Title: Mating Dance
Author: Merri-Todd Webster (lonchura@mailcity.com)
Archive: Yes to M_A, others please ask.
Rating: NC-17
Feedback to: lonchura@mailcity.com
URL: http://lonchura.tripod.com/slash.html
Disclaimer: Not mine, all George's, enough said.
Warnings & Spoilers: Mmm, het sex between non-sentients
warning? No spoilers.
Comments & Thank-yous: I blame getting a new bird for this
one. And of course I blame the SmirkingPadawan!Muse. Thanks to
Norma Jean and Vermilion Flame for savvy beta.
"It's a good thing neither of us is afraid of heights."
My master just nodded. I could tell from the look on his face
and from the stirring in our bond that he was sensing out the
Force-currents around us, communing with the Living Force in a
way in which I still could not and suspected I never would.
Best just to wait for him to finish.
After a moment he came and sat down beside me on the rocks,
tucking his robes and his cloak under his legs so that nothing
would flap in the ceaseless wind. He had braided back his hair,
too, and I had tucked my padawan's lock into my tunic, so that
we wouldn't disturb the shaulamir when they arrived.
"We don't have many missions like this one," I observed. My
master did not answer immediately. He sat still, hands in his
lap, and blended in with the landscape--the bare rocky tip of a
massive mountain, graced with the eyrie of a rare and precious
avian. He became as stable as the mountain itself. Myself, I
felt as restless as the winds that swept the peak,
contemplating what we were here to accomplish.
"When I was a padawan, Master Yoda and I went on many missions
relating to ecological conservation and restoration." I was
surprised to hear him say this --reminiscences of times past
are the last things you'll get out of Qui-Gon Jinn in
conversation. I made sure I was paying attention. "And when I
first took a padawan, I continued to do so--Marjatta wanted
that kind of training. She would have done splendidly in the
AgriCorps and been quite happy there, but the Council was not
going to let anyone so Force-strong become anything but a
knight."
I would have liked to ask him why he stopped doing this kind
of mission, but I rather thought I knew the reason. And I
wasn't going to spoil the moment by mentioning the name of a
selfish, power-hungry, treacherous former padawan who probably
thought it was beneath him to preside over the mating of an
endangered species of avian.
The shaulamir of Ethriss are related to the Ethriski people as
lower primates are to us humanoids. Highly intelligent yet not
quite sentient, sharing more than 70% of their DNA with the
sentient Ethriski, they have been by turns revered, hunted,
exploited, studied, and finally almost destroyed. It's only
during my lifetime that the Ethriski have come to realize what
they'd be missing if they let the shaulamir die out and have
sought ways to preserve the species. Protective laws and
environmental restoration have preserved the few remaining
specimens, but it hasn't increased their numbers significantly.
Healthy, fertile shaulamir are simply neglecting to mate, and
no one is quite sure why.
It was nearly a year ago that they first contacted the Jedi,
asking if we could do anything to help. It's taken this long to
figure out a plan that might work.
Maybe.
I look over at my master, who looks as serene as ever. With
his hair bound back, his face seems harsher, despite its
peaceful expression; its rugged contours remind me of the rocks
up which we climbed. A transport took us more than halfway up
the mountain; the climb which remained taxed even my abilities.
Yet Qui-Gon doesn't seem winded or weary. He simply is,
present to the moment, like the very bones of the planet. How I
envy him that. In the ancient days, Jedi fate-readers would
have called him a man of earth and water, and me a creature of
air and fire --and they would have been right, on the level of
metaphor. Perhaps that's why we complement one another so well,
because between us we form a complete circle of the elements.
A touch on my sleeve brought me back to the present. "Here
they come."
I have been on a hundred worlds and seen more life-forms,
sentient and otherwise, than most people can imagine, but it
was impossible not to be awed by the sight of the shaulamir in
flight. The Ethriski are a very tall race--Qui-Gon's head comes
up to the shoulder of an Ethriski female's, and I converse with
where their navels would be if they had any--the shaulamir are
about as tall as Qui-Gon, with the wingspan of a small fighter
ship. The sun shining through those wings turned the pale grey
feathers into rainbows, into a kind of living stained glass.
The two shaulamir were indeed male and female, as we had
hoped. They occasionally form same-sex pairings which carry out
the courtship routines, build nests, even lay infertile eggs if
they are female. Those pairings had become all too common of
late. But the one with the striking rose-colored crest and the
pink beak to match was the male, and the crestless one with the
deep blue beak was the female.
