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.
Solid.
His arms, his chest, his legs, the wall, the deck the railing the boards shingles muscles cords strength….
Oh Gods, he is as solid as the building behind you, but infinitely more warm.
Your sensory world is all liquid, all moisture, all tears..turning you cold, icy in the wind. He is the one thing that is hot, burning, all earthen and whole. His mouth slants across yours, spreading his inferno across your lips, across you, painting you with breathless moans and limitless care.
Oh Gods gods gods go…
His tongue inches between your lips, its roughness brushing across the fragile skin there to lap at your interior. So thick, so strong. His arms loop under your arms, curving against your bones, your structure. They come to rest on the back of your neck and in your hair. His long fingers, themselves fuel for fantasies, tunnel into your hair, seeking, searching for your skin. They touch, sending shocks through your body, making your toes curl and unfurl.
So fiery. Deep. Probing, searching, stretching to come into contact with you. He presses you firmly against the wall, using the leverage to crush his mouth to yours. Your head fills with aroma of wet man, musky and dark and you tug on its essence, pulling it into you. His lips encompass yours, engulfing yours, they are all that you can feel, all that you center on.
Suction, they pull back, sliding to tug on your lower lip. He worries it between his lips, sighing. The harder that he tugs, the more you feel it in your center, in your breasts. His eyes are shut, his lashes clinging to his skin, welded by the heat of his love and the moisture from the sky. Beads of liquefied mist roll down his cheeks, coating him in the anoint of heaven. Your lip separates from his…you can feel the blood heating it, engorging you them…making them sensitive, aching, needy. He bends his head to kiss at your chin, nuzzling you so that you lift your head.
Qui-Gon’s fingers tug on your hair, pulling your head back to rest against the wall. His mouth closes on your chin…his beard tickling your skin, like a brush on the canvas…it moves and graces you. A loud crash of thunder throws your eyes wide again in the night. Sharp and intense, the light from the fading flash burns your eyes for a moment. His hands release your hair and your head tilts back.
The rain falls in sheets mere inches from you, cresting off the roof, falling to pummel the ground. It beats against it, to no avail…nothing is as eternal as the ground. An aroma of fresh land, water…of pure…nature…covers you. It floats in on the breeze, riding high and clear to wrap the two of you in its embrace.
“I love you, Tira.” He whispers, his voice catching on a gasp. “Do you know what that is to me?”
He does not allow you to answer, rushing forward to connect your mouths again. Your lips are more sensitive now. But all you feel you cannot articulate…heat, always heat…pulsing, swelling… His mouth angles, retreats, returns, conquers, retreats and rushes back. Sweep, tug, press…crush…you swallow his breath, and give him yours in return. You sustain each other, support each other…
You know what it is to him. It is this. Just this. Perfect symbioticism. Perfect sustainability, perfect balance.
His teeth settle into your lower lip and he rakes them across its surface, making you shudder in his arms, making you cling to his neck, to his shoulders. His back arches slightly, pushing you into the wall again. He does not ask, does not plead, he just pulls your head so that he can look into your eyes.
Your hands move from his hair to his cheeks, touching the soft skin under his eyes and over his whiskered planes. So deep his eyes, unfathomable… black with arousal and passion and want. “Sorry…so sorry…” you whisper back, brushing your thumbs down his face to touch his lips. Softness in unrefined territory, they beg to be felt and experienced. Your eyes drag back from his lips to his eyes as his mouth draws in your digit from where it rests. All you feel is the moist torridity of his mouth closing around your finger, feeling as though it encases your entire body with it. He stares momentarily and then sucks gently.
Flood gates open and your groin feels like liquid. There is so much to say, so much to try and articulate…tomorrow will be soon enough…and you know instinctively there will always be tomorrows…
Your groan startles you, and you shift until you are upright in his arms, balanced on his thigh that has come to rest against your center. The scratch of the fabric is lost to your ears in the downpour, but you feel it as well as you could hear it. He knows your move and gently releases you, guiding you to the floor with his hands at your waist. The silk is so cold- it is like you are encased in frost, crystalline and pure. You know though, that to venture inside would destroy the moment - shatter the reality of this vision. You place your hands against the fiery thickness of his chest, touching the skin there at the separation point of his tunics.
Outside, in a tempest…then…it will be…
His belt is heavy with moisture, its leather rough. The clasp is even colder than its usual metallic texture, but it falls apart in your hands, nonetheless. The belt is eased from his body…the waist tie is unfurled and slinks like a snake, fluttering to the ground around his feet. The exterior portion is removed, and then the outer and inner tunics are parted from his flesh. The skin is cool from moisture but relatively dry…but you can feel the furnace burning from the inside. Your hands curl up and over his shoulders, peeling away the layers and leaving his body open for your lips and tongue.
His head falls back on his shoulders, resting there as an explosive sigh rumbles through him. Your tongue laps at the line of hair from his chest to his abdomen. Your hands reach down, curling around his hips, over his buttocks, down his outer thighs. You crouch, your hands traveling, molding his body, like an artist with clay…trying…in vain…to capture what only the Gods can…. perfection in moving form. They alight on his boots; your hands deftly unlatch the casings and pull until they are separated. Without a word, you watch as his muscles curl and he lifts first one foot and then the other, removing them…until his feet are bare.
