond, Dooku disappeared into the house, leaving the two of them giggling together, as Qui-Gon draped an arm around Obi-Wans shoulders.