I started to get up, of course, but my master kept hold of my
sleeve. "Wait."
I settled down again, breathed in the Force and breathed it
out, tried to ground myself in the rocks like my teacher. The
great birds had landed now and were bending their long, sinuous
necks to browse for insects in the low growth and lichens on
the brown rocks.
"They're beautiful," I said. A rare smile lit up my master's
face.
"Very beautiful." I could feel his joy at a task which had
nothing to do with touchy monarchs, pontificating prelates,
self-important bureaucrats, or hypocritical politicians. It had
to do with Life.
We watched them for a long time. Each time they lifted a foot,
the long toes curled under, contracting fully at the highest
point of the step, and then unfolded again like the petals of a
flower as the foot descended towards the ground. They carried
their heads on their long necks more gracefully than the most
skilled dancer and had a grace which the stateliest Jedi could
not match. Again and again their feathers shook off rainbows as
one grasped a plume in its long narrow bill and nibbled
carefully and thoroughly from the quill to the tip. And their
eyes were the most astonishing deep blue color, intense as the
blue crystals that power my lightsaber, more intense even than
Qui-Gon's eyes.
Eventually my master sighed. /I think we shall have to
assist,/ he said, mind to mind. /Follow my lead, Obi-Wan./
We did exactly as we had rehearsed. We took off our robes, our
boots, and everything but our undertunics and leggings without
getting up. The shaulamir watched us, each bird turning first
one blue eye toward us, then the other, then blinking so slowly
one could see the grey lid sweep across the glistening surface
of the eye.
Qui-Gon stood up, and so did I. The rocks were unexpectedly
cold underfoot. He stood for a moment, raising his arms as if
spreading wings to the wind, looking around without moving his
head. Then he bent and took off his leggings as well so that he
was left with nothing but his undertunic and shorts. Shivering
in the wind, I did the same.
Walking slowly and silently in a meditative pattern, we
circled around the birds, Qui-Gon moving to a position behind
the male, I to a corresponding spot behind the female. The
shaulamir were still giving us the eye, but only
intermittently; they still seemed more intent on searching for
food than on anything else. I let my knees and shoulders
soften, breathed in the Force, sank into a posture of relaxed
standing. Ground and center... although I had a forethought
that my airiness might be an asset on this particular mission.
Through our bond I felt my master reaching out to the male
shaulamir, seeking to read its state of feeling through the
Force. Thinking of Master Yoda's mantra, "There is no try, only
do," I did the same for the female.
I was surprised at how easily I made contact with the
creature. I sensed that there was something wrong which none of
the Ethriski scientists had yet discovered, some damage on a
cellular level that was interfering with the normal flow of
hormones. This female should have been highly receptive,
ready to audition a number of males for the role of mate, yet
she seemed strangely indifferent. From my master I got the
impression that the male shaulamir had, as it were, forgotten
what to do. It no longer knew how to woo a female.
Showing the male how to court was my master's role. Getting
the female to be receptive was my role.
When we'd first discussed this mission and begun to train for
it, I'd been afraid that at the crucial moment, I would lose my
self-control and laugh like a madman. Years of living with my
master's dry wit has made my own sense of humor only more
erratic and more dangerous, and I have a bad habit of pushing
him to make him laugh.
But when Qui-Gon raised his long, muscular arms in a great
sweep like the wings of the shaulamir, I had no inclination to
laugh. He was as beautiful as the bird he was mimicking; he had
become the bird he was mimicking, in some sense. I had
to become the female-- I had to enter into her being, through
the Force, as wholly as my master had entered into the male's.
Now I understood those questions Master Windu had asked me, in
confidence, before we accepted this mission. Finding my master
terribly attractive was going to make this easier.
I bent forward from the waist, turning my head to one side in
a clumsy approximation of the shaulamir's fluid motions, and
stretched my arms along my sides so that the backs of my
fingers touched at the base of my spine. I had given the
signal, and my master began to dance.
He lowered his arms and raised them again. Three steps to my
right. Three steps back to my left. He imitated the birds' walk
so precisely that his toes curled and uncurled. He moved
without a wobble, his balance flawless. Long long legs, not
much different from the birds' except for bending in the other
direction, and long arms creating the sweep of the great wings.
The male was watching him, its crest gradually rising so that
the pink feathers curved forward over the bird's forehead.