You raise your eyes to meet his, as you rest your hands on the waistband of his leggings. His eyes are black coal embers, burning in the night. You watch his calm…always calm…countenance as you pull the leggings down his legs, pushing them over the angular hips and pulling away over the sizable bulge that tents their front. The only movement is a slow swallow; it is the only thing breaking the smoothness of that oh so powerful neck.
He arches his back slightly as you strip him of the last vestiges of his clothing, his hands landing on the wall over your head. The wind changes direction again, and suddenly, you are blinking back streams of rain as they pour down your face. It does not deter you. Your hands curl around the massive erection in front of you, touching its length, it strength. The moisture from the heavens joins with his own to make its surface sleek like mellifluous satin. You pull your hand up its length, stretching and then releasing, allowing you to gently cup its essence until you reach its root. This man….
“Tira…” the voice is far off, carried on the wind and deposited on your ears like a forgotten promise.
You lean forward, holding the length so your lips can separate and enclose it without pain on his behalf. Here, smell and taste meld. It is not the aroma, nor is it the salt that is there….neither stands out…it is simply man. Pure, unabashed, unadulterated man.
You can feel the silkiness of his crown press past your lips, the strength of the shaft afterwards slides in like a saber running through. What you can not enclose with your mouth, you enclose with your fist. He is protected by you, sheltered from the storm that now has water running in rivets down your face and into your bedclothes. You pull back, and are rewarded with a shouted moan. And so you begin…
Ebb, suckle, flow, lick. You move your head back and forth, willing your body to accept his length as part of you. So long, so thick, he continues to glide between your lips, teeth and over your tongue as though he were simply words spoken. A trembling hand lands on your head, its fingers curling downward to touch the shell of your ear. So warm…hot…finger…cock…
You pull suction on his cock, tilting your head back until only the tip is inside and feel his hips jerk in spasms as he tries to keep from thrusting. You can feel the heat increase in him, the blood rushing from his body to his center as it rests in your mouth. The engorgement of your own lips increases the sensitivity and you almost can feel every pore, every wrinkle of flesh.
He pulls gently on your hair, bringing your face away from him. Within seconds, he is on his knees. Oh Gods! What beauty there! The look of wantonness on his face, the look of sensuality, of need. You are both covered in rain as he reaches to unfasten your sleep clothes, parting them from your skin. His hands, warmer than the air, curl to enclose your breasts, their might and brawn effortlessly covering them completely. The thumbs brush there, enticing response and getting what they demand. Your back spasms as your nipples immediately spring to full erection in his hands, and you bow like a ready weapon on a hunt.
Your pants are removed by force; you can feel the sound of the rip as they are removed from your body. He is not rough, simply has no time for their barrier. Your mating instincts shout for completion, as his call back.
You feel the roughness of the wood behind your back, the relative softness of an article of clothing as you are pushed to the porch, his arm under your lower back, his mouth on a breast. Tongue…roughness,…stength…passion…wetness…tears…sorrow…need….love…. The world tilts until you feel his supple and strong thighs between yours and the heat of his towering need pushing at your entrance. You lift your head to stare at him, urging him to complete the act, opening your mouth to taste the freshness of the rain, the blessing from the sky, the bestowal of life from the clouds. He knows you are ready, but he runs an open palm against your opening. He grunts lowly as you are both covered with rain once again as it comes in a gust.
“Gods…Tira…love…” he sighs, making your back arch with his hands. He pulls you until you are resting on his thighs, your legs near his shoulders, your buttocks on the wet rocks of his legs.
“Now…” you beg…needing to connect with him at last on a physical level.
He presses himself into you and sinks almost painfully deep on the first stroke. So large! Oh Gods may you never forget this feeling! He wastes no time in pulling back and sliding back in again. You can feel the boards creak under your head as his knees dig in to thrust. He shifts your legs so they curl on his shoulders. His hands, his capable large hands, pull your hips to pound into you. Your hands reach above your head to feel the rain…there is nothing else there.
Need, like a stoked fire, surges and you fly upward into your pleasure. His rhythm is powerful, constant, eager…
Crash!
You startle as lightning strikes nearby and you feel the ozone in the air. It is like a presence, a third entity tonight and you shout as the startle tightens your muscles on him. He yells in pleasure and picks up his pace, pounding, thrusting….
Your hair catches on the roughened boards beneath you, your back feels the burn of wood scrapes…you open your mouth to taste the water, to scream, to plead…to cry his name. It is not a coil this time…it is a rocket, heating its engines, revving to fly into the stratosphere….
Your shout rivals the loudest clap of thunder as you suddenly orgasm. It surprises you, causing you to gasp into the pleasure and then voice it like the wildest animal.
His eyes are wide and wild, centering on your face…you whimper and cry out again as another wave of pleasure crests. He grunts loudly, holding your hips in place as he begins to assault your body with his own. Thrust, retreat, thrust thrust thrust thrust thrustthrusthurst…..
His back goes rigid; his head flies back, his hair whipping at your naked toes… His legs tense. An explosion of heat…from him..from his body…from his cock…shoots through you…reaching, capturing…soaring…
He falls forward, balanced on your legs. His arms land next to your head and you reach up and push his hair out of his eyes. You are both gasping, crying…
His hand brushes at your tears even as yours brushes his. Finally…the release.
Nature continues to pound around you. You pull his head down until it is tucked under your chin and you rub at his hair. Hot tears replace frozen frost on your skin and you stare at the sky, feeling your own tears cleanse your soul.
Finally. Release…not sorrow…