Category: POV (Obi-Wan), PWP (but not a traditional one) and a
touch of romance.
Archive: M_A only
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars.
Summary: Obi-Wan, heat, and a storm.
There are mornings when you awaken with a smile on your face
and this day is no exception. It is warm. It is exciting. It is
the knowledge of being at the mercy of the elements, knowing
that the changes in the atmosphere can catalyse a reaction in
your own body. I laugh and suck in that wondrous smell.
The barest hints of sweat threaten to surface and I push back
the covers, noting that I am alone. Apparently the heat drove
my bedmate out early and I understand why. I would give almost
anything to feel a cool breeze across my bare chest but there
is nothing but the sultry scent of early summer.
And I know, in my heart, that a storm is coming.
I dress lightly, not even glancing at the heavy robe which has
no place in my life on a day like this. The flimsiest pants, a
longer tunic to provide the illusion of decency, yet part of me
wants to dance naked through the day and revel in the sweet
touch of heat on my skin. But no, that is for later, when the
heat of my lover's touch will be a slow burn, more intense than
even this. I wonder briefly where he is.
The day passes as one slow, drawn out breath. The air is thick
and it is difficult to move, yet it's also wonderfully exciting
as I am amazed at the universe again, thrilled how every day
can be so different.
The heat, it surrounds me, encompasses me, squirms through
every pore in my body until I become nothing but the heat
itself. It infuses my blood.
I am alive and I know this passionately as the afternoon wears
on. Every motion causes new rivulets of sweat to form, I can
feel my braid plastered to my back and it is yet another sign
that in this heat, I have metamorphosed into something quite
new, an ephemeral padawan who can only be vaguely seen, pushing
through the fog-like thickness of the heavy air.
I am not one with the Force today, no, I am one with the air;
as I breathe it, it breathes me; we are bound together in one
swampy thickness of delicious warmth. I lie on the floor and
stare at the roof, imagining that cooling air currents drift
past and know that in that moment, I am incapable of moving. I
have almost melted, my skin is on fire and again I laugh,
because it is all so new! Days like this are rare and to be
treasured.
And then, just when I think I have truly become the air,
there is a sound, so distant, but the tremors send matching
tremors throughout my entire body and I know, I
know that it is coming. The storm. It electrifies me.
Another rumble, this time closer, and even though I am still
glued to the floor, I become aware of the change outside the
window and my eyes are drawn to the sky; the sky which was
blazing blue has suddenly turned darker. There are eerie green
and purple thunderheads rushing towards me, racing on a wind of
fire and hail and finally, I can lift one hand and I reach for
it, stretching, wanting to behold and embrace the change that
is coming...
A last deep breath of the heat, closing my eyes, feeling the
thrum. And then I can move. Like a sleepwalker, I languidly
drawn one leg up to my chest and then the other, now feeling
the heat of my own body pulse against my heart. I roll onto my
side, curled like a child in the womb, and perhaps this
approaching storm is my rebirth. I watch it as it tears closer
and breathe in time with the first tentative rushes of the
wind.
The wind. The wind! It bursts through the trees in one shocking
roar and I spring to my feet and race onto the balcony, my
heart rejoicing, for from the quiet slumber of the heat I have
woken anew. I watch the trees.
The air stills, it is momentarily calm and again I am frozen
with my hands on the railing, just staring, staring into the
distance, waiting for the arrival. So silent as if the entire
world has sucked in a breath and is afraid to let go, because
once it does, wildness will ensue and nothing can stop it. The
temperature drops rapidly and now the salty sheen on my skin
makes me almost cold. I shiver. I laugh. The fury hits.
The sky is black and rain hails down with the new gust,
shrieking through the trees. Each fat drop that hits my
overheated skin sizzles and I rejoice in the sensation, lifting
my hands to the sky and yelling, and realising that I cannot
stay here, no, not when the weather calls to me to be out there
and dancing and celebrating the sheer aliveness of the world!
Perhaps this is what Qui-Gon means when he talks of being one
with the living Force.