Qui-Gon made a deep bow with wings, I mean arms outspread,
making his plait fall forward over his skull in approximation
of the erect crest.
While he was still bent over, I took three steps closer to him
and to the male, balancing my concentration on the Force with
my efforts to move my toes properly. When I looked at him
again, tilting my head the other way as if surveying him with
the other eye, he began the sequence again: A slow flap, the
raising of the wings, three steps one way, three steps the
other, and a bow.
Was it just my imagination, or was there a subtle shift in the
female's energies? I reached into her with the Force, coaxed
out those hormones, and then went into the first stages of the
female's answering dance. Straightening up, I stretched out my
neck as haughtily as possible, stuck out my rear, and paced
three steps to my left and three steps back to my right,
indirectly approaching my master and the birds.
I felt ridiculous, waggling my arse as if it had feathers, but
Qui-Gon looked magnificent. I could feel through our training
bond that he had a strong bond with the male shaulamir; his
sense of himself as Qui-Gon Jinn, human male, Jedi master, was
submerged, lost in the desire of the male shaulamir to win his
female in the dance. And his efforts were working: The male
raised his neck, spread his mighty wings, and began to imitate
the dance my master showed.
My female, however, remained heartily indifferent. Her
feelings were ruled by her crop, not by her hormones. My little
dance of receptivity was not doing her any good; I was going to
have to take a little risk. I had to let my own feelings enter
the scenario.
I looked at my master and let myself look at him as I had not
before. Not as female bird to male bird, not as apprentice to
teacher in the Jedi way, but as one sexually mature human to
another. Among the Jedi there are no taboos on same-sex
relationships, nor even on interspecies relationships, if the
partners find themselves compatible. I had long had these
feelings for my master, but there was no sign that he had such
feelings for me, so I had put them aside. My training was more
important than my fantasies.
He was my teacher, my master, my protector, my mentor, my
everything. Dear as friends are and even lovers, for master and
padawan each to the other is the most important person in the
galaxy, as long as the training bond lasts. And sometimes
longer.
I looked at the long, powerful arms, the broad shoulders, the
magnificent deep chest, and the legs like temple columns. I
took a deep breath, did my three steps to the left and three to
the right, and let my eyes dwell on the shape of his mouth, the
outline of his nipples through his tunic, the soft bulge of his
genitals under the shorts. Three steps here and three steps
there, I pushed away all thoughts of myself as short and pallid
and scrawny and immature, and boldly speculated on what
Qui-Gon's considerable penis would look like engorged, how it
would feel to be kissed by a man with a beard, whether I could
break his control and make him moan as I sometimes made him
laugh.
There! The female was following me! Her tail feathers were
quivering as she did her little strut. The male danced closer,
and Qui-Gon behind him, the two males dancing in synchrony. My
master's eyes met my own, and suddenly I realized he must be
reading me through the bond, aware of my sexual feelings and
images.
A wave of shame hit me--it was like I was fifteen once again
and he had walked into my room when I was pleasuring myself,
fantasizing about him--but I couldn't stop now, this was
working--for the sake of the mission, I had to continue. A
detached part of my mind said, with a chuckle, that it wasn't
often sex was mandatory on a Jedi's mission, but the rest of me
strutted back and forth, shaking my non-existent tailfeathers.
I wasn't at all ready when the bond between Qui-Gon and me lit
up with some intoxicating sexual images--and they weren't my
own. They were his, his imaginings, and they had plenty
of feeling behind them. A view of myself writhing and gasping
in pleasure--from the point of view of my master, bending over
me with my cock in his mouth. Force help me.... A picture of
myself returning the favor, dwelling sensually on the way my
lips looked as they tasted his flesh. Oh, Sith.... A picture
that wasn't a picture, it was more sound and sensation and
taste, of the two of us kissing, and the noises I was
making and my fingers were clutching his hair--
The shaulamir were circling each other now, and so were
Qui-Gon and I. Circling and circling back, growing closer and
closer, the female lifting her tail and letting her wings droop
as the male approached her. I caught just a glimpse of pale
naked penis emerging from his body as he snuggled up behind
her, wings triumphantly raised, and stretched out his neck
alongside hers.
Qui-Gon dropped his arms, and I staggered into something like
a relaxed stance, our eyes fixed on the birds as they mated.
