Yes, Master

The sound of his voice is one of the foundations upon which I rest. It creates such a necessary part of my reality... perhaps I overreact. It is, after all, just a voice. Just sounds. It should not compare to the way he smiles at me, or touches me, or how the emotions themselves wash over me when we come together. But his voice is something I can have when we have nothing else between us. And perhaps that is why I treasure it more.

Besides, I love the way he speaks. His voice is... or perhaps I'm just in love. Why else would I read so much into his voice? Why else would he put so much into it? With two words he can say a lifetime of things.

For example, when he says "Yes, Master" in that calm, balanced tone of his, I can hear his agreement with and support of whatever decision I have reached. In recent years, I have come to value his agreement and support. I can see the Knight he is becoming, see the skill and competence within him. When he agrees with me... I find myself assured that I have, in fact, made the right choice.

When he says "Yes, Master" in that same calm tone, but the one which is ever-so-slightly off-balance, I know he disagrees. In the last year I have found myself taking a second look at what we are about to do, when I hear that tone.

Then of course there is the "Yes, Master" which does not even attempt to be balanced or calm. When he does not mind my knowing I've asked him to do something he does not wish to do. It is not simple disagreement, it is whole-hearted refusal. Almost whole-hearted -- he still obeys, but only because I am the teacher and he, the student. He acquiesces, says "Yes, Master" without comment, even controls his desire to protest. But I can hear it, all the same. I haven't yet been able to decide if I am right, in those times, or if he is.

Sometimes when he says "Yes, Master", I can feel his laughter trying to push its way out. He smiles, then, and if I asked him anything more I'm sure he would give in and let it free. But I leave it silenced, enjoyed no less. I know he knows I can hear it, and that is enough.

That is not to say he never laughs. When he says "Yes, Master" in a fit of laughter, doubling him over until he can barely get the words out.... It does not happen often enough. Jedi must present an image of control, and calm, to encourage the faith of others in our abilities to protect the peace. So I must wait until we are in private, and then too often he distracts me from amusing him into laughing, with other things.

The "Yes, Master" when he is enticing me to such distractions. That one I have such difficulty resisting. Even when I ought to resist I find myself pausing, turning my attention towards him, hearing his voice echoing inside me, with my need for him. I believe he says it sometimes just for that reaction -- even when there is no way we can give in to it. I don't chastise him for it. Perhaps it is behavior unbecoming a Jedi, or a Padawan.

But as my lover, it is perfect. It reminds me so of the "Yes, Master" when he is more than just enticing me. When I have claimed him, before he has lost control of his speech and he is crying out. At times he calls my name, but at others he cries those words and it sends shivers running throughout my soul. It reminds me of those times when I am about to lose myself in him, and he is encouraging me, calling me to let myself go. He whispers, "Yes, Master" in my ear and his soul touches mine in his voice. I treasure those.

I even treasure the others.

The "Yes, Master" when he can barely speak, shaking in pain and accepting that, for now, I can do nothing. The quiet defeat of his "Yes, Master" when I have to tell him he has failed in his task. The "Yes, Master" when I tell him there is nothing we can do to change the suffering we see around us.

The anguish when I must tell him to continue without me and continue our mission alone, and he simply says, "Yes, Master" and walks away.

All these I treasure, not for the emotion behind them, but simply for that he shares that emotion with me. In those two words he opens himself to me in ways he does not to anyone else. That he allows me in to his pain, as well as his joy, gives me cause enough to treasure each and every whisper of those words.

But all of these pale beside the "Yes, Master" when there is no great joy, no great pain. When there is only quiet, and we are doing nothing of import. I say something, he simply replies "Yes, Master," and I hear only his love pouring forth.

It is in those quiet moments that I find myself searching for things to say to him, to elicit his responses. I suspect he knows, and in fact at times I believe I can hear a slight exasperation creep into his tone when he has said it for the fifth or sixth time in the space of an hour. The slight stretch on the "Yes" always warns me that perhaps I should cease indulging myself.. for a bit.

Perhaps I measure too strongly the circumstances of our relationship by his voice and by those two simple words. But I find the universe inside them, even when I do not try. I find his love, his joy, his pain, his sorrow. I find his delight and desires, I find his anger and fears. Whenever he says "Yes, Master" I can hear all those, and once in a while I hear something new.

I knew he desired me, when I heard it in his voice. I knew he loved me, in that same voice. I knew he respected me, and I knew when he once feared me. I knew when he first needed me as he said "Yes, Master". I knew when I first needed him. I knew when all I wanted that I did not yet have, was wrapped up in his voice.

And for all his "Yes, Master"s I find there is still that which has been left unsaid. I look forward to discovering them... though soon I shall have to hear them in words other than these. Perhaps I shall hear it in my name, when he speaks to me. Perhaps he shall find another few words to convey everything he says to me.

Whatever they will be, I look forward to hearing them. For now, I wait for him to speak again so I may touch him.