Archive: Yes
Archive Date: November 4, 1999
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: mine they are not, dream a girl can
Feedback: is always appreciated.
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: Varies
Series: Snapshots
Summary: A series of "snapshots". 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 (iow-there are no "cliffhangers"). The snapshots
run the gamut from G to NC17. Some are several pages long, some only
a couple of paragraphs; some contain smut, many do not; they are different
styles with different voices.
September 27, 1999
I slide into their room through the servant's entrance, their breakfast tray precariously balanced in one hand.
"Hello?" I call softly, but the room is empty. Looking around, I put the tray down on the small round table by the window and start to open the curtains. That's when I see them.
They are on the balcony, kneeling side by side, bodies still, eyes closed. Meditating, I guess. I watch for a few moments; we know little of the Jedi here and I will have the best gossip in the servant's hall this night, even if all I can report is that they are both male. And male they most definitely are.
They are covered only in thin white sleeping pants, their pale flesh gleaming in the early morning yellowish-pink light of our two suns. A light breeze blows the bigger one's hair about. He is the elder of the two - his neat beard and long hair is shot through with grey and even in repose his face speaks of experience; the small lines around his eyes make his austere face seem kind. There is a scar on his back, near his left shoulder. It looks like the work of a pantal knife, which has a jagged edge. The two small scars on his left arm look more like they were from energy weapons. His muscles are well-defined - even in rest it is clear that this is a warrior's body.
I reluctantly turn my eyes away from him to study the smaller one, to discover that he too is beautiful to look at. He is younger. His face, in repose, is smooth, unlined. The muscles of his chest and back are free of scars and a thin long braid hangs from behind his right ear, the end of it coming down his chest past his nipple. The rest of his hair is short and stands up from his head. In this light I can't tell if it's the colour of bagga wheat or terra cotta. I could watch them sitting there all morning, but I must attend to my other duties, besides their room will tell me more about them than their still bodies, even if it is their bodies that draw my gaze.
They are neat. There is nothing to pick up off the floor and their clothes -simple tunics and robes- are neatly folded in two piles on the dressing table. I am surprised to find that both beds are still made, but on closer inspection I find that only one bears my trademark folded back corner on the top left side. The other has been neatly enough made, but not by me.
So. They only use one bed.
I go back to the table where I've left their breakfast tray and slowly set the food and plates out. I examine them again, looking for any signs that would betray their sleeping arrangements; I could well imagine their bodies moving together and it makes a beautiful picture. But they remain simply side by side, kneeling and still, bodies close but not touching, seemingly neither aware of their surroundings, nor each other. They could be statues.
Disappointed that I have no proof, other than the single used bed, which could be simply the way of the Jedi, I pick up my now empty tray. Dipping a finger into the warm custard, I take a quick, furtive taste of the sweet delicacy and quickly turn to leave, gasping as I nearly run into the two men who have silently returned to the room.
"Your breakfast, Sir Lords Jedi. If there is anything else that you would require...?"
"No, thank you," the older one says as they sit at the table. His voice is somewhat rougher than the males of my species, but his lilting accent gives it a light, airy quality.
"Very well. If you need anything you have only to pull the bell," I tell them, pointing towards the long rope by the dressing table.
"Thank you." The younger one answers this time and his voice slides like honey along my ears; it is smooth and warm, holding within it a hint of mischief and I cannot help but glance at him. I bow and back away towards the servants door, assuming that I am dismissed.
I keep my head bowed to hide the small smile I cannot quite contain. In the juncture where shoulder meets neck, the smooth, perfect flesh of the younger man is marred by the unmistakable blemish of a love bite. I shall indeed be very popular in the servant's hall this night.
September 28, 1999
The balna fruit was as stubborn as the land that reluctantly grew it. Hard and thorny, the protective shell was as tough as any Obi-Wan had ever seen on a fruit and you had to be quite determined to open it. You had to be prepared to accept cuts and scrapes as their due.
But it was worth it. The fruit itself was the sweetest of rewards. It was the most delicious food that Obi-Wan had ever tasted; it's flesh smooth and silky in his mouth, the flavour sharp and lingering. Much like the people of Balna, he thought as he contemplated the fruit resting in his hand. Their gruff exteriors and seemingly harsh attitudes hid a loyal and joyful people. It was well worth peeling back their layers to find what lay beneath the surface.
Obi-Wan examined his fruit carefully, searching the prickly flesh for the seam. Finding it, he pushed both thumbs into it, wincing as his palms pressed against thorns. He tore the flesh back, ignoring the sting of the juice as it ran along his fingers and into the small scrapes. Letting the peel go, he brought the naked fruit up to his nose and sniffed, enjoying the pungent aroma.
Finally, he bit into the fruit. It exploded against his teeth and tongue and gums, his palate drowning in the luscious taste. The juice ran over his chin, dripping down his neck and into his tunic. He licked around his mouth luxuriously, tasting both the sweet juice of the fruit and the salty tang of his own skin. His eyes drifted closed as he took a second bite.
He stood quietly for several minutes, steadily eating the balna fruit and lifting his face to catch the final warmth of the slowly descending sun.
When the fruit was gone he wiped his chin and neck clean and slowly licked the juices from his sticky fingers. He sucked hard on his index finger, removing any last trace of the acidic liquid, soothing the stinging of one particularly nasty scratch.
"Obi-Wan."
"Coming, Master," he replied immediately, taking a final look at the large orb that would decorate the sky for only a few minutes longer
"Are you ready?" Qui-Gon asked. The setting of the sun would mark the beginning of the fasting for the Festival of Night. They had participated in other fasting rituals during their travels together and Qui-Gon knew how much Obi-Wan hated not being able to eat. He ran a finger along Obi-Wan's collarbone, raising an eyebrow when it came away sticky, but said nothing.
"Yes, Master, I am ready," replied Obi-Wan. The memory of the balna fruit, with it's prickly skin and stinging, sticky juices would fill him for a long time to come.
September 29, 1999
You would not be happy to know I was watching you like this; that I had removed myself enough from our love-making that I would not end my night in an orgasm. You would be dismayed that you had achieved that end on your own. "It's not fair for me to have all the pleasure," you would tell me, earnestly, when you had caught your breath once again. Only tonight you will not be able to speak for a very long time when I have done with you. I have kept the pace slow and tortuous. I have brought you to the edge and backed you slowly away again more times than I can remember; certainly you cannot count that high in your present state.
Maybe tomorrow I will try to explain to you, once again, that I find more pleasure in watching your pleasure than in feeling my own. As if any physical release could compare with the sight of you in your passion; your body arched, cheeks flushed, mind flooded with your passion. Your love and pleasure sweep through our link and I fear I will drown beneath the wave, as I do many nights and tumble with you over that edge. I manage to hold fast by the very narrowest of margins and only because I am motivated to do so. If I cannot stay in control, I cannot watch you lose control and succumb to the pleasure igniting your body. A conflagration that I have caused.
You cry out - the force flowing through you, adding to the glow that rises from your skin. You are in my bed. Wanton and naked. Coming. And, now, sated, boneless, shining...mine.
You tremble with every touch; each soft caress soothing another twitch from your body, leaving you slightly calmer than before. You are asleep before your breathing returns to normal. And I may look my fill.
You accuse me of giving and not taking, but you do not realise how very selfish I really am. I settle comfortably on my knees on the bed beside you; wishing already that the night were longer.
End.
On to October 1999's Snapshots