Their long necks entwined, and the male emitted a warbling
whine like some sort of saw, which the female answered with
short bursts of a low croaking sound. They stood still,
conjoined, trembling in unison, for a very long time. They
didn't notice when we walked away, silently, to our discarded
clothing, and made our way down the mountainside a little
before we stopped to dress.
I was more aroused than I had been in ages, maybe more aroused
than I had been since the first time I had sex. Not only was my
cock throbbing between my legs, I had a desperate urge to be
penetrated that had to be the result of sharing the female's
feelings; I'd never been wild about anal intercourse, although
I liked men just as well as women.Specifically I kept thinking
about my master's very large penis penetrating me, which ought
to have made me run screaming, but instead I had to restrain
myself from lifting my tailfeathers and letting my wings droop,
or the human equivalent thereof.
My master didn't say anything as we climbed back down to the
plateau where we were to be picked up. He did give me a smile
which I knew meant, "Well done." Once we were at the plateau,
we shared some water and protein rations we had left there, and
then we contacted the Ethriski scientists to tell them we'd
succeeded.
The next morning, we were on a ship back to Coruscant--a
rather luxurious ship, thanks to the generosity of the Ethriski
Shaulamir Society--with promises of follow-up reports and a
souvenir: Two primary wing feathers, one from each of the
shaulamir whom we had helped. I wondered if we were ever going
to talk about it.
The Council were extremely pleased with our report. My master
was confident that Jedi healers could repair the damage we had
detected and that the birds we had influenced would not only
mate successfully but pass on their re-learned knowledge of
mating to others of their species. Master Yoda made a backwards
speech about how nice it was to see the Jedi working for true
peace instead of waging war, and then we finally went back to
our quarters and unpacked and had a chance to relax.
"Can I get you anything, master? I'm thinking of making some
tea."
"No, thank you, Obi-Wan. I merely need to lie down for a bit
and get used to real gravity again." He stretched out on the
couch with a sigh.
I made myself a small pot of tea in my favorite soothing blend
and went back to the common room, sitting on the hassock as I
often did and putting the tray on the low table which stood
before the couch. My master appeared to be asleep, although he
most likely wasn't.
I sipped my tea and let myself look at him, again, back in the
context of our normal environment, our home. He looked tired. I
felt tired. He had taken off his outer robe and his boots, but
hadn't changed out of his other clothes; only his bare feet
reminded me of our mating dance on the mountain top. Large feet
with long, elegant toes, if not quite so long and elegant as
the toes of a shaulamir. There were faint red imprints on his
skin from the pressure of the boots and the weave of his
stockings.
The tea was not soothing me as much as I'd hoped. Even here,
back in our quarters at the Temple, I found myself thinking
about the images he'd shared with me, of us pleasuring one
another. Were they really fantasies or desires of his, or only
pictures crafted to ensure the success of our mission? How
could I tell how much had been real desire between us and how
much was due to our union with the minds of the shaulamir?
"You can kiss me," my master said quietly.
I started, sloshing tea out of my cup onto my leggings. At
once I rose to clean it up--immediate clean-up was one of my
master's rules--but he spoke again.
"Obi-Wan." He turned his head, opened his eyes, and looked at
me. "If you want to know the answer to the question you were
thinking, you can kiss me."
put down my teacup and came around the table to kneel beside
him. His eyes were closed again, and I thought of a children's
tale, about the peasant girl who woke the handsome prince from
an enchanted sleep with a kiss, for she was his true love. With
one hand on the end of the couch and the other on his chest, I
bent and kissed him.
His mouth was as warm and as soft as I'd hoped it was, not
hard and unyielding as I'd feared. The beard was agreeably
soft, too, and the scent of his hair rose around me--he hadn't
washed it for a longer time than was usual, yet it didn't smell
bad to me, it simply smelled of him. And I liked that smell. I
liked it a lot.
I started again when his hand cupped my face. His touch has
always been gentle; this was different, not merely gentle.
Caressing. And his lips parted, and his tongue flicked lightly
against my lips, an invitation.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was kissing him with total
abandon, ruthlessly, greedily, I was shamelessly fucking his
mouth with my tongue. And he was taking it, arching up
against my hand and my mouth, stroking my face and my hair and
murmuring, murmuring into my mouth, into the kiss.
I pulled away about two seconds before I would have come in my
shorts without being touched, just from the kiss. Qui-Gon
looked annoyingly calm, but there was no missing the hard bulge
in his leggings. He petted my hair.
"Do you have your answer, Obi-Wan?"
