Summary: The morning of the second day of five days off in an
idyllic spot.
Warnings: Smut. No spoilers. Evocative, not graphic.
Archive: M_A, JAOA, anyone else just ask.
Feedback: Please please pretty please. Especially if you want
more like this :-)
Notes: Many thanks to WriteStuff for giving me ideas. This bit
of fluff is dedicated to her. I hope she finds it as effective
& evocative as I have found her work.
This is also a response to DBKate's NC-17 Angst-free vacation
challenge. Thank you Kate for giving me an excuse to actually
write the bunny that WriteStuff inspired! And many thank yous
to Divinia for keeping me at it & to Destina for doing the
edit/sanity check.
And, while there is nothing overtly JAOA in this, and it is set
pre-TPM, I see this as a sort of pre-JAOA tweener. I continue
to be delighted that BlackRose lets me play in her world!
[This is telepathy] and /these are thoughts/.
Ambiance: Debussy & Ravel - La Valse
Disclaimer: George Lucas is god and owns everything, except my
own overactive imagination.
Touch (Pre-TPM)
Happy Vacation challenge-fic
Year of the Republic 24,980
Gail Riordan, 1999
wander@dnai.com
Taaret culture took vacation time seriously. Hard work was
valued, but more as a means than an end, and the preferred end
was play. Camping. Music (making, writing, listening). Painting
sunsets, fishing, looking at beautiful things, laughing,
writing and telling and listening to stories. Making love. The
Taareti were very into making love - oh, just sex was fine too,
but making love, with romance and tenderness, little gestures
of affection and surprising the beloved with intensely erotic
sensations and waking the next morning still wound lovingly
together to start all over again.... Yes, making love was very
high on the list of preferred vacation activities.
Obi-Wan had cause to be grateful to the Taareti. Though a small
people, their beds were large, baths were large, and they liked
high ceilings and interestingly textured floor-coverings. The
beds, baths and ceilings were large enough and high enough even
for Master Qui-Gon Jinn, not to mention his energetic and
enthusiastic Padawan.
As Observers for a trade contract negotiation and conference
between Taaret and Cinndar, the Jedi were expected to conform
to local custom: five long days of concentrated work in the
Work Time, five equally concentrated days of Rest Time, with
the remaining two days of the twelve-day 'week' set aside for
religious observance and domestic maintenance. Since there were
eight standard (and numerous custom) ways of arranging these
blocks of time, good schedulers were highly prized and well
paid. Obi-Wan could not really remember the last time that
'time off' had been part of the job, and he was determined that
both of them would take full and enjoyable advantage.
Waking in clean, bright luxury, early on the second morning of
the five day weekend, Obi-Wan stretched a long, thorough
stretch, enjoying the satisfying pull and release of tension in
each toned muscle, all the way down to his fingers and toes.
The smooth texture of the sheet slid teasingly down his skin,
and the mattress was both firm and soft beneath him. He
breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of the dawn, the
delicate sweet-spice on the cool little breeze coming in the
wide window, the distant aroma of new bread, the clean,
indescribable, heady perfume of the silken fall of grey-bronze
hair caressing his cheek, tickling his nose as he breathed out,
making a little noise of contentment.
He moved his spine sinuously, curled and turned over on his
stomach, deliciously awake. He stretched again, pushed up on
one elbow and opened his eyes on the still sleeping form of his
lover and Master. Another little noise, all love-desire and
happiness.
In Obi-Wan's opinion his lover did not get nearly enough sleep:
always up late studying material for the mission, going all day
working, up early with meditations and exercises. This morning
he had the pleasure of watching Qui-Gon sleep the sleep of the
exhausted and (Obi-Wan had made sure) sexually sated. And what
a view he was, too. His Master lay on his back, hair fanned on
the pillow, long lashes printing fine dark lines against the
fair, smooth grain of his skin, the expressive, sensitive mouth
relaxed and parted just a little. Breath rose and fell deep and
even in the broad chest, making interesting shadows and
highlights in the tempting hollow of his throat, along the
curve of collarbone and the planes and angles of breast and
stomach. His nipples were rosy-dark against the rich pale cream
of his so-fair skin, hardly darker where the suns of hundreds
of worlds had touched it than where they had not. Places his
lips had touched, would touch again.
Obi-Wan bit his lip, feeling a pulse move through him at the
thought, relishing the slow shiver.
But he was enjoying the view just now. One of his Master's
broad hands was outflung, open, a fold of sheet caught in his
fingers, brushing his wrist; the other was curled at the line
where hip met thigh. The fine white weave of the sheet covered
but did not hide the long strength of his legs, hinted at the
secrets nestled between, close to that so-skilled hand. His own
hand wanted to smooth away the concealing cloth, to tangle his
fingers in crisp curls, to caress that velvet length to life
and heat and urgent need. His breath was coming faster and his
own groin was tight with desire. So beautiful, his Master, his
lover, Qui-Gon, his love.