I leap from the balcony and hit the grass running, noting the
softness of the green decorated with purple flowers: it's a
kaleidoscopic, psychedelic effect and I wonder if people have
gone mad in the past staring at the green and purple carpet
because I know I would had I been given time enough to stare.
But I am not to stay on the grass, no, I must run. I run with
the wind, lifting my hands to the sky, celebrating with every
step and every breath the fact that I am alive. The cooling
rain drenches me and soon my clothes are plastered to my skin,
showing off every muscle and curve of my body in an almost
erotic display.
That causes me to pause for a moment: I wonder what Qui-Gon
would think of my appearance and catch sight of myself in a
reflecting window. A laughing young man with rivers pouring
down his face as he lifts it to the sky, the white shirt now
transparent and highlighting erect nipples, the equally soaked
pants accentuating a central bulge, and the bare feet which
splash through the puddles. And the braid, soaked, swinging
around my head as I dance and sing.
I was heat before but now I am something quite different, I am
the wind and the rain and the storm and I feel I could dance
off into the air forever and no one would ever think anything
was amiss. I would become a part of this weather which travels
the world, welcomed wherever I went.
I implore the sky to satisfy me and it responds by intensifying
the deluge and if it is possible, I run even faster, with the
speed and grace of the Jedi, not trying to outrun the storm,
just being it, it's a madness that I cannot escape and
nor do I want to. A purple streak lights up the sky, the grim
beauty of lightning in the distance and I feel a thrill of
fear, just a little. The elements can be dangerous as well.
Still, it is far enough away for me to continue running and be
unconcerned, for this is my time and perhaps I am
finding myself. I dance.
Until, just as suddenly as it began, it stops. The world is
still heavy and grey and the footpaths are steaming like a
sauna, and I am gasping for breath as I suddenly stop too.
Somehow I have returned home.
I step inside onto the cool tiled floor, puffing, dripping, I
suppose I am a bedraggled sight but the reception that greets
me tells me something quite different. My Master, my lover, my
Qui- Gon, stands there on the stair with his arms crossed, just
staring. His eyes rake over my body and I feel as if he's
undressing me with his mind.
Under the heat of his gaze I shiver. And then I apologise for
my behaviour as a wry smile crosses his lips. I know that look.
Slowly, languidly, I begin to peel my tunic from my heated
skin, hearing the sucking sound as it is pulled away. Qui-Gon
takes a step closer. I meet his eyes.
I reach down to the waistband of my pants, my fingers skimming
across the top, and then pushing down just a little until the
curve of my hip is exposed. Qui-Gon growls. I turn my head just
a fraction, deliberately swinging my braid from over my
shoulder so that it skims across my chest.
I manage to slide the pants down to my knees before Qui-Gon
pounces. His weight is heavy on me, for some reason, he has
managed to survive today wearing his thick robe and the heat
radiates from him, covering me and sizzling with my own skin.
All too soon the rain evaporates.
His mouth is on mine, his tongue possessively working its way
inside my mouth and I let him in and then respond with fervour.
My tongue duels with his as I feel his hands slide all over my
body. Each touch is like fire, beginning with the planes of my
back in a crushing hug as he pulls me close and my cock springs
to life as it bumps against the bulge hidden within his robe.
His hands, they are everywhere, sliding, caressing, possessing,
skimming from my stomach to graze over my nipples and I moan
into his mouth.
My eyes are closed, I have lost myself in this incredible
touch. Again his hands wander, but this time down my body,
until finally, he is holding my aching member, teasing and
gentle at first but when I thrust forward, demanding, his touch
becomes stronger and I find myself leaving the tempting cavern
of his mouth to moan into his shoulder, biting into the thick
clothing.
Another stroke, and then another, and they increase to a
blinding pace and I can do nothing more than lie their gasping,
my hands uselessly trying to pull him closer, or caress his
face. As my head drops back to the floor I open my eyes to find
him looking at me. Watching me intently. There is a heat in
that blue to match the heat of his hands which are driving me
insane and lightning flares between us and then I am over that
edge, crying out his name as I come.
I lie on the floor, I cannot move. There is a heat within me
and a heat between us and I realise that there are two very
different kinds of heat. That which comes from the weather, and
that which comes from being loved.
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