I stretched out on top of him, my head on his chest, and
wrapped my arms around his sides. I thought of the shaulamir
and the way their necks entwined as they mated. His arms came
around me and held me.
"Yes."
We lay there for a long time, holding each other. I was hard,
he was hard, but neither of us was in a hurry to move on.
Eventually Qui-Gon spoke. I heard his voice with one ear and
felt it with the other, the ear that was pressed to his chest.
"The shaulamir have been forming same-sex pairs."
"Yes, I remember," I muttered.
"That would not be a problem if the majority of the population
were breeding normally."
I made an affirmative sort of grunt.
Qui-Gon's hand moved to stroke my hair and ran all the way
down my back to to my arse. "In some cases, there are wide age
differences between the partners. It does not seem to matter."
I raised my head and kissed him again.
I still was in no hurry; I wanted to prolong this as much as
possible, to make our mating last longer than that of the
shaulamir, to invest it with as much meaning. Qui-Gon seemed to
enjoy the slow pace and the way I sometimes led, sometimes
backed off and let him lead the kiss. His mouth tasted so good,
better than anything I could compare it to. The warmth and the
scent of him seemed to soak right through our clothes into my
skin.
When I realized he was rubbing his erection against me as much
as I was doing the same to him, I hauled myself off of him and
got to my feet. "I'd rather it be a bed than a couch. It'd be
something of a novelty for me." Smiling, Qui-Gon got up off the
couch and took my hand, to lead me into his bedroom.
I don't think I've been in his bedroom more than three or four
times, in all the years we've been together. We've slept back
to back and stayed in cramped spaces on so many missions that
we both treasure the space and the privacy of our own rooms
here at the Temple, when we get to enjoy them. I know there
were a couple of times when I was injured or ill that he let me
sleep with him so he could take care of me more conveniently.
The funny thing is that although I was much younger then, the
bed didn't look any smaller than I remembered it. It was still
huge.
Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered me onto
his lap. Kneeling astride him with my rear on his knees gave me
the unexpected thrill of looking down to him, being taller than
he was. He raised his mouth to me again and we went back to
kissing, having cooled off just a bit while moving from one
room to another. In a couple of minutes, though, he lay back
and drew me down on top of him, and my hips started moving
against his again without consulting me first.
I raised my head and licked my lips, tasting him some more.
"I've just realized something."
"What's that?"
"These utility belts are damned uncomfortable."
Chuckling, Qui-Gon reached up and unclasped my belt. I rolled
away from him, leaving the belt in his hands, and rolled back
and did the same task for him. After the belts it was the
tabards, and after the tabards the outer tunics, and after the
outer tunics it got pretty frantic, and then we were rolling on
that huge bed naked.
We were so eager to touch and feel each other that I didn't
think to look right away. After all, I had seen the man naked,
in casual ways, thousands of times over the years, but I had
never kissed his throat, or run my hands over his bare chest,
or sucked on his nipples, or felt his aroused flesh pressing
into my belly. I had to do those things and quite a few others
before I got around to just looking.
"Force help me," I said, running my hand up and down his
shaft, "you almost scare me with this thing." His erect cock
was in proportion to the rest of him--that is, it was huge. But
like the rest of him, it was beautifully shaped, and the skin
stretched over the hard, hot flesh was so soft, so delicate,
like paper made out of velvet.
"I hope not, Obi-Wan." The tone of his voice made me look up
at him.
"I'm only teasing, m--Qui-Gon." I feared, from the look on his
face, that others had said the same and not been teasing.
He leaned down and kissed me. "We don't have to--I don't need
to--"
"You will if I want you to," I said firmly, kissed him back,
and moved around so I could take him in my mouth.
I never knew until then that I'm mildly synesthetic. He tasted
purple and rose and gold, little bursts of color behind my
eyes. He tasted like the inside of a hardwood barrel that has
aged a very good wine. He tasted like the woodwinds and strings
that play the lowest notes, like the deep moans he made in his
chest.
I brought him close, but he didn't let me take him all the
way. He Force-flipped me very neatly and returned the favor,
with a good deal of finesse. I kept my presence of mind just
long enough to undo the tie that holds back the sides of his
hair so that it would fall over me, tickle my belly and my
thighs, and then I collapsed with a groan and let Qui-Gon have
his way with me. It was a very thorough and rather virtuoso
performance, with him as the player and me as the instrument.
My orgasm was a blue-green explosion in the base of my brain.