He recalled the evening before, curled close among the pillows,
watching the moons rise over the distant hills through the
wide-flung windows, enjoying the scented breeze from the
gardens below their suite of rooms.
"How did we get so lucky, Master?"
A low, warm chuckle rumbled in the chest pressed close to his.
"Master Deb-Kaht felt we needed a break from the stresses of
our last several missions. She pulled a few strings, yanked a
chain or two." One hand ruffled through the short hair at
Obi-Wan's temple, coiled among the longer strands at the back
of his head before tugging provocatively at his Padawan braid.
The other had been doing unspeakably effective things further
south.
The memory only made him hotter, harder. They had nothing to do
today but precisely as they pleased and the Taareti approved.
The Taareti approved of making love. And there was nothing he
wanted more than to make love to Qui-Gon, to feel that long
body moving under him, helpless in release, beautiful in
ecstasy. He bent to gently kiss the soft, vulnerable skin under
the point of his lover's jaw, to nibble and lick tenderly down
the lines of his neck, to swirl his tongue and suck deeply at
the too-tempting hollow of collarbone and throat. /Oh Love, let
me love you./
Qui-Gon woke to kisses. The pleasant langour of long sleep and
thorough loving filled him with warmth and a satisfying sense
of weight. Obi-Wan was kissing him, causing wonderful ripples
to wash down his nerves, to coil warm in his belly. His beloved
knew he woke, pressing soft lips gently to his eyelids, kisses
barely felt, tender and light.
[No, don't open your eyes, just feel. Let me love
you.]
Obi-Wan's voice in the Force caressed his mind even as his
hands and mouth were finding the sensitive places of his body
and firing them with sensation. Delicate touches,
eyelash-tickles, warm breath followed by a liquid tongue, each
place his apprentice visited left tingling, awake, eager and
aching for more. [Oh love.] A deep-drawn breath as he shivered,
wanting, desiring. [I am yours.]
Hands slid possessively down his sides as that hot mouth
captured his own, suckling, dipping, devouring. Breathless, he
arched up into the kiss, opening, hands unconsciously reaching
to touch in return.
His hands were caught, caressed, kissed, wrists licked and
nibbled until his fingers curled and twitched helplessly, and
then were placed firmly among the pillows. [Your turn to touch
later.] A smile accompanied the thought, and that mouth was
devouring him again, leaving comet-trails of fire down his
throat, breastbone, along the edges of his muscles, the tender
places under his arms. Then, there. Oh! One nipple, the
other, taken in, swirled, nipped and suckled deeply, fiercely.
The dark behind his eyelids glittered and his heart sped.
The warm, clever hands had smoothed the sheet away and were
tracing little circles and spirals on the soft flesh just
beside his hipbones, down the inside of his thigh. Feathery,
then firm, nails and palms and fingertips teasing, touching.
Combing through the springy curls, just brushing him, making
him squirm and rise, thighs opening in invitation, need. His
breath grew fast and shallow.
Cool air caressed his breast then, teasing at taut nipples, and
Obi-Wan's wet, sweet mouth was on him, engulfing him, liquid
crown to aching, eager root. He could not breathe, only gasp
and writhe as those lips moved on him, teeth grazing down and
tongue swirling up the so-sensitive underside, swallowed whole
and entire.
Oh! He was too hard, it was too soon! A strangled sob escaped
him, and those hands were on him - [hush love. I've got you] -
holding, pressing, caressing and he could almost breathe again,
as Obi-Wan slowly, slowly released him, sucking and licking as
he pulled away - brought to the brink but not tipped over.
Another little sob at the loss and he was tasting his own faint
bitter-salt taste on his beloved's tongue twining with his own,
dipping deep into his mouth, suckling at his lips as he kissed
back.
Hands were under his hips, long fingers cupping his cheeks,
gently, firmly, lifting, turning him over. One hand sliding
warmly under the back of one thigh, bending, touching,
caressing. The bunched covers were a silky mass under his hip,
cool and smooth against his hot, aching length. The warm wet
tongue was moving along his cheekbone, soft lips kissing and
nibbling at his ear; half-turned, balanced, the hands rested
briefly at hip and shoulder.
"May I?" A throaty whisper in his ear, asking, never assuming
this.
/Oh yes./ A wordless groan of assent, a sibilant gasp and nod.
Oh, yes, he wanted Obi-Wan sheathed in him, even as his beloved
desired to be sheathed. He was burning, breathless, nearly
wordless, shaking with need-love-desire.
He finished turning over, knee bent, one hip a little raised,
head curled over and cradled in one arm, face half-veiled in
the soft fall of his long hair. He heard Obi-Wan's breath come
fast, unsteady above him.
[So beautiful. Force, you are so beautiful.] A finger traced
down the long line of his spine, up again and down. His bones
quivered under the touch, and he shuddered and sighed as the
hand came to rest warm and still at the base of his spine,
Obi-Wan's lips seeking the base of his skull, the fragile skin
at the nape of his neck, nuzzling and sucking. His heart caught
at the exquisite tenderness and the nearly overwhelming
sensation of love.
He could feel the heat of Obi-Wan's skin as he leaned over him,
straddling him. Hear the rustle and soft scrape of the oil
being found, opened with one hand and the Force. Anticipation
trembled in him, even as the other hand stroked and smoothed
along his back, the curve of hip, dipping inside his thighs, up
and along and around and then ....
Oiled slippery warmth sliding down between, spreading, seeking
--
Touching. There.
His breath shattered and stuttered in his chest, all awareness
focused on that one point, that private place, the so intimate,
delicate pressure, the smooth slickness pressing into him,
entering, so gently and inexorably. A suckling kiss at the base
of his spine, the hollow of his back, tongue laving and teeth
grazing lightly over sensitized skin, up and along the
interesting hills and valleys of his backbone, spreading more
ripples of warmth across his back. And still that liquid
touch, the piercing pressure opening him, slow and firm,
turning, touching.
A pause, a listening, heated stillness as muscles twitched and
trembled against the slender intrusion. But now it was not
enough, not nearly enough. His hips arched back into that hand,
wanting, needing, and he was rewarded with a release and a
stretch and a second sweet probing joined the first as mouth
and teeth and tongue nibbled up and down his spine, sending
fiery little jolts everywhere. There was no air, only fire and
need and that touch, deepening, finding out his secret
places.
He groaned and writhed, desperate as the fingers curled and
moved in him. And then, then lightning spiked and time stopped,
light blooming and burning behind his eyelids, firing through
him. Obi-Wan chuckled as he cried out and his breath shattered
again, his hands curled and clutched at the bedding even as his
head tossed against the pillows and his hips jerked and
pressed, thrusting into that tormenting, exquisite touch. More,
please more! He was making wordless pleading noises of need.
"Oh my beautiful love," breathed his tormentor-beloved, as the
teasing fingers stroked and withdrew, slowly, maddeningly,
leaving him. He bucked against the aching emptiness with
another cry, and Obi-Wan chuckled again, murmuring warm into
his ear, "Hush, love, hush."
Hands moved and spread and then, deliberately, sensuously, his
emptiness was touched again, entered and filled and there were
no possible words - only the sweet hot pressure of Obi-Wan
within him, rocking in, deep and slow and hard, sliding out,
slick and smooth, pressing in again harder, deeper. He was
breathless with the glory of it, and his ears rejoiced at the
quick, catching sound of his Padawan-beloved's breath. His back
muscles shivered and twitched in delight at the ticking brush
of the braid along the edges of his ribs as Obi-Wan moved over
him, in him. So tight and hard and unspeakably beautiful.
The clever hands were beneath him now, and he was enveloped as
well as pierced. All was sensation, a slow climb, pleasure and
pressure and need building as they rocked and pulsed and moved
together. Close-joined, steady, tight, hard and hot and liquid
and almost unbearable. Only a little more. A little higher, so
near. So very close.
[Come in me, beloved.]
And Obi-Wan bucked against him, hard, convulsive, knees twined
and locked together with his own, a hand gripping his hip,
wanting to go deep, deeper, deepest, as he muffled his sharp
cries against bitten lips, head thrown forward to press against
Qui-Gon's shoulder, eyes closed. Those so-loved sounds of
pleasure and that pulse, hot and long and deep inside
sent him over the edge, groaning low, sobbing in exquisite
release, safe caught in his lover's hand, pierced and held by
his sweet, hard weight. He was all fire and plowed earth,
boneless in ecstasy, filled with Obi-Wan's seed, surrounded and
penetrated with love and fierce, passionate desire.
Oh, that touch!
They lay together, savoring the aftershocks, the delicate,
trembling sensations as Obi-Wan withdrew, urged him over and
laved his now spent length, drinking him in; kissed his way
from groin to hip to belly to breast to throat, until he again
lay against him, on him, hip to hip. They shared a long, slow
kiss, deep and sweet, sated softness pressed together,
langorously, deliciously.
Qui-Gon wrapped arms strengthless with passion around his
beloved in tender embrace. [Oh my love. Loved and beloved.]
Obi-Wan nestled into the compass of those arms, pillowing his
head beneath his lover's chin. [Lover. Beloved.] He smiled
against the smooth skin under his cheek. [You liked that.]
A purring chuckle, warm breath tickling. [Yes. I did. And
presently I shall also have the pleasure of watching and
touching you. Beloved.] His arms tightened.
The younger man settled himself more closely and lavished a
kiss on the long, conveniently-placed throat. [I'll look
forward to it. Lover.]
And thus entwined, filled, replete, they rested together and
watched the sky brighten as the sun rose above the hills and
touched everything with rose and gold.
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