Archive: Yes
Archive Date: March 3, 2002
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm.
Feedback: is always appreciated
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: G - NC17
Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was
written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same
universe, but they are not in any sort of order. Each piece
stands alone. The snapshots will run the gamut from G to
NC17. Some may be several pages long, some only a couple of
paragraphs; some will contain smut, many will not; they will
be different styles with different voices.
January 02, 2002
His skin is warm, which I expect, and soft, which I don't.
There are rough spots: his elbows, the soles of his feet, the triangle of skin at his neck that is exposed by his tunic, and the long, thin scar on his abdomen. Most of his skin is soft, protected by the layers of his office, soft, smooth linen keeping his skin safe from the elements that would make it rough and old.
The discovery is sweet, almost as sweet as the taste of his lips under mine, his beard tickling against my face.
January 03, 2002
When I was little I would get scared in the dark. The nursery master would take me in his arms and sit with me in a rocking chair. I would lie curled in his lap, head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating slowly as we rocked, the chair creaking rhythmically.
Back and forth. Creak and squeak. Thump and thump. On and on until I was asleep.
When I was a little older I moved out of the nursery with my agemates. Jedi aren't allowed to be scared of the dark. Sometimes I would pretend the linen of my pillowcase was the material of a Jedi tunic.
Now I am a padawan. I am grown. And I still don't like the dark.
Now my master's heart lays beneath my cheek, his skin warm against me, the thump and thump of his heartbeat soothing me to sleep.
Maybe I misunderstood when I left the nursery all those years ago. Maybe it is only the chair's squeaking that is not allowed.
January 13, 2002
Obi-Wan stared suspiciously at the bundle of fur Qui-Gon carried in his arms.
"What's this?"
"A gift from the Prime of the Wayda tribe. Come, Padawan, feel how soft it is."
Obi-Wan looked doubtful -- had the bundle just moved? No doubt it could feel his presence and was preparing to attack.
"Obi-Wan..."
Pursing his lips, Obi-Wan obeyed, reaching out, fingers tucked safely into his palms.
"Oh!" His surprise was evident as his fingers sunk into the fur, the softest he'd ever felt. *And* his hand remained unmolested.
Grinning, Qui-Gon shook out the bundle. Obi-Wan gasped, but the fur wasn't attached to an animal at all, only a square length of cloth.
"The Wayda make it by hand, they claim it is the softest in the galaxy. I think they might be right. Truly amazing."
"Yes, Master."
January 14, 2002
Tonight I discovered his hands all over again.
The shape of them. How they look against my skin. How they feel against my skin. Against my lips. Inside me. The firm grip, the long fingers, the saber calluses...
His skin tastes different at his fingertips, as if I can taste the flavour of his fingerprints, as if the swirls and sworls that are like a unique signature are also a unique spice.
His nails are neatly kept, his skin soft but well used, like oft-handled parchment.
He holds his hand out to me and I take it, letting him lead me.
January 27, 2002
Obi-Wan watched with some misgivings as Qui-Gon disappeared into one of the droid transport ships. He let a frown pull at his lips before forcing his face into its mask of calm and finding a small corner for himself in another transport.
There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that was expanding, a whisper that was growing louder.
Don't leave him alone.