Ah... I purred into his mouth as he kissed me, letting me
taste the combination of his mouth and my come. "So glad you're
not inhibited about things like that," I murmured.
"I have been told by some," he said into my ear, using his
tongue to articulate the words rather more than he needed to,
"that I have no inhibitions at all." He turned his head and
nipped my throat. "But I think that's an exaggeration."
"Good," I panted. I couldn't keep still while he was playing
with my nipples. "That idea is truly frightening."
Chuckling, he pulled me still closer against him and slipped
his cock between my thighs. "Do you want me to, Obi-Wan?"
"You bet I do." His hand closed on one buttock and I thrust
back into it.
Quickly I scrambled away and knelt, gathering the cushions
under my head and wrapping my arms around them. "Just like
this," I demanded. "Just like this, Qui."
"Oh, Force, Obi-Wan." He was biting his lip to restrain
himself. Oh, it was such fun making him lose it. "Are you
sure?"
I've been told I have a very fine arse. I wiggled it for
answer.
Then I screamed when he kissed me there, his tongue running
over the sensitive hole. You Hutt-kissing son of a Sith, I
thought, giving me no warning like that. A chuckle told me he'd
heard that through the bond, but I didn't care; he was pushing
his tongue in there and making me too wild to think, and that
was fine by me.
I heard the slap of something against skin, not my own, and
glimpsed through the bond that the show-off had summoned a
bottle of moisturizer from the refresher. If it had been me, I
'd have simply gotten up and fetched it, using my feet to carry
me, but I suppose he was too busy tongue-fucking my arse, or
maybe this is something they teach in master classes--advanced
Jedi sexual techniques. Then I was too busy moaning with every
breath to complain any more--he was working the first finger
inside me.
I tried to regain enough control to voluntarily relax my
muscles, but I wasn't entirely successful. While Jedi training
does cover what to do when you're being tortured, they don't
teach you how to apply your disciplines when you're being
driven mad with pleasure. Qui-Gon was murmuring something I
couldn't make out, but I think he was using a little
Force-persuasion to make me relax, and that helped. It didn't
take long to get three fingers in there, and I couldn't stop
thinking about the fact that his cock was going to be longer,
thicker, and better. I'd never enjoyed penetration so much.
Finally he took his fingers away and I heard the slick sound
of his putting moisturizer on his cock. Thank the Force.... He
rubbed the excess into my hips and thighs and then curled one
hand around my thigh. "Now, Obi-Wan?"
"Now, Qui, now!"
He was longer and thicker and bigger than three
fingers. Much bigger. For a few difficult breaths I was
afraid I might just split in two along my spine and fall apart
on the bed. Then between one breath and the next, the feeling
changed, and it was nothing but pleasure. I'd had that happen
before but not so dramatically.
"Oh, yes, master, so good, oh, I want this...." I raised
myself on my arms and threw my head back, leaning back into the
pressure. His hands slid up my ribs and pulled me back against
his chest, and he was so deep, so deep inside me. His hands
splayed across my chest, my belly, and I reached up and groped
and tugged until I'd pulled a lot of hair down over our
shoulders, around my face.
"Shaulamir birds have nothing on us," I muttered.
"You're so tight--tell me I'm not hurting you--"
"Furthest thing from it--" I rocked in his arms, he groaned
and bucked up against me. "C'm'on, do it, fuck me!"
I'd wanted to see him laugh. I'd wanted to make him lose
control. I'd wanted him to let go and really take me. I hadn't
figured on what it would be like if he did--I didn't think
about how much power the man would be unleashing. On me. He
threw back his head, groaning, hair whipping everywhere, and
then--to put it bluntly--he fucked me blind. He had no control,
I had no control. I couldn't have done anything to stop
it--not that I wanted to. It was hard and fast and mercilessly
hard and fast and it went on forever. I loved it. I think I
came twice, once without being touched, a second time in his
fist. I loved it. I loved him.
Somehow we wound up lying on our sides, spooned together. He
was playing with my braid and I was playing with his hair,
feeling more than half asleep. Feeling happy and light all
through, despite having a man wrapped around me who was a good
bit larger and heavier than myself.
"Do the shaulamir mate for life?" I asked drowsily. Qui-Gon
kissed my shoulder.
"No. But I do."
"Good. So do I."
end
Dedicated to my new cockatiel friend, Rembrandt, and to the
people who perform the mating dance to help endangered species
in real life.
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