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.
Time is invariant. It never changes; it always exists. It does change in how we experience it, though. For some it moves quickly, for others, slowly, but it does remain that it does MOVE. For the fifteenth time this hour, you raise your head to look at the chronometer on the wall. Time is moving for you, but very very slowly.
You blink your eyes as the air stirred by a passing couple brushes your eyes, irritating them. When your eyesight is stable again, you look to the floor. Its polished black surface is gleaming in the light of the lamps, and its shine reflects the dangles and bobbles that adorn most of the gathered. Parties on Alderaan, amongst the governing class are never not graceful, beautiful and boring. Everyone who is anyone gathers for a night of spectacular glamour. Silks, satins, and shimmering fabrics swirl and mingle until you cannot tell where one ends and another begins. The music, a sweet melody of horns, flutes and quiet percussion, dances through the leaves of the hanging vines, appearing to make even the greenery alive with the beat.
A window to your right allows in the smells that permeate the area. The sea is located not far from where you are and the tang of the salt drifts across your nostrils awakening them. The portal also permits the breeze to enter. It sweeps across you like an invisible cool sheet, drawn and tucked. It causes your silk dress to become like ice, settling on your skin as the gasp of air passes. Your nipples tense under its fabric, enticed by the mixture of a sweet kiss of nature and man-made fabric. You close your eyes as you lean your head back on your shoulders, raising the wine glass to your mouth for yet another sip of the fruity concoction.
As you right you head and open your eyes, you are confronted with a blue rose.
A blue rose that is encased in silcon and that is preserved perfectly. In fact, so perfect is the preservation, that a single dewdrop is seen on one of the inner petals, stubbornly clinging to its surface. You smile at the beauty of the rose, sighing with a long held memory. You notice the hand that holds the stem is so large that the gentle, fragile stem looks to be on the verge of being crushed. Your eyes widen as you recognize the artistic sweeping fingers and the plane of the wrist. Turning your head, you are confronted with the Jedi who has visited your dreams for the last two years. “Qui-Gon Jinn,” you breathe.
His smile is wide and gracious. “I told you I would return, love.” He intones lowly, as though all that he says is only for your ears. “I have leave for a few days and came here.”
You nod, a smile breaking your face. Your eyes wander over his face - a face that you have not seen in two years. His framing hair is touched with more gray strands and is a trifle bit longer than it was. His face is still strong, still is held aloft by a corded, thick neck. His mustache and beard still cover that proud chin that you long to feel through the coarse hair, and his eyes are still as blue as a summer sky. Qui-Gon leans in through the window next to you. You can see that his shoulders are covered in a formal Jedi tunic, black overtunic with a white undertunic.
“Do you wish to join the party?” you ask and you realize that you cannot stop smiling.
“I wish to join you, wherever that might be.” He moves closer to you, leaning over the window frame.
“Not here, then, thank you.” You return, setting your wine flute down on the table next to you. The low tinkle of the crystal as it meets the dark wood table makes you shiver. You turn to find the steps, gazing through the gathered throng. Across the floor, dresses flair as women perform graceful turns, gasps of air brush your front as they continue to sweep by.
“Is there someone you must say goodbye to? A host to pay your respects to?” he asks, the gentle rumble of his voice is like an auditory wave that laps at your ears.
“No,” you answer. Seconds later, you are grabbed off the floor and pulled through the window. The Force deposits you in a pair of strong, sinewy arms that clasp around your waist. A low chuckle shakes the chest in front of you. His lips brush your temple, and drift down your face like a butterfly alighting on a petal. Finally they encounter your lips, and you find that yours are parted and ready to receive his searing ones. He stops at the last minute and pulls away. His eyes are bright in the moonlight that bathes this tropical garden that you stand in.
All is quiet. In the distance you can hear the waves lapping at the sand, you can hear the Giolna lizards in their mating calls, and you can hear the wind stirring the leaves high overhead. The world is abundant in noise and yet nothing is heard as you strain to hear this man’s breathing and voice. He gazes at you with fondness and shifts his arms. The muscles are tight against your back, making you ache to be held forever.
“Is there anyone else?” he asks, holding you as a baby, cradled in the nooks of his arms. You search his eyes, hidden in the shadows of his face. You can see no jealousy, but profound sadness, as if he will have to relinquish his right to hold you, to be with you.
“There is no one, Qui-Gon, except you.” You answer with truthfulness. You sigh as his eyes grow more tender and sweet and blue in the silver moonlight.
“No promises were made…” he clears his throat and it sounds like the rumble of thunder from a distant night.
“And I asked for none, Jedi. I am happy like this. I live my own life and spend it with whom I wish to.” You smile and lift your hand to his cheek and he shuts his eyes as though your touch is too much for him to handle. “I would wait…”
He removes your hand from his cheek with a sudden movement and you sigh at the warmth that you feel in his hand. He lifts it to his lips, opening them to lay an open mouth kiss against your palm. His eyes remain closed as he holds it there for what seems forever. “That is another reason I have come, love. You will not have to wait.”
You breathe in as he opens his eyes and places your hand on his heart. His gaze is so searching, so penetrating, so deep that it makes you feel as though your soul is bared to him. Qui-Gon’s own hand rises and cups your neck, pressing his thumb into your nape, pulling you to him. As he nears your mouth, he sighs, “I wanted to kiss you, but only if you still wished…”
“Always…” you sigh. His lips cover yours in a moment’s breath. It is a penetrating kiss, yet an endearing one. You again feel the coarseness of his beard as it scrapes the tender skin over your lip; you feel again the softness of his upper lip and the lushness of his lower one as he… You reach to grasp his hair as his tongue presses into your mouth. His hand cups your head gently as he moves his thumb to help open your jaw to allow him to enter more.
His tongue is not an intruder- it is a friend, a guest, a part of you that has been missing these two years. It moves with yours, an erotic dance of possessing and giving. He steals your breath, but returns it to you. You meld to one another.
Qui-Gon pulls away slowly, drawing back to suckle and nibble on your lower lip. As it is released, both of your sighs join and mingle in the air between you. He smiles as you open your eyes with a measure of surprise- you had not known you had shut them. “I have thought of nothing but that these last six months.” He states lowly, hoarsely. His eyes grow serious. “I have thought of nothing but you these last six months. I have missed you."
A gentle smile graces your lips as you pull your hands through his silken hair. “I have thought of other things…”
Your smile widens as he scoops you up in his arms - your legs stretching over one and your back resting against the other. “Tell me which way your home is, love…my legs will get us there quicker than yours.”
You lean up to whisper in his ear, feeling his tremors from your closeness through the hand that rests on his chest. He grunts as you finish and starts down the garden path with purpose.