Theme and Timbre: Soave

by RavenD (ravendreams@earthlink.net)

Archive: master_apprentice, Theme and Timbre archive, anyone else, pls. ask

Author's web page: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams/

Category: pwp

Series: Part of the "Theme and Timbre" Series

Rating: NC-17

Warnings None

Spoilers: none

Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon visit the beach

Notes: Catnip wanted happy smut at the beach. Ta-daa! Happy beach smut it is. Many thanks to MJ for the beta.

Feedback: Waited for with bated breath.

Disclaimers: Lucas owns it all. I don't have enough money to pay attention.

Soave: Gentle, smooth

He's lying, spread out along the warm stone, basking like some strange golden lizard. The sweat beads upon his ribs, the hollow of his stomach, his thighs. Each bead reflects the sun, heavy and hot. So beautiful, he draws the light to him, soaking the rays into his body.

The water moves around me, licking at my back, my chest, dripping from my hair. The wind blows around me and I feel my nipples tighten. I am enveloped within this warm, wet hand which is the sea. I cup my balls, feeling them, rolling them between my fingers.

He looks up, smiles at me. He moves, languid with the sun using his own sweat to ease the touch of hand on cock.

He spreads his legs, widens them so I can see him. I see his hand as it moves, see his cock as it begins to drips with passion, see that wrinkled entrance appear and disappear. I imagine it winks at me as he thrusts into his own hand.

I can feel his eyes searching my body, needing to see what my hands are doing beneath the water. I tease him, send pulses of heat, images of my desires.

I want him.

I want to feel the smooth slide of his hips against mine.

I want to thrust into his body, feel his muscles flutter about my hard flesh.

I want to hear his cries, sobbing, round cries of heat and passion encapsulated within my name.

I want the salt of his skin to supercede the bite of seawater upon my tongue.

So lost am I to the fantasies I am building, I miss the splash as he slithers off the stone.

I do not miss the press of his heated skin upon my back, the whisper of his lips upon my neck, the demand of his hard flesh against me.

Against me.

Within me.