Summary: Qui-Gon catalogues Obi-Wan's rock collection.
Disclaimer: These gorgeous Jedi belong to George Lucas, not me.
Feedback: Well sure, to kimberlite@cox.net
He tastes solid like granite.
I run my hand over his back, feeling the well-toned muscles
ripple beneath my fingers. He shifts up onto hands and knees,
waiting for my next exploration.
He tastes molten like magma.
I feel the heat radiating from his body as my legs wedge his
apart. He pushes his hips back, silently asking for more.
He tastes sharp like obsidian.
I penetrate his willing body. He drops his head onto his
crossed arms, quieting his moan.
He tastes viscous like lava.
I move out of his hot, tight channel, holding him steady with
my hands on his hips. He tries to follow, to keep my hardness
within him.
He tastes frothy like pumice.
I thrust hard, pushing him into the softness of the bedding. He
laughs in delight as the pleasure builds.
He tastes gritty like sandstone.
I still deep within his body and entwine his Padawan braid in
my fingers. He arches his neck, tilting his head to show his
distinctive profile.
He tastes effervescent like travertine.
I reach beneath him to stroke lightly along his hardness. He
smiles at me as a purr sounds deep in his throat.
He tastes organic like coal.
I watch his changeable face as I establish a hard rhythm. He
meets my controlled thrusts with abandon.
He tastes layered like slate.
I explode inside his beautiful body. He convulses beneath me,
reveling in the feeling of my weight.
He tastes crystalline like quartzite.
I kiss his neck, soothing the damp skin. He turns his head to
meet my lips.
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