Author's Notes: This is really where I start heading into the AU.
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Tactile.
Oh yes, you know that sex is a tactile act. Everything depends on a touch, a smell, a taste. Sight can add to excitement, but when taken away, its loss can increase the other senses. This you know very well. The right touch can send you skyrocketing through the ceiling. The right smell can bring the moment back to your mind with startling clarity. A combination of all can create a tide of sensation that can capsize the boat of control and overwhelm your consciousness.
The man before you knows this. He knows it better than you do. And he will not hesitate to use the knowledge.
With measured paces, he walks the room. Naked still. As he stands in the flickering lightning from the approaching storm, he appears like a brownstone marble statue brought to life. His lines are fluid: shoulders flowing to his chest, chest gliding to waist, and waist cresting to thigh. Such a solid man. As he opens the curtains at the window, you follow his movements with your eyes. A warrior, yes. He turns to look at you as you lay on the bed. A Jedi, beyond a doubt. His form is outlined against the window by lightning. But above all, a man.
The rustling of the leaves outside is followed by the sweep of the curtain into the room. Rain still falls outside, constant and comforting. The fragrance of flowers is so much stronger in this room; so strong; it takes form as taste. These senses, though, are merely tickled by this environment. It is the sight of the man approaching the bed that causes a fluttering of your heart.
The bed tips under his weight, settling to the side like a boat settling in the waves. His arm falls over your head, bent so that he can touch your brow with his hand. That bundle of thinly veiled power expands next to you showing this man’s incredible power. A cord in his neck stands out and your eyes caress it. A gentle nibble there…. you don’t have long to think before his lips fall to yours. All at once sound disappears to be replaced by the pounding of your own heart. His lips are oh so soft in their texture, but oh so demanding in their intent. His tongue breaks your lips, opening them wide. They are intruding, yet welcomed like an old friend.
A warrior knows his ability to fight. It is the ability to coax, to avoid confrontation that is the trait that makes a warrior great. They fight only when the fight is unavoidable. This man, this Jedi warrior, persuades you with his mouth to abandon all fight. First a tentative touch of his tongue, warm and thick. A sliding dance of exploration follows closely. Finally, his tongue enters fully into your mouth, a complete possession. You feel well and truly held captive. It is not rough; it is gliding possession, but is accomplished with calmness and gentleness.
He gently pulls away to stare at your eyes. His hand cups your cheek; warmth where only rainborne coolness has been. You smile at his hesitation. He hasn’t voiced it; he doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes. So intense, his stare- startling blue swirling with the onyx of desire. They seem almost sad. You reach a hand up to cup his neck as the other cups his rough cheek. Doesn’t he know? Can’t he see that the permission was given before he even knew you? Fated, it is. Fated in the stars, as sure as the rain.
His nod is imperceptible as he senses your acceptance. With the control and tightly veiled strength of a lion on the prowl, he crawls up the remainder of the bed to touch more of you. Sheets slide, skin rubs skin and suddenly he covers all of you. Chest to breast, thigh to groin, calf to knee, he stretches out over you, looming larger than life. You can feel his hardness- heavy and hot- against your leg. The heat is scalding, and yet he refrains from rubbing against you, a contact that you know that he needs. Does he wish to prolong the agony or increase the pleasure?
His kiss is more impassioned; he uses his neck muscles to ungulate against your mouth. The warrior loses a little of his precious restraint. You hands tangle in the silk of his long tresses, burying for support, for solidity. The hairs are whisper soft, falling like sand between your fingers. The pressure becomes fire as his beard scrapes across your chin, companion to his questing lips. Blood rushes, sounding, for the entire world, like ocean waves and it is all that you hear. Until, through a gentle touch with your mind, you hear as solitary word echo- Soft.
You gasp at the affection in that word.
All too soon, his lips pull back, settling for tugging on your lower lip. A flick of his roughened tongue and the soft flesh of your lip is released. He slides a little down your body. His hair falls on either side of your neck, tickling, and forming a curtain against the rest of the world.
Hot. His breath is steamy. A direct contradiction of the cool heaviness of the moisture laden sheets. He bestows an open mouth kiss on your chin. A sharp nibble. The combined stimulation makes you squirm, makes you moist with passion. He hesitates as though considering his plan of attack. Then, plan formulated, trail scouted his mouth moves down your neck. Kiss, nibble, and lave. His hands, ardent, turn to cup and grasp at your shoulders. They enclose the entire area. This man is huge.
A burst of wind sweeps through the room. The rustling of the leaves increases. His mouth closes over one nipple. Oh Gods! White. Hot. Flames. Is it the beard? You gasp, squirming in the sheets. Is it his lips? His teeth? Gods! Scraping, pulling…you arch your back, a breathy moan escaping your mouth. “Qui-Gon.” You plead.
He stops suddenly, lifting his head to gaze at you. You look down at him, resting between your thighs, his feet hanging off the end of the bed. His mouth is wide, gasping and you can see the gentle rise of his buttocks beyond his shoulder. Beautiful. In a flash of lightning, the saliva on your breast glitters and you sigh. His voice, although welcome, is a sudden occurrence.
“Love..” he clears his throat, “love, no talking. Feel. Talking will detract from sensations, concentrate on them.”
You nod slowly, the logic sinking in. Squirming as the cool air sweeps across your naked feet, you arch your back again. He smiles knowingly and moves his hands down your shoulders to your arms, then to your flank. Still you are amazed with the sheer size of him. His mouth returns to laving at your nipples, first one then the other, moving between them with no sense or reason. One hand moves from your flank to cup the outside of your breast. A thumb reaches out to rub over one elongated nipple as he continues to lavish attention on the other. As he sucks the pointed peak deeply into his mouth, a lovely tight suction, you grab at his hair. His mind touches yours again. “Beautiful, love.”
And as suddenly as it began, his mouth leaves your breasts.
You whimper in agony of desertion. Your breasts tingle both from his ardent caress and the prickliness of his beard and they are chilled as his saliva is frozen by the passing breeze. At a distance, thunder sounds and the rain continues as a constant as you wait for his next move. “Patience” you hear echo in your mind and you stamp your foot in the covers of the bed. Patience…right…
A wet line is drawn down your midline, circling your navel dipping into its depths. You can’t see, as it darkens as the storm draws near. The star and moonlight are doused as the clouds are drawn across them. But even with your sight removed momentarily, you still know it to be his tongue. That roughened muscle….you stifle a sigh as it brushes against your abdomen. His hands stroke down your sides to grip your hips.
A little nibble on the inside of your thigh alerts you to his purpose and you grasp at his hair to stop him. His right hand reaches up to cup your hand against his cheek - warmth on one side, roughness on the other. Two sounds of breaths overlap in the night air, one a female, another a male- both raspy and without rhythm. It is a ballet of passion sounds, dancing among the rustle of leaves and the pounding of rain.
“Relax, little one.” His voice breaks into your mind, destroying the silence, “ a good teacher always insures that the student is ready to receive the lesson.”
You relax your hands in his hair. He is a man of many talents and much strength. Although you have never experienced this use of tongues, you have faith in him. He has a purpose…
“Purpose, yes, love.” He answers his mind voice as deep and rich as his speaking as he lowers his head to nuzzle at your abdomen. “The purpose is to make you experience pleasure- profoundly -if I can help it.”
With a gentle hand, he presses your abdomen back, bending it over the hand that is suddenly under you. He has swung you around so that your head is dangerously close to the edge of the bed, and he sinks off the side to kneel between your legs. His one hand presses up from under your buttocks; the other slides between your thighs. Tickling, barely there touches trace the creases on the inside of your thigh. A lone, finger drags down between your folds. You can feel the wetness as it coats his digit. And even with all his years of training, he still releases a groan before he can control it. “Gods, wet.” He grates in your bond.
You bend your head back into the covers as you feel his intensely hot breath wash over that sensitive part of you. Your eyes slide shut, blocking out the blowing bed curtains. With your eyes closed, the sensation increases ten fold. You can hear his deep straining breaths, hear the pounding rain and then nothing…
His tongue sneaks between your folds. Stealthily, probing, sweeping, its rough texture runs the length of your folds. Of its own volition, your back arches tipping your head back over the edge of the bed. He twirls his tongue around the bundle of nerves there, painting words of passion against the hidden flesh. Vocalizing, creating letters for words that have yet to be said. Each twirl, each sweep….your toes curl. Your head rolls back and forth on the coverlet, damp and heavy.
The curtain blows in, brushing your face. Thunder strains to cover your moans, loud even to your own ears. He is wonderful at….Gods! A lone finger enters your channel, as his lips and tongue remain on the folds themselves. Moist…
It’s rain. Rain is coating your face. You can feel the thin mist as it blows in the window to brush your face. The smell of ozone follows. So moist. So wonderful. Long solitary digit slipping into your body. Sliding in and out. Tongue dancing, lips pulling. Hot. Steamy. Wet.
Finger dancing, sliding….cresting. You grab at the covers to keep your mental balance. What is this man trying to do? You can feel the beginnings of your orgasm, rising, pulling. Thunder. Groans. Gasps.
“Come for me, love.”
Minds link again. You can hear his groans in your link, so tightly are you woven together. It feels as though his tongue rubs your entire body. All feeling is centered there, in your core. A core that he bathes consistently, with care.
“Come for me, love. Hurry.”
His tongue reaches the tip of your clit as two fingers slid expertly in and out of your channel. You can feel the moisture on your face now and running out of you. Your breath hitches, climbing in pitch. The crest is upon you. Climbing. Climbing.
“Now, darling. Now.”
At the sound of his voice, you vault into the stratosphere, flying. Rain, thunder, lightning gather around you. You can feel your muscles clasping his digits; hear his moan of arousal. And then you drift back to the ground, as you feel his mouth on yours, his body climbing over yours. You taste yourself, as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. As your eyes open, you are confronted with his eyes, deep colored with passion, glittering